#noncon vibes

[ashintheairlikesnow]

somewhere in the back of my mind is a cloudy and nebulous piece of writing where rafael and chris talk about sex and Raf doesn't understand how anyone could NOT want sex, and Chris isn't sure how to explain being ace because his understanding of it is so self-focused and hard for him to elaborate in a way that includes others, and then Raf expresses confusion about why someone who didn't want sex would be made into a Romantic...

And Chris has sort of a blistering sudden awareness that Oliver was probably thrilled by the fact that he had no innate desire. It's never really sunk in before, not fully, that he only ever wanted Chris to suffer, every single second of every single day.

That none of it was ever about anything but having someone pretty under his thumb who would be eternally miserable and equally eternally unable to do anything about it.

And that would not be a good time for Chris's brain...

[painsandconfusion]

Hi! Love your writing!!

If it's not too much and you have time and want to, could you do a scene with an intimate whumper who's teasing whumpee for being scared?

Thank you!!!! (NO PRESSURE)

This is gorgeous. Yes. I love this prompt. Rip the other asks in my box, I have spoons for this.

.

Why Are You Scared?

(tw: intimate whumper, noncon touch, forced massage, forced comfort, implied abuse)

[Drabble Masterpost]

Whumpee flinched as the corner of their vision registered Whumper standing in the doorway.

Just...watching.

Predatory gleam in their eyes.

Whumpee swallowed thickly, grabbing the remote to turn their show to half mute. "...h-i uh...you.....wanna watch too...?"

Whumper's eyes raked down over them as they took a step closer. "I am watching."

Whumpee chewed on their lip, nodding as they turned the volume back up. "...do you...w-anna...sit on the couch...?"

"Mmmno. No, I'm good standing."

Whumpee's skin tingled - hairs on the back of their neck prickling up as Whumper prowled behind the couch to watch over their shoulder. Whumper's hands slid over the back of the couch, still out of view bust rustling against fabric nonetheless.

Whumpee flickered as warm breath brushed behind their ear. "Why are you so jumpy?"

Whumpee's fingers tangled together in their lap. "I...I wasn't trying t-...m'sorry-"

A soft whimper pressed from their throat as warm hands slithered over their shoulders, kneading gently into knotted muscle. It sent a shudder down their spine, pressing their entire body tighter in on itself.

"Just watch your show. You earned it."

Whumpee's lips pressed tight together, but they forced their eyes to stay glued on the screen as they gave Whumper a small nod. "Y-es sir."

Whumper hummed, continuing the slow massage. After a moment, they found a knot and prodded at it, rolling their thumb in hard circles around it until Whumpee was whimpering.

Whumper chuckled. "Did you break a rule, sweetheart?"

White fuzz scattered across Whumpee's mind. They shoved down the spark of panic and the burning of their eyes. "I...I d-onn't think so-??"

Whumper hummed in amusement, leaning in. Whumper's words brushed hot against the shell of their ear. "Then why are you so scared~?"

[Drabble Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[whumble-beeee]

WOOP WOOP THAT'S THE SOUND OF DA POLICE

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 15

Content: kidnapping/captivity, noncon drugging, recreational drug use, OD references, captivity references, honestly this is probably the closest thing to fluff you'll get from me: the funny

(AN: just a mini-chapter this week before we get back into things!)

* * * * A Brief Interlude * * * *

It had been a pretty easy drive so far.

Stan seemed more than content to just sit in his seat with his arms bound behind his back, completely relaxed except for the brief moments when his eyes would fly open and he would lurch up stock straight in his seat. Then just settle back and close his eyes right back up. Made Declan jump every time. Though he was really just happy that he didn’t have to blindfold the kid, excepting the intermittent night terrors, or whatever those were.

He knew he really should put the kid in the trunk or something, at least the back seat, but he was slightly worried he’d OD Stan, considering the way he was acting, the blank staring the complete lack of fight. Not to mention Declan’d kinda forgotten to account for his tiny size with the dosage. He was like, what, half Declan's size? More? Better to keep an eye on him.

It was pretty funny though, how high he was. And it’d be fine. No one would see them. It was dark, and Declan was taking the backroad highway that was usually deserted at night anyway. 

That being said, Stanny hadn’t said a word since they started driving… almost an hour ago now? The pill Declan’d taken earlier was really starting to hit him, too, lightly smudging the dark trees as they went sailing by, muting the rumble of the engine, a warm buzz enveloping his body as they sat in an easy silence aided by the light tunes of classic rock. Darkness washed over them like calm waves on a beach, only broken by the lime-green illuminations from the buttons on the dashboard and the odd car blasting them with their brights as it screamed down the opposite side of the highway. That was usually around when Stan would lurch up, actually.

“Hey, Uh… Declan. Deeby, DB, Deebers, Eeby Deeby, uh... Darth… Bucky…” Stan mumbled, eyes fluttering open.

Declan snorted at Stan’s ramblings, even if it did interrupt his favorite part of ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’. He turned the speaker down to a dull whisper.

“What, that my new nickname?” he bantered lazily. “I’ve definitely heard better.”

“Y’know, you’d be like,” Stan pitched his head back until it lightly thumped on the headrest, glassy eyes fixed firmly on the cloth ceiling. “Like, really hot, super hot, y’know? If you weren’t evil. Like really hot. The-the bandana, and the cowboy hat, and the tall and that accent and the whole… cyberpunk cowboy shit?... that’s fuckin’... that’s hot, man… not to me though but like, ahh... 'M not blind…”

Holy shit, what? God, he loved drugged people. 

“Y’know, some people would say that the evil makes me hotter,” Declan pointed out, humoring the captive than anything else. Besides, he wasn’t wrong. That was one of the tactics he used to capture, sometimes. Charms. The mask, the hat, the whole rugged cowboy look. It often got people excited, lulled them into a sense of safety and wanting. Very useful skill, being ‘hot’.

“Well… yeah,” Stan conceded. “But not me. Because you’re evil. Actually evil, a real actual villain who does villain things... Also not really my… my type. My fiancé though? D’loooove you‘f you weren’t evil. And if you didn’t kidnap me. He'd punch you in the face. S’mine though, hands off.”

Declan snorted. “Yeah, nah, don’t worry, I’m not gonna try to hit that. I think he’d be more angry with me anyway. Or scared, I guess. I certainly wouldn’t wanna meet me again.”

Stan lifted his head up. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You uh… you-you… met? How’d you know Marcus?”

“You told me about him. He’s your boyfriend,” Declan led on. It was kinda fun, this game of almost revealing information to him.

“F-fffiancé!”

“Ah, right. Fiancé. My bad.”

“T’ssssss uh…” He laid his head back again and closed his eyes.  “It’s fine…” 

And he was gone again. Settled back into the seat, like he’d just fallen asleep on a long late-night road trip.

Except for the blood running down his shirt and temples and the excessive bruises and red angry cuts that covered his body, his arms, his face, his neck. Ugh, all he could think now was that he probably should have cleaned Stan up a bit before sticking him in the front seat of his truck. 

Not to mention the collar. That's what really worried him. It was discernable from a mile away, and everyone knew what it was: A super detainment device. He hated that collar. It was so demeaning, and for what? Why a collar? There were power-dampening cuffs, he knew they existed.

It was all just for show, some ill-disguised power fantasy. Parade around the supers, look, they’re not dangerous anymore, they’re collared. They can’t hurt the regular people! You’re safe from the freaks! Police definitely liked it, power-tripping bastards. And he knew Vaughn definitely loved the collars.

And Lana.

Ew.

Not thinking about them right now. The engine of car roared over the music. He let up off the gas just a smidge. Declan had better things to do while high, anyway. Like vibe. Which was the complete opposite of those two. He’d much rather listen to ‘Hotel California’.

He turned the radio back up and let the music envelop him.

And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast Last thing I remember, I was running for the door I had to find the passage back to the place I was before "Relax, " said the night man, "We are programmed to receive You can check out any time you like–”

Piercing sirens suddenly hammered his ear-drums, wrecking through his easy concentration. He nearly swerved off the damn road. Bright reds and blues bathed the interior of the car in eerie, dangerous rave-like flashes of light. Stan’s eyes startled open with a small gasp. 

Lightning shocked through Declan’s body.

The police.

God dammit, why? Was he speeding? Was Stan more visible than he thought?!

Declan slammed his hands against the steering wheel with an angry shout, and this time Stan squeaked and cowered into himself. 

God, and now he had to get out his ‘fuck da police’ playlist, the vibes were completely different now!

This is what he got for breaking his damn rules!

Shit.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

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[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Caught in the Clutches of Lust

No im not sorry for any of this. cope and seethe

Btw I used a line from @painsandconfusion and @wormwriting's degradation starter list that I saved THREE YEARS AGO for this very moment. I am always playing the long game (⊙ˍ⊙)

←Previous - Masterlist

Ingredients: VERY creepy/intimate whumper, implied threat of noncon, a lot of noncon touching (unsexy but right on the edge), implied noncon kiss, unsexy nudity

Shiori?

No, it couldn’t be, she was a world away, she was human, he’d left her waiting by the fountain after the party and she’d moved on and forgotten about him, no reason to follow him here, into the depths of hell, looking exactly like she had the night of the party, jarringly out of place in her pretty dress, smiling at him like he wasn’t a blood-covered, unrecognizable version of himself.

And then he blinked, and all of a sudden it wasn’t Shiori at all, but Lythia, wearing the same yellow bandana that she always did while she was working in the palace gardens, the little black braids of her hair just as beautiful as he remembered. There was no pity in her dark eyes, like there had been the last time he saw her, looking up at him from the crowd while he was chained to that pillar, promising he’d be rescued after it was already too late. Actually seeing her hurt, and Erebus looked away for a moment, just a moment…

When he saw the woman in front of him now, his jaw dropped, eyes widening, his tense, burning hands finally relaxing.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Her voice was just as he remembered, and she was smiling at him so kindly, her eyes soft, her gloved hand outstretched, she was here to save him, she’d found a way to bring him back, he was too tired and scared and stressed to do anything else besides surrender control to her once again, to take her small hand and follow her blindly towards the fate she’d chosen for him. She was squeezing his still-healing hand tightly in hers, but she could do whatever she wanted with him just as long as she got him out of this place.

“Well, that was easy.”

The voice wasn’t Shiori’s, or Lythia’s, and it certainly wasn’t Neteri’s.

Erebus jumped back, finally seeing the person next to him clearly for the first time. She-they?-smirked at him, bright purple eyes sparkling. Their white hair was long and wavy, partially braided back with impeccable precision. Gold jewelry and a low-cut black dress accentuated their natural beauty, seeming very out of place in this hellish world. Most striking of all, though, was their bright red skin, a shade that was very familiar to Erebus.

This was a lust demon, and she’d lead him right into her lair.

“You-how did-I-”

They laughed, deep and bright, obviously amused by his shock and confusion. “You only saw what your heart wanted you to see, darling. It’s not my fault you turned into a meek little lamb and followed me here.”

Erebus’s face grew hot. “Well I-I…” his wings sank behind him. He’d thought he was about to be saved. Like an idiot. She’d led him away from the bubbling pools and acrid air into a sort of cave, a furnished one at that. But now he was cornered in here, at a disadvantage in the cramped space. He swallowed and changed the topic, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “Who are you and what do you want with me?”

“Apologies.” She bowed slightly, the sort of bow people gave when they were pretending to show respect during negotiations, but then declared war a few weeks later. “My name is Asmodeum, and really,” they gave him a disapproving look, “I’d rather not fight with you. I heard you’ve defeated Somiaken and Vorath already, but I believe you and I could work something out without coming to blows.” They held their hands up briefly, but the way they watched him made it clear that their guard was still up. “So, tell me your name, now. Unless you’d prefer I just call you darling?”

Erebus very much did not want that, so he complied. “Erebus. But you didn’t really answer my question. What do you want, if not to fight me?”

Asmodeum sighed wistfully. “Well, I can tell that you’re the sort of person who’ll never agree to what I really want, but I believe something can be arranged. You see, I’ve been stuck here for Akumo knows how long with no toys to play with. So, I was thinking-”

“I-I’m not gonna be your toy,” Erebus choked, his throat feeling like it was closing up. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” Asmodeum wagged a finger. “Let me finish, dear. I could have my way with you quite easily, you know. It would be oh so effortless to drag you back into my domain proper and throw you into a pool of boiling water or lava and watch the show. However, I think your forced cooperation would make this a little more fun, and it would be nice if you behaved for me. So, if you let me do what I want with you, barring the most intimate acts, I’ll let you kill me once I’ve had my fill.”

“What happens if I don’t say yes?”

Asmodeum casually examined their nails. “I will take you by force and I will defile you.”

“D-defile?! You don’t mean…” Erebus quickly glanced down, and Asmodeum smiled wickedly.

“Oh, I do mean. If you let me play with you, I swear I won’t do anything of the sort. Call it an incentive. So come on, Erebus, get rid of your sword.” Erebus just tightened his grip on it, weighing his options. As much as he didn’t want to let this demon…play with him...did he really have any other options? He was exhausted, and there wasn’t much room in here for him to try and put up a proper fight. And more than anything, he really, really didn’t want to risk being...Despite the anxiety building in his chest, Erebus unbuckled the sword belt around his waist, setting it carefully on the ground.

“Fine. But if you so much as touch me there I’ll-I’ll make you regret it.” How would he do that? He wasn’t sure. But he just-he had to make it clear that he wasn’t surrendering. He was just…agreeing to play along. Just to get a break from fighting. He was okay with this. He’d be fine. He'd been through so much worse.

He'd be fine.

“I promise I won’t cross that boundary, don’t you fret.” Asmodeum walked over to him, kicking his sword out of reach as they took his hand. “First things first, you’re absolutely filthy. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Erebus pulled his hand out of her grasp. “I mean, I-I can do that myself,” he muttered. Asmodeum raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure you can, but I want to wash you, dear. And right now,” she grabbed his hand once more, “I get what I want.” They pulled him along into a bathroom, and he followed reluctantly, feeling an odd sense of familiarity in just going along with this sort of thing. Their threat was certainly a motivator, but that didn’t mean he was going to roll over completely on every little thing, right? He had to make it clear that he wasn’t happy with this, despite agreeing to it. She started filling up the bathtub with water, turning to him with a smile. “Let me strip you now.” 

“I-I’d rather-”

“Shhhh.” She placed a finger on his lips, her other hand starting to undo the ties on his shirt. “None of that, dear. I can’t get you all clean if you’re wearing these dirty clothes, now can I?” He looked away as they tugged his shirt off, hoping that they’d-nope, now they were going to try and take off his pants, too.

“You said you weren’t going to-to do that to me.”

“I won’t. But that doesn’t mean you get to keep your clothes on the whole time, you shy little thing. I just won’t touch.” Erebus stifled a whine as she pulled down his pants, and his underwear along with them. “There we go. You can get in now.” He did so, almost jumping into the warm water and crouching down, hugging his knees close and spreading his wings around himself protectively. They gently pushed his wings back, stroking his face as he glared at them with wide eyes. “There’s no use hiding when I’ve already seen everything, silly. I think I’m going to need to get these arms out of the way, hmmm?” They pulled out a pair of manacles, and Erebus’s stomach sank.

“Wait, I won’t resist just-just don’t-”

“Too late for that, Erebus.” She clamped them around his wrists, twisting the chain securely around the faucet. “Besides, you look absolutely darling like that, all helpless. Now, keep those wings out of the way or I’ll pierce them together.” Erebus’s wings sank in defeat, slowly moving back until they were behind him. There wasn’t any winning here, was there? “Good boy.” She grabbed a cup from the countertop and started using it to pour water on him, rinsing away some of the pieces of flesh stuck to his bloodied skin. After she lathered a washcloth with soap, she began to gently clean the dried blood off his face. He screwed his eyes shut, fists clenched as he tried to think about anything else. 

Even back when he was a prince, he’d hated being fussed over, preferring to take care of himself when he could. Asmodeum, however, seemed to have no concept of personal space, or just didn’t care. She had to work hard to get through the blood caked over most of his skin, leaning in close, starting with his face before switching to his hair. Their hands slid in, tenderly working through tangled bloody mats and massaging his scalp. He hated how nice it felt, how much it reminded him of the way Lythia always used to play with his hair, forcing himself to open his eyes and look at Asmodeum, to remind himself who was…

Lythia smiled at him sweetly, and Erebus felt his blood run cold. That wasn’t her, no matter what he saw, no matter how he felt. She wasn’t here. She was back home, probably still tending the palace gardens despite the change in management. Did she still think of him as she looked at all the places they used to laugh? Or could she not get the image of him screaming and sobbing up on that podium out of her mind, unable to remember any other version of him than the one he’d left her with? Maybe that’s what he deserved to be remembered as, since he’d hardly thought of her since that day, the memories too painful. 

Erebus shuddered when Asmodeum moved to his horns, which were always far more sensitive than they had any right to be. She seemed to be able to tell, continuing to stroke them long after they were clean, and as much as he wanted to ask them to stop, he was afraid it would only encourage them. At the very least, the disconnect between Lythia and his horns was enough to push the thoughts of her out of his mind, and Asmodeum changed back to their normal form.

Her hands finally slid lower, caressing his neck, fingers slipping under his collar, making sure the skin underneath was clean, pressing down against his throat every so often as they did so. It wasn't enough to really choke him, but the message was clear.

They moved onto his shoulders, his wings, his arms, his back. He caught their smile as they saw what his right arm really looked like, and her fingers traced his whip scars as they were uncovered. Dread started to pool in his stomach as she moved to his chest, scrubbing away, revealing-

“Oh, well isn’t this pretty.” They marveled at his brand, stroking the lines of the scar, pausing over his rapidly-beathing heart. “Too bad you’re already owned by someone else, huh? But I suppose they’re not here now, are they?” Erebus just bit his lip, refusing to make eye contact. The thought of his…of Neteri not being here hurt, and, try as he might, he couldn’t help but think of her, of the way she’d always protected him. He wondered how angry she’d get if she saw what was happening to him, or if she could feel now that someone besides her was touching him. He could imagine her bursting in, yelling at Asmodeum to get their hands off of him, unchaining him and letting him cover up before pulling him into a hug-wait wait what was he thinking she’d been his captor she’d hurt him and ripped him into pieces and kept him locked up but she'd promised to save him and he missed her.

“What’s wrong, darling? Is even this too much for you?” Asmodeum brushed away a tear he didn’t realize had been falling with her finger, her skin no longer red, but brown. He couldn't look her in the eye. Not while she wore that face. “Such a sensitive little thing.” Hearing those words in that voice was already bad enough. Erebus tugged at his chains, wishing he could rub away those stupid traitorous tears, because he wasn’t crying about Neteri or Asmodeum or any of this. 

Their hands plunged beneath the surface of the blood-clouded water now, and Erebus couldn't stop himself from tensing up as they scrubbed his stomach, glad the parts of him that were previously under clothes weren't as caked in blood as those that weren't. Still, there was enough to clean that she had an excuse for her hands to wander lower still, caressing his hips, his thighs, and now he was trembling, fists clenched, tears dripping even more steadily into the tepid, cloudy water, no one had ever touched him there, at least she was wearing her own face now, but please, please stay away from there, you said you wouldn't touch me there and if you do then why am I here why am I letting you do this why do I keep letting people hurt me if I just stood up for myself more if I wasn't such a coward maybe I'd still be-

"You're rather pathetic, aren't you?" Asmodeum mused as they cradled his face, turning him towards them. Erebus blinked away tears, just now realizing that they'd finished cleaning him, the tub already drained. He couldn't exactly argue, crying and shivering like he was, so he just swallowed and gave the tiniest nod as he pulled himself together, hoping it'd be enough to get them to move on.

With a satisfied smile, she unhooked his wrists from the faucet, but left the manacles on as she pulled him up and out of the tub. He tried to cover himself as best he could as they toweled him off, hoping they’d stop touching him or at least give him clothes soon. Thankfully, they did, handing him a small bundle, and upon unrolling it he found...a pair of shorts that barely reached his knees, and that was all. Once he’d put them on, she dragged him into another room and let go, crossing her arms. “Kneel.” 

“I don’t-” Asmodeum raised an eyebrow, and Erebus stopped himself. They were expecting him to obey their every little whim if he didn’t want to be...he knelt, staring at the floor. She circled him a few times, and he clenched his fists in his lap, hating how much of his body was on display. Not that she hadn’t already seen everything.

“You were just made to kneel, weren't you? Absolutely gorgeous." Erebus's face burned even hotter than before. All he could hope was that they'd be done with him soon, but he'd never specified how long this would go on for when he agreed to it, so this might last…He was such an idiot, why did he just go along with this without any negotiation?

Asmodeum stopped in front of him. "Well, what are you in the mood for, dear? Pain,” her hand slid under his chin, tilting it up, “or pleasure?”

“Please just-anything but-” he choked, and she just laughed.

“Anything, you say? Then, I think...I'm in the mood for this.” They grabbed his collar, yanking him up onto the nearby bed. Before he could even try to sit up they were on him, wrapping themselves around him, worming in between his shackled arms, forcing him to embrace her back. A shudder ran down his spine as her skin came into contact with his, her arms pinning him flush against her body, her legs tangling around his. “Have you ever been this close to someone, darling?” she whispered in his ear, their fingers stroking his hair.

“I-I, um, a few times but-” 

“Aw, and you’re still nervous.” Her hand ran down the back of his head, stopping at his collar. “It’s so cute how you still wear this. I’m sure you could get it off if you tried, so you must like having it on, huh? Do you miss your owner?”

“She’s not-I don’t-I just-it’s…” he screwed his eyes shut, “I can’t take it off, alright?!”

“Such a dutiful little pet-”

“I wasn’t h-her pet!” 

“You’re so adorable when you’re in denial.” They stroked his back, rubbing around the base of his wings. Erebus just opted for staring at the wall, hoping they wouldn't touch his horns. “Do you know how lust demons feed, my dear?”

“By eating…?”

“Well, of course, but not the same way you do. We feed off of humans, more specifically, their bodily fluids.” She smiled widely, showing off her fangs. “And I haven’t had a meal ever since being locked up in here. I normally get my fix a different way, but, to be considerate of you, innocent little boy,” they shifted until their lips were right next to the base of his neck, fingers pushing his collar out of the way, “I’ll settle for feasting on your blood.”

Her fangs sank into his neck, and he couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden pain. He tried to breathe in calmly through gritted teeth as she sucked on the holes in his flesh, drinking his blood. Soon enough, his ears started ringing, and lightheadedness crept in. He gripped the chain between his wrists just too feel something solid, glad that he was lying down, at least. By the time Asmodeum pulled away, licking droplets of blood from their lips, a dizzy haze had settled over Erebus. He closed his eyes, tears leaking out as she snuggled back into him, just hoping that this would all be over soon. In fact, maybe he would just...let the blackness take him...just for a little bit...so he didn’t have to be...awake…

Erebus’s mouth tasted like dried blood when he woke up, and Asmodeum was still wrapped around him tightly. She smiled when their eyes met. “Did you have a good little nap, my darling? I hope you don’t mind, but,” she gripped his chin, her thumb stroking his lips, “I had a little bit of fun with you while you were out of it.” A bit of...wait is that why his mouth tasted like-

“W-you-you can’t d-do that to me I-I don’t-” his voice broke, and he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, no matter how many fast little breaths he sucked in, just get away, get away from me stop touching me don’t do that to me please please I don’t want that you can’t do that to me you can’t you can’t I never wanted that not from you not from anyone and now now now I-I’m-I’ve been-

He felt something solid press into his hands, and he realized that Asmodeum was standing in front of him, and that was his sword in his hands, he was sitting up now and that was his sword and Asmodeum was smiling they were holding out their arms to him they were ready they were ready they were laughing they were coughing up blood they were on the ground there was so much blood how much of it was his he wasn’t sure he didn’t know they reached up and he backed away he had to get away he couldn’t stay here a second longer she was dead she was dead she was already crumbling away and he had to go he wanted to rip off his own skin he could still feel her touching him where where where were his clothes where was the key to these manacles he had to go he-

Erebus dropped his sword. He fell to his knees. He buried his face in his hands. 

And he screamed.

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump

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@vampiresprite

[miscellaneousdrawings]

“and the diamonds.”

more from the midnight episode, a truly truly ghoulish david tennant feature, i love it and it scares me

[undermattsun]

just saw someone explain headpushing as just grabbing the other persons head and now i’m confused have we lost the plot,? do i need to write headpushing now???

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

For your 'fic I wish you would write' prompts: I would absolutely lose my mind if you did anything with a winged Spider

Losing my mind at this request! Inspired, of course, by your spectacular chrysopteros.

(warnings for past wing clipping and brief noncon implication)

ao3

He ends up leaving the marui to make sure, farther down the beach where he won't get in anyone's way. Not that that keeps passing fishers from staring as Spider twists and turns in a circle, carefully stretching his wings as far as he dares.

Really, he doesn't need any of that. He knows the feathers are coming back in, has felt the growing weight (there's something on my back), the terror-hope of regaining something that he's learned can be so easily taken away.

He knows this, and really, he's already gotten a good enough glimpse to know what he'll see as the sun hits the new feathers full on. As they gleam against the older white ones that survived the (first?) clipping, the contrast so vivid it hurts, the new color impossible to overlook.

Red. Red as blood spilled hot from a wound, a permanent stain, an opening in his back where the guts can slither. Red as a warning, red as defiance, red as fire and smoking ashes and setting suns, red and red and red.

He doesn't need to ask Norm or Max whether clipped Winged feathers grow back a different color, back on earth. He already knows their answer, he can hear them saying no, of course not, why do you ask?

Kiri is the first one he shows, to rip the bandage off fast. Her face works as she stares at him and he wonders if his suspicions will right, if she'll push him anyway, falling him filthy, tainted, (scarlet fucking whore).

But then her face smooths out in wonder, like she's just seen something miraculous. "Beautiful," she breathes, and it's not a lie, Kiri doesn't lie about things like that. She holds out a hand. "May I?"

A beat, and then he nods, letting her stroke the feathers as gently as she's ever done. "I can feel them," she whispers.

Spider laughs nervously. "Cool, huh? Are they super soft?" They'd felt that way when he reached behind his back; strange to feel such tenderness from such a jagged color.

Kiri shakes her head. "No, I meant..." She lifts her hand off his wings, holds it in the air. He watches her close her fingers in a fist, power humming through the air.

His new feathers twitch in response.

[silenttthill]

My face behind the keyboard typing “duh” and “yep”

[thuringwedhil]

You lived! I haven't seen you in ages! 🎉

Yes!!! I am so sorry tbh (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) I've been mostly active on twt bc less .... censoring, if that makes sense haha but I'll definitely try to be more active here again <3333

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Drag Him Back

@redwingedwhump and I did a WWI-but-with-vampires AU RP with our characters. Then we did an AU to the AU. And this is just a lightly discussed Au-to-the-AU-to-the-AU... just a thought I had in my head that refused to leave.

This is a one-shot just to get it out.

CW: Captivity, vampirism, referenced noncon but just implied, escape, some suicidal ideation

- 1917, Belgium

The door was left unlocked.

It was sheer luck that Emil even noticed. He was lying on his back on the bed, staring up into the canopy and listening to the sound of his own heart struggling to beat despite the lack of blood left in his veins. His neck still tingled, the aftereffects of the venom sending tendrils of exhausted pleasure down through his limbs.

One of the servants had come in to check on him, like they always did once his master was done. The emperor was not kind to his creatures, and there were three servants whose entire existence revolved around keeping Emil alive until His Majesty had finished with him.

Emil was long since past caring about the looks on their faces when they came in to wash the smears of blood and other fluids from his neck, his face, his stomach, between his legs. He barely felt it. The memory of the emperor's hands and his body cold as winter pressed against Emil's own wiped away any comfort he could ever have taken from the pity he saw on the servants' faces.

He barely felt alive.

Someone helped him to stand long enough to change the sheets on the emperor’s enormous bed. Someone else wrapped a bandage around his neck before easing him into a hot bath to soak his aching muscles. A third laid out fresh clothing for him. A fourth only watched the others. Emil laid there, trying not to think about the stinging pain he felt far too deep inside.

Instead, he thought about how lovely it would be to sink beneath the warm water and simply not resurface. Let it close over him and put an end to this nightmare for good. 

But… he could not make himself seek that death, which seemed nobler sometimes and like cowardice at others. Deeper down than his despair, a single point of certainty burned - if he could only hold on long enough, his chance for escape would come.

And then, unlike the last three attempts he made to run, he would not be dragged back for the emperor’s displeasure to write itself on his skin. The next time, it would work, he would be free, and he would stay hidden from the emperor’s gaze for as long as it took for the vampire’s eye to turