#Tw branding

[peachesofteal]

Soulmate AU but it's just Simon and Johnny deciding they're missing something. There's a small piece of the puzzle out there, somewhere, that they've yet to find.

Even though that's not the case. Even though a triad soulmate bond has never existed. Will never exist.

Knowing the norm, it doesn't bother them when they find you without their mark. They don't need it to know. They can smell it on you. Feel it on you. They hear it in the sounds you make when they fuck you full of their cum, when they coax your orgasms free with their mouths.

You think it's casual, of course. A few wild romps with these guys who picked you up at a supermarket. Oblivious.

It's casual, until it's not. Until the night Johnny walks you into the living room where Simon is standing in front of the fireplace, fist curled around brass.

"We're gonna fix it love, dinnae worry." Johnny hums, helping you to your knees on the rug.

"Fix what?" you ask, perplexed, staring up at him with those wide eyes he loves so much.

"Somethin' must've happened when ye were born. Some mistake. Ye didnae get our mark." He pats his ribs affectionally, and the fire pops, orange and red sparks arcing up into the chimney. Simon rotates the rod in his hands and your confusion turns to panic.

"No." you whisper, but he only fists the edge of your t-shirt and tugs it towards your breasts, binding your hands behind your back. "N-no. No, please."

Simon pulls the iron from the coals. The end burns so bright it's almost white, and you scream, tears pouring down your cheeks, sweat beading across your forehead.

"Deep breath," Simon murmurs, turning the iron clockwise, ensuring a perfect match. He worked so hard on the brand, mapping every millimeter of their mark, tracing Johnny's over and over again, ensuring an exact replica. He can't wait to see you wearing it. Johnny tries to reassure you as Simon crosses the room, petting and stroking your face. Simon smiles.

"Don't worry love, it's going to be perfect."

[dabisqueen]

Need

Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 1.5

⇢ plot: Dabi gets home and is kind of wound up. He needs you to help him out...

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, rough manhandling, couch-sex, steamy kissing, cunnilingus (female receiving), fingering, rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, use of Dabi’s fire quirk, marking (Dabi makes a red handmark on reader's skin)

⇢ personal note: a little reward for @/the-beard-of-edward-teach

The sound of the door being slammed shut echoes through the tiny apartment, announcing the return of your boyfriend from his mission to gain new members for the LOV.

"Oh hey baby, how did the recruit–" Your words are caught in your throat when you see the expression on his face.

You can tell he is mad. Really mad. Yet, his eyes hungrily take you in.

Oh shit…

Dropping his coat on the floor, he's at your side in an instant, grabbing you by the waist and swinging you into his arms, striding with long steps toward the couch. 

He throws you down onto the cushions, lurching right on top of you.

“What the—?” You ask, dizzily.

"Shut up." He commands and settles himself between your legs, hooking his hands under the seam of your shorts, yanking them down. Just hearing that fierce, possessive voice of his makes your legs fall obediently apart. 

"Dabi–" But you can't finish the sentence, not with him grabbing your pants and igniting his quirk.

"Told you to be quiet…" A blistering heat arises, the burnt shreds of the remains thrown across the room with one casual swing of his arm. Your eyes catch a glimpse of his erection straining against the stitches of his pants. It gives you just enough time to suck in a breath before he dives down and starts his assault on your sensitive nub.

His mouth descends on your clit, tongue stroking over it in a way that drives you instantly crazy. Alternating between hungry licks of your sensitive pussy and dragging his tongue back and forth over your clit, you squirm, getting wetter by the moment, causing you to quickly rise toward your climax.

“Ah fuck, you taste so fucking good—” he groans against your pussy. He's going rough, which is both delicious and aggravating at once. It awakens a need inside of you, a need for him to push a finger inside you, to do all kinds of filthy, dirty things to you. Your entire skin prickles with awareness and your pulse starts to race. 

"Touya–ahhh–" you moan as he finally plunges his fingers into you without warning, curling them against that sweet spot of yours. Between Dabis' fierce licks of your pussy, you whimper, his need for you driving you crazy. You're getting closer and closer to your high, the rasp of his tongue against your clit becoming almost too much. Then, his hot lips latch around it and he starts sucking.

Without a warning, you come.

The orgasm pounces through you like a storm, making you arch and goosebumps ripple across your skin. You throw your head back as your legs close around him and a scream rips from your lips. Dabi rides you through it and it's so filthy, the way his slurping sounds echo off the walls. 

He growls, pinning your thighs apart again, his tongue dipping inside your entrance to taste all of you. "So fucking sweet—”

Panting, you slowly come down from your high. Dabi raises his head and you look down at his face, with his mouth gleaming, wet from all your juices. 

"I need a minute—" you pant, dizzy and breathless. 

"M not fucking done with you yet." He growls low in his throat, and then his big body pushes over you. The clink of his belt buckle tells you what he is about to do. Another quick dive into his pants, and he frees his throbbing cock. You glance down and see it dripping with precum. Taking it in his palm, he slides his hand along its impressive, pierced length, playing the head of it against your soaked folds. 

You catch your breath, surprised again at how good that feels. How good everything feels with him. Every time.

Dabi fits the bulbous head of his cock against your core, wetting it, and then pushes forward, swiftly, burying himself balls deep at once. Your mouth drops open into a sinful moan—

—because even though you're dripping wet, you never get used to how thick and girthy he is. 

He pulls out, his gaze riveted to where you are joined, his dick glistening with your juices/slick, and then his gaze flicks up to lock with yours. Without a warning, he starts pumping into you. It forces the air from your lungs the way he thrusts into you. Dabi’s hands grip your hips, digging his nails into them, raising them to meet his before he thrusts into you again. His movements are feral, he picks up speed, his thrusts taking on urgency. The look in his eyes is possessive as he pumps into you, over and over again, heavy balls slapping against your ass.

“Dabi s too much,” you cry out, impaled on his cock as you struggled to adjust to his speed.

“Shut up and take it—” A low growl builds in his chest, deep and rumbly.

Mind-numbing sensations spiral through your body with his movements, and your arms fly up to hold onto him. Your bodies come together so roughly that you are slammed against the armrest of the couch, your back sliding over the coarse fabric of the couch, making your skin raw. 

His thrusts take on a fiercer edge and the harder he drives into your body, the more IT heightens your own pleasure. You feel the stir of another orgasm starting to build in your belly, when one hand slips between your bodies, his calloused thumb pressing through the folds of your pussy, finding your clit, starting to rub against it. You gasp at the sensation, arching your back. Faster and harder he claims you– and your fingers clawing into his shirt, closing your eyes while he focuses on that one particular spot that will make you scream again. 

You can feel your body clench around him, your pussy tightening in response to the impending orgasm. You're almost there— but you need more, need something else to give you that little push. As if he knows, his next thrust is followed by a sudden heat on your hips. Dabi doesn't break his gaze when the heat increases and you realize what he's doing. Shocked, you try to writhe away from him.

He doesn't let you, keeping you right there, his hand steady on your hip. The heat turns into stinging pain that shoots right up your spine. And it's exactly what you need, what lights you up like a dynamite fuse. 

You cry out, digging your nails into Dabi's shoulder when you come undone around him. Everything shatters inside you, and you give a choked cry as your insides clench and release, the orgasm battering through you. The nasty wet sound of his cock thrusting into you fills the room while your tight silken walls continue to milk him. 

"Fuck," Dabi growls, his own movements becoming erratic and he shudders as his own release finds him. You feel his cock throb with each shot of his cum, twitching as the heat of it sweeps through you. Dabi continues to thrust into you, fucking back every drop of his essence, but he's coming so much that it squelches out. It's so naughty, the way your juices –mixed with his cum– stick in a frothy mess to the base of his cock and leak down your ass. 

He leans in over you, his chest pressing to yours, and then his lips are against yours, claiming your mouth in a heated kiss, his tongue flicking against yours. It's as forceful and messy as the sex you had. There’s a slight musky taste to his mouth, and you realize you're tasting… yourself. 

“Dabi–” you moan, still dizzy, still clinging onto him. 

"Fuck, baby I needed that." A raspy groan comes from his throat as he pulls back and out, his cock –hot, sticky, and still twitching– pressing against your folds. "M sorry. Shitty day…"

"Don't be, it's not like I didn't enjoy it—" You laugh breathily, still trying to catch your breath.

Then his gaze falls on the angry red handprint on your hips. His face turns into an apologetic grimace before his azure eyes flick up to meet yours. He strokes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you too much?”

“Just a little bit,” You interrupt him with a kiss. "But it's ok. I got off on it."

“That's my girl—” He chuckles, directing soothing circles over the red burn. “I'm sure, it will fade."

"Next time make sure it doesn't." You tease, a hand raising to idly play with his raven strands.

He stalls, his blue eyes taking you in for a moment, contemplating. Then his lips curl up into a wide smirk and you gasp as you feel him getting hard again, pulsing against your puffy folds.

Oh no…

"Shouldn't have said that," he snorts and grabs you by your hips to flip you around. "Ready for round two?"

[ameliaenya707]

omigawd i just came up with this and I thought maybe you could make it into headcannons. (≧∇≦)

Yandere Dabi burning small hearts onto darlings thighs, back, shoulders to mark her as his- 😫😳💙

Oh and yandere Hawks using a small feather to cut small hearts on to his darlings thighs. 😏

Ahhh I've written things like that before. Masterlist is god, the fic 'lacerations' is indepth on hawks!

Dabi

♡ Dabi uses his darling as his own little personal canvas, but in a different way than Keigo. He enjoys burning little doodles onto her soft skin. Not hot enough to permanently scar, almost reminiscent of a temporary tattoo.

♡ It ranges from little doodles when he gets bored while cuddling to hot red handprints while he pounds onto you.

♡ Sometimes he uses it as a form of punishment he'll choke you, but adding the twisted heat of his handprint burning into your flesh. A mark that leaves more than just physical damage.

[all-the-gory-details]

whump prompt: magical brands/tattoos

THANK YOU

Tw: brand, burns, captivity, punishment

Whumpee trembled on the cold concrete floor, heavy breathing interrupted by the occasional hiccup or sob. Their body didn't feel right, shaky and weak.

Pain radiated from the spot on the small of their back, the spot Whumper had chosen to mark. If the branding iron wasn't lying discarded on the floor beside them, they would have sworn it was still pressed into their skin, sizzling as they tried to bite back their screams.

Now, whumper was waiting, foot tapping on the floor impatiently. Whumpee wanted so badly to curl up and cry, but this wasn't over. Not yet.

"It hurts, doesn't it, Whumpee?" They finally mused, excitement peeking through their cold facade.

"You fucking branded me," they muttered, squeezing their eyes shut tight. "Of course it hurts."

"Let's try something, hm? I'm... interested, to see what effect this will have on your behavior." They paused for a moment, and Whumpee braced themself for the kick or hit they assumed was coming.

Instead, whumper delivered one simple command. "Kneel."

Whumpee had a meer moment to feel the relief of not being beaten.

Then, the brand on their back was on fire once more.

They had thought it hurt to be branded the first time. Somehow, this was worse.

They shrieked in pain, limbs spasming as the agony traveled up their spine, radiating through their very soul.

Somehow, some part of them remembered that last command, and they managed to push themselves up, into a pose that could possibly be called kneeling.

The burning died down after a moment, returning to the manageable throb of before. Whumper grinned, slowly circling their quivering, kneeling form.

"I don't think disobedience will be a problem much longer, don't you agree? There are some cases, Whumpee, where pain really is the best teacher."

[pyrepostings]

Looking at articles about branding horses/cattle for accurate dialogue reasons, and the vibe on these articles, I swear.

Today in "wouldn't it be messed up to talk about people/human pets like we do real animals":

"The cow may budge and bawl for a moment, but no long-term harm or pain is done to the animal."

idk, sounds like something WRU would say in a pamphlet trying to upsell you into shelling out for a fancy designer brand add-on to your boxie.

[katkalis-the-horror-fanartist]

Fuckin with an idea of an OC specific to my TON tnmn au. This guy that's one of the best arena fighters, and one of Abducius' prized pets. He's been branded and mutilated a few times, his back specifically being his most "impressive" feature. Flesh of foes hes bested are stitched to form "wings" of sorts, or also a cape, that often flutters elegantly behind him when he fights.

Abducius keeps his eye as a symbol of ownership, as he does similarly with other humans he claims as his.

[serickswrites]

Hey :)

No rush🖤 just wanted to know if you're going to continue the Monster series? ; the one where the team thinks whumpee betrayed them but they disn't and it was whumper

Again no rush,sry if i'm disturbing you with this💓

Love your writing💛💗💛

Anon! I am definitely going to be continuing this series (sorry it took so long to answer this). It's written and plotted for a total of 6 parts including the first part. Please enjoy part 2!

Part 1

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, burns, branding, physical violence, unconsciousness, beating

Everything was pain when Smallest Teammate came to. They were chained to a wall in a darkened basement and their body hurt. The team had been thorough in their beating and Smallest Teammate was paying the price. At least Whumper wasn't there when they woke up.

There had to be a way they could escape. Had to be a way they could get out. They had to get out and warn the team. Convince Team Leader that Whumper was the liar and traitor and that Smallest Teammate had been innocent. They had to or else Whumper would hurt the rest of the team.

The basement door banged open and Smallest Teammate flinched. So much for finding a way out before Whumper came in. "Well, well, well," Whumper said excitedly as they walked down the steps, "it looks like your luck has finally run out, little mouse, and I've caught you."

"The team will figure you out!" Smallest Teammate knew that Whumper would hurt them, torture them, most likely kill them, but maybe that would buy the team enough to realize who Whumper truly was.

Whumper rolled their eyes. "I highly doubt that, little mouse. They love me. It's you they think are the problem. It's you who should be afraid. I'm going to enjoy taking my time with you, little mouse."

Smallest Teammate opened their mouth to reply, but Whumper kicked out at them. Whumper's foot connected with their ribs and Smallest Teammate found themself gasping for air. Whumper kicked them again. And again. And again. Smallest Teammate's already bruised and battered body was in worse shape than before. Every kick hurt a thousand times worse than they had when the team had beaten them. Every punch. Every vicious blow was made a thousand times worse by Whumper's anger and desire to hurt Smallest Teammate.

Finally, Whumper stopped. Smallest Teammate could barely keep their eyes open. They fought to stay conscious. They had to stay conscious or Whumper would grow bored and potentially hurt the team. Smallest Teammate moaned with pain as Whumper lifted them beneath their armpits and carried them to a table in the corner of the room. Smallest Teammate couldn't fight back as they were chained down.

They were barely tracking Whumper's movements. Barely tracking anything. Whumper's face suddenly loomed over them. "This is going to be so much fun. You're mine. All mine, Smallest Teammate. And I intend to milk you for every last drop of pain I can. So don't think I'm going to be killing you any time soon. I'm going to enjoy myself long before I kill you. And everyone will know that you were mine once you're gone."

"I...I...I--" Smallest Teammate tried to get the words out, but their head was fuzzy and dark. They opened their mouth to try again when Whumper pressed something to their forearm. Smallest Teammate howled with pain as their flesh seared around the brand Whumper had pressed to them.

"It's my name, you know. Everyone will know that you are mine. And that I had you first." Whumper smirked as they ground the brand down further into Smallest Teammate's arm.

Smallest Teammate wailed with pain. They screamed and tried to move, but couldn't because of the restraints. They cried and begged Whumper to stop, but Whumper did not relent. It was only after Whumper had pressed the brand a third time to their body that Smallest Teammate let the darkness that had been waiting claim them.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@acer-whumpstuff @eight-littlenightmares @daffodilsinspring

[skyward-floored]

Wait... does Malon ever see Hyrule's brand scar? (Downfall IAU)

- hero-of-the-wolf

“Um... Mrs. Forester?”

The quiet voice caught her attention, and Malon looked up from the paper she was reading to see the newly-christened Hyrule poking his head out from behind a door, cheeks a bright red.

“I’m... I can’t figure out the shower,” he mumbled awkwardly, and Malon stood, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Oh no worries about that, hon, everyone always has trouble with that spout. You should’ve seen Wind the first time he used it, he completely doused himself in freezing cold water,” she chuckled, and Hyrule smiled, looking a little less embarassed as she walked over to help.

He moved to let her in, and Malon walked past, moving to the finicky shower faucet.

“It’s tricky because you have to pull it out, then turn it to the one side,” she explained, leaning in and showing him. “And it’ll give you cold water on both the sides— if you want warm, you have to have it pointing in the middle.”

Hyrule blinked. “That... seems needlessly complicated.”

Malon laughed. “It is. I’ve been meaning to get someone out to switch it for a better one for years. Just never had the time.”

Her mirth faded at the brief reminder of why, but she shook it off, and patted Hyrule on the shoulder.

“Are you all set now?” she asked, and Hyrule nodded. “Soap? Towel?”

“Yeah, Legend told me where everything was,” Hyrule said, and blushed a little again. “Thank you again.”

“No problem at all,” Malon smiled, and moved to leave as Hyrule began to worm out of his shirt. Another thought hit her though, and she turned back to warn Hyrule about another odd quirk of the shower before leaving. “Oh, one more thing hon, sometimes the drain...”

Her voice died as she looked at him though, and Hyrule went very still.

They hadn’t been visible with his shirt on, but Malon could now see almost every inch of the scars burned deep into Hyrule’s shoulder, stretching down his chest and onto his back. There were other smaller scars scattered along his chest, but none of those meant what Malon knew these ones did.

“Oh honey...” she whispered, a hand raised to cover her mouth.

Hyrule’s cheeks had gone red again, and he looked away from her, ears flattening. He didn’t say anything, and Malon wasn’t sure for a moment whether to leave him be, or try and say something that would properly convey what she was thinking right now.

Instead, she stepped back into the room, and set a gentle hand on his unscarred shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said softly, and Hyrule whipped his head around to stare at her.

“Wh... what? Why?” he asked, voice and tone so much like another broken teenager Malon once knew that she felt her eyes sting.

“I know branding isn’t the myth most people think it is,” she said softly, and slowly rolled up her own sleeve. Hyrule startled at the lines that were cut around her upper arm, much smaller than his own, but still rather visible, and Malon met his eyes. “I know this is nothing like yours, but I understand. And I’m proud of you for still fighting back, even after going through that.”

“I wasn’t fighting back though,” Hyrule said in a small voice. “It was just too much after this happened, I just... stopped.”

“You let Wind break you out though,” Malon pointed out. “And you’re helping us now. That sounds like fighting back to me.”

Hyrule swallowed as he looked away again, and Malon gave his shoulder a warm squeeze before letting go.

“I’ll let you clean up now, I’ve been keeping you from your shower long enough. But if you’d like to talk... you know where to find me,” she said softly, and Hyrule gave her a tiny nod, then peered back at her.

“I think I’d like that,” he whispered.

Malon gave him a smile that was heavy with old hurt, and she patted his hand before leaving the bathroom, gently closing the door behind her.

Then she let the sting in her eyes win over, and she leaned against the wall, letting them fall for a few minutes.

[whump-in-the-closet]

Villain Whump Thoughts

when the villain only works for supervillain because they’re terrified of them which leads to a standoff between villain and hero

“They don’t control you!”// “Yes. They do.”

Villain accepting Supervillains hold over them matter-of-factly and not even denying it when asked. What would be the point of hiding it? The bruises are obvious enough.

When villain is captured by the heroes, and already knows that supervillain won’t send anyone to rescue them

they tell the heroes all of supervillains secrets, but the heroes still won’t trust them

after all, who would trust a snitch

the heroes can’t let villain go either, because they’re a menace to society and instead keep villain around

villain is nothing more than a warning, kept chained and humiliated where everyone can see

when the villain refuses to cross a moral boundary and supervillain makes them regret it

no one else knows what happened to villain but when they appear back on the streets they’re twice as fierce and without any of their hesitant kindness

They follow supervillains orders perfectly. They’ll never mess up again. Supervillain’s mark carved into their arm to remind them of the last time they messed up.

[the-whumpening]

The Pet Tiger, #10 [nsfwhump AU]

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: nsfwhump, emetophobia, drunk/hungover against will, choking till passing out, medical inaccuracies, GRAPHIC EXPLICIT NON-CON, explicit scene of and reference to r*pe and uncensored use of the word, victim blaming, dehumanization, gags, restraints, branding, treated as a pet/sex slave, violence and threats, pet whump, forced use of buttplug, forced (ruined?) orgasm, forced chastity device, blood, magic whump, AGAIN: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

(Another extremely long chapter, around 4.5k! This is EXTREMELY GRAPHIC. Please heed this warning: if you do not want to read a scene mostly focused on a detailed description of an assault, close this and move on. The next chapter won't be nearly as brutal but there will likely be similar chapters in the future, so I understand if anyone wants to drop off reading this series. No hard feelings! If I've missed tagging something important, please let me know so I can fix it.)

-

10: His

As the heavy doors of Ozmund’s chambers slam closed behind Ash, his knees thud to the hard wooden floor. His head spins—he’s not sure he’s ever been this drunk before, and certainly never so fast. He tries to steady himself on his hands and catch his breath, but Ozmund yanks him by his leash back to attention.

During the silent march away from the party, Ash had imagined Ozmund was fuming, just waiting to be alone before lashing out at him. But now, as he drunkenly dodges Ozmund’s scowl, it seems Ozmund has once again composed himself. He slips a finger through Ash’s collar and bends to meet his face, his breath cool on Ash’s flushed cheeks.

“She got you drunk, didn’t she? Stupid little cat,” he snarls, his low voice warping in the fun-house-mirror of Ash’s intoxicated brain. It takes all Ash’s concentration to nod, though the movement only makes his dizziness worse. Ozmund sighs through his nose and narrows his eyes. With a blink, they begin to glow a rich emerald green, and he jams his palm to Ash’s forehead.

Ash shivers and gasps; shock startles his system as if a bucket of ice-cold water was suddenly dumped over him. His drowsy eyes snap open, and he can suddenly think clearly and control his body once more—he’s immediately sober again. A spike of pain pierces his head, though, and his senses are quickly overwhelmed. Each lamp and candle flame burns his eyes; every slight rustle of his clothes and shift of his body pounds in his eardrums; Ozmund’s heavy fragrance stings his nose and swirls his stomach until—

He retches, spitting up wine-stained bile onto the polished floors.

Ozmund takes half a step back to avoid the mess, dropping Ash’s leash and muttering, “Pathetic.” He nudges Ash’s chest with his boot, pushing him off balance and forcing his gaze upward as he falls onto his back. “And I suppose you want me to clean you up, too, don’t you? Ungrateful beast.” With a wave of his hand, Ash’s sick disappears from the floor and his own face; even his mouth feels clean, though exceptionally dry.

Is this a hangover? Ash wonders as his head continues to throb. He’s never had a hangover before—he’d only ever seen Kane get them, but they’re such a lightweight that it takes very little to send them stumbling and slurring in the first place.

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought; before he can right himself once more, Ozmund drops his shoe down on Ash’s chest. His heel grinds into Ash’s bruised ribs, pressing a breathless howl of pain out of his lungs.

“Quiet,” Ozmund commands, and Ash’s throat cinches closed against his will. He strains to breathe fully, silent whimpers gasping through his lips against the tightness in his throat and the pressure on his chest. “Three times tonight, you’ve failed to uphold your end of our bargain. Three times, you’ve disobeyed or humiliated me.” His foot shifts forward, sliding to lodge the toe of his boot beneath Ash’s chin and hovering just barely above his neck. “I gave you every opportunity to comply. I instructed you perfectly—I even let your poor manners slide earlier today. But clearly, you haven’t learned.”

Ozmund squeezes his fist. As he does, the thin collar around Ash’s neck shrinks tighter and tighter, nearly burrowing itself into his skin. His vision flickers, black flecks of blindness fluttering around his peripherals before blotting out entirely; his hearing, too, fades into a high-pitched ring, soon replaced only with silence. In the dark and silent void, all Ash can take in is the scent of boot polish and leather, before even that disappears as well.

As he slips into the dizzy embrace, an errant thought creeps into his mind: Am I . . . dead?

-

Ash reawakens with a coughing gasp. His arms and shoulders ache, but his hands catch with a metallic clinking when he tries to lower them.

He blinks against the blurriness in his vision and struggles uselessly to move. What—?

“Be still, pet.” Ozmund’s voice startles him, closer than he expects. “You’ll only hurt yourself if you struggle.”

Ash turns his head to the side, relieved to find the collar has once again loosened to its normal size. But as his eyes focus, that relief evaporates as quickly as it came. Finally, he can see his predicament and make sense of the aching in his limbs.

Ozmund stands beside him, securing a length of chain to the headboard of his bed—the same headboard Ash’s manacles have been looped around. Ash tries to feel his surroundings with his body, though every slight twist causes the thin chains to dig into his wrists. Beneath him is soft, plush bedding, propping his hips up in an obscene display. He clenches his legs to cover himself—even the scant, nearly-translucent loincloth is gone—but the chain Ozmund just lashed keeps them lifted and spread around the knee.

He kicks out with his lower legs, trying and failing to wrest himself free of the bindings; his efforts only return an ache in his muscles and dizzy pain in his head. Panic bubbles in his chest and escapes his throat in babbling whimpers. “N-no! No, Ozmund—please! Please!” Sobs shake his wrecked shoulders; his whole body trembles as Ozmund casually disrobes, ignoring his disjointed begging. “I tried! I-I tried to be good! I’m sorry—please don’t do this. Please!”

Ash’s desperation only seems to stoke Ozmund’s desire even further.

In another life—in some strange parallel world—Ash might have found Ozmund handsome. Much like Evius, Ozmund is tall and well-built, with refined elvish features and piercing eyes. His elegant, lithe form moves with perfect grace, his dark silky hair falling over his pale shoulder as he joins Ash on the bed. He settles beside Ash’s head and strokes Ash’s cheek with his long fingers.

“Sweet boy,” he croons, his fingertips dancing over Ash’s cheekbones. “Stupid boy.” He pulls his hand back and slaps Ash hard across the face, pinning his cheeks in his hand to keep his gaze. “As I said before, you disobeyed me. I’ve been lenient and kind to you so far—I know a brainless kitten like you needs more instruction than most. But I grow tired of waiting and tired of your insolence.”

Tears slip easily from Ash’s eyes. Between Ozmund’s fingers, he can only whisper a chant: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please, please.”

Ozmund’s eyes narrow. “You won’t be truly repentant until you’re punished. For three infractions, that’s three punishments.” He directs Ash’s face forward to look at his own exposed and strung-up body. In his blind panic, Ash had barely registered what Ozmund had done; surrounding his cock is a snug metal cage, latched with a small padlock and secured behind his scrotum with a solid metal ring. “First, you rebuffed my gift of blissful forgetfulness. You begged me to let you be awake and alert. You could’ve had been so sweet and pliable tonight and forgotten all about those drunken fools—but you threw it away.” He palms Ash’s caged cock roughly, the heavy contraption tugging at his delicate skin. “So you forfeit your right to pleasure tonight, and every night until I decide you deserve it again.”

Ash whimpers, confused and frightened. He doesn’t want Ozmund’s pleasure; how could this cage be a punishment? Will it shrink or shock him like the collar?

He doesn’t get an answer from Ozmund. Instead, Ash’s head is turned again to face him.

“Second,” Ozmund continues, prodding his thumb into Ash’s mouth and working his jaw open, “you disobeyed and disrespected my guests. We had an agreement, little cat. Do you remember? Do you recall what would happen if you weren’t good for my guests?” His voice is harsh and hard; Ash squeezes his eyes shut against the renewed flow of tears.

“No,” he wails around Ozmund’s thumb—more a protest than a response. “Pleash!”

“You should learn to strike that word from your vocabulary, pet. But I’ll remind you one last time: I promised to be exactly as kind and gentle as you deserved. After tonight’s display”—he pinches Ash’s jaw and gives it a sharp shake—“I should think you don’t deserve it at all.”

Ash jerks his head away from Ozmund’s grasp, scrambling to speak before he’s subdued once more. “You can’t do this!” he yelps, the hoarseness in his voice giving way to desperation. “I am a human being, Ozmund—I am a person, just like you!”

An appeal to Ozmund’s humanity, or whatever may be left of it; Ash knows it’s probably futile, but he has to try. If Ozmund could only see how insane this all was, if only he could see Ash as something other than subhuman, an object to be used and molded to his desires . . . then surely he would make this all stop. Right? Ash holds his breath for a moment as he awaits Ozmund’s response.

For a second, Ozmund’s eyes seem to soften. He smooths Ash’s hair, gently brushing it behind his ear as he murmurs sympathetically, “Oh, Ash . . .” But as Ash traces his face for any hint of remorse—any shred of empathy—Ozmund instead clicks his tongue in disapproval. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. You’re not a human—just look at yourself. Would a human have those silly little ears and tail? Would a human be passed around as a party favor? Would a human need restraints to stay human? No. But you do. You do, because you’re just a pathetic. Disobedient. Pet.” His hand on Ash’s hair cinches into a vice-like grip, and his sharp features morph once again into hungry malice. He jerks Ash’s head back by his hair, punctuating each word with stinging pain to Ash’s scalp. “And I am your Master. I can do whatever I want. Right now, I want you to suffer.”

Ash’s heart sinks deep into his gut. There’s nothing he can do to stop this—nothing he can do to make it less awful. Ozmund wants it, and it is so. His desire is law.

A faint, animalistic snarl slips from Ozmund’s hostile smile. “Now, you’re going to take my cock in your mouth and get it nice and wet. That and my cum will be your only lubrication tonight. Be grateful you even get this.”

A wall of protests scream in Ash’s mind, but he nods shakily against Ozmund’s grip on his hair. He sneaks a glance at Ozmund’s lap as he brings it closer to Ash’s lips; like before at the party, Ash convinces himself it will be better to know what to expect. And just like before, he’s wrong.

Ozmund’s cock is long—much longer than his own—and thicker than his as well. Although he’s not quite as big as Evius, it’s still more than Ash has ever taken. The broad head presses against the tight line of Ash’s closed lips.

No! Nonononononono!

Ozmund’s fingers wrap locks of Ash’s hair into snug curls as he offers a last, growled warning. “Open up, pet, or it’s going in dry.”

As his head throbs and his heart squeezes painfully, Ash reluctantly opens his mouth, allowing Ozmund’s thickness to slip in.

“Mmn, that’s it,” Ozmund grunts. “Watch your teeth, little cat—don’t make me pull them out.”

He thrusts slowly in and out of Ash’s dry mouth, holding Ash’s hair to control his every movement. It doesn’t take long for his insistent length to press the back of Ash’s throat, blocking his airway and triggering heaving spasms as Ash gags.

I can’t, I can’t—!

Ash’s empty lungs burn; he gasps and coughs when Ozmund finally retreats from his throat.

“Not very wet, is it?” Ozmund traces his tip against Ash’s swollen lips. It’s true, though. He’s still quite dry, and Ash realizes what that means: if he doesn’t want to suffer, he has to work for it.

Ozmund wants him to be complicit in his own rape.

Lips warbling and throat tightening, Ash opens his mouth once more, working up as much saliva as he can and presenting his tongue. Ozmund smirks.

“Oh, look at you. Such a quick learner. Do you want another try? Is that it?” His voice and smile drop. “Beg for it, pet.”

Sobs crawl up Ash’s chest, swelling his sinuses and stinging his eyes with tears that refuse to overflow. He forces himself to contort his expression into some approximation of desire, his eyes wide and prey-like.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice catching in his throat. “Please let, let me try again . . . Master.”

Ozmund chuckles cruelly, loosing his grip on Ash’s hair to instead cradle his head. “See? Isn’t that easy? Doesn’t that feel right—begging for permission to serve me? Go ahead, pet. I’ll give you till the count of ten to drool over me as much as you’d like. And when you’re done, I’ll fuck you with your own juices.” He snickers sharply through his nose and readjusts, lining himself up with Ash’s mouth once again. “Maybe I’ll even add my own spit to your pitiful ass if you do well enough. Ready?”

Without waiting for Ash to reply, he shoves himself past Ash’s lips.

“One.”

Ash bobs his neck frantically, hollowing his cheeks and summoning as much saliva as his dry mouth will allow.

“Two.”

He sends the spit down his tongue, slavering along Ozmund’s length.

“Three.”

His tongue swirls and swishes. No thoughts can bubble to the surface of Ash’s foggy, aching mind.

“Four.”

He won’t allow it—he can’t. He can’t focus on how he wishes the weight on his tongue was someone else—

“Five.”

Ozmund enters Ash’s throat again; Ash’s panicked breaths come in humiliating snorts and gulps as both his nose and mouth are blocked.

“Six.”

His gag reflex twitches, but he’s held too firmly in place to fight it.

“Seven.”

It doesn’t matter—his tongue keeps working, and his lips push and pull with desperation.

“Eight.”

Allowed to move again, Ash’s jaw burns and his throat is raw.

“Nine.”

Still, he spreads his meager wetness and ignores the salty musk of Ozmund’s skin and dribbling pre-cum. He only hopes it’s enough—

“Ten. Off, pet.”

And then it’s over.

Ozmund pushes Ash’s head away from his lap, patting his cheek in some quasi-affectionate gesture. He strokes his stiff length as he moves from Ash’s side; Ash is both relieved and disgusted to hear the squelching wetness in his hand.

“Mm, what a view,” Ozmund purrs, kneeling between Ash’s suspended and splayed legs. “Such lovely little cheeks. If only they were bright red and bruised . . . Perhaps next time.” With his free hand, Ozmund pokes and tugs at the plug still firmly lodged in Ash’s tight ass.

Ash’s tail limply swishes to cover himself, but the fading magic only allows it to flick anxiously. Renewed panic seizes Ash’s will; in broken, tearful whispers, he continues his chant of, “please, please, please, please—”

Ozmund pulls the plug out, slowly fucking Ash in and out dryly with it. “’Please?’ You want it that badly? Well, then, I shouldn’t hear any complaining, should I?”

He tosses the plug aside and spits on Ash’s exposed asshole. And then, in one smooth motion, he sinks himself firmly into Ash.

Hot, fiery pain pierces Ash as Ozmund’s tip invades his body, pressing an anguished shriek from his chest.

Even with the plug having kept him loosened all day, Ozmund is still far too thick to go in so quickly, so unprepared, and so desperately unwanted. Each inch pushes deeper into Ash, stretching his tight ass to its breaking point; his head shoves past Ash’s defenses, grating like sandpaper past each ridge and ring until it slams into the bend of his colon. Pain radiates through Ash’s belly, and he struggles against his chains.

“No!” he screams hoarsely. “It-it hurts!”

He bucks his hips back, trying and failing to pull himself away from Ozmund’s firm presence inside him. Ozmund merely groans in response, almost laughing at Ash’s protests.

“Oh, please,” Ozmund grunts as he sinks Ash’s hips back down onto his cock, forcing more agonized wails with each thrust. “You’ve taken Evius; you can take me.”

Taken Evius? The most he’d taken of Evius was two of his nimble, slender fingers—nowhere near enough to fit Evius’ enormous cock, much less anyone else’s. Evius wanted to wait until he was sure Ash was ready and able to take him comfortably. He always said it wasn’t supposed to hurt; he said he wanted the first time to be special, and he’d take care of Ash.

“I-I-I,” Ash stammers through rising sobs, “I never have! He n-n-never . . . We didn’t—” Tears choke Ash’s voice before he can continue.

Ozmund stops his hard thrusts for a moment, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “No,” he gasps, his excitement barely contained. He looms over Ash, letting his hands wander and fondle Ash’s body as he teases him. “Am I the first to take this tight, exquisite little ass? Hm? You should’ve told me, darling. That makes tonight so much more special.”

He nearly pulls out of Ash, leaving only the faint curve of his tip inside. The emptiness almost brings tears of relief to Ash’s eyes. But before he has a moment to catch his shuddering breath, Ozmund slams back fully inside him even deeper than before.

“Now, forever and always, I will be your first,” he growls low in Ash’s ear. “You are mine now. Even if you should ever leave, your body will never forget how I molded it, how I trained it. Even if you return to Evius, you will only ever think of me while he’s deep inside of you. Isn’t that special, my love? You will never truly be apart from me.”

It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to hurt like this. It’s not supposed to be against his will, trussed and tied like a butchered animal. It’s not supposed to wrench his heart into pieces. And it’s absolutely not supposed to be with Ozmund.

Ozmund resumes his relentless pace, scraping against Ash’s walls and colliding against his furthest reaches over and over again. It never stops hurting—it never gets easier to take. Even as Ash’s body stretches to accommodate the intrusion, he’s already so bruised and damaged that the slightest movement sends shockwaves of pain up his spine and forces whimpers and screams from his lungs.

If anything, the pain only worsens the longer Ozmund fucks him. What little moisture he was able to conjure has long dried up, replaced only with dribbles of his own blood and Ozmund’s pre-cum. His body chafes against Ozmund’s, sweat meeting sweat and skin meeting skin. Before long, the pain becomes overwhelming, and Ash can only let out broken, groaning sobs.

“Yes,” Ozmund purrs in response, “keep crying for me, pet. It makes you clench so—tight—!”

Ash wants to slip away, to let his mind wander to something—anything—other than what’s happening between his legs, but he can’t. The pain pulls him back to his body with every stroke, along with something he didn’t expect. As Ozmund sinks in and out of him with what must be practiced precision, he begins to feel a strange, familiar pressure.

His . . . prostrate? Is that what Evius called it? The tender gland in his ass swells against his will, rubbed and prodded by Ozmund’s cock. It coils tightly in his belly, forcing his own cock to stiffen against the hard metal of his cage. As it grows, the pieces all start to come together: he’s locked in. His cock will outpace the cage, pressing painfully against the tight entrapment until either he begs for mercy . . . or Ozmund forces an orgasm out of him by fucking his sensitive spot over and over.

Ash’s sobbing and begging begins anew; he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want any of this. He doesn’t want Ozmund to make him cum. He doesn’t want this pain to continue. He doesn’t want this memory burned in his mind forever.

“Oh, is it too much, little cat? Are you getting hard from this?” Ozmund slows his rhythm slightly, still pressing perfectly into Ash. He won’t stop, not even for a second, and pressure continues to build in Ash’s body. “That’s too bad, pet. I’m not quite done.”

As Ozmund picks back up to a breathtaking speed, the coil finally snaps in Ash. He spasms and cries out, dribbles of milky liquid spilling from his strained cock. It doesn’t feel good—there’s no relief or pleasure, only a half-hearted physical reaction. At the same time, his ass becomes even more sensitive, and he wails from the overstimulation of Ozmund’s continued thrusts.

Ozmund laughs at his twitching, sensitive body, pounding harder to force rasping groans from Ash’s throat. Again, Ash tries to pull his hips away—to keep Ozmund’s insistent cock from grinding into that aching, throbbing gland—but Ozmund only sinks deeper to meet him.

“That’s it, pet. The more you struggle—ah, fuck—the better it feels.” He hisses, his movements quickly become jerky and frantic. “I wonder if males of your species can get pregnant; I suppose we’ll find out.”

He reaches out to slap Ash’s softening cock, then shoves the fingers of one hand deep down Ash’s throat.

“Suck them while I cum inside you, little cat,” he commands, his hips snapping brutally against Ash’s pelvis. Ash does as instructed, though his body still aches and tears still paint his cheeks.

Hot, thick seed spills unprotected into Ash.

Ozmund groans with feral delight as he softens within Ash and finally pulls out; the relief sends a shudder throughout Ash’s exhausted body. Coming down from his high, Ozmund scoops up a dab of his and Ash’s combined cum and fucks it back into Ash’s mouth.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he teases. “Looks like you enjoyed yourself after all, didn’t you?”

No, I didn’t! I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t. Ash whines beneath him, pleading with his eyes as he fights against the salty taste in his mouth—is it over? Is it finally over?

It’s only a moment before Ozmund collects himself; with a sigh, he smooths his hair with his free hand and resumes his graceful, domineering posture. He scowls in concentration, removing his fingers from Ash’s lips. “Before I forget, there’s one last thing—your third punishment.”

There’s more? Ash struggles against the chains as much as his worn out body will allow, the thin metal biting painfully into his flesh. He pleads and begs, but Ozmund ignores him, instead busying himself with something on the bedside table.

“Calm yourself, pet,” he chastises Ash. “I told you explicitly earlier: three transgressions, three punishments. You’ve only had two so far. Now, for the third: you allowed Lady Nandaar to violate my rules and try to claim my property. This punishment will ensure that never happens again.” He turns back to Ash, wielding a metal object he can’t quite make out. The smell is familiar, though—dangerously familiar. Something Ash knows on instinct he should avoid.

“It seems I must mark you as mine in a more ostentatious way, so there can be no doubt who owns you.” His hand hovers over Ash’s chest, the object finally coming into view. “Now, stay still.”

The silver stamp presses into Ash’s skin, singeing his hair and raising a puffy, red welt above his heart. He yelps and thrashes against the chains; with only a quick, firm touch, the metal brands him as if it were a hot iron. Ozmund, smug with satisfaction, returns the stamper and admires his handiwork.

“There it is,” he murmurs contentedly, stroking the bright pink flesh to follow its shape. A circle, then a zig-zag line within it: OZ. His personal emblem. “Isn’t that better? Don’t you feel good knowing you’ve taken all your punishments? Have you learned your lessons?”

Everything hurts. Ash’s body is sore and tired; not a single inch is without an ache or burn or pin-prick numbness. His eyes struggle to stay open, overflowing at all times with either tears or exhaustion. None of this feels good—least of which his broken, defeated mind.

He nods limply, his eyes stinging with tears both shed and unshed, begging to slip closed. Just let me sleep, he pleads internally. Put me back in the cage. Please.

Finally—finally?—Ozmund strokes Ash’s cheek. Gently. Tenderly. The touch makes Ash’s lip quiver uncontrollably; he leans into the kindness while it lasts, ignoring the shame screeching in his head.

“Yes, that’s a good boy.” Even with the condescending tone, Ash still melts at the praise. The punishments are done—he’s good again. He’ll get soft, pleasant touches again. Maybe he’ll even get real food again. Maybe—

Ash feels Ozmund’s renewed hardness against his leg, brushing up and down the curve of his ass. At the same time, Ozmund lifts Ash’s neck to his lips, sucking and biting greedily at the sensitive flesh.

“W-wait!” Ash whimpers. “I thought—I had all my punishments?”

The caressing hand on Ash’s cheek pulls back and slaps him, hard. “You’re not here to think, pet,” Ozmund replies darkly. “You’re here to be my plaything. Is it a punishment to serve your Master, or is it your purpose? If anything”—he grips Ash’s face tightly and forces him to meet his piercing glare—“you should consider it a privilege, especially now that the only interesting thing about you has worn off.”

With a snap of Ozmund’s fingers, the chains securing Ash shift and morph, tugging him onto his knees and pressing his ass high in the air. Ozmund settles behind him, lubricating himself with the remaining cum dripping from Ash’s hole. Ash tries in vain to use his tail to do something—anything—to push him away, but like Ozmund said . . . It’s gone. The magic has finally faded. And Ash, once again, suddenly feels very alone.

Ozmund holds Ash’s hips close to him, scratching his nails down Ash’s belly. “Did you really think one quick fuck would satisfy me? We’re not done until I say we’re done, little cat. But”—he lifts Ash’s head by his hair—“as fun as your sniveling and sobbing can be, I’m growing tired of hearing it.” Another swirl of magic, and he shoves a wad of fabric into Ash’s mouth, securing it in place with another strip tied behind his head. “Much better. Now I can fuck you in peace.”

By the time Ozmund finally finishes—several hours and loads later—Ash’s screams have long died behind the gag.

-

Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba @corbytheking @lumpofsand @tired-human09 (I thought you might want to be tagged, lemme know if not and I'll remove you!)

-

A/N: I'm back babey! Well, hopefully. Still slogging through moving, but I have a bit more free time to write at the moment so hopefully I can start getting a chapter a week out again and gradually pick up from there. It's been . . . a lot lately. Thanks for being patient <3

[hannahbarberra162]

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart, Chapter 8

18+, MDNI

Now on Ao3

All chapters

Things get explicit in this chapter. Yandere in full force.

TW dubcon, mental and emotional manipulation, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past SA.

Y/N POV

You heard Marco calling to you from the hallway. You didn’t know how he had found you, but he sounded angry. You came out of the closet and saw a cross Marco with his arms folded across his chest. You fought the urge to grovel immediately but did start pinching your fingers. You didn’t know what you did - but you’d do anything to get him to stop scowling at you.

“Y/N.”

“Hi Marco.”

“Why are you sleeping in the supply closet?”

“Oh. Um. I guess I just got sleepy and took a nap here? Sorry, it won’t happen again,” you said sheepishly.

“Wrong answer.”

“Ah, um…I don’t…I didn’t…um…” You floundered. Marco had never taken this kind of tone with you and you didn’t know what to do. You were starting to panic.

“Oh, Y/N, what are we going to do with you?” sighed Marco, putting his face in his hand and shaking it from side to side. “My brothers and I have really put ourselves out there for you. We saved you from the Marines, we brought you to our ship, we’ve helped you in so many ways. This is the thanks we get?”

“I am thankful! I really, really am! I’m so grateful for everything everyone has done.”

“It doesn’t feel that way. Why didn’t you tell me that you were having trouble sleeping? That you were sleeping in closets and cupboards? That you can’t sleep without your back to the wall? Do you think we can’t help you? That I can’t help you? That I’m not a good doctor? That I don’t care for my siblings? Is that what you think of us?”

“No! No, I just… Marco, please, I… j-just didn’t think it was import–”

“It IS important, Y/N. Why should we keep helping you if you don’t trust us?”

“I d-do trust you! I do!” you were close to crying from the tension radiating off Marco.

“I don’t know if we can continue to have someone on our ship that we can’t trust. That doesn’t trust us. I think our time together may have come to an end. I will inform Whitebeard on your behalf.” Marco turned his back to you and started to walk away.

You were bawling now, you didn’t want to leave the ship.You didn’t have anywhere else to go and if you left you’d have no one and and and…so you called out “wait, Marco!” Marco stopped, but didn’t turn towards you. You ran up to him and grabbed his hand from behind. He allowed you to take it but remained turned away from you.

“What, Y/N?”

“P-p-please, isn’t there anything I can d-do? T-t-to show that I t-trust you? I don’t wanna b-b-be k-k-kicked o-o-out, p-p-please..” you were sobbing so hard you couldn’t form words without stuttering. 

“Well,” he said, moving his head from side to side in thought “I suppose if you showed your trust in us..”

“P-p-please!”

“No more secrets, Y/N. You have to be completely honest with us.”

“O-of course, w-whatever you want to kn-know.” You were still crying but were starting to hope that Marco would forgive you.

“And since it seems you can’t take care of yourself properly, you need to surrender that task to us. You need to listen to us when we tell you what’s best for you. I’ll meet with my brothers and we can set some rules for you to follow so you can earn our trust.” You weren’t sure what that meant exactly, but you would have agreed to let him rip out and eat your still beating heart if he asked for it.

“Y-y-yes, ok, thank you M-Marco. Thank you.” You nuzzled his hand in thanks, trying to deepen your breathing.

He turned his body all the way towards you his expression softened. He cupped your face in both of his large hands. “I know you don’t mean to hurt us, Y/N. I want you to be our good girl, and I think you want that too, isn’t that right?”

You nodded your head up and down in his hands. 

“I know the perfect way you can start to earn back my trust.”

“H-how?” your crying had stopped but you were still hiccuping your words.

“Kiss.” he commanded and brought his lips crashing down on yours.

Ace POV

Ace had overheard an emotional conversation in the hallway and had cracked his door to see what was going on. He watched as Marco ordered you out of the closet and began speaking sternly to you. Ace’s eyes opened a little wider - he hadn’t known you were sleeping there. If he had found you in there, he’d have taken you straight to his bed. He decided to stay hidden and see what happened.

Listening to Marco talk to you was a masterclass in manipulation. Marco had maneuvered you so well, so easily and you hadn’t noticed a thing. Ace knew Marco wasn’t worried about your loyalty, but you sure didn’t. He had gambled on your insecurities and won the grand prize. Now they were all able to collect. Finally, they’d be able to have you in the way they had wanted. 

As he watched Marco kiss you in the moonlight and knew he’d be doing the same, and soon. You looked like a little angel, all breathless and submitting yourself willingly to Marco. He handled his growing bulge over his pants, fondling himself to your teary- eyed kiss. The scene was too hot for him to endure untouched, so he took his cock out and started slowly stroking himself from base to tip. He was leaking precum just from watching a kiss, like he was a teenager. He imagined it was himself kissing you, fondling you, getting to touch you. He pumped his cock a little bit faster as you started making small sounds from Marco’s hands traveling over your neck, shoulders, and down your front. He imagined the sounds you would make around his cock as you rode him, how he would bite your neck, suck on your nipples, give you marks to let everyone know he was there. That he would always be there. 

Y/N POV

Marco’s kiss was all encompassing. All you could think about were his lips as they expertly kissed your own. He had caught you off guard-  your mouth had been closed. He licked at the seam of your lips, wanting you to open. You opened your mouth slightly and he pushed his tongue inside. He was still holding you in place, kissing you at his pace. He was in control and was showing you what he wanted. You followed his lead, kissing him back. You wanted to show that you wanted this too, that you wanted them, that they didn’t need to get rid of you. You tried to pour all that emotion into your side of the kiss. 

When he stopped kissing your mouth and started feathering light kisses down the column of your neck. His hands were roaming all over you - your arms, neck, and starting to creep up your stomach. “Ah, Y/N, I knew you’d be worth the wait.” You couldn’t answer - your breath was coming in short gasps as his kisses trailed downwards. “Let’s go somewhere private - I wouldn’t want anyone else to enjoy the show yoi.” Marco cocked an eyebrow towards one of the open doors briefly but you didn’t see anyone.

With that, Marco threw you over his shoulder and took long strides to his room. Once in, he sat down on a loveseat and put you in his lap, facing him. “Come here, Y/N, show me how good you can be.” He began kissing you again, moving from your lips to your neck down to your collarbones. You started to let out small whimpers. You couldn’t help yourself - you knew you were incredibly wet. You started moving and grinding on Marco, hoping for some friction. 

Marco was kissing your shoulder, and had started putting his hand up the hem of your shirt, teasing your lower back with light touches. “Ah, wait. I don-” You tried to object. Kissing was one thing, but showing your back was another. No one had seen it in years, it was a source of deep shame and humiliation. You wanted to keep your shirt on for now.

“Y/N, this is the exact kind of thing we need to be working through,” Marco said with a frown. “I thought you had agreed to listen to us yoi,” he continued. He gripped you by the shoulders and stopped your movements on him. You realized belatedly you were grinding on his cock - and he was huge. There was no way it would ever fit…but you refocused back to the present. Your back? You gulped - was this what he needed from you? So he could trust you? You could do it, you thought, trying to gather your own courage. It was just skin, and he’d seen scars before.

Marco had changed the position of his hands, holding your thighs down to prohibit your rocking. “You can take it off” you said in a small voice, looking down at your lap. Marco flashed a smile at you as he raised your shirt off your body. 

You lifted your arms and Marco pulled it all the way off. He ran his hand over the middle of your back and paused. You hoped he would continue to tease and kiss you, but he just picked you up and faced you the other direction away from him so he could see your back better. He was examining it silently. You knew it had killed the feeling in the room from the way he was looking at it. He reached out a finger to touch the angry red, raised lines. He touched one and you hissed a little - they were extra sensitive lately. He just looked at you silently for a few moments. Marco didn’t say anything but sat you down next to him, off his lap.

You hung your head in shame. You couldn’t look at him. Not only had he seen your back, but you had disappointed him. He didn’t trust you. You had another crew’s logo on you. He didn’t want you anymore, he thought you were ruined. You were ruined, just like you were told. You were going to be sent back, discarded like the trash you were. You just waited for Marco to tell you to collect your things. 

‘Y/N, what is this yoi?” he said in a soft voice. He was being gentle with you, delicately touching parts of your scar that were less raised. 

“It’s old scar tissue, it’s healed now.”

“What’s it from?”

“Most of it is a branding from when I was on that pirate ship. They - they burned their jolly roger on me. Some of it is from a whipping the Marines gave me. Those are the more recent marks.”

“Why did they whip you?”

“Escape attempt.”

“Do they hurt yoi?”

All the questions were digging into your deepest sources of shame. You wanted to be strong but you started crying again.

“Y-yes. I think they don’t let me stretch my skin enough back there. It always feels tight. I’m not really sure, I try not to look at it.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m s-sorry M-m-marco. I really tr-tried to be g-good for y-you. I’m j-just r-ruined.”

“You’re not ruined, this wasn’t your fault,” he said absently as he continued gently touching your back. You couldn’t see, but you felt a pleasantly cool sensation along some of your scars. Was he trying to heal you? The flip between the harsh Marco of before to the sensual Marco to this soft Marco had you so confused. You didn’t know how he was going to take anything. You let him look in silence. He broke it by quietly asking “why did they brand you, not tattoo you?”

You gave him the answer you had been told, in a deadpan voice “Crew get tattoos, property gets branded.”

[hanasnx]

getting hayden's initials tattooed on your lower back then him finding out you got a tramp stamp once he bends you over 🫦

tabloids get close up pics of it when you wear your crop top and low rise bottoms out in public and make up all these juicy headlines about how your older bf owns you enough to get a tat of his name

[whump-mania]

Okay so captivity, what's a fun way to keep a whumpee from escaping? Burning the soles of their feet, but in a fantasy world (or maybe they're just part of a cult), branding their feet with runes or cult symbols or initials so it both prevents them from walking as well as either being a mark of ownership, humiliation, or something magical. And for specific scenarios: vampire or demon whumpee getting the soles of their feet burned with crosses, and angel whumpee being branded with a pentagram, etc. so the pain stays for as long as they're affected by it rather than eventually healing

SERIOUSLY foot whump isn’t utilized enough

[uncaught-coolfish]

i no longer recall the face in the mirror

[a-living-canvas]

A request from @electrons2006

Horizon's Haze

I want to make you feel scared.

Whumpee smiled softly to himself, admiring the littered scars and marks around his arms and torso. It's an honour, really. To have Whumper marking him like this. It's a symbol of love.

Whumper loves him.

Leaned in close, Whumpee peppered his fading scars with kisses. So gentle and so soft as his mind filled with Whumper.

His body was trembling, yes, but that didn't bother him so much. Even when sitting in a large tub filled with ice, he could still look up at Whumper and murmured softly with his shaking lips.

"T-thank you, Master…"

It's been a few days and the torture gradually get worse. But Whumpee didn't mind, he didn't even flinch anymore. He knew it's for the best. All of his life, he used to be bullied by his friends and beaten up by his father. And he learned something from it.

People love it when he gets hurt.

And it makes them happy, so, Whumpee didn't mind being a punch bag if that's what it takes for everyone to love him. He welcomed it even. When he thanked Whumper for putting him in a terrible state, it's like thanking him for loving him.

And Whumper? Whumper was sick of it. He wanted to see some tears, protest or defiance from Whumpee. Not…a lifeless doll. Maybe he should take some drastic measures, after all. 

Whumper whispered to his henchman, watching him nod and walk out of the room. He then turned his attention to Whumpee and frowned,

"Get outta there, boy."

Whumpee obeyed, stepping out of the tub and shivering intensely. Teeth chattering against each other and arms hugging his body tightly. Whumper increased the proximity between them and pulling Whumpee into his embrace gently.

Whumpee pressed himself closer to Whumper, desperately seeking for his warmth. Whumper just stayed still, he made no effort to caress Whumpee's cold body. 

"T-thank you, master…thank you…thank you…"

Sighing in frustration, Whumper pulled away from the hug and grabbed Whumpee's wrist before getting out of the room. They both walked in the dark hallway, went downstairs and finally stood in front of a shining door.

Heat coming from inside the room and Whumpee could feel his skin melting slowly. Whumper pushed open the door, revealing a machine with burning charcoal in it. Henchman was holding a stick, near the entrance as sweat trickled down his body.

It…was a new thing for Whumpee. He never went to this room before and suddenly, he felt something funny in his stomach. 

Could he be…scared? No no no, that couldn't be. He couldn't be scared of Whumper's love. He should embrace it.

Whumper was standing on the other side, wearing a suit to cover himself from the heat just like Henchman did. He just left Whumpee alone, without anything to wear except for the white filthy shirt and short pants that reached just above his knees.

"Get down."

Whumper pushed Whumpee's back with a metal pole and Whumpee winced in pain as his knees made contact with the burning floor. Truly, he felt like being put in a large microwave at the moment. 

His shirt was being pulled up from the back, clipped together with the collar to make sure his spine was wide open to his captor. Whumper crouched down in front of Whumpee, chaining his wrists together with the concrete. 

He leaned in close and whispered to his ear, "I bet you couldn't get enough of thanking me after this. This, would make you truly mine, Whumpee."

"All ready, boss."

Henchman called out from behind and Whumper nodded. Standing up straight again, he walked around Whumpee and left him alone for a moment. 

His hair was being grabbed and pulled back harshly as a hot, burning gag was shoved on his mouth. Whumpee's screams were muffled instantly as Whumper worked on the gag, locking the chain on the back of his head. 

Lips melting, saliva dripping down his chin and Whumpee was left panting against the blistering gag. "Mmh! Mmhh!"

He tugged desperately on the restraints, wanting to be out when another searing pain hit against his back. Holding the branding stick, Whumper pressed it forward on his scapula bones. 

Whumpee's writhing and squirming on the floor. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, mucus forming inside his nose as his skin was being abused by Whumper. 

A sob coming out of him and Whumper smirked. Finally, he thought. Finally, he broke this poor boy. 

Drowning in contentment, Whumper walked around and stood in front of Whumpee. With a swift motion, he pushed the branding stick to Whumpee's chest, emanating another muffled scream. Whumper chuckled, enjoying the look of despair in the other's eyes. 

Setting the stick to the side, he moved the gag to stay under Whumpee's chin. His lips were swollen red and sensitive to the touch. "Say it." Whumper demanded.

"S–so..rr..ry…" It even hurts to speak. 

Nodding in approval, Whumper took the stick back and this time, pressing it right between Whumpee's legs. Henchman that was watching since just now inhaled sharply at the scene.

"Aaaahhh!!!! Aaah!!!!"

Whumpee's blood-curdling scream filled out the room. He was forced to be in that situation until his voice gave in, only letting out a breathless sound of desperation.

Whumper pulled the stick away from him, putting it on the table before towering over Whumpee once again. He raised an eyebrow and Whumpee immediately caught on it.

"I-I..I'm…s-s…so..rry…"

"Good."

There. That was what Whumper wanted to hear from him after all this time. And he would make sure it stuck under Whumpee's tongue forever for all his life.

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @failgiao891 @jennyyy007 @heyyitsworld @risk606 @valravnthefrenchie

[honeyed-latte]

We see alot about Viggo branding Hiccup and ending his life as a free man.

But what if Hiccup won, what if Hiccup couldn't face killing Viggo and knew imprisonment wouldn't be enough?

What if Hiccup had to take Viggo?