#Dead Dove Don't Eat

[bloodiedrogue]

YOU’VE GOT MY BODY, FLESH AND BONE

PAIRINGS: Loki Laufeyson & Female Reader

SUMMARY: After Loki triggers a security breach, you suddenly find yourself participating in a dangerous game of cat and mouse. DARK FIC, 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT

WORD COUNT: 4,226

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The votes are in! Primal kink won my little kink poll so here you go you horny little bastards! (Also if you’re wondering where the title comes from it’s from this amazing song by Sleep Token!) 

MASTERLIST

-

When the alarm goes off for the third time this week you sincerely debate whether or not to kill him. It wouldn’t be that hard, would it? Sure, he’s a skilled magic user and wicked knife wielder but you have strengths too, right? You’re flexible and smart and know at least four different types of hand-to-hand combat! Plus, it’s not like the man would win in a gunfight… what with the knife and everything. Honestly, it’d be easy as—

“What are you doing?” Nat’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. Already she’s standing at your doorway, holstering her gun and tying back her hair, staring at you with annoyed eyes.

“Mentally preparing my next move,” you yell, pushing yourself off the edge of your bed with such uncharacteristic vigour it makes her laugh.

“Oh please, you’re just pissed off because he woke you up,” she calls back. 

You roll your eyes but ultimately agree, considering she’s right. You are pissed off that he decided to wake you up because this was the one morning you were guaranteed to have off. The one morning where no one was allowed to wake you up for missions or meetings or any other inconveniently early tasks SHIELD often required. 

(Well, so long as an emergency security breach didn’t happen… fuck you, Loki.)

“Steve wants us on the quinjet in ten, think you can handle that without my help?”

“Obviously.“ 

Even in the dimly lit room, you can see Nat’s smirk at your reply —the way the edge of her top lip quirks up as she watches you shuffle through your room in search of a pair of pants. It’s the kind of smirk that’s often accompanied by at least some semblance of warmth or kindness. The kind of smirk that makes you laugh and roll your eyes in fake annoyance. 

So when you see this one and how weirdly smug it looks, it immediately stops you in your tracks. Mid-search, you freeze and stare, examining the way Nat’s face suddenly contorts in on itself; a glow of green flashing across your vision, blinding you as you raise your hand to cover your face. 

“What the f—“

You’re cut off by that familiar dark chuckle —the one that often keeps you up at night if you think too long about it. Attached to it, a pale face stands out in the darkness, its features watching you as you drop your hand and narrow your eyes. “I swear to god if you’ve come to take me hostage or something I’ll call Bruce.” 

Loki clicks his tongue and shakes his head, the grin across his face only widening as he quickly strides to your side. “You think that brute can stop me?”

“I mean, he has before, hasn’t he?” You grin. 

Instead of responding he merely scoffs and circles your frame, inching closer and closer until you can feel his breath hitting the side of your neck in hot, wet puffs, sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes but that was before.”

Before? What the fuck does he mean by before? And if that was before then what’s after? Is this after? If so, what was before after but after before? 

You can barely think with the constant ringing in your ears. The endless whoop, whoop, whoop settling inside your head like a cultic mantra, penetrating your eardrums aggressively. 

Stressfully, you blink and slowly bring a hand to the side of your head, squinting in pain as you massage your temple and try to forget that Loki’s standing beside you. That Loki’s grinning and chuckling and watching you like a hungry wolf about to pounce on its prey. 

“Have you always been this distracted?”

“Hm?”

“You’re distracted,” he snaps, paraphrasing his previous sentence.

“Am I?”

Moving even closer, Loki reaches out to graze your neck, the base of his knuckles moving in slow lines up and down the edge of your throat. “Yes, very,” he says then, leaving you unsure how to respond. 

So, instead, you swallow hard, feeling his hand continue its ministrations —each finger carving line after careful line across the goosebumps that have started to bloom like flowers in an open field.

Except, instead of an open field you’re in your darkened bedroom, trapped against the space in front of your closet. Behind you, all there is to defend yourself is a few pieces of fabric and some coat hangers. Maybe a shoe or two if you’re quick enough to bend down and grab them. (You’re not.)  

“Loki, I–“

Because of the constant ringing that blares through the compound, you've become increasingly disorientated, your mind practically swimming through molasses as you try and come up with ways to escape. For example, maybe you could try going for the throat. One swift punch could easily debilitate him long enough to rush for the knife underneath your mattress or even the gun in your dresser. Or you could claw his face —shoot for the eyes so that while you’re running he can’t even see. Or maybe—

“Oh, darling, you really are quite adorable when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” you snap, almost defensively as you feel his hand begin to move, its previous position ghosting your skin as it eventually settles at the base of your throat. This time palm down. 

“Confused.” The tips of his fingers press down, applying the littlest amount of pressure to the side of your esophagus. “Helpless, even.” 

His words leave you a bit lightheaded as you turn away, trying your best to do another quick sweep of your room through the darkness. Something easier said than done considering it’s the middle of the night and the light switch is on the opposite side of the room, taunting you like an unreachable beacon of hope. 

In fact, the only light coming from the window behind you is a scarce amount of the city skyline, creating just enough brightness to showcase Loki’s face and how it focuses solely on you. 

“I’m not helpless.”

“Of course you’re not,” he taunts, his voice soft and breathy and barely audible over the alarm that continues to go on and on and on until eventually, it feels like it’s become a part of you. 

In the background, the endless sound not only yells and screams but also manages to crash into every possible thought that makes its way to the forefront of your mind. The painful process buries you further into Loki’s punishing arms which slowly begin to snake around your waist. 

Against you, still standing at your side, he’s begun slithering like a snake across your skin, palming your neck and hip so softly that the space between your thighs can’t help but ache for something more —something harmful and sinister. Something you know he can give you. 

“Loki, what are you doing?” Your voice is barely above a whisper now, its tone nervous and sore and ultimately filled with yearning despite knowing what a terrible idea it is to crave something like this.

Something like him. 

“I don’t know, darling, perhaps you should tell me.” 

Swallowing hard, you feel his hand fully around your throat now, each digit gripping your skin with such desperation you find yourself reaching out to support him, knowing that he needs this. Knowing that, despite what this may look like, his hand around your throat means something entirely different from what it actually is.

“You’re trying to escape?” you offer, knowing that’s a lie because if he were pulling some magical escape trick he would’ve been gone by now. 

He tuts, shaking his head and moving close. “Care to give it another go?”

His breath fans across the expanse of your cheek, dusting it in a heat that radiates down to the base of your belly. All over you can feel yourself begin to burn. Everything suddenly hot and uncomfortable, your skin no longer feeling like your own as he pinches the space just above the waistband of your underwear, gnawing at it as if it were his teeth. 

Which you can see grinning. Even through the darkness, you can see them big and wide, each one moving to push aside the lips that contain them. 

Across his face, he’s got a look you’ve never seen before. Something resembling desire but also ruin. 

It makes you wish you were simultaneously closer and farther. A wish you’re well aware hardly makes sense considering, at this moment, Loki is the enemy. Loki is the opposition. Loki is the hostile wolf in the open field watching you like a lamb who’s already been offered to the slaughter. 

A slaughter that’s now opening its doors to you in the form of Loki’s mouth, which has begun its descent toward your ear. “C’mon pet, give it another go,” it says, loud and clear and full of tease.

Biting your lip, you try to drown out all the sensations around you then —all the ringing and breathing and guilty, glorious touching. All of it carefully moves behind you, drifting into a space that keeps it contained long enough for you to close your eyes and steady your breath before eventually deciding it’s the throat you’ll go for.

Then, it all happens in an instant. Quickly you turn on your heel while shoving him back, groaning at the sudden lack of contact as you reach out and knuckle him in the throat. As soon as your skin makes contact you hear him gag at the sudden increase in pressure, his body half crumbling in on itself just as you book it through the doorway, not even bothering to close the door behind you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you repeatedly swear under your breath, moving blindly through the halls towards Tony’s safe room, ignoring the way your head pounds and your calves ache and how you can hear Loki screaming behind you, the slapping of his shoes picking up speed as you clumsily slide around the corner making contact with the wall.

“Running away from the inevitable are we?” His voice echoes in time with the alarm, ebbing and flowing in and out of your ears so painfully that you find yourself groaning as you come up to the safe room door. 

“FRIDAY, cue emergency protocol number eight,” you yell once you’re there, slamming your hand against the touchpad in front of you, praying to whoever will listen as you close your eyes and breathe and wait for FRIDAY’s voice to confirm your demand and open the door.

So when she doesn’t, you find yourself beginning to panic —the inside of your chest pounding like a broken metronome, its speed increasing every single millisecond you spend bashing your palm against the touchpad and screaming out to let you in. To keep you safe and warm and away from the dangerous body that you know is rounding the corner with boiling blood and sharpened teeth. 

Because without even looking you can feel Loki’s eyes move towards you, his pupils dilating to the point where you can’t even remember what the colour of his irises are. Are they green or blue or perhaps a mix? you think, trying your best to settle your nerves as you give the touchpad one last go and mutter the magic words.

“FRIDAY, cue emergency—”

But before you can even finish he’s on you, the ditch of his arm wrapping around your throat. Roughly, he brings you into his chest, your back suddenly flush with his front as he grunts and drags you away. 

Against him, you grit your teeth and struggle for freedom, every limb you have lashing out as he laughs in your ear and tugs you close enough to press his cheek against your own. 

“You really thought you could escape?” 

As he speaks into the plush of your cheek, you feel your chest begin to swell with something new. Something bordering on surrender. As if this feeling deep inside of you has accepted the primal urge to give in and let Loki take you however he wants. 

Suddenly, your body begins to settle into this new position of power, your limbs slowly failing in their struggle to control and instead relinquish. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the continuous siren that’s suddenly heard above the beating of your heart. 

“Because I can,” he says. “Because I want to watch you lose.” 

You’re only partly certain of what he means by lose, figuring he means it in the literal sense. He wants to see you submit —to watch you bow before him by any means necessary. It’s embedded in his DNA to do as such. Being a God, it’s his job to crave power and submission like one breathes air. It’s his birthright. His promise to the world to be forever above no matter the cost.

And at the moment your senses cave into such ideas. Your body slumps back in exhaustion, your chest rising and falling in time with Loki’s breath which continues to waft along your skin. Quickly, your extremities begin to work against you, moving to twist your body around so that you’re face to face, sharing the same space, pretending like it’s okay that the man before you is suddenly leaning in, eyes half-lidded, grin ablaze. 

When your lips touch it’s like you’re being eaten alive, the tips of Loki’s teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you try to pull away. Practically beneath him, you feel his hands move to cup your face, each palm gripping the underside of your chin with fanned-out fingers as he drinks you in like water, sucking and licking up any breath you manage to take in. 

Because unlike you, he’s hungry. Desperate and yearning —his wanting mouth signalling the rest of his body to keep you close no matter the consequence. Tightly, he’s gripping onto you for dear life, manoeuvring you into positions you’re too exhausted to fight against. 

Which causes you to end up on the floor somehow, belly up, shirt dishevelled across your suddenly exposed skin. Above you, Loki grins and lets his hands begin to roam, moving to coat the softness of your skin with the roughness of his palms. “I’m glad you’re beginning to understand your purpose, pet,” he practically laughs, his left hand finding its home at the base of your throat while he uses the other to undo his trousers. 

An act that sends you into another phase of panic, realizing what’s to come. What’s bound to happen based on your reactions.

Because really, there are only two ways this can go. You can either fight and most likely die trying given your position or you can succumb to his desires and hope to God he’s gentle. 

“Loki…” 

Despite the loudness of everything around you, the only thing you hear at that moment is the zip and the shuffle of his pelvis moving to release his cock, followed by the hollow groan that follows once he’s free. Then, still stationed above, you feel him lower himself further onto you, using his knees to part your legs.

“Look at you,” he says. Revelling in his work and the way he quickly grabs your wrists and positions them above your head. “Look at how powerless you look.” 

Unable to fight the urge to defy him, you merely press your lips together in a thin line, trying somehow to convey your distaste without speaking. 

“Your attempt was admirable, I’ll admit. Not many would even try to do what you just did.” As he speaks, he readjusts the both of you, nudging your wrists into one single hand before using the other one to glide across your covered slit, pulling from you a long breath.

“That’s it. See what it feels like to give in? See how good it can feel.” 

Again, he skims that same spot —the one that makes you twitch beneath his grasp— lingering at its centre, sending your desire over the edge. 

In an instant, all of your previous thoughts of escaping such futile endings quickly vanish with the air that exits your lungs. And every belief that you could win this fight is crushed beneath the pressure of his hands that suddenly push against the fabric of your underwear, leaving you vulnerable to his wants. To his need to smirk and push the cloth aside, exposing you to the open air and his aching cock. 

“Loki, please,” you beg then, unsure because despite the fear swelling inside of you, the dull pulse between your legs feels like it’s beginning to take over. Growing in pressure, it makes you start to double back on that feeling of submission. That strange inclination to let him do whatever it is he wants to do. 

“Please what, pet?” he asks, but again, you say nothing —feeling that small amount of fear taking over your mouth as it cracks open at the presence of his fingers ghosting you all over again.

“I hope you know that I’m being polite in asking you what you want.”

Swallowing hard, you nod, knowing he’s telling the truth. He’s not normally this giving. Usually, he’s harsh and vile and wolflike, taking what’s his whenever the time’s right. So for him to grant you such pleasantries is truly a gift.

“Why me?” 

Without missing a beat you feel him prod your opening, coasting across the expanse of your sex in long, drawn-out motions. Carefully, he stares at you with anticipation, watching the way you suddenly struggle beneath him, your wrists and legs wiggling to break free from the pleasure.

“I like how weak willed you are,” he says, pushing into you without hesitation, his body falling flush with yours as he roughly pistons into you. 

At first, it’s a shock, feeling him inside of you like this. It’s painfully intimate. The appearance of him taking space in such a private area leaves you contently breathless despite knowing that it’s wrong. 

Because him and you, lying on the floor against your will as he ruts into you with all the force in the world is something you know you should hate. But as he grips your wrists and steadies himself with a newfound hand on your hip, you can’t help but relish in such a feeling. In the pleasure, he simultaneously takes and gives each time his pelvis snaps against you like a rubber band.

It makes you want to scream. To beg for more. To reach out and touch him and tell him that everything leading up to this point has been long since forgotten. 

“Look at you,” he practically gasps, the edges of his lips turning up to show how pleased he is. “Look at how fucked are you.”

Even without seeing it yourself, you understand what he means. On the floor, your body is exposed to him in such a demeaning way that the only way to describe it is fucked. Deliciously and undeniably fucked. No longer a body of flesh and bone and teeth willing to bite. No, instead you’re merely a vessel meant for him to suck his pleasure out of and it’s something that should frighten you —this idea of being used. 

Deep down, you should defy it in any way you can, yet lying here, feeling the continuous push and pull of Loki’s cock dragging across your inner walls completely erases such ideas. The budding pleasure inside makes it difficult to think of anything other than your desired release and what it might feel like to share such a moment. 

“Loki?” You speak his name not expecting an answer, knowing he’s already given you more than you deserve. 

“What is it, pet?” In between words, he plunges into you, brutally increasing the pace as your eyes flutter shut and your wrists once again beg to break free. 

“Touch, please.” It’s the only thing you can muster up the energy to say, the feeling of him continuously filling you up becoming too much to bear as your chest rises and falls, struggling to keep up with the pumping of your heart.

“Touch, she says,” he replies with a laugh, continuing to move in and out, listening to the way you moan; watching the way you writhe beneath his tight grasp, desperate for further release. “Touch what?”

You’re too out of breath to respond with words so instead, you just whine, looking at him with tormented eyes that you know don’t properly convey what you want, causing him to laugh and fuck and clasp your hip with greedy hands. 

“If you want something you have to ask.”

Another gift, you think. Another undeserved offering placed at your feet. 

Just thinking about it makes you hum with delight, granting you a moment of clarity just long enough to ask him if you can touch him. If, instead of him merely taking what it is he wants, you could have the opportunity to give it to him. 

“You want to give me what’s already mine?”

You bite your lip and nod, feeling him suddenly begin to slow down the pace at which he moves inside of you. A lack of sensation you wish to curse out of existence. 

“You want me to grant you the allowance of touch?” 

You nod again, bucking your hips ever so slightly to try and nudge him to move faster. To push harder. To fill you up with everything he could ever want because you’re his now. He owns you. 

“Normally I don’t grant such pleasantries but for you perhaps I could make an exception.” 

Your thighs tighten around his cock as he speaks, your excitement practically driving you over the edge as you feel the hand around your wrists begin to loosen their grip. 

“However, first you need to prove yourself,” he says, drawing from within you an annoyed breath once he completely pulls out of you.

“How?” At this point, you’ll do anything he asks.

“I want you to touch yourself as I fuck you.”

Normally such an idea would leave you squirming in discomfort but right now you’re too determined so you merely just nod and breathe, watching as Loki’s hand fully leaves and finds purchase on your other hip, waiting for you to begin.

Then without missing a beat you begin to touch yourself. Running your hands along your stomach, you start by warming yourself up, tickling the base of your torso with the lightest of touches before dragging them up to play with the fabric of your sleep shirt, watching as Loki licks his lips and tightens his grip. On your hips, you can feel his digits digging holes into your flesh, creating new geysers of pleasure you’ll surely admire later as you push your hands beneath your shirt. 

Despite the chill of the hallway, your skin is almost too hot to touch, your hands moving delicately against the mounds that sit there now on full display. All across your skin goosebumps begin to form, each textured bump jumping out to show Loki just what it is he’s doing to you. How good you’re making him feel as he violently drives into you, sending your soul into another wave of euphoria. 

His cock, once again filling you up, pushes further than ever before. Against your deepest point, you can feel him pounding that same spot, trying his best to break the backdrop with such aggression you cry out. 

Tears begin to collect at the corner of your eyes as he moves, his body taking pleasure while delivering pain. Every part of you is screaming for him to stop —to pull back and slow down, but deep down you know he won’t so you just touch yourself gently, rubbing the peaks of your breasts with soft hands in hopes of evening everything out.

Too much, you want to tell him but instead, you groan through closed eyes and open lips and anxious hands that massage your chest as you feel one of his hands unclasp your hip and move toward your neck.

“Shhhh,” he warns then, taking hold of your throat with unrestrained power, applying just enough pressure to leave you conscious yet lightheaded. 

Quickly, your vision begins to fill with inklings of white light. Your mind screaming at you for release —for freedom and safety while you continue to step over the threshold of danger, praying to the God of Mischief that your perversity will be granted with the pleasure you so desperately crave. 

“Fuck, you take me so well.” 

It’s the last thing you hear before your body begins to erupt. Before your head explodes and your cunt starts to quiver with that familiar burn that surrounds the end of Loki’s cock. All over your skin begins to tingle, the presence of Loki’s hand exiting your throat and moving to cup your face as he leans over to bury himself within your neck. At that point all you can feel is your insides pulsing, twitching around him as you hold your chest and close your eyes, drinking in the way Loki’s lips slot themselves across your throat, suckling the newfound wound brought on by his possessive hands. 

Inside of you, you quickly feel him follow suit, his cock coating your insides with cum as he groans into your skin, trying his best to ground himself through the orgasm that rips through him.

-

TAGLIST:  @lovelysizzlingbluebird, @just-someone11, @linaax, @eleniblue, @cheekyscamp, @ozymdias, @use-your-telescope, @liminalpebble, @freegardenbanananeck, @lokixryss, @unlucky-number-13, @violethaze (if you’d like to be added fill out this form)

[sunshiline-writes]

Drabble: Good Dolls Don't Dream

More fucked up Drabble time from Sunny!!! uhh yeah this one's rough stay safe and heed warnings. CW: DEAD DOVE DON'T EAT, GORE, noncon body modifications (so so many), wire's through hands, stress positions, mentions of kidnapping, broken legs, whumpee is thought of and called a "doll" and "thing", stitching a person's mouth closed, some mouth gore I THINK I GOT EVERYTHING but if I didn't just let me know!

--

Eyelids fluttering, breaths came in short gasps as whumpee slept. Whumper always enjoyed watching Whumpee sleep. They were always so beautiful. But today they were immaculate, strung up against the wall like this. Hands above their head held up by the wire through their hands. The sight was beautiful, the wire wrapping from the hole in their palms between each finger, creating an intricate pattern as it weaved in and out of their hand. 

Whumper had worked very hard to get the designs just right. The carvings in their skin, the wig stitched on, through their scalp. That was the worst part getting them to stay still enough to let them move the needle through the scalp. Then they had to start over because Whumpee had moved so much that the wig had gone on crooked. 

They always knew how to make things so difficult. Whumpee made a noise as their eyes fluttered open. Their eyes looked at them blearily. Whumper carded a hand through the fake hair on their head pulling the stitches lightly. They were a bit angry and red at the edge of their scalp, Whumper would fix that later. 

“Are you ready to be let down now darling?” 

Whumpee let out a choked whine before answering. “Please.. I’m so tired.” 

Whumper unhooked the chain that held the wires through Whumpee’s hand and let whumpee fall into them. Gently picking them up bridal style and carrying them to the bed. A mattress in the corner of the basement, and lays them down. They whimper as their legs are straightened and the blanket is put to their shoulders. Whumpee’s legs still look wrong after the last time Whumper broke them. They hated to do that, it ruined the perfectness of their little doll. But it had to be done after they had tried to escape a third time. They had let the legs heal the wrong way. Making sure there was never an attempt like that again. Dolls didn’t need to run or walk anyway. Dolls just needed to sit there and look pretty. Boy, was whumpee pretty. They had big brown eyes that shone when they cried, beautiful skin, their hair was the only thing that had been awful when they acquired the little thing. It used to be dyed a bright green color, now they had the beautiful black wig that was connected to their scalp. They were nearly perfect now. So close. 

“Can you tell me what you did wrong? Why you were punished?” Whumpee whimpered as Whumper gave a little tug on the wig, again pulling at the stitches on their scalp. “I-I.. said.. I wanted.. to go home..” they answered between sniffles and sharp breaths. 

“Mmhmm, and why was that wrong?” “Because… Because I am home..” “Good. Good. You know you’re nearly perfect,” Whumper, rubbed light circles on Whumpee’s back, sighing. “Just one last punishment. It’s not forever. You just need to learn not to say those types of things to me.” Whumpee stared up at them with wide eyes, tears filling them again. God they were so pretty when they were scared. 

“It.. It was just a stupid.. a stupid dream..” Whumpee tried to bargain with them. Whumper smiled softly, a finger placed on Whumpee’s lips. “Good Dolls don’t dream love.” 

Whumpee whimpered again, whumper stood up and left for a moment before returning with a shoe box. It was filled with different colors of thread and needles. They pulled out a needle and a purple thread. “I think purple would really make your eyes pop, don’t you agree?” They didn’t expect an answer as they set up the thread through the needle. “If you move I might rip more of your skin that what’s necessary, so try and stay as still as possible okay?” Whumpee pushed themselves away from Whumper as they straddled the younger person. Laughing a little, whumper shook their head. “You still need some work. That’s okay. I am very patient.” “No no no, please wait. I’ll be good. I’ll take the muzzle, I’ll wear the ball gag like you wanted earlier. Please,” a whimper as whumper brought the needle closer to their bottom lip. “PLEASE!!” They screamed out next. Whumper huffed and slapped Whumpee hard, “shut up and keep your mouth closed or I’ll make this worse. I’ll let you go a week with these in instead of just the rest of the day, understand? Nod if you understand.” Whumpee nodded slowly, sobbing softly as their lips pouted. Whumper laughed, tapping their cheek lovingly, “Just do what I say and you’ll be just fine love.” Then they pushed the needle through the bottom right corner of Whumpee’s mouth, and as the little doll cried out, Whumper grabbed their tongue with a gloved hand. Then they brought the needle through the tip of their tongue. Whumpee screamed and then quickly clamped their mouth shut as the needle was put through their upper lip. Whumper smiled as they saw blood drip down their lips and chin, gently wiping it away. “Good. Yes the purple looks very good on you. I should put you in purple more often.” Then they pressed the needle into their bottom lip again, repeating the process save for the tongue. They watched hungrily as Whumpee clenched their fists and sobbed quietly. By the time they had tied off the last of the stitch, Whumpee’s eyes had a glazed over look. “God you’re beautiful,” whumper whispered, pressing a kiss to Whumpee’s stitched lips, licking the droplets of blood that had collected on their lips. “The perfect little doll.”

Whumpee sobbed harder

—

Drabble taglist: @painsandconfusion ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

[awitcheress]

Now, that is a very strategically placed pan, Ciri. Are you planning on...milking something???

[musezieren]

@bonegrieve + ozy

First, it is the clawing sound that reaches his ears—scraping, scratching, countless hands and feet skittering across the ground. They hide in the darkness, invisible yet palpable. Every muscle in his body grows tense, every hair standing on end. Wrapping his arms around himself, he trembles. The voices come next—so many voices—crooning and demanding, their tones sickly sweet and nauseating. Not a word is understandable. His breath catches, throat constricting as if the air itself has turned against him. He feels a desperate urge to flee, but even his murderous instincts cannot overcome the smothering voices. Overwhelmed by the terror within, he freezes on the spot, paralyzed by the sheer volume of horror.

Everyone else felt far away, too far away. He was alone, alone and small, surrounded by endless, demanding darkness. Finally, he saw what made that noise. A horrible creature made of human parts, limbs, arms, hands, eyes sewn together into a lump, a sphere of horror.

Sirius takes a stumbling step back, the thing coming closer, all eyes focused on him. Hands reaching, lips smiling, tongues drooling. No... no...

“Don’t... don’t... don’t... DON’T TOUCH ME!” He screams finally, falling back, covering his ears. Forgetting that all he’d need was some light. But all light was gone... he was alone, alone... alone with the thing... again. A hand without fingers reaches for him... he remembers that hand. He had bit those fingers off...

“Go away... I killed you...”

[ We know, we remember... but you are the sacrificial lamb... ]

The voices hum, and he closes his eyes shut. He wants to cry, scream... but who would help? Who would... “Brother... where are you?” He had saved him once... how... when... why... he can’t remember. Where did he lose him? Where did he go?

[aspiring-artist-em]

Chapter 3? Chapter 3.

Chapter 3 of my cannibalism fic is out?

Fucking finally

Anyhoo here's a snippet lol

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Dead Dove December Masterlist

"Stocking" Stalking/Trapped Hail Hydra - Chapter One. Sergeant James Buchannan 'Bucky' Barnes falls from a train in the Alps, and frequently wishes he'd not defied all logic and survived. CW: canon-typical violence, falling from a significant height, forced amputation, poor medical treatment, sickness, infection, possible paranoia/delusion.

Heartwarming/Hidden Hail Hydra - Chapter Two. Bucky’s captors leave their prisoner to fight through his illness. CW: sickness, overeating, paranoia, imprisonment, poor treatment of POWs, infection.

Ice Skating (Screaming)/Nutcracker/Home Hail Hydra - Chapter Three. When Sergeant Barnes starts to recover from his illness, he’s given other things to worry about. CW: illness recovery, temperature torture, hypothermia, loss of consciousness.

Curse/Captivity Hail Hydra - Chapter Four. Bucky is warmed up... A little too much. CW: Restraint, branding, threats of violence, temperature torture.

Jolly/Jugular Hail Hydra - Chapter Five. The torture turns violent, and Bucky struggles to cope. CW: Stab wound, shock collar, humiliation, forced nudity.

Blood in the Snow/No Strings Attached Hail Hydra - Chapter Six. Bucky seeks comfort. CW: Flashbacks (including forced amputation and brief body gore), Nightmares, T-rated smuttiness.

Giving Back/First Night/Tis the Season Hail Hydra - Chapter Seven. Bucky gives rebellion another go – and his only comfort is taken from him. CW: Canon-typical violence, neglect, locked outside in the cold, homophobia, shock collar, cliffhanger.

Mistletoe Madness/Stress Free (Stress Position) Hail Hydra - Chapter Eight. Aleksi’s torture reaches its finale, and Bucky gets put in isolation. CW: Canon-typical violence, submission to save another, stress position, reluctant whimper, physiological distress, emotional distress, lashing.

The Gift of Gunpoint (Alternate) Hail Hydra - Chapter Nine. Things begin to reach their climax, and an announcement reaches the Soviet compound. CW: Forced to kill; death of PoWs; mentions of torture, neglect and abuse; gun violence.

Cold as Ice/Secret Surprise On The Tides - Chapter Three. Bucky Barnes x Original Male Character. The Captain is a reluctant caretaker, looking after a needy newbie who is under the weather and desperate for affection and comfort. CW: brief discussion of traumatic, historical injury; sickness (non-vomiting).

Unexpected Gift (Best/Worst)/Lost Hail Hydra - Chapter Ten. Bucky is sought out, and he receives a gift from his new captors. CW: Nightmares, blood, death of a whumper.

Candy Cane/Candlelight/"The Light Goes Out" Silver & Gold - Chapter Five. Natasha Romanoff (ish) x Original Male Character. Silver and Gold go ice-skating, and a storm blows out their power. Even obstacles can be fun when you face them together. CW: Implied Smut, Self-image issues.

Alright, this is how far I got before realising the challenge is closed aohwdaiwh This was so much fun! Definitely need to plan my time better and do it again next year <3

@deaddovedec

[callsign-bunnie]

For horror night, maybe bunny Rudy nonconned by someone within the team or just some monster/predator?

(DEAD DOVE DON'T EAT) Again, just a reminder, my hybrids universe exists in ABO. This is again getting dark, so I won't be tagging it beyond my hybrid tags.

--

Rodolfo fought against the restraints as hard as he could. His rabbit heart was pounding and he could barely hear over the sound of it. Alejandro was pleading in Spanish, to his right, he could hear that, however muffled it was.

It sounded nothing like Alejandro's usual aggression, it only sounded desperate. "Just let him go. You can torture me if you want, just leave him alone. Don't touch him, please don't touch him."

Rodolfo couldn't see. Their captor hand blindfolded him. He was on some sort of table, his hands bound above his head, and he was gagged so he couldn't even plead for them not to do... well, he had a good idea, but he was trying not to think about it.

Hands were suddenly touching him and he tensed, whimpering. He did not want them to touch him. He didn't want that at all. He tried to kick at them, but they easily pushed his legs down and to the side.

Alejandro's voice picked up in desperation, but Rodolfo couldn't hear him over his own heartbeat, now. Hands started to stroke his ears and he flinched away from the touch, before crying out as his ears were grabbed and yanked back.

A mouth was on his, though it was awkward with the gag. The putrid scent of alpha and predator, wolf specifically though he didn't recognize the smell, hit him and he had to fight a gag.

Rodolfo flinched when someone suddenly ordered, "watch. Don't take your fucking eyes off him."

The blindfold was finally removed and Rodolfo flinched away from the bright light shining down on him. He met brown eyes, blown wide with lust, and tears sprang to his eyes as the gravity of the situation finally hit him.

Rodolfo yanked at the binds and shook his head as his jeans were forcefully yanked down, the motion yanking on his tail. He looked to his right and wished he didn't because he met Alejandro's eyes, which were filled with horror.

Rodolfo squeezed his eyes shut when he felt something pressing between his legs, two hands shoving them apart. He almost wished the blindfold was back.

"Slick, hmm? Seems like your little rabbit friend is enjoying this." The voice spoke again and Rodolfo shook his head. He was not enjoying this. He didn't want this. He wanted it to stop.

"I'll fucking kill you..." Alejandro growled, but it was weak.

"Maybe. But I'll do this first."

Fingers shoved inside Rodolfo and he cried out in pain, thrashing. Despite the slick, it still hurt, intensely.

His ears were again grabbed and his head was turned to the side, though he kept his eyes squeezed shut. A hot wet mouth was on his neck and he wanted nothing more for this to all end.

The fingers inside him were rough, there was no pleasure, just pain. Rodolfo sobbed a little, trying in vain to push the alpha off of him, but he was firm, strong.

It almost wasn't fair. He was constantly being hurt just to hurt Alejandro. But... at least Alejandro wasn't being physically hurt like this. It was a small comfort, but Rodolfo grabbed onto it with all he could.

Rodolfo relaxed when the fingers were finally pulled out before he immediately panicked again because he knew what was next. He couldn't keep thrashing, it was getting him nowhere.

His hips were lifted and the alpha was pushing in. Rodolfo couldn't hold it in and screamed with pain, with violation, with everything. Alejandro's scent hit him, distressed and enraged.

Rodolfo opened his eyes again, against his own volition, and again met Alejandro's. Tears had also found their way down Alejandro's face and Rodolfo hated that he was the reason they were there.

The alpha started to fuck into him and Rodolfo arched with pain. It coursed through his body and he wanted it to stop. He wanted this all to stop.

Rodolfo looked at Alejandro again and Alejandro mouthed that he was so sorry. Rodolfo shook his head but squeezed his eyes shut as the mouth returned to his neck. He sobbed again and tried to flinch away from it.

Teeth sank deep into his neck and he screamed again. The alpha's pace quickened, slamming deep with him, and Rodolfo's vision whited with pain.

The alpha pulled away and then red hot blood was suddenly spraying over Rodolfo. Rodolfo took in a shuddering breath, looking up in horror. A red smile had painted itself across the alpha's neck and Rodolfo gagged from the feeling of their blood on his face.

"Valeria!" Alejandro gasped and she moved a little, making herself visible from behind the alpha.

Rodolfo relaxed with relief. She made a disgusted face and ripped the alpha away from Alejandro, causing Rodolfo to cry out in pain again at that sensation. But he didn't care because it was over and Valeria was there.

She looked down at Rodolfo in sympathy and started to undo his binds after resituating his clothes. "Let me get Alejandro untied and then I'll come pick you up, okay?" She murmured once she undid his gag.

Rodolfo quickly nodded, sinking into the table again and closing his eyes. It was over...

Instead of Valeria's scent surrounding him when he was picked up, it was Alejandro's, and he relaxed, immensely. Rodolfo laid his head on Alejandro's shoulder, his body exhausted. "You won't... tell the others, will you?"

"Not if you don't want me to, Rudy." Alejandro murmured, carrying him carefully. "Val, how did you find us?"

"It's a long story. We should get out of here." Valeria sighed. Rodolfo opened his eyes and reached his hand out to her, melting as she took it and kissed his fingers.

And then they left.

[xstarkillerx]

Here's an idea! Cw: noncon/dubcon mention

Starkiller being restrained by Vader and forced to watch those failed starkiller clones from TFU 2 grusomely gangbang you. Sickly hands groping at your skin, vacant eyes, slack jaws, and brutal pistoning hips. All the while Vader's telling him it's his fault, if he had only stayed at the facility, if he had only kept his weak, foolish little heart in check you never would have gotten involved. You'd escaped the empire once, he should have just left you be.

There's a sick pleasure in Vader's voice about it too. Misery loves company, and he was alone with Palpatine for so long, that old bastard who's never felt love for anyone or anything. Something about knowing he's in the presence of someone who just learned what it's like to destroy someone you love is exhilarating. He feels it radiating off if Starkiller's skin, in his hoarse screaming, the thrashing of his arms, that same feeling he got the day he was reborn. The day Padme died.

"You did this" he says. You did this, he thinks.

[seeds-and-sins]

Cursed Dangers

Pairing: Henry Drax x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature/Explicit (SMUT!! RAPE!! LOTS OF CUSS WORDS! UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS ALL THE WAY!).

Description: Following the devastating events that took place in the North, leading to the sinking of the Volunteer and the deaths of many. We follow the life of Mister Baxter's one and only child, Maeve Amelia Baxter. Secure and sheltered under her father's watchful eye for far too long, as news of the tragedy passes through the Baxter estate, she starts to realize that not everything is exactly as it seems.

Author's Note: I do believe this to be the most questionable and morally corrupt fic I have ever written. I would caution that the passing reader exercise a bit of discretion when reading because even I found this to be a little rough. I just thought it would hold true to the character, because he is a very bad individual. I enjoyed writing him, but still, this got a little out of hand in my opinion. I do plan on turning this into a series.

Maeve was now certain that someone was living in the attic; Footsteps in the middle of the night, pattering at the ceiling above her bed, distant conversations that felt all too close and voices all too familiar. Her father went up there an awful lot lately too, and he was never a very good liar. When she asked him about it, showing even a morsel of concern that he might not know the answer either, he was a bit suspicious.

I haven't the slightest idea what you are referring too, love. There isn't anything up there, you've seen so before.

Oh yes, something was definitely off. However, there was always something off with her father's dealings. Starting with the many shipwrecks that occurred under his management, the more recent one being that of the Volunteer. And then, of course, the men he kept company with weren't cheerful or pleasant in the slightest. She did feel a sort of pang in her chest when she heard that Captain Brownlee had gone down with his ship in the wreck, he was perhaps one of the few men in her father's business that she considered a good and respectable man. Then there were the others, the one's like Henry Drax, that made her equally as hot as they did cold. The one's that fueled her curiosity, no matter how much she wished they didn't, and she just couldn't stay away.

She had a bit of Irish in her blood, her father said so, from her mother's side. If the telltale red streaks that layered the bits of a stark blonde didn't already give that away. And her rosy cheeks. And her porcelain skin. And the reason why dangerous things always seemed to excite her.

About two years back, after her mother passed away, she had managed to convince her father to let her go on a voyage with one of his whaling ships. Her father insisted that she could only go if he went with her and so he did, albeit begrudgingly. It was the Volunteer, and Brownlee was a wonderful host to say the least. Her only complaint was that it was just so cold, frigid even, so cold she thought her toes would fall off. That was when she met Henry Drax, a modern marvel among men, brooding and determined and with a hint of mystery to him. But stories had circulated from the other crew members to her that Drax wasn't all that much a marvel at all. From one fellow she heard that the man had partaken in cannibalism, from another she heard that he was chronically infected with a deadly venereal disease, but then she heard from none other than the troublemaker himself-Cavendish-who told her that Drax was the best lad, a perfect lad, the hardest working lad, the most honorable lad. Cavendish was a hoot.

She pushed all the tales aside and sought to make her own assumptions about the man, dangerously so. Her father seemed fond of him, but then again, her father's judgement was largely skewed toward greed and profit. Drax was the best sealer, the best whaler-no doubt-and Maeve witnessed it first hand. Before having spoken to him at all, Drax looked at her from afar often and his eyes were deep and dark and penetrating and for some reason she always knew when he was watching. The first time she spoke to him, it was to ask a simple question, and he answered her and called her little bird and it made her stomach twist in a delightful way. There was that one time, in the deck below, the crew was drinking and cheering and singing sea shanties left and right, and the boat was swaying so hard that Maeve was struggling to catch her footing. She would have fallen if Drax hadn't caught her shy a full inch off the ground, allowing the boat's harsh tip to pull her back upright. She gawked at him in surprise and then they both laughed and for the remainder of the festivities, he didn't let go of her once. And then there was that one time-oh gosh, that time-when Cavendish had said something degrading to her, meaning no harm by it in his mind, but it was a disgusting comment no less. At first Drax laughed with him, but it was fake and lacking all of it's usual jolly mirth, then the next thing you remember was Cavendish flush to the ground, cheek buried into the wooden plank of the deck. Henry rung his hand out and the spot between her legs exploded with need and desire and she thought her cheeks couldn't get anymore red. And Henry smiled at her before helping Cavendish to his feet, and luckily Cavendish still had the same heart eyes for his fellow mate because Maeve wasn't sure how she'd feel if she had witnessed a full on fight involving Henry Drax.

She thought about him a lot, truly, she couldn't help herself. She thought about that time he removed his coat from his very own shoulders to place it over hers: the coat gobbled her up, inches laying flat to the deck from excess, and warm and big like Drax himself. She thought about when she felt the smooth and slippery back of the first whale she had ever seen, right before he stabbed his massive harpoon through it's heart. She thought about the looks he would give her, when he thought she wasn't looking and when she did look, and he never looked away. She most especially thought about the last night she spent with him, before they made it to port. The waters were still and the air was chilly and it would have been her final night on the Volunteer. She'd probably never see any of these men again, these sailors that she had grown fond of and that doted on her as if she was the queen herself. She made sure to kiss every one of them on the cheek before they went to bed. Cavendish tried to sneak a kiss on her lips and when she kneed him between the legs, the whole crew bellowed laughter. And Drax-well-Drax's goodnight kiss was special to her for some reason. He cupped the back of her head as she kissed his cheek and she wondered if he would ever let go. When she withdrew, his eyes were like crescent pools of endless black and his lifted eyebrows softened his entire expression. She grabbed him by his suspenders when no one was looking and whispered in his ear to meet her on the deck in ten minutes. She harbored no regrets that night when she gave herself to him, even as he took her like the starved man that he was and left her with marks covering every inch of her body that would remain unseen to her father's prying gaze that next morning. He watched her leave with Mister Baxter that next day, following her with beady eyes the whole way and unable to pull his gaze even once. She smiled back at him then, where he had that same look of need in his eyes and she wished she didn't have to leave.

Oh, how she ached to be with a man like Henry Drax, but ever so the hypocrite, her father would never allow it. He married an Irish woman and worked his way up the hierarchical ladder into riches and he still would never accept Drax as a potential suitor for Maeve. Never. He would seek no same fate for his only daughter. He had not worked so hard, only for her to fall back into the same societal pigsty that he had crawled out of in his youth.

In fact, since her mother passed, her father kept Maeve on a tight leash. He didn't want to even fathom the idea of passing her off down the aisle. She was pleased for it, reckoning that she wouldn't have to worry about ever marrying and carrying children and being that quiet and obedient dame that men of her particular class so desired.

No. She had already given her heart away, never to be seen again.

Her father told her that Henry Drax was no more. He died in the wreckage also; Cavendish too, and Otto, and McKendrick, and even that young cabin boy who never had the gull to talk to her because he was always a bumbling mess when he tried. She cried into her pillow for them, but she cried especially for Drax.

Then, she found the letter, from a surgeon, one from the Volunteer. She was snooping in her father's office, contemplating braving the attic to see what was up there, when she spotted it on her father's desk. She couldn't believe what she was reading and her heart broke with each horrifying new plot; the cabin boy was sodomized and killed, the sodomizer and killer was Henry Drax, Brownlee was attacked by Drax and he did not survive, Cavendish sailed the ship further north, the ship wrecked in the ice, the men of the Hastings were all sunk in a storm, the men that survived were waiting for their deaths' in a small tent in the middle of nowhere, inuits arrived, helped them-maybe something to hope for-but no, Henry Drax killed them too, and then he killed Cavendish, and then he fled, leaving his fellow crew members behind to die in a barren icy wasteland... the surgeon was the only survivor.

Her heart broke, it split apart as literally as it could without knocking her down, she was a dead woman walking. Her eyes flitted to the attic door and as crazy an idea as it was to fathom: Could her father be harboring a fugitive? A monster? A Murderer to the highest degree? She felt tears trickle down her cheeks because the Drax she just read about simply couldn't be the one she held so dearly. He was rough-yes-rugged-yes-and he had no qualms about his desires and no filter for those desires, but he was also so tender with her in passing, so gentle, and a man who truly did treat her good. She was now starting to see that all he was, was that of a lie. That perhaps her trust had been manipulated and betrayed and meaningless to the likes of a man like him.

She threw the letter down on the desk, bunched up the skirts of her pale blue dress and stormed toward the attic door. If she didn't do it then and there, it would have followed her for the remainder of the day and even some more. Maeve was angry, boiling with rage, and she was sad and she wanted to cry, and she was just a mess. And if her suspicions were true, then he would be there for her to take it out on. He would finally be there when she needed him and no longer be the same honorable man she once thought him to be.

She rose up the concrete stairs, the creaking of a cot up ahead made her pause, before she continued barreling up the rest of the way. She dropped her skirts when she rounded the railing of the staircase, a concrete column pulling her to it's side as her suspicions were proven.

"Urgh, go away n' ask Stevenson to help ya'." His words were slurred, back turned to her, an empty bottle of rum rolling on it's side beside the cot. Maeve felt an uncomfortable dread fill her to the core, she leant against the column, tilting her head to the side to consider the remainder of the attic. It was still empty as ever, with a scarce amount of light filtering in from the creaked open shutters in the window. "Did'ya hear me ya'-" Drax twisted his body to face her, he squinted in her direction, and then frantically fumbled to his feet.

Maeve frowned at him, boring holes into his empty vessel-soulless vessel-with her brilliant blue eyes, as she scoured her mind for words that would not come. He weaved his fingers through his greasy black hair, slicking the matted strands back and forcing them sleek.

"Little bird." He greeted in a gravely voice, sobered up some from the surprise of it all. He smirked at her with his rotten teeth, and she dropped the side of her forehead to the wall as she continued to stare at him. "Well?" He held his arms open, beckoning her to him. She mustered the courage to shake her head, watching his entire resolve slowly falter with the lowering of his arms and his once brilliant grin.

"W-W-" She gulped, lifting her chin. "Why did you do it?" He gritted his teeth, hands falling to his hips.

"Do what?"

"You killed all those people..." She was surprised he even heard her, as she was speaking so softly, so quietly. And he did step forward and she stepped back and his stern jaw went taut. "You raped a boy!" She spoke a little louder, voice wavering. Her hands crowned at her stomach, to hopefully ease the pain there.

"I do as I please, when I please." He shrugged, careless of the nature of his actions and the pain they brought her.

"I should-I should go tell the authorities." She placed a hand on the railing, her heart beating faster and faster as a deafening silence thickened around them. He tugged the hem of his pants higher up his hips.

"I s'pose I'll have to strangle ya' then. You think ye' can outrun me?"

"You'd hurt me too?"

"Well, if you plan on tellin' others 'bout me whereabouts, then yes." Her nostrils flared and she held her breath, one passing moment where she made her decision, or at least was considering it.

"You're a monster."

"So 've been told."

"Have you no conscience? No guilt for the horrid crimes you've committed?"

"Would ya' think 'dem so horrid if there weren't rules in place to say so?" Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

"Yes, I would. Because I don't believe in hurting other people."

"Well, it's the only thing I know."

"I don't believe that."

"That why you're still standing there?" Drax was an exceptionally good hunter and when his prey was about to dart, he knew exactly when and how. She rushed down the staircase, barely stood a chance as he drunkenly managed after her and caught her just before she erupted in a scream. His dirty palm swallowed her lips and his other arm wrapped around her waist. With his hot and steamy breath at her throat, the scent of rum burnt her nostrils and she hissed against his skin.

"Shhh..." She struggled, his lips pressing to the nape of her neck and he groaned into the flesh there. "Shhh, little bird, shhh!" He grew more and more forceful as she continued to fight him, pulling her backside flush to his front. "If yur' father finds out that you know 'bout lil'ol me it won't end well for you n'him. D'ya understand?" She whimpered and then deflated, growing slack in his embrace. "Good girl, good." He chirped, obnoxiously slapping her lips with the firm hand there.

"Miss Baxter!" It was Winona, the maid. "Are you alright?!" That hand over Maeve's lips encompassed her whole jaw and then her head was being jerked past her shoulder to face Drax. He warned her with a threatening glare, then nodded in the direction of the attic door.

"Y-Yes!" Maeve shouted back instantly, "I'm fine! Please! Don't fuss!" He huffed against her lips and she trembled, then he shoved her so hard she was stumbling back against the concrete wall. He doubled toward the attic door and carefully closed it shut, turning the bronze lock in at the top. Maeve's eyes went wide and she flattened herself as far as she could against the wall.

"Fuck..." He breathed, somehow more breathless than he was having moved so fast to catch her. He twisted to face her, eyes crested and she knew that look better than anything. It haunted her for days after they said their last goodbyes and haunted her more so as she thought him dead and now it haunted her because she loved that look. She hated herself for loving that look now. The look of desperation, of need, of pure unadulterated want, in it's most primal form. "Been waitin' so long for you to come and pay a visit, little bird." She flinched with each step he took, closer and closer till his arms were on either side of her, effectively caging her in.

"Ah yes, I be wishin' fur ya' all day and all night to come see me as we're here and now." His other hand cupped her cheek, the tips of his fingers weaving through her loose hair and he chuckled. "So fuckin' gorgeous. Softest and sweetest lay I eva' had."

"That's all I was then?" She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears. This was overwhelming and terrifying and heartbreaking and she had never felt so many things all at once. "Just a lay?"

"Ahhh, no, no, don't think that." His tone was sickly sweet and she opened her eyes to watch him take joy in curling his fingers in her hair, he yanked her head back. "You're worth a wankin' to." She found herself scowling, rolling her tongue against her cheek before spitting directly in his face. His expression clenched as he turned his head away, before he laughed, ducking his head off his shoulder to wipe away her spit. He surprised Maeve, fingers curling hard around her throat and slamming her head against the wall. Her eyes rolled in her head and she went dizzy.

"Now, now, sweetie, I like it a whole lot betta' when you don't pretend ya' hate me, ain't that so." Her brain was scrambled, the back of her head throbbing and she worried she might faint. But somehow, she responded.

"I do." She choked out, his fingers clenched harder and he growled.

"Oi, yeah?" He urged, "Let's see shall we?" Tears ran down her cheeks, his grip loosening the slightest bit as he hunched down. His other hand lifted up the frilly edge of her thick skirts. "Let's see." His movements became furious, hand fighting through layers of her heavy skirts till he found what he was looking for. He found her bloomers, palm immediately cupping her womanhood and his torso pressed against her, dwarfing her completely and smothering her with his broad chest. Her head snapped back and she gasped, the heat undeniable at her core, bloomers wet at the apex of her thighs, and body betraying the vicious rage that swelled in her. "Fuckin' 'ell..." His voice was hoarse and thick in her ear. Before ever knowing about the crimes his very hands committed, she would have done anything to hear that voice every night against her sweaty skin. Now it only filled her with disgust and she wanted to cry, but the duality of her soul was that she was stubborn and didn't want to do anything that would appease him. If she cried he might like it and if she didn't he might like that too, and the conflict was ever so apparent when she bit her bottom lip and held back a whimper because he surely liked that. His fingers began to rub and mold her soft folds through layers of fabric and he cackled. "You should feel yo'self, little bird-Shit-" He licked the side of her cheek and she winced as his sand papery tongue left it's slime on her skin. "Yo'want me so bad. You've wanted me for such a long time haven'ya, poor lass. I shan't be the only one thinking of our night out on that deck, me' cock buried in your tight virgin cunt, pullin' sweet sounds from these pretty lips." And as if a wick lit off of a burning match, fast and brilliant, her entire body imploded on itself and she couldn't control the way she wracked up against the hand at her throat and pleasure burst behind her eyes. An uncontrollable moan escaped her lips, wanton and dry from the pit of her throat. "That's me' girl! Me' good lass! Right 'der, that's da' spot!" He removed his hand from her skirts and they fell at her feet, her legs shook like a quake and her hands grasped his muscly shoulders for stability. She hardly had any time to collect herself before his dampened fingers were breaching her lips, her taste thick on them with his own dirt ridden-natural flavor. She gagged as he shoved them in entirely, then with uncharacteristically sweet kisses along her cheek, his fingers were replaced by his lips.

She retaliated as best she could, as his tongue wrestled her own and the taste of him and her flooded together into a cocktail that nearly sent her over the edge again. He groaned, lips parting slightly to exhale a desperate wheeze, hands now resting at her waist and squeezing tight there to keep her in place. He was a heavy breather, through his nostrils, chest heaving, and there was a time she found that so undeniably pleasing, because it added to this edge and more proof that Drax had no inhibitions when it came to his habits. But now she hated it, she hated how loud he was-

He withdrew in a loud wince, teeth clenched, he hissed, head craning back from Maeve as if burned by fire. His fingers lifted to his full lips, the bottom one split and bleeding cheery fresh liquid. His forefinger and middle brushed against the crimson, his lip twitched in a sneer before he laughed, looking between Maeve and the blood that pooled on his appendage. She was glaring at him with all the ferocity she could bring, despite her appearance betraying her completely. She looked as disheveled as one could possibly be in this scenario. Her chest was flush, cheeks were flush, droplets of sweat dribbling off her brow, and her lips were plump and red as he too had awarded her with his gnawing sharp teeth.

"That how you want it'den, hmm?" The way he gently grappled onto her jaw this time made her uneasy, guiding her chin and lips where he wanted them. He invaded her space once more, until his lips were but a centimeter away, as if his eyes were tied to her violently blue ones by a string.

"I don't want any of it." She whispered, he licked his lips, the blood smearing from the action and as he removed his hand he gave her cheek a light slap.

She had nowhere near enough strength to fight him, his arms lifting her onto his shoulder.

"Please Drax! No! Not like this!" She cried out, weakly beating her fists at his back.

"Shut up, ya'hear? Don't want yur' father finding ya' with a cock down yur' throat, yeah?" He tossed her haphazardly onto the bed, catching his breath and then pacing back and forth as he admired her from afar. He shook his head, swiping a hand over his face. "Fuck' you're perfect, ya' get that', huh?" He chuckled to himself, pacing like that tiger Maeve saw at the zoo, back and forth, ready for a feast. "Yur' so fuckin' lucky men don't line up to taste this cunt. They'd bend ya' over and fill ya' good. Yur' pa' would charge ten shillings for ya', one go each." He stopped and snatched her ankles to yank her close to the edge of the bed and she whined in protest. Her palms rested against his chest, one on each pectoral and her brain was foggy with lust, but the rational side of her was yelling inside: keep fighting.

"You've done the most immoral and cruel acts. Please, understand. Please let me go." There was no reasoning with him, not with the force he used against her own outstretched limbs, till her elbows were bent and he was practically laying on top of her, faces leveled. She could feel his arousal then, the bulge jutting against her skirts, large and thick enough to feel it through many layers.

"No, I wouldn't allow it ya'see. You's belong to me, you's always have." He stood fully, hands then running down her legs and bunching her skirts back. Fingers caressed in reverse, leaving goosebumps behind. He delicately removed her matching slippers, letting them plop to the floor. Her toes curling next to his furry cheeks, his palms engulfing them, thumbs curving into the soles of them and massaging tenderly. "Yur' such a naive lil'thing. Thought that night I was' gon'have to take you in yur' cabin, but there ya'went invitin' me to the deck." Her bottom lip wobbled and she hid her embarrassed and hurt expression in her hands. "Such a good girl, aren't ya'? Neva' could'ave dreamed havin' ya'like this, me' darlin' girl." Her lips parted as she felt his scruffy lips press to her ankle. "So soft, like a seal pup, mi'n ta' defile and tek' as I please." He dragged her down closer if that was even possible, guiding her legs around his waist. He went silent as his hands ghosted along her body, caressing every curve and hungrily taking in all of her covered self. "Da' one thing I regret from that night is not gettin' to see all tha' was underneath, huh? De's damned clothes in me'way." She couldn't look, not when she felt something sharp and hard running down from the top of her bosom to the bottom of her corset. "I won't make da' same mistake dis' time." Her eyes bulged from her head, elbows propping her up when he sliced a blade down through layers and layers of her dress, the stitching parted to reveal silk nude skin beneath. With the knife clutched in one hand, he ripped at the fabrics until they were no more. It reminded her of the first time she watched him hack through seal skin in the distance and she almost vomited. "Fuck, look atya'!" He exclaimed, strands of hair coming undone from their sleekness, falling out before his eyes. Maeve crawled away, but he grabbed her ankle with his freehand and pulled her back with a click of his tongue. "Such a fuckin' cock tease." The blade was cold when it touched her skin and her back arched as a thin red cut was made just below her breast. Her nipples perked up, asking for attention where her inner self was in turmoil and begging to be swallowed up by the pits of hell. Anything was better than this, no matter how good it felt, no matter how amazing his calloused hands were, she cried to be given reprieve, to wake from this seemingly endless nightmare.

"Fuck you!" She yelled, in one last attempt at gaining some semblance of control, but her fighting came to an abrupt halt when the blade of the knife was dangerously close to her throat.

"I'll slice yur' throat and fuckya' till you go cold."

"P-Please. Don't." She mumbled, the tendons in her neck visible and tight with tension, collarbone defined, rising and falling with her breasts.

"The only thing I want leavin' yur' lips is me' name. Understood?" She slowly nodded, he tossed the knife to the side on the bed without a second to spare. She didn't care where it landed, too caught up with him hurriedly unbuckling his belt and discarding his white baggy shirt and getting as naked as he possibly could. He easily adjusted Maeve on the bed when he was good and ready. Fully understanding her predicament she sobbed silently to herself and allowed him to move her as he wished.

"Ya'know, I usually don't fuck me' whores from the front..." The both of them released a noise when his hairy thighs met with the back of hers. "But I make the exception for me' sweet lil'bird..." He hovered dominantly above her, one hand lining his solid dick with her folds. Her fingers curled into the bunched up sheets and ripped shreds of her dress, bracing for the unpleasant pressure. "I like to watch the fight leave yur' eyes, lass, because ya' belong to me and you's give yurself to me so willingly that it makes me' cock twitch and me' heart flutter, yeah?" She squeezed her eyes shut, his cock head pushing in inch by inch. Her hands had a mind of their own, grabbing anything and everything and soon landing on his hairy chest. His breath fanned out across her face as he exhaled heavily. "Fuck yur' so tight, lil'birdy-and wet-'so fuckin' wet..." His words trailed off into gibberish and then his pelvis was flush with hers and she yanked at his chest hairs. Unable to form a coherent thought, she began muttering prayers under her breath, thighs locking around his hips.

"Please, please, please, please, please."

"Yeah, that's it." He moved his hips and she was a goner. The mix between pressure and that all too enjoyable drag of spongey skin on skin and the fact that she could feel everything. She whimpered, head hitting hard back against the cot and there was a soreness that lingered from Drax's earlier stint with her and the wall. The tears running down her cheeks held no specific reason anymore, if it wasn't sadness, or frustration, or rage, it was insurmountable pleasure that made her toes curl and her body ache. "Open yur' eyes." She wasn't sure she heard him correctly and her mind was so muddied that it took her moments to realize he was speaking to her. "Ya'fuckin' bitch. Open." It wasn't said in anger, grunted out perhaps, his thumb then shoving back her eyelid and she got the idea then. She stared at Henry Drax like he was the sun, the first streams of light filtering in through the blinds in the morning. Her eyelids were droopy, sight blurred by lust and need and desire, body completely devoid of any fighting now. "Ye' become so cock dumb, fuck." That same thumb was shoved unceremoniously into her mouth and she sucked on it as she met his gaze. His hips were like a piston, cock splitting her tiny figure in half. "Good god!" He growled like a bear, then hunched closer, moving his hips harder and faster, panting and grunting with each thrust. Her hands held onto his strong biceps for dear life as her body gave way to him. He leant down and kissed her lips, returning her earlier favor and sinking his teeth into her bottom lip till blood burst on his tongue. She didn't think-she couldn't. His hand slithered between their bodies to find her special spot and her vision ebbed away as another earth shattering orgasm overcame her.

He growled rather loudly as his seed released into her, her cunt gripping his cock like a vice and he stopped his thrusting altogether to sit there in the warmth. Sweat coated their bodies, one hand propped beside her head and the other swishing her juices around her oversensitive clit. He grabbed her thighs then, massaging them and sitting back on his haunches with an exaggerated sigh. She rose to her senses fast as the high dissipated, lips parted slightly as she eyed him from below and tried to steady her heartbeat.

She sniffled, hands poised still on his arms, now having slid down to his wrists. His eyes traced her entire torso, then when he met her own, he moved down till his lips were grazing her collarbone. His tongue licked a path down, lips slurping a nipple in between his teeth. She cried again, fingers sifting through his hair and tugging. He tasted the smeared blood near her cut, practically drinking the liquid as if it were wine from the finest vineyard. He worked his way back up her body, cock still hard inside her, he kissed her chin and then her cheek and then her lips and she shuttered. Red marks, blood splotches followed everywhere, his puffy lips akin to bristly paintbrushes grazing along a blank canvas. She held him to her, no longer pushing him away, his lips touched down on her neck and she released one final gasp before he settled there. His beer belly rested against her own stomach, hairs tickling her, but she was too tired to fight anymore. He suffocated her with his heat and his weight, but she couldn't bring herself to do a thing because his lips felt so perfect against her and he felt so right above her. She allowed another sob, arms raveling around his neck and fingers digging into his scalp.

"I hate you." She whispered, he lifted his head to stare at her and hummed.

"To the contrary, ye' love me." She was disgusted with herself, and with him. His serious and stern brow flicked up at her in question. "In fact, ye' dream of bein' called Misses Drax, spendin' the remainder of yur' days wit' me' cock buried in ya' and me' seed growin' in yur'belly."

"You're the fucking devil, you'll never have me like that." He snorted, cupping her cheek and caressing the red skin there. He didn't believe her.

"And you are nothin' but a whore fer me' pleasure, while I am under yur' papa's roof. That's all." She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly. He felt a sharpness at his throat and when he awkwardly tilted his head down, he caught the glint of his knife. He shot up to his knees, smirking as he held his hands up in defense. His cock twitched inside her and she grimaced at the feeling. The point of the blade rested at his gut then and she oh so wanted to stab him for the devil that he was. "Go on, lass. You's was the one who's said you wasn't too fond of hurtin' others. Now yur' goin' to hurt me?" He licked his lips, tongue dragging across the curly hairs that poked out around his mouth. She shook violently, her hand vibrating as she held the knife to him. He wrapped his own hand around her wrist, steadying it for her. "If there's anyone I would let kill me, it'd be you. Ye'd be the only one to get a free chance, lass, so use it wisely." She blinked, her free hand wiping away a waterfall of wet salty tears.

She couldn't kill him, the wretched man that he was. She couldn't. And it made her hate herself even more. After a few beats, he pushed the knife down, till her knuckles rested beside her head.

"Now ye' can't hurt me, no ye' can't. Because ye'love me, lass. Because this world wouldn't be much good fur'ya wit'out Henry Drax in it. S'that it?" He dragged his hips back, thrusting in gently. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. "Naw'no ye' don't..." He forced her head back, aggressively wiping fresh tears away. He closed the distance between them, mouthing and tonguing at the salty droplets. "I want ye' to say it."

"No." She cried.

"Yes." He grunted back, "Say that ye' love me. Say it like ye' said it on the Volunteer. Tell me." Her jaw clenched, as she turned her head back, their noses brushed, he was staring deeply into her eyes when her eyelids fluttered open.

"I love you." She uttered, shame swelling in her like an infected wound.

"Good girl," He grinned evilly, smug as he made another thrust that curled her toes, cock still hard and her body still aching for more. "Ye' belong to me and such a worser man I'd be to not give ye' what you be wantin' so badly." He kissed her cheek and she bit her lip in disgust. "T'make yer'dreams come true, lil'bird. Hmm? Would ye'like that? Make me a richer man for it too."

"Go-" Her fingers defeatedly uncurled from the knife, cupping his jaw, she met his gaze. "Go fuck yourself, Henry Drax."

He was so close, she could feel the laughter that bubbled out of him. It shook her body whole, like his cock.

Oh, to love life's cursed dangers.

[galadrielette]

if the first five songs of you character playlist are miss swift i am not listening to it okay? it’s just not going to happen. 

truly resent that she’s on nearly EVERY character playlist on spotify. like. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it.

[ghaniblue]

Fic: And Hope (Regulus/Fenrir)

Let's try out the new community labels, eh? This is no good, very bad, dead dove. I never write violent and/or rapey stuff until I do, so beware. This is dark.

And Hope

Regulus/Fenrir. 333 words.

Regulus knows he will die in this cell

Read on AO3

Regulus heaves himself up onto hands and knees. He spits out blood and a tooth. It's been coming loose for a while. He prods at the gaping hole and his swollen gums with the tip of his tongue. His mouth tastes coppery-sour, a slimy film coating the inside of his cheeks and lips. He gags, but all that comes up is bile. He hasn't been fed in days.

The floor is bare and his clothes are in tatters, but his cell is warm enough to keep him alive. He's not allowed to die, not yet. His arms are covered in gnarled scar tissue. There's a chunk of flesh missing from his upper arm, like someone took too enthusiastic a bite. The back of his neck is like vellum, skin shiny and stretched tight; it has regrown over and over and over again. The pinkie finger on his left hand is a stump down to the first knuckle, long since healed. A present for maman, Fenrir had said, before he closed his teeth over the flesh and tore at him. It happened early on, a day maybe two after being thrown in the cell, when Regulus still had tears and screams—and hope. 

Regulus hasn't seen sunlight in months. Lamp light hurts his eyes, Lumos hurts worse, like a paralysed limb that's still wracked by nerve pain. Its only purpose now is agony.

He stopped wishing he had died in the cave a long time ago, since red eyes and a high cruel laugh: Did you think I didn't know, silly boy? Right before he stopped wishing for anything else. He's merely existing now: waiting for the wrought metal door to creak open, for a yellow-fanged grin that spits a fresh kill at his feet, broken nails scrabbling at his thighs, panting breath on the nape of his neck, and the grunts of Fenrir's rutting release.

Regulus knows he will die in this cell: alone, in the dark. If only death wouldn't take this long.

[graveyardbard]

Don’t Look Back \ Opaque Intentions

*does a really sick kick flip while fighting off a mental breakdown*

OI IS connected to @sedated-smiles series, Explicit Colors. While the two stories are separate, they take place at the same time and place.

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Rating: NSFW Legnth: 3.1K Fandom: Opaque Intentions (Webcomic)                                            Characters: Jedrick'Gath, Kynte Latimer, Jesse Mavens, Lele Noble, Ernesto Meza, Hazel Alpine Warnings: Stalking, Obsession, Strong Language, Horror Elements, and Manipulations

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The green-eyed man had kept a good distance between himself and Ky. He didn’t have any ill-intentions, not towards them in the least. That was the man he wanted, the man he knew  to be his soulmate if the brilliantly glowing string from his finger was any indication. When the chance he would be seen occurred, he ducked behind a person or a corner until the short block of walking was complete. 

When they got to the housing district, Ky knocked patiently on the front door of a large wood paneled house. Maybe he’s visiting someone? Jed asked himself, before taking in the burrow they were in. He knew this place well, it was far off from the main strip but he had a few people in the area since the prices were still pretty affordable. He turned his attention back to the man as the front door opened to reveal a larger, older man. The man had a warmth to his leathery skin, and his hair fell delicately around his squared face. The white stripes down the sides caught Jeds eye as they stood out against the mousey brown of the rest of the mane.

Ky dug around his bag and held up a small paper wrapping to him, and the man laughed with a gentleness that Jed had only imagined was possible. He loathed it. He loathed that it was directed at his soulmate. He wanted to run over and snatch Ky away from the man. He took the wrapped item and held it in his hand as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. He smiled and gave Ky a nod and asked something that Jed couldn’t really make out. The two spoke for a moment, Ky awkwardly scratching at the back of his head as he spoke about something that really got under his skin Jed assumed. It was cute. How this man seemed to crumble when asked simple things, or may even flinch away from touches… Jed couldn’t describe it properly. It was like everything that would annoy him in anyone else, made his heart throb and swell when it was Ky. 

Ky gave the older man a small wave and turned around to walk back down the small amount of stairs, Jed ducked quickly in the darkness behind him. He couldn’t be seen, not by Ky. He wanted to preserve what he could, not that anything had been built up yet. He watched closely as the dark skinned man walked around the house, stretching up to unlock the fence and enter the backyard. 

“That makes sense…” Jed mumbled and made his way across the street in a silent flash.  

The gate closed with a click, just as Jed made it to the entrance. He pursed his lips and swore under his breath. He could easily jump the fence and see what the back of the house looked like but he decided to call it a day. He’d gotten a lot of information, and tomorrow was a new day. He could arrange for Vita to come up and take care of the alley, and he wasn’t really needed at the grocery store so it’d be okay to spend the week learning more about Ky, and making sure he could adopt Chief. Little bastard was perfect, and Jed wasn’t going to miss out on bringing him home.

———————

Ky twisted the small metal ball back onto the accompanying horseshoe in his nose. It was his first day off of the week and he wanted nothing more than to spend it doing what he loved. He placed the lobster hook earring in his stretched lobe and fluffed his hair quickly before turning around and making his way into the large open living space of his apartment. His plans were simple, that tip from the day before that he’d received from Jed – The tall, handsome man that sent lightning through his veins, with the hypnotizing green eyes and the goofy crooked smile. – He snapped out of that train of thought and shook his head. That tip would help him get a few things he’d been wanting for a while now. He walked around the kitchen area, pulling out a few things that he’d need for a quick brunch. He was careful about the food he ate so it wasn’t surprising to see him pull out a few eggs, and a small pot for some rice. He began his cooking routine, starting with the rice. He meticulously rinsed and pressed at the grains until the water ran clear. The most important part, he thought, if the rice isn’t clean it won’t come out right and then he’ll have wasted a good bit of food. 

Lele entered the kitchen with a loud yawn, her arms stretched far above her head. Her hair draped down around her bare freckled face, as she made her way toward Ky. She leaned down to him, pressing a kiss to his lips and walking to the fridge, pulling out a hyperbeast energy drink. “Good morning, Fluff. You’re going out today?” 

Ky hummed and nodded, a part of him wanted so badly to groan at the nickname. He didn’t particularly like it, but it's one of those things he’d gotten used to.  “Have some running around I gotta do, and then I’m meeting up with a friend at the cafe to get some work done. What about you?”

“Nothing special, got some videos to shoot for this sponsorship I landed. Won’t be back until late.” Lele finished her drink and tossed the can in the sink. The woman was a successful influencer and streamer, her looks helping bolster a demographic and her wit keeping them around. “Need me to get anything for you?” Ky moved from the stove to the bowl he’d prepared and slid his eggs onto the awaiting rice. “I’m probably gonna stop by the candy store, if you need something from there.” “Nope, I’m good this time. You just have a good day, you little cutie.” She responded quickly, gripping Ky’s jaw and pressing a few kisses to his face before leaving to take one of her long showers. As soon as the door clicked closed, the man wiped the uncomfortable lingering feeling from his face. 

He finished up his brunch and grabbed his things, including the generous tip before heading out the door. He heard a familiar song blaring in the distance and looked up to the building behind him. Smiling at the song, he nodded and left the yard to start his day.

Just behind the house, where the familiar song blared, was an apartment building. It was humble, the apartments themselves were small and well loved by their tenants. Single parent families and young adults dwelled in them for the most part. Which was fine by Jed, he knew a few of the local punks that stayed in the place. He was surprised to find that Ky lived so close to one of the buildings after tailing him home from work the night before. 

Jed sat on the roof of the apartment building, eyes trained on the back of the house he’d visited the night before. He had the perfect view through the sheer black curtains, an average person would struggle to see through the fabric but he had no difficulties watching his soulmate's trained hands rinse the rice he’d carefully measured. He was impressed, he knew that Ky could make a few drinks but cooking was something he’d not thought to consider for him. He smirked to himself and continued watching as the rowdy group of day drunk punks called out to him. 

“Come oooon Jed, you didn’t come over here to stare at that house all day did you?” One whined in a voice that chilled Jeds bones. 

“Yeah man, grab a drink and come hang out.” Another griped, causing Jed to look at them with enough venom to take down an elephant. 

“No. I’m doin’ somethin’ so just lay offa me alright?” He returned his focus to Ky, currently cooking himself eggs and a few strips of bacon. 

“Whose that?” A small quiet punk was sat next to him, chest pressed to the barrier and sleep laten eyes turned to the window that held Jeds attention in a vice. “They must be important if you’re turning down free booze…”

“What's it to ya, ‘Louse?” Toulouse Javier, a punk he’d known since his days in the cult. They had followed Jed to the city shortly after the “incident”, and did their best to stay under the radar. They didn’t have a family in the area because of the cultists. Their skin was tan, even with the obvious washed-out it's adapted from the years of isolation. “Ain’t like ya ever cared before, why do ya care now?” “Because you’ve never had your heart set on something before… ‘less it was money related… or your family…” They turned their grey eyes to Jed and quirked an eyebrow. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“And what's that gonna help? I know ya wanna help but this ain’t somethin’ ya can help me wit’.” Jed stood up and pushed his fists in his pockets. He didn’t want to hurt Toulouse, they were good people. In fact, they were the only people that stuck by him after learning more about him. “I… don’t need ya gettin mixed up in my shit. Yer too good for it.”

“If that's how you feel, I won’t fight you.” Toulouse turned and rested their arms up on the barrier. “Just be sure you want them mixed up in it.”

That was the last thing Jed heard before sinking into the crowd. He didn’t care what Toulouse meant by that last statement, he knew what he was doing. He didn’t have many things in his life that he was definite on, but this– Someone like him being Jeds soulmate? – was one of them. He refused to lose Ky, and was prepared to do anything and everything to make him his own. 

By the time Jed rounded the corner he had noticed Ky was already on the move. He dipped back behind the fence on the corner, peaking around it he could see Ky dressed in some early era punk outfit. A black tshirt, a few leather bracelets, a pair of straight leg jeans, An asymmetrical skirt, a pair of chucks, and a backpack slung over his shoulder. Something told Jed that if the weather were colder there would be a chunky long sleeved shirt somewhere in the mix. A smile curled across the man's face as he watched, his heart thrumming in double time against his ribs. How could someone like this, someone so perfect, make Jed feel like his very soul was melting? He couldn’t understand it. 

Ky was focused on his phone, typing away as he stood in front of the humble house. It was like he was typing out a novel on the device. His lips pulled into a crooked smile at the sizable screen and he shoved the device into a pocket within the skirt. He turned to the corner where Jed was standing, causing the man to quickly duck back out of his sight. That was close… Jed thought to himself, his chest heaving a few times from the idea of being caught. His attention snapped back when he noticed Ky walking across the street, towards the shopping district. He quickly lifted the hood of his sweater and began tailing the other man. Where are you off to, Devildust?

The walk wasn’t terrible, but he’d noticed Ky falter a bit as they traveled, almost as if his legs couldn’t carry him any further. He stopped at a small bench on the sidewalk for a moment, sighing deeply and rubbing his right leg. Jed furrowed his brow, resisting the urge to dash up to him and help him sit comfortably on the bench, and instead ducked behind a corner of a nearby building, peeking out and watching as Ky rested. The man pulled out his cellphone and clicked the screen a few times before perking up and speaking. 

“Hey! Are you at Bean There?” He paused and waited for a response. “Yeah, Yeah I have my laptop. Want me to grab you anything from– Pffff of course. I’ll see you in a bit!” Ky shoved his phone back in his pocket and stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and looking around. He paused, squinting in Jeds direction curiously. He wasn’t sure but he thought he saw something shifting a little ways down. He shook it off as one of the many people on the street going about their day and began heading further into the shopping district. 

Jeds face was hot, he wasn’t sure if Ky had seen him or just something caught his eye but he was staring directly at him. His brown eyes pierced through him straight down to his rotten soul. He bit down hard on his lip and snaked out of his hiding spot, keeping pace with the other man. He couldn’t risk losing sight of him just yet, he needed to know everything. Everything that made him smile and made his heart swell with joy. Everything that made him who he is. 

—---------------

There weren’t many stops but there were enough that Jed was able to get an understanding of him. He loved chewy candies. They had entered a small candy shop and he had picked up a bunch of chewy sticks in various flavors– Watermelon, Mango, Cherry, and so on– as well as a few small bags of gummy bears and candy ropes. His haul fit well into his backpack and he took his leave. It was a short visit that made Jed chuckle, seeing his very dark, brooding, gunk soulmate in what was essentially a bubblegum saloon. 

The next stop was the book store, Bunch A’ Books, where he flitted around the manga section and YA section for a good while. He took his time, browsing as many books as he could before settling on a few he liked. Jed circled behind Ky and picked up a few of the books he’d looked at with plans to hand them off to him as gifts soon. He bounced on his heels and leaned around the patron in front of him as Ky checked out with his stuff. He gave the cashier a nod and began heading out the door. Jed shoved in front of the other person and slammed his stuff on the counter. “Hey hurry the fuck up alright. Don’t got time to play around with you dick holders.” He gestured to the cashier to hurry with his check out. They grimaced but complied, if only to get him and his rudeness out of the store sooner, putting all of his books in a bag. Jed snatched the plastic from the counter and quickly exited the store, checking in both directions for Ky. But nothing, the man was gone from sight. He growled and clutched the plastic bag in his hand. The string attaching them was slack and faded in the general direction that Ky headed towards. It would take Jed a while to catch back up with him. 

“Fuck.” He huffed and stormed back towards Ky’s house. The man had another plan in mind. He could have gone home, or he could have just gone back to relaxing at the party. But now he had a goal, he had a reason to return to that little house. The man needed to know everything, everything that made Ky tick. He needed to smell him and understand his life, inside and out. 

It didn’t take long for him to make it back to the small house. Just as he made it to the corner, he saw a woman leaving the backyard. She was tall, even without the platform shoes she was tall and curvy. Her outfit was light, a black tank top and pale blue shorts with an orange panel, all piled on top of fishnets, and finished off with loose fitting thigh high socks. He sucked his teeth and sneered, that must be the “babe”  Ky was talking to the day before. She didn’t look special, she didn’t look like anything to Jed. She looked like a pathetic whelp that used people for her own personal gain. A car stopped in front of the house with a gentle screech. 

She started crawling into the car but paused, looking directly at Jed and raised an eyebrow curiously. Did she know him from somewhere? Jed wished deeply to wipe that smug arrogant look from her face, to make sure she’s kept far away from Ky. He was going to remove her from the picture entirely. He stood still in his place watching her climb into the car and drive off, eyes never breaking from her. 

Once the car was long gone, he refocused his attention on the house. He could get in, dig around and get out. Easy. He walked up to the fence, reached over the wooden slats and pulled the latch open. The backyard was small and comfortable just as he’d seen from his friend's rooftop. He spared a glance up to the top of the building, no one was there now. It seems they’d all moved to somewhere else. He looked back down to the space he was standing. There was a small path leading to a front door and a patio with lawn furniture, a decent bit of grass, and a shed. He hummed, placed the bag of books on the glass top table. 

Jed has never been shy about using his abilities, he was able to do things that normal people wouldn’t be able to do in their mortal lifetime. The ability wasn’t something he was able to use naturally, but something he’d learned out of necessity. He wasn’t always in the best living situation and getting out of places quickly and undetected was part of his survival. He walked up to the door, pulling the screen door open and his hand hovered just away from the lock. 

Cli-Chuck! 

The door unlocked with ease and he tapped it open, letting the door swing slowly open. 

“Aight, Devildust, Lets see what ya got.” The tall man entered the apartment and took in the space. There were bookshelves from the floor to the ceiling, each shelf covered in books, games, movies, and trinkets. It was easy to identify most of them; Various iterations of slashers and some of their survivors, A few from cartoons that Jed had seen in passing while hanging out with his sister, and some witchcraft statuettes. He couldn’t pinpoint the others, probably from shows he’d never seen. There was also a row of shelves at the very top stuffed full with plush toys, some vibrant and some dark. He smiled, this was definitely his soulmates doing. It was far too specific and tended to, to belong to that bitch. 

Jed reached a hand up, and grabbed a small blue plush alpaca. He smiled and brushed the squishy face of the plush. It reminded him of Ky, its eyes turned down in a constant sleepy pleasure. He glazed over the books and various media, noting each and every item before walking off towards the rest of the living room. There was a large flat screen television mounted on a heavy glass entertainment center. He noticed the particular way that the game systems were arranged on the console; The smallest controllers lined up carefully first, then the larger controllers, finally there were more small figures– an octopus looking kid, a silverback gorilla with a cheesy grin, and a dinosaur-dragon thing. He chuckled to himself and moved on to the desk in the back of the living room. 

It was a simple L-shaped desk with a large screen on one side and a smaller lifted screen next to it. He noticed a few things about the area. There were notes everywhere, There was a large- almost comical- water bottle and a glass half full with water, and a large sketchpad with some confusing doodles on it. Jed grabbed the glass and began gulping down the water, while flipping through the notes. They weren’t all that interesting to Jed, but Ky had some lovely handwriting. He licked his chops and sighed, sitting the glass back where he’d grabbed it from. “Looks like some techno-babble ta me… Is that what he does on the side?”

Jed left the notes where they were and made his way towards the short hallway that led to three rooms; A moderately sized bathroom, a bedroom that was well decorated, and another room that seemed rather empty. He looked between the room, plotting out a route in his mind. He checked his wristwatch and hummed. It was still only mid afternoon. He could spend some time digging around the used bedroom before checking out the other spaces. He turned right and entered the bedroom.

It was similarly decorated to the larger living space– a fancifully framed french painting accompanied by large scale movie posters of animated films littered the walls. On one wall were four tall bookshelves, two tall ones on the outside and shorter in the middle. Each shelf housed more books–mostly fictional novels–and old DVDs of movies that all seemed to be off color horror flicks. He brushed a finger over them before looking up at the large surface of the shelves that housed a massive flat screen television. 

The kid must really like watching movies. Jed thought to himself before turning opposite the shelves. There was a large queen sized bed that was piled high with fluffy blankets, and a large black dinosaur…ball… creature? It was clearly a pillow of some sort but Jed couldn’t be bothered to dig deeper than that. He moved to a nightstand on one side of the bed, It was covered in chargers and a tablet. He picked the device up and turned the screen on, only to be greeted by Leles face. Well less so her face and more so her body, the angle hid her face well but not enough that you couldn’t tell it was her. The demon scoffed and sat the electronic back where he’d found it and moved to the other side, It was… messy. But not in an unmanaged way– In a, I like these things and want to keep them close by kind of way. He noticed two things off the top, A leather bound book and A stack of chewy candy sticks. He picked up the candy and shoved it deep into his pockets before picking up the book. It was a journal, Ky’s presumably. Jed thick, gray fingers flipped the pages open as he began reading;

`XX01-XX__ Journal Day 01 Hi. I guess. My mom is making me write this so I stop fighting in school. It's not gonna work.

Day 387 Graduating is exhausting, I don’t think I want to sit out in the sun all day to grab a piece of paper. Especially not in front of a billion people. Kill me.

Day 404 Sticks broke up with me. Said I was a poser and pathetic because I applied for college. He was…is… I don’t fucking know I hate this shit. I hate myself for not being enough.

Day 567 College is … something. I met a lot of people, but I think the best person I met is gonna be around for a while. At least I hope so.

Day 1090 I did it. I finished school. I have debt up the ass but I’m officially a college grad! Nothing feels different and I guess that's okay but I still have friends and people cheering me on. Now to land a job and get out of this hellscape of a house.

Day 2145 I met someone new, she’s sweet, kind, and she has such a big personality. It's amazing how she makes me try just a little harder for myself. I think things can work out with her.

Day 2362 My mind is racing right now. Sticks texted me, said he wanted to talk. After all this time and all the hurtful shit he’s said he wants to try talking again…

Day 3739 Lele wants to try being exclusive…

Day 4000 I guess this journaling thing worked out after all. I can’t tell anyone about this but things with Lele aren’t… good. She makes her own money and everything but I’ve been paying for everything in the apartment… This sucks.

Day 4536 I’m getting more and more tired of this shit. I think it’s time we went our separate ways but… I don’t want to regret splitting up.`

That's where it ends. Jed was confused– If Ky wasn’t happy in the relationship why not just end things? He shouldn’t have to stay in a situation he’s not happy with. He huffed and made his way out of the bedroom, making a note in his mind to pour over the pages when he got home. The man glanced around the space again, snatching the small plush he’d been playing with and a few smaller trinkets he was sure wouldn’t be missed. He made a final loop through the kitchen, taking in the small details that felt so welcoming and familiar. Things he knew were his soulmates. On the wall that created the “hallway” space there was a large whiteboard calendar. It was decorated with small bats, spiderwebs, moons, stars, planets with rings, and so on. Jed took a second to look at today's date; ‘Meet with Dawn’. He must’ve made it out to the cafe he was talking about by the time Jed grabbed those books. He checked the coming dates and saw a name that stuck out to him. ‘Go to Herbs’ on a date for the upcoming weekend. Herbs, like the grocery store? He turned on his heels and pulled the fridge door open. Herbs, the grocery store. Jed smirked to himself once again. 

“Perfect…” He muttered before making his way out of the apartment all together, shoving his collected goodies in the plastic bag he’d left outside and making his way out of the yard. Jed had to make it home and make a few calls.

[konigsblog]

To me, this is Stepdad!Price and his stepdaughter, and I will not be accepting any other opinions. (🌽)

CW: CHEATING, STEPCEST, BRIEF MENTIONS OF PREGNANCY TOWARDS THE END. MDNI 18+

Price adores you more than anything else in this world. You're his precious little angel, an outlet for his sexual frustration and horniness. Your stepfather refuses to allow your stepbrothers near you, and especially not any random men who clearly don't care to know you. He'll shake his head, frustrated and disappointed, before calling you onto his lap.

You need an older man like your stepfather, someone loyal and trustworthy, someone who knows you better than yourself.

“Tsk–, you know better, don’t‘cha?” Your stepfather's large hands tighten around your hips, his fingertips pressing into the soft flesh on your hips while his gravelly and hoarse voice rings in your ears. One hand travels down your bare and naked body, exploring each inch of your soft skin, while the other one grasps at your head and holds it still, allowing him to make out with you sloppily while praising you between breaths. Price slowly fucks his thick fingers into your soft cunt, all while he makes out with you slowly. You can hear your stepfather's heavy breathing and pleased, guttural groans as you react positively to his kisses and lustful touch, as well as the sound of your cunny squelching around his fingers.

To your stepfather, you're the prettiest and purest thing to walk this planet. He doesn't care about your mother, how heartbroken she'll be to know that he's been cheating on her with you. He's just using her to get through to you, to stuff your soaked pussy with his calloused, thick digits in preparation to fill your hole with his meaty, sweaty cock. Fuck, maybe you'll make babies one day. You'll learn to accept attention from your father, whether it's sexual or not.

“That’s right, sweetness’- let me show you who you belong to.”

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

One of Us is Guilty; Chapter 3

Three are now dead, but the killer seems to be caught ... but this night is not over until the room is found.

Characters; Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Silver, Cater Diamond

Content; Unreliable narrators, murder mystery

Content Warning; Death, murder, blood, anxiety, kidnapping, overall dead dove content warnings

Word Count; 1.1 K

Find this content triggering but still want to participate? Link to the Google Form to vote!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue (Part 1) | Epilogue (Final)

The body count had risen to three; Dire Crowley, the Ramshackle Prefect (whose blood still stained the floor, the iron scent permeating the air), and now, Divus Crewel as well, the latest victim. One minute the professor was alive, shaking from anger that one of his students was killed on his watch and that he was the prime suspect of the killings. But now he was sprawled out on the ground, killed in an instant.

The remaining students — Vil, Rook, Azul, Jade, Silver, and Cater — were silent, processing what exactly had just happened. The lights had flickered only for a minute, and in that minute, the killer had struck. But the silence was broken by a deafening clap of thunder, lightning illuminating the windows, and bringing everyone back to the present, to their laughably horrible situation that they had found themselves in by sheer chance and bad luck and timing.

Silver sat down on the staircase, and put his head in between his legs, taking deep breaths. Despite his training, he did not consider that he would be witnessing death so soon. The small part of his brain that had a sliver of hope that his friend had survived their gruesome injury, but he was just lying to himself; no one could survive that.

Vil was pacing, hands clasped behind his back, and he was muttering to himself. He thought he could read people, what with being raised amongst the stars that hid behind too-sweet smiles that belied venomous words. What was there to gain from any of this?

Rook was cracking his knuckles, and then rubbing his eyes, trying to think of why this was happening. While he could appreciate the hunt, this was something entirely different. Yet, it also reminded him of several books; one being a murder mystery, and the other about the deadliest game, of hunting a fellow person.

Azul was shaking and biting his nails, his resolve long gone. Had he made himself the enemy of one of his peers? Was he going to be next? He was supposed to just be perfecting a potion recipe for the next test, yet he found himself way above his head.

Jade looked at Azul, taking in that his house warden and friend was shaking more than the leaves outside in the howling wind. He too was disturbed by the night's events, sick to his stomach even, but he couldn’t show weakness, especially if he wanted to see it through.

And Cater? He was paler than a ghost, a cold sweat glistening on his forehead, and he felt like his heart was going to leap out of his throat. His cheery smile had left long ago, and now panic was fully starting to take control. Why? Why? Whywhywhy? WHY?! Yet he stayed silent.

No one spoke, but they eyed each other with caution. Every time that they had went to the mirror and they voted through it, someone died. Was it the mirror? No… no, that didn’t make sense… None of this made any sense though. 

“No more votin-” Silver whispered.

Cater cracked his head around, green eyes judging every move the underclassman made. “And why’s that, Silver?” His voice was shaky, but Cater wasn’t trusting him or anyone for that matter. “Afraid that-”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Vil barked, commanding everyone’s attention, eyes all on him. But he was used to eyes being on him, and he stayed cool, despite how this may damn him into being guilty in their eyes. He didn’t care at the moment though, all he cared about was no one else dying. “Look at what being suspicious of each other has brought us,” his eyes wandered to the dark clotted blood that had now gone cold. He swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat, keeping the calm mask up. “I agree with Silver though; voting through the mirror only ends up with someone… dead.”

“Then how do we proceed, Roi du Poison?” Rook asked, falling to his house warden’s side. His eyes looked over everyone, picking up their behaviours, emotions, and any tells.

Azul’s head snapped up. “The potion-” he started muttering to himself, before clearing his throat and gaining his composure again. “A truth potion, but one that shows the truth about the situation, we can use that to find the killer.”

Cater looked at Silver, and offered him his hand; a peace offering. Silver took it, and brought himself up on wobbly knees. A truce.

Jade placed his hand on Azul’s shoulder, offering him a bit of comfort that not everyone was out to get him. “Was that what you were working on?”

Azul nodded, and he started making his way towards the alchemy lab, where hopefully they could put an end to the killer’s little charade once and for all.

…

…

Vil helped Azul make the potion, and both students kept a keen eye on the other, but they made it without incident. And to show the others that they hadn’t tampered with it at all, they took it first, with the others shortly following suit.

“What about the room?” Silver asked.

“We can figure that out once we find the killer,” Jade countered.

Everyone looked at each other, taking in any minute details, but everyone was calm; the potion apparently did wonders to calm the nerves… but that in itself was a dangerous effect, since now everyone’s guards were down, making them easy targets.

Vil took in a breath and released it. “Who killed Dire Crowley? Why did you then kill the Prefect, and then Professor Crewel?” 

But no one spoke up.

“It isn’t me,” Vil said confidently, hoping that his speaking up prompted the others to follow suit.

Cater was to his left, and he spoke next. “I didn’t do it.”

Then Silver, “Or me… I couldn’t do something like this…”

“I did not do it either,” Jade offered.

Azul’s eyes went wide, and he eyed the next person in line. “The killer isn’t me.”

All eyes fell on the last person left in their little circle; Rook. With all of them but him left, that only left him.

He let out a throaty, quiet, chuckle. “I suppose this game has run its course,” he tipped his hat to them, green eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light. “As for why? Hmmm,” he hummed, and the hairs on everyone’s necks stood on end. There was something off about Rook, this wasn’t Rook. 

“You’ll find that out when you guess the room.”

What?

Everyone took a step closer to each other, away from Rook, and they whispered amongst each other, voting on what room Crowley’s murder took place in.

“Alchemy lab,” Cater spoke for the group, trying to keep his resolve as Rook seemed to stare into the very contents of his soul, like he was searching for something.

Rook stepped forward, still smiling. “Ah, désolé Monsieur Magicam,” the whites of his eyes started turning black, “but you would be wrong.” The lights flickered again, and in the seconds of darkness, Rook was gone, and so was Cater.

GOOGLE FORM (voting will end Wednesday, October 18th at 9pm EST)

SUSPECTS:

- Silver; the kindhearted knight with a mysterious past, is it just for show?  (Plum) - Vil Schoenheit; the actor who is always pigeonholed into the role of a villain (Scarlet) - Divus Crewel; the alchemy teacher with a penchant for fashion, Crowley’s co-worker (Peacock) DECEASED - Rook Hunt; the enigmatic hunter who always has a hunch of what’s happening (Mustard) MURDERER - Azul Ashengrotto; the owner of The Mostro Lounge, a businessman with dubious morals (Green) - Reader; the ‘house-keeper’, a role that was imposed on them by the late Headmage (White) DECEASED - Jade Leech; a student enamored by fungi and seems to have a foreboding presence about him (Orchid) - Cater Diamond; the preppy beau of Heartslabyul, but his smile seems forced (Peach) MISSING

ROOMS:

- Main hall (eliminated in Chapter 2) - Teachers’ lounge - Cafeteria - Kitchens - Lecture theatre - Botanical garden - Alchemy lab (eliminated in Chapter 3) - Library - Crowley’s office (eliminated in Chapter 1)

WEAPON: MAGIC (found in Chapter 2)

…

To be continued

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare 

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

I. in media res

     -the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

     -intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

     -fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

     -avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

     -broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

     -kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

[problematic-yuri-poll]

notes:

we know mutual abuse is widely considered not real but this is in the context of fiction

if you like a combination of them, e.g. incestuous age gaps, vote for your favourite aspect of the combination

other power imbalances can include things like student x teacher and boss x employee

if you don't like problematic fiction at all, don't vote