#dead dove don't read

[megamindfandombookclub]

Rage Rage FUCKING RAGE

About the AO3 "No Guest Comments for a while" warning

If you're not following any of AO3's social media accounts you might be in the dark as to what kind of "spam comments" have engendered this banner at the top of the site:

These spam comments have been posted about a great deal on the AO3 subreddit for the past couple of days. Initially they comprised a bunch of guest (logged out users) bot comments that insulted authors by suggesting they were using AI and not writing their own fics. Some examples, from the subreddit:

But it then escalated to outright graphic porn images and gifs being posted in comments, again by logged out 'Guest' accounts. Obviously, I'm not going to give examples of those, but between these two bot infestations, AO3 has clearly decided to act and has temporarily closed the ability to post comments for users who are not logged in with an AO3 account.

Unfortunately, this means that genuine readers who don't have an AO3 account won't be able to leave comments on fics that they enjoy.

If you are a genuine reader who doesn't yet have an AO3 account, I strongly suggest getting yourself on the waiting list for one. More and more AO3 authors are now locking their fics down to registered users only - either due to these bot comments or concerns about AI scraping their work - which means you're probably missing out on a lot of great stuff.

Hopefully guest commenting will be enabled again at some point soon, but I suggest not waiting until then. Get yourself on that list.

Wait times are going to be longer than usual at the moment, due to the current Wattpad purge [info on Fanlore | Wattpad subreddit thread], but if you're in line, then your invite will come through eventually.

Update: There's now a Megathread about this on the AO3 subreddit.

[5ummit]

So there's this post with a troubling number of notes going around insisting that "dead dove" is not a genre, it doesn't inherently have anything to do with darkfic, and that the tag could be applied to fics that are "100% fluffy where everyone's having a good time" if they happen to contain some abnormal (though entirely non-problematic) content like an unusual kink. The claim is that "dead dove: do not eat" is simply a "courtesy tag" that means "this is a very specific niche, mind the tags." And that's just... wrong.

I wrote up a whole rebuttal to this post since I can't stand misinformation and frankly OP was being kinda rude and judgey on top of their wrongness. But right after I posted my reply, OP turned off reblogs because, and I quote, “some fuckwad added some dumb shit onto this post and it is no longer educational” (the “fuckwad” being me and the “dumb shit” being proof that they were wrong). A couple people have asked me to make a rebloggable version of my response, which I've decided to do because this isn't the first time I've heard similar claims and I want to help set the record straight. However, I'm not linking the original post on the off chance this gains traction because OP did the right thing by turning off reblogs, preventing it from circulating further, and I don't want them to get hate for being unfortunately misinformed.

For those who don't know the history, "dead dove: do not eat" was originally proposed as a catchall "hydra trash party" alternative label for any fandom to warn that the content of a fic may be considered problematic or potentially upsetting and to read the tags carefully so you know what you're getting into and won't complain later. Specifically, DD:DNE was intended to convey that the Bad Things in the fic would likely be reveled in and not explicitly condemned by the narrative, which some people tend to get up in arms about, hence the need for the extra warning in addition to the tags. Don't believe me? Here's the original proposal (note DD:DNE can be found on a handful of fics dated before 2015 but this is when it really took off and became a Thing).

There are currently around 50,000 fics tagged as "dead dove: do not eat" on AO3 and close to 50% of those also include the rape/noncon warning (which of course is not the only type of "dead dove" but is one of the most popular and most consistently tagged). The normal percentage of noncon fics in any given fandom? Around 1-3%. That's a HUGE disparity. So don't tell me that dead dove is just a general "courtesy tag" and doesn't or shouldn't have dark connotations. Even the context of the original joke on Arrested Development has a dark undertone. Micheal Bluth casually finds an animal carcass in a bag in his refrigerator with the label "do not eat", as if eating it would be any sane person's first thought. The whole situation is kinda fucked up. And this fucked up vibe very much carries over into fandom usage too, as was intended.

The claim that dead dove has nothing to do with the content's genre and could just as easily be used to describe a 100% fluffy fic in which everyone's having a good time is straight up Wrong, or at the very least, severely warping the original meaning. Also, when someone these days says that they like/dislike "dead dove" most people in fandom automatically understand what that means because of the consistency of its usage over the years and the way language evolves. Whether you like it or not, "dead dove" IS a genre now and the term does carry a specific connotation. I do agree that DD:DNE should definitely still be used in conjunction with other tags, when applicable, to be explicit about the exact type of fucked up content you may find, but to say that the term is meaningless on its own is patently false and I'm tired of people who don't know what they're talking about pushing this narrative and causing even more confusion.

You want a generic term that also means "mind the tags" and doesn't have any inherently dark connotations? Just use good ol' "what it says on the tin" instead of trying to force dead dove to be something it's not.

[megamindfandombookclub]

This is how I feel about censoring words like rape, suicide, murder, kill, ect.

When we take away the power that these words/art has, and we sanitize it, then they lose their power and this is why we have so many people online (and off!!) who are way too comfortable with making "kys/unalive yourself" jokes and wishing death on people for whatever small slight that they deemed worthy of wishing harm on that person/people.

On the flip side, if you're uncomfortable with saying any of these in conversation without sanitizing it, (r*pe, su*cide, m*rder, k*ll*, or my personal favorite /disgusted sarcasm/ "unalive", etc) then maybe you're not mature enough to be talking about said topics?

And I get that "we want to make everything comfortable for everybody, every day, all the time!" but when we're too accommodating in this kind of situation, then we are taking away the onus and responsibility of the person/people triggered by those words/topics to curate their own experience and removing themselves from the situation.

Online, it's literally as easy as blocking, backspacing, and/or/also physically removing yourself from the conversation.

But whatever you do, do not make it everyone's else's problem because you found some content that is "icky" to you. :/

I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.

[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.

[thatonegayship]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines Characters: Bill Cipher, Dipper Pines, Stan Pines Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, serial killer au, Non-Linear Narrative, Abduction, Kidnapping, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killer Bill Cipher, Detective Dipper Pines, Detective Bill Cipher Summary:

Who could possibly be behind these gruesome murders plaguing the quaint streets of Gravity Falls, and why do the victims all hold a striking resemblance to intern-detective Dipper Pines?

In retrospect, it's pretty obvious.

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the ask game

tim creates a clone of kon, but this is dicktim tim has to carry the fetus or breastfeed it, but dick suddenly gets a mommy kink and immediately falls in love

for the ask game!

DICKTIM MOMMY KINK. how did you know i have such a thing for just about any Batcest ship where the other person calls Tim mommy. i don't even know why i just think that shit is so fun.

it'd have to be Omegaverse for me, that's the only scenario i personally could write m-preg. i like the thought of no one knowing that Tim has gone on this crusade. and after 99 failures, Tim's so desperate and angry he tries in vitro fertilization. the first few times it doesn't work so he doesn't take it too seriously, at this point it's just a compulsion. he gets to a point he stops taking the pregnancy tests. so when about a month later, he's experiencing morning sickness and he's missed his heat, Tim has an 'oh, shit.' moment. and well. telling Dick first is his *natural* answer. (i think he'd also go to Steph, but in canon she'd be "dead" at this point) Tim doesn't know what to do, he didn't think he'd get this far. Dick is comforting and grounding, agreeing to help Tim hide this the best he can. Tim has to time it right, fake a bad injury so it makes sense he's benched and wearing baggy sweaters for a few months.

it's platonic at first. Dick is an alpha but his bond with Tim is more of a pack bond and he's just trying to help Tim through this awkward situation he got himself into. (and not laugh at him too much in the process bc well. only Tim. only Tim could manage this.) the pregnancy hormones have Tim all over the place. he's seeking comfort and Dick is trying to keep it platonic and professional, even when he's cuddling Tim or bringing him weird cravings at 2 am. the trust in Dick and Tim's bond makes Dick Tim's only real support system. (also just bc the Titans were a goddamn mess in this era) maybe at some point they tell Bruce the truth but Bruce is dealing with Jason so. bigger fish. it forces them closer as Dick is the only one who can help Tim with the awkward sides of pregnancy. Dick is basically living with Tim and because Tim can't satiate the itch to be in the field (he's tried sneaking out, it earned him a lecture from Dick and a warning that Dick would handcuff him to the radiator if Tim tried that again) so Tim runs comms. for anyone who asks, but mostly for Dick, to the point he's in Dick's ear even when Dick doesn't need the backup, just to keep each other company.

i think, as the pregnancy went on and Tim's chest started to fill out and his hips are bigger, that's when Dick's feeling shift. one second Tim is just his pack, the next Tim is suddenly a very pretty, very vulnerable omega that's Dick is protecting and his wires get all kinds of crossed about it. he starts dousing himself in scent blockers so Tim doesn't notice the change, can't smell how much Dick wants him. which makes Tim annoyed because Dick's scent has been a consistent calming factor keeping the worst of his hormones in check. it'd lead to an awkward fight where Dick is dancing around the truth and Tim just wants to bite him out of anger. finally, Dick admits it and. Tim kind of bluescreens bc sure he's had a crush on Dick for years, but it's sort of like your celebrity crush calling you up and asking for a date. it makes no sense and he can't wrap his head around it. he almost thinks Dick is making fun of him, because Tim is super self-conscious about the pregnancy and mortified he put himself in this situation. it takes a lot of reassurance and a long conversation, but. well, they do end up having sex.

Dick doesn't *mean* to call Tim mommy the first time. he knows Tim hates being emasculated as an omega, and knows Tim is vulnerable about being pregnant. their sex is gentle, no matter how much Tim insists he can take it because Dick doesn't want to hurt the baby, or Tim. it's when Tim finally huffs with annoyance and flips them over -reminding Dick that Tim is still trained and deadly, even like this- to take control and actually get the rough sex he needs right now, when it slips out. there's something just very pretty about Tim taking control and taking what he needs from Dick, but still being whiny and squirmy on top of him. so the first time Dick calls him mommy is an accident and they're *both* startled by just how much they like it. their sex life goes from soft and caring to *very* interesting overnight, where Dick doesn't hide how much he likes Tim's chest. and well. breastfeeding kink. for completely scientific reasons, of course. just to help the milk flow and make sure Tim's body is adjusting well. definitely not bc of the noises Tim makes when Dick does it no sir.

when Tim finally has the clone baby, they're both smitten with this tiny clone. i think they'd end up mating and either say it's Dick's baby or they adopted it. (the lie only works short term bc well, sooner or later that baby's going to start lifting trucks. not to mention Kon does come back to life and is perturbed by how much Tim's kid looks like him.) it's a very cute, fluffy happily ever after sort of deal, with plenty of mommy kink. i think Tim would be huffy and annoyed at how long he'd have to wait for sex bc in my mind, Tim uses sex as a stress relief and is very annoyed when he's deprived of it so, they'd find creative ways around it.

[megamindfandombookclub]

Curate your online experience. If you see something you don't like, you have the power to leave the fic. Don't make it the writer's problem because you don't like something. The Back Arrow exists for a reason. You can always block the creator. You can exclude tags you don't like when you search for fanfiction to read.

You'll be happier when you do.

you ever just click on a fanfic and read the first word and go “shut up” and exit

[foursaints]

bbg i’m sure you’re already aware, but i don’t think it’s okay to ship siblings especially TWINS

not having discourse with you guys until you read "Gothic incest: Gender, sexuality and transgression" by Jenny DiPlacidi (jstor) and come prepared to critically examine how the merging of erotic/familial love in gothic literature has historically been used to disrupt the gendered boundaries that define the genre....

we're being so scholarly about this one. match my freak.

[domain-expand-me]

Just got my T shots the other day so I'm feeling extra feral, so.

Imagine

Banging and dominating Kenjaku until he forgets all about his plans

gn amab reader

Tw: dub-con? (Kenny is into it, cuz he's a freak). gross body horror stuff. Straight up skull fucking/brain fucking, like, appendages in kenjaku type of stuff. Read at your own risk.

Imagine being a curse user, with some ability that lets you hide even from the user of the six eyes. Maybe even an ability that has let you reincarnate every second generation or so. You've never been too involved with everything going on, enjoying your privacy and relaxing much more than running around causing problems. But you are aware enough to know about Sukuna and Kenjaku.

You are lazy, there's no way to go around that. You are powering, sure. But that doesn't mean you like punching on people for dominance. You have always just enjoyed laying back on expensive pillows and sheets and sleeping, you're cursed ability doing all the work for you. Even in death you are lazy, unable to be summoned forth by others unless you actively want too.

This was why you were annoyed about Kenjaku's plans to release Sukuna and force the evolution of every human. If more people gained the ability to use cursed energy, then more problems would crop up and get in the way of your relaxed lazy lifestyle. That's why you knew you had to do something about it, and it seemed easiest to just change Kenjaku's mind.

Much to your annoyance you had to drag yourself out of bed, your beloved Alaskan king-sized bed, with the most comfortable sheets and pillows. You didn't look like much in your baggy clothes, but there was no reason to dress up for this. Sweatpants, flipflops and an old hoodie would have to do.

It wasn't hard to find Kenjaku, not when you knew exactly what to look for. His cult being as loud as they were, to you at least, didn't help his case.

Imagine how easy it must be to sneak into wherever his cult was staying, your cursed abilities easily letting you stay hidden and silent. The scoff that left you was soundless as you watched this group of idiots, didn't they know the guy that followed was only using them? But when you saw his newest vessel you could kinda get it. He was quite pretty, with long black hair, earrings and a fox-like smile. He still seemed like a prick to you though, but maybe that was experience speaking.

You couldn't help but take a short nap as this cult meeting went on, cursed abilities primed to wake you up or snap out at whatever threat might appear. But of course nothing happens, instead you find yourself woken up to the sheep followers leaving, looking both energized and manipulated by whatever Kenjaku had told them.

Deciding to keep shadowing him, you follow at a lazy pace, until you two get somewhere far enough away from people that sorcerers wouldn't be notified of your shared presence. It was always so easy to attack people who didn't even know to expect you, to hit people who didn't even know you existed until it was too late. You couldn't find it in yourself to outright kill him, killing Kenjaku would just cause more issues, but pinning him down was easy.

He seemed shocked and fear struck when he couldn't use the cursed ability of the body he inhabited, another plus of your own. "Kenny~ always causing problems for me" you sigh, tilting your head, eyes droopy and lazy as he sneered and snapped up at you.

His eyes were wide as he visibly tried to search his memory for who you were, only to end up coming up blank. You weren't the greatest at hiding for nothing, he'd only see you if you allowed it. But now that you were, you weren't just gonna let him leave and run his mouth.

"who the hell are you" he snarled, the body's pretty face scrunched up in anger and murderous intent. His cursed energy flared in anger, but it seemed to go limp the moment he tried to flex and use it. The body was tense, but instead of looking at its eyes, you kept your attention on the deep scar on its forehead, aware that that was there your target truly rested.

"this little plan of yours, it's... Annoying me" you sigh out, body loose limbed and relaxed as you sat back on his body's hips, only for something to catch your attention. Was he? Oh, he was. A lazy cat-like grin stretched across your face. He was hard. But was that Kenjaku, or was it simply the body he was occupying reacting to instinct? What kind of person was this, that they got excited being pinned down by a cocky lazy powerful idiot like you?

Kenjaku's sneer depended, even as the cheeks of his body flushed, his legs kicking and arms pulling against your iron tight grip where you kept them above his head. "You know... I was just gonna lobotomize you with my fingers. Rip that skull open and dig some new pathways in you, but, if you really wanna" you purr, voice still so lazy, like you haven't slept right in months.

Panic and something else seems to flash through Kenjaku's eyes, his eyes going so wide you almost had to laugh. He looked so stupid, like he had never thought anybody would be able to hold him down and leave him so vulnerable. At least, not an unknown being like you.

Using your cursed energy you kept him pinned, even as you sat up and started knee-shuffling up his torso. There was obvious fear and disgust in his eyes, but there was something else, something hungry and shameful that left the body's lips quivering as you settled your knees on either side of his head.

"w-wait" his voice sounded, so meek and shaky compared to his usual tone, as your hands settled on either side of his skull. You dismissively shushed him, like one would a troublemaker they couldn't bother listening to anymore. You debated on just cracking open this body's skull, he could always find a new one, but it was also pretty, and must have some skill for him to keep it, right? So you decided to be nice.

Instead you let your cursed energy gather at the tips of your thumbs, sticking them into the deep scar that went all the way around this body's head, using the cursed energy to slice it open like you are opening up an avocado. You felt your body heat up at the whimpered gasped noises Kenjaku made, his hands squeezing and tightening above his head, like he wasn't sure what to do with this situation.

They were starting to get in the way, and looking down you could see the glassy but hot look on the body's face. Deciding to see what he would do, you released the hold your cursed energy had on his wrists. Instead of pushing you away, Kenjaku's hands immediately grabbed onto your thighs, one of them shakily climbing up to pull at the top of your sweatpants.

"so cute~" you hum, finally letting the top of his head, the scalp, fall to the side, exposing the brain shaped curse inside. His teeth were grinding, what looked like a tongue but was probably more brain mass rubbing against the inner side of them. Fluids spluttered out from the open skull, splashing into the grass as Kenjaku gasped, from both the body's mouth, but also his own, the brain's teeth parting, as your thumbs rubbed against the slick wet surface.

The sound of two different voices whimpering and panting at once was fascinating, but it wasn't the strangest thing you had ever seen. Seeing how the body seemed to arch up, mouth opening as the tongue stuck out, trying to lap at the bulge in your sweats. Who'd have thought that the mighty Kenjaku would buckle so easily under somebody, but maybe he was simply one of those individuals that wanted to be dominated.

"come on, pull me out" you egged him on, that teasing grin on your lips as the body's hands twitched and jolted awkwardly, like Kenjaku was struggling to control it in this situation. Finally, he caught onto the waistband of your swears and boxers, roughly tugging them both down until your cock bounced free, half hard and slowly filling with blood, lazy like the rest of your body.

"nobody's ever done this, huh?" You tease, digging your thumbs into the wet slick ridges of Kenjaku's surface, letting your fingers pet against his soft vulnerable surface. Your pupils were blown wide as you watched the mouth on the brain pant open, wet from brain fluid instead of the usual spit you were used too.

You tsk, reached for your shaft with one of your wet hands, and brought it closer to Kenjaku, lowering your hips to start rubbing it through his ridges and folds. It wasn't hard to sense that he wanted more, from how the body jolted and twitched like an insect under you, hands shaking and squeezing at random intervals, slurred shapeless words spilling out of its mouth.

Your precum leaked into Kenjaku's surface, the brain seeming to shiver under your fingers at the new substance. "Come on Kenny, open up~" you sing-songed, running your tip down to the teeth that worked as the curses mouth. He seemed to growl and resist for a moment, but it was all for show, as the teeth parted, the tongue-like appendage sticking out.

A shiver ran through your entire body as you sank your length into his mass, a puff of air rushing out from between your lips as the wet slimey surface hugged onto your cock. The body gurgled wetly, eyes rolling back, a lewd smile on its face, matching what Kenjaku was feeling. It must have been a strange sight if anybody were to discover you here in the woods, your hips slowly working as you pushed and dragged your length in and out of Kenjaku's mouth, and through his mushy insides, splattering more brain fluid all over the both of you and the grass under you.

"you see Kenjaku... Your plans, they get in the way of my rest, you know? It's really annoying" you huff, sounding bored and mildly bothered as the body he inhabited gave a violent jolt and arch as your tip jabbed into the back of Kenjaku's mouth, or maybe rather, the back of what pocket made up his mouth and into the brain mass behind it.

You couldn't really see the face of the body he possessed, but the noises it made were wet and sloppy, and you could feel all the drool leaking into the fabric of your sweats. With a smirked huff you started working your hips faster, the slick noise of your cursed coupling ringing louder as Kenjaku moaned from both mouths, his hands digging harder into your hips. "Wouldn't it be nice to just... Come relax with me?" You hum, making sure to rub your fingers into the rest of kenjakus surface even as your hips beat against his front.

He couldn't answer, too busy holding onto you with his body, and trying to keep the sensitive soft mass that made up his body together against your cock. Normally you would just have kept going, but your hips slowed down, before you withdrew completely. It was lewd to see how shiny your shaft was as it twitched and throbbed, Kenjaku's mouth hanging open as his insides pulsed.

"Hm?" Was all you said, patting the face of the body to get an answer from him. The body's eyes were almost crossed, the tongue hanging out of its mouth as drool and tears ran down his cheeks and chin. It was truly a hot sight, one you hadn't seen before. "Y...yessshh" Kenjaku slurred after a few more pats, slurring from both mouths once more, in a morbidly hot symphony.

A soft lazy chuckle left you as you pushed your cock into Kenjaku's mass once more, releasing the energy you so rarely touched as you started rowing your hips back and forth with more speed and power than before. His body keened and arched almost right off the ground, shaking in what was a clear orgasm as he panted and sobbed wetly in what could only be pleasure.

The brain seemed to only grow wetter under your thrusts, like some pleasure triggered organ, but it wouldn't surprise you if Kenjaku possessed that ability. "Good boy, so good. Are you ready?" You huffed out, feeling that familiar tingling heat in your body. Kenjakus hands grasped tighter at your hips, a slurred noise leaving the body's lips, one you could only take as an affirmation. So with a deep huff, you buried yourself completely inside his mass, unleashing your load into the cavity you had carved.

Kenjaku and his body shuddered under your touch once more, a second orgasm crashing through the body as Kenjaku himself seemed to experience what was the closest to an orgasm that he could feel. White spurted out through different folds and crevices, joining the large puddle of fluid that had been left from your actions, but Kenjaku's noises and panting made it clear he had enjoyed it probably more than you had.

It was a bit of a struggle to pull out, mainly because his grip on your hips was so tight. Of course, you could have easily just ripped them off you, but his shuddering and whimpering was so cute you couldn't find it on yourself to do so. Instead you slowly withdrew out of Kenjaku, using your cursed energy to fix the worst of the damage you caused and to attach the top of his scalp again, sealing your spend inside not just Kenjaku but also the body he possessed.

Tucking yourself away, you could still see that he was in the throes of what was most likely his first ever true orgasm, that he himself experienced. So with a laugh you got to your feet and picked him up, letting the shivering body rest against your chest as you made your way back to your lair. You wondered if he ate, and if he did, did he like your favourite dessert? You guessed you'd have to see, what he came down from this new mind-blowing experience he was feeling.

[bitchin-beskar]

Training

Rating: Explicit Pairing: College!Athlete!Roommate!Paz Vizsla x Fem!Reader (Bunny) Warnings: Cockwarming!!! That's it that's the fic! ... jk theres a little more to it. Paz has a huge dick we all know it, and boy does he know how to use it. mentioned oral (f) receiving, mentioned fingering, overstim, big dick, dirty talk, mentions of continued overstim, dick so good u wanna cry, free use arrangement. AGAIN. IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT FREE USE OR ANY OF THE OTHER THINGS ARE, YOU ARE TOO DAMN YOUNG. DO NOT READ. DO NOT INTERACT. GO AWAY. Literally Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Exactly what it says on the package. Word Count: 2.1k A/N: Here is another oneshot in the CAR!Paz au! This came about due to an ask sent in by @catsnkooks during this fun lil sleepover weekend! Feel free to send things to my inbox this weekend (or really any time!) This was intended to be a drabble and ended up being just over 2k, so uh, yeah. It's fine. I'm fine. I just wanna thank @catsnkooks, @tailorvizsla, @firstofficerwiggles, @mysticalgalaxysalad, and all the anons who have been encouraging the thirst for this wonderful au! Also thanks to @maybege whom without I likely wouldn't have even created this au, and I'm also gonna tag @ronnieiswriting, bc they sent me a lovely little dm about this au and I finished this tonight instead of waiting as a lil treat for them! Please lemme know what you think, I appreciate all the love y'all have given this au so far!!

Gods, he was gonna split you in half.

You stood completely naked, on shaky legs, in front of Paz where he was sitting on the couch, his chest bare and his sweatpants tugged down just enough for his cock to spring free, resting against the taut skin of his stomach, flushed and weeping. He looked far too composed for a man who’d just spent the better part of an hour fucking you on his fingers and his tongue to prepare you for what he wanted you to do.

It was fucking infuriating.

It was also hot as hell.

His lips curled into a cocky smirk, as if he could read your mind. You were very pointedly trying to keep your eyes trained on his face, which was made all the more difficult when he wrapped his hand around his cock, slowly stroking himself. You couldn’t help yourself as your gaze flickered down to where his hand was wrapped around himself. Even with his own hand, he still looked disproportionately large, and not for the first time, you wondered how exactly your poor pussy was going to survive this... exercise.

“What’s wrong, bunny?” Even his voice was cocky, and even though Paz was your best friend, you felt a very strong urge to strangle him. Still, there was that little voice in the back of your head that was salivaiting at the mere thought of getting him inside you.

You were unreasonably proud at how steady you managed to keep your voice, given what your body had been subjected to and the looks he was leveling you with. “You’re not gonna fit, Paz.”

He didn’t answer right away, instead holding the hand not wrapped around his cock out to you, a silent request. You didn’t hesitate to step forwards and place your own hand in his, letting him tug you forward until you were standing inbetween his legs. Even like this, with him seated and you standing, you were looking him in the eyes. Paz was just that big.

“Don’t worry about that, bunny,” Paz said as he used his grip on your hand to encourage you to turn around, his hand moving to grasp your hip as he pulled you closer to him. You let him guide you, fingers clenching and unclenching in anticipation. He paused for a brief moment to swipe his fingers through your folds, an approving hum leaving him when he deemed you were still wet enough, before returning those fingers to his cock, slicking himself up with your release. Then, he was pulling you down, letting your weight rest mostly against his chest as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance. You sucked in a breath at the sudden pressure, but made an effort to relax.

He made a soft shushing noise, his hand helping to steady you as he began to lower you down, the pressure increasing slowly until the head of his cock was suddenly inside you. You gasped slightly at the intrusion, your thighs tensing at the unfamiliar sensation. You’d had sex before, certainly, but your ex was a much smaller man. Even your toys had never been quite this large.

“P-Paz?” You breathed, voice shaking.

He immediately paused, and you could feel as he kissed the back of your bare shoulder briefly. “Yeah, bunny?”

“W-What if… what if you… d-don’t… what if you don’t…” You trailed off, suddenly embarrased. You were likely far less experienced than his previous partners, and you wondered-not for the first time-how exactly this arrangement was going to affect your relationship with Paz.

But Paz seemed to know what you were trying to say. He tutted softly, brushing his lips against the length of your throat, his smile soft against your skin. “Don’t worry, bunny,” he murmured, starting to work you down again, his cock slowly sliding further and further into you as your mouth fell open at the stretch.

“I’ll make it fit.”

The cocksure tone of his voice made you clench, and he immediately shushed you again, placing both hands on your waist and sitting up from where he’d been lounged against the couch cushions. You made a concerted effort at relaxing again, and you slipped a little further down his length.

The sensation of being slowly stuffed full of Paz’s cock was something you honestly had never imagined you’d get to experience. It was currently defying all expectation, and you weren’t entirely sure you’d make it to being fully seated on his cock without passing out from the pleasure.

He eventually got you about halfway impaled on his cock when he seemed to hit a barrier, and you immediately winced at the uncomfortable feeling. Paz once again stopped immediately, his hands tightening slightly around your waist. You felt a keen sense of disappointment, and you suddenly felt the slight urge to cry. You’d known you weren’t going to be able to take all of him, and he was going to be so disappointed-

“I wanna try something,” he suddenly said, his tone not disappointed like you’d expected, but contemplative. “Trust me?”

You blinked, unsure as to where that was coming from, but nodded nonetheless. You probably should’ve been a bit more cautious with answering, because Paz suddenly slid his hands down from where they’d been resting on your waist to wrap his fingers around the backs of your thighs, and lifted.

A squeal of shock escaped your mouth and your hands flailed as you were suddenly supported only by his grip on your thighs and half of his cock in your cunt. He pulled your thighs apart, so your legs were no longer between his own, but dangling on the outsides of his own thighs. Pulling your legs apart like this surprisingly eased the pressure in your cunt, and he slowly began to lower you more, and your pussy greedily sucked him in.

He was completely supporting your weight with just his hands and forearms, and your brain could not comprehend the strength he must be using to hold you like this. But you couldn’t deny, it was far easier for you to take him in this position, and before you’d quite processed that, the backs of your thighs were resting on the tops of his, and his cock was completely buried in your pussy.

You sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back so your upper body was supported by his chest and you could rest your head against his shoulder. Paz stroked his hands up and down your thighs, humming appreciatively. Your own legs were trembling from the strain and effort it had taken for you to take him.

For a few moments, the two of you just sat there, adjusting to the sensations. You were honestly shocked that you’d managed to take all of him, and you felt a not insignificant amount of pride. Still, it was overwhelming to be that full, and you couldn’t help but brush your hand over your abdomen, feeling like he was in your stomach he was that deep inside you.

Paz chuckled, the vibrations jolting you slightly and shifting his cock slightly inside you, making you whimper quietly. One of his hands came up to cover yours, the size of his hand dwarfing your own.

“Can you feel me here, bunny?” At your nod, Paz pressed down slightly, and you gasped as the change in pressure made sparks of pleasure light up your nerves. “Yeah, you can. How does it feel?”

It took you a few tries to reply, your throat dry and your tongue heavy in your mouth. “I-I feel s-s-so full.” There was truly no other way to describe it, the sensation so unfamiliar but also one you were quickly coming to love.

“Hmm, I bet,” he responded, sounding far too smug and full of himself. He slowly spread his thighs, forcing your own legs further open.

With the way your legs were hooked over his thighs, and the way you were impaled on his cock, you had no choice but to let him move your body the way he wanted to. You felt your cheeks warm at how exposed you were like this, naked and spread open on his lap, even in the emptiness of your shared apartment. You tried to squirm a bit to get more comfortable, and he shifted underneath you, tilting his hips up further into yours somehow, but also easing some of the strain in your lower back as he did so.

The fullness inside of you had you clenching and unclenching, your muscles unused to this position and trying in vain to adjust. Paz didn’t seem to react, although he did wrap his arm more fully around your waist and brough his other hand up to stroke at where the two of you were joined together. Your eyes rolled back in your head as his fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing at it gently.

“P-P-Paz,” you stuttered, voice shaking violently. “P-Paz, s-so much, t-t-too m-mph!”

He’d jerked his hips slightly, just enough to barely count as pulling out before he settled back deep inside you, cutting your protests off with ease. He sped up his fingers, and you thought he might be enjoying the way you trembled uncontrollably on his lap.

“Jus’ need you to come one more time for me, bunny,” he slurred, voice low and thick in your ear. “It’ll help you take me a bit easier, don’t worry. Just gimme one more, okay? I promise it’ll help, it’ll feel so good bunny. You trust me, don’cha?”

You nodded shakily, turning your head to press your sweaty forehead against the side of Paz’s neck. “O-O-Okay, Paz.”

He pressed a kiss against the top of your head, and his fingers sped up again. You’d been on the edge since he began to fuck you onto his cock, and you honestly didn’t need much more stimulation before you were coming again with a low moan and weak twitches of your hips.

Paz hummed appreciatively, his fingers sliding through the mess you’d made between your legs and around his cock. You were tingling with overstimulation, feeling flushed and sweaty and you probably looked a mess, but it was only Paz here to judge you, and you got the feeling he didn’t mind, especially when he was directly responsible for your wrecked state.

“You did such a good job, bunny.” You preened at the words, feeling a sense of accomplishment. “Such a good girl for me, giving me another. You feel so good coming around me like that.” He paused, the silence heavy, and you abruptly felt very much like prey, like the nickname Paz had bestowed upon you implied. You didn’t have the time to contemplate it before he continued.

“I lied, bunny. I’m sorry, but you just felt so good.” His fingers trailed back up to your throbbing clit. “I wanna feel that again. Wanna feel your lil’ pussy trembling around my cock. I wanna feel you gush around me.”

You mouth fell open, and your hands tried to reach down to pull him away but he was quicker, the arm that had been around your waist coming up to grip your wrists in one huge hand, bringing them up so your restricted hands were pressed into your sternum. He tutted softly, spreading his legs just a little further and restricting your movement just that little bit more.

“We agreed on the rule, bunny. You let me do whatever I want, whenever I want. Isn’t that right?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing to whisper in your ear, tormenting you.

“And I wanna feel this pretty lil’ pussy absolutely strangle my cock again. I wanna feel you come and come and come until you can’t anymore. And then I wanna fill you up, wanna fill you up so full you’ll feel me dripping down your thighs for weeks. I wanna see you on campus and know you can still feel me in your fucking guts. I want you to sit with your friends and all you can think about is how I feel inside you right now. Any time a guy even fucking looks at you I want you to remember how this feels. I want you to remember how hard you came with my cock in your lil’ cunt.”

He stopped for a moment, breathing harshly in your ear as he quickly worked you towards another orgasm, and you almost couldn’t hear his next words over the uncontrollable whimpers and moans that escaped your throat as he abused your poor cunt.

“You’ll never be able to fuck anyone else and not think of me, bunny. I’m gonna fucking wreck you.”

[megamindfandombookclub]

ALL this ^

If you don't learn to manage yourself NOW, then you're definitely not gonna have a good time when you get older.

I mean I think people should curate their own fandom experience and whatnot and it's perfectly fair to just avoid things one is uncomfortable with...

That being said. From personal experience? Immunizing myself to all my discomforts by browsing through pixiv and kink memes with raised eyebrows while searching for things I am interested in back when tagging was non-existent has really made my fandom experience much more pleasant nowadays.

I have preferences, for sure. But I have no fear. I have no cringe. The filthiest, grossest fanwork holds no powers over me. I am a god.

Like honestly dl;dr and block on sight is respectable and all but I genuinely think everyone could just benefit from purposefully exposing yourself to your nOTP and non-triggering squicks sometimes? (And obviously don't go bother the creators for it.) If only so that it makes it easier/safer to search for content you like without living in fear of accidentally glimpsing something you hate and having that ruin your day.

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 25

This feels like a Halloween post if I've ever made one. Writing things I didn't know I was capable of. Please heed the warnings, this is more intense than my usual writing!

Content warnings for: threats of death, mild gore via excessive blood, wound manipulation, stabbing, forced consumption of blood, creepy whumper, partial nudity, and stitching wounds.

Again: please do not read if you are sensitive to blood.

Stitches

“How many fucking times?! How many times have I found you doing this same bullshit?!” He slammed his hand down on the table, nails scraping against wood as they curled into a fist. His captive flinched away violently. “You’re terrified, just look at yourself! And yet, every time you’re afforded a bit of freedom, you find another way to test my patience!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” They gasped, backing further through the kitchen until they hit the counter. He followed.

“I can see through your act, idiot,” he spat, not swayed as he usually may have been. Their eyes widened, just enough to betray their shock. “I know. You think this is a little routine now, don’t you? I throw you back to the basement and you play nice until I give you another chance?”

His hips pressed against theirs and he loomed over, forcing them to lean away. Wild brown eyes searched for an answer, pupils dilated to nothing.

“I don’t! I swear to you!” One finger curled in their collar ring, nearly lifting them off the ground with the force of the pull. His nose pressed into theirs, breath seeping into their pores.

“Wrong. Answer.” A guttural yell and he threw them to the floor. “You think I can’t hurt you! That’s your problem. You don’t think I’d go further.”

Their head had hit the tile and it took a few seconds to remember anything at all. The click of a lock sounded and then metal on metal, sliding and reverberating. They managed to kneel up and look back, only to see him brandishing a boning knife.

“You know what? No. You don’t even think I’ve thought further. You don’t think I have ideas I’ve forced myself to hold back from. That I could indulge in at any moment.” They were cornered, trapped in between the counters and a… dangerous place.

“I don’t think any of that! I’ll go back to the basement, I’ll never try again, you can keep me there the rest of my life! You’re acting crazy!”

“Oh, am I?!” he shouted. “Last time I checked, the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting something to change!” Screaming, he was screaming now, dropping to his knees, dragging them by an ankle. “I’m giving you what you want! Something! Is! CHANGING!”

His knee on their left thigh, forcing it flat, then pushing their legs apart.

“STOP!” They sat up too quickly, flailed, pushing at his leg even as their vision swam.

“I’ve cut you on broad, safe surfaces. But I always wanted to cut down through creases.” What he lacked in volume he made up for in dead certainty, but his hands were still trembling with rage. “Right where your arteries run. Just to see what would happen.”

He traced the crease where their thigh joined their pelvis and a palm smacked down to protect it. 

“Stop touching me. Put the knife away and-!”

The knife stabbed through their hand.

The

Knife

Stabbed

Through

Their

Hand.

Disbelief couldn’t scream until he wrenched it out. And they wailed. Blood poured from both ends, and god it was just the edge, through the muscles of their pinky, missing bone, but one wound was gushing from two points. Their other hand clamped over it. Out of sight. Keep it out of sight.

“You’re pale. I wonder, where’s your blood gone?” Sick pleasure. That’s what he was getting. Holy fuck. “But I hardly nicked your thigh.”

And it slid directly into the crease, too hard, too quick, too deep. His face was red. Splattered. Bright. Dripping. Then the cabinet. It sprayed. Blood sprayed. 

“Your femoral artery.” That smile was coated in it. “That’s what I hit.” And he was looking, his fingers-

“PLEASE! PL-EEEEEEAH-SE…!” Pushing into the cut, triggering some reflex deep beneath their consciousness and they were convulsing back on their elbows, black static, not enough to hide crimson pushing up their shirt, shoving into their mouth. It was skin and nail, human, but it was iron, human, pressing down their tongue, dripping down their throat, dripping down the cabinet, dripping dripping dripping.

He was back with a sewing kit. He had left. But he was back. Their ears were ringing.

And they were bleeding out on their back and he asked them “you understand now, don’t you? You have another leg. You have two arms. You have a neck. The most important ones are in the neck, you know. Could I slit it and still save you?”

He was threading a needle: a straight sewing needle.

“You- you need a… a surgical…”

“This is all I got. You’ll have to deal.”

“911…”

“You’re stupider than I thought. Scream.”

Fingers pinched raw edges together, pulling hard, forcing the needle through. Pulling harder when the thread knotted. They screamed. They didn’t know they still could.

“What do you think? Ten? Eleven? Come on, look and make yourself useful.” The collar pulled and they were sitting up, listing to the side. There was a puddle under them. Their pant leg was cut away, and the leg of their underwear. All scarlet.

He must have let them go. He said this was number five. Then number eight. He was out of his mind, he couldn’t count, and they were dying.

“I think it’s still bleeding.” Swiping across the sealed seam. Their body couldn’t hurt anymore, but it prickled through the darkness. Then smoke. Burning.

Fire in his hand, his lighter, under the knife. The blade black with ash.

“Cauterization. Something else I always wanted to try.”

They faded out, then.

[spicypotatoesofttaco]

I've got Jay brain now!!!!!!! I've spent so many hours using his voice in my head that my thoughts are in his voice now. lmao

[sleepytiredbum]

DD:DNE!COD GHOSTS EDITION || Dark!David "Hesh" Walker X Walker!Reader

TW//CW: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, ABUSE, DUBCON, NONCON, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, SIBLING INCEST, TOXICITY, FAVOURITISM, BULLYING, MANIPULATION, POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOUR, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOUR, ONE-SIDED ATTRACTION, SMOKING, ALCOHOLISM.

Hesh, the scapegoat eldest son of the Walker family, can't help but be secretly jealous of Logan due to being the golden middle child of the family regardless whenever or not his parents didn't acknowledge it. He's the one that has to act older while Logan gets to act his age. He's the one that has to take the blame for everything while his younger brother can do no wrong.

Hesh doesn't know when he first started to take it out on you, the forgotten youngest child of the family and his younger sibling, maybe it was back in middle school where you came home in tears from being bullied for the first time where there something sickening just activated deep inside within his mind....

Hesh, who started to get with the wrong crowd, began to demand money in return for keeping your bullies at bay. Although he barely did nothing to stop the bullying and harassment because there was something sickening within him that like seeing you in tears which both terrifies and excite him.

Hesh who began to start smoking and drinking— puts cigarette burns on your body as marks where it can easily be hidden by layers of fabric and gets you so drunk that you can't escape resist being trapped on his lap with his arms around your waist. Where he can relish the feeling of your clothed ass directly on his crotch.

Hesh who gets extremely annoyed jealous whenever you're hanging out with someone you really like or your attention is not on him somewhere else. So he spreads false rumours around you that no one can have you hang out with a loser like you.

Hesh, who finally realised what he has been feeling all this time, when you tried started to hang out with Logan behind his back and he eventually caught you playing video games with that golden child bastard. Sitting so close to him on that couch. Your laughter sounding so beautiful nauseating through his ears and all he can think is how dare you, how dare you, how dare you, how dare you— why you showing such a pretty smile to him!? you're fucking mine, you're fucking mine, you're fucking mine! You're fucking his, aren't you!?

Hesh, who finally decides to mark you his for good, as he goes to take you out to a bar on your eighteenth birthday. Unaware that he had slipped something in your drink that would end with your body folded in half while he goes to ravage your tight little hole in a shitty motel room. Ignoring your feeble, weak and tearful protests to let you go as he licks your endless tears with his tongue.

"Why should I?" Hesh rasps huskily. "You've been mine from the start." Then, he swallows your whimpers and cries with his mouth as he continues to ravage you the whole night....

[megamindfandombookclub]

It's why I put this up on both my blogs.

It's the fine print, lol

I hate when I see "minors DNI" on smut. I'm not going to be tainted by reading it. I'm not going to read it and go out and do it - trust me, the immature jackasses at my school are not worth banging no matter how horny I get - and I'm not even capable of doing a good chunk of what I read anyway because I'm into vampires. And in the event I got vampire powers, I'd have other shit to do besides go get laid.

Possibly unpopular hot take but "minors DNI" isn't about keeping me safe, it's about keeping adults comfortable. And obviously you're allowed not to be comfortable with me commenting on it or talking to you about it. I can see why that'd feel gross to you. But me reading it without saying a word can't possibly make you feel uncomfortable because you have no way to know it happened or didn't happen. It's about being able to tell the other adults you're one of the good and not creepy smut writers who doesn't talk to kids when no one even accused you of that. It's about comforting them and comforting yourself with the idea you're good.

But the thing is, even if I read your work and I go "I'm going to go out and use blood as lube!", I read one story by you. I was raised by my parents for 16 years. Even if we ignore the idea I have the ability to think things through - which is stupid, but for the sake of argument we'll do it - if I'm allegedly easily influenced by the world around me, wouldn't the blame still not be on you anyway? You're not my mom, my mom is my mom.

I was trying to find fic with my favorite sex position (to read about, I've never done it IRL) and had to wade through a bunch of "minors DNI!" "I block minors!" "minors go do your homework!" and it was just. So dumb. So dumb and theatrical and pointless.

And also so, so easy to get around just by lying and writing "18" in my bio.

--

I suspect they're more afraid of legal trouble than of discomfort, but I agree the warnings don't carry any actual legal weight.

Personally, I don't care what you do unless you have shitty parents and you're dumb enough to let them catch you reading my porn or my gay stuff or whatever and they come make it my problem. Most teens are smart enough to hide things from this kind of parent though.

[bougiebutchbitch]

seeing 'dead dove & proship dni' on a blog is a first for me. like. i've seen 'proship dni' - and even if I think it's stupid, because you're basically saying 'I believe it's okay to harass people who create fictional situations I disapprove of', it doesn't surprise me anymore. But 'dni dead dove'??? you hate properly tagged fics and want that nasty stuff just floating around in the ecosystem where anyone can accidentally stumble across it? Like turds in a river?? okayyyyyy

I know, I know, they think fiction = reality. They want to eradicate any and all darkfic altogether, regardless of if you're a survivor exploring your feelings/trying to understand your abuser's pov, or digging into the nitty gritty awfulness of trauma recovery, or just putting fictional characters in a horrific situation to see what they do, like a fictional saw trap that is hurting literally no one. Y'know, like TV writers do all the time. I know they buy into the idea that video games cause violence. But like. ???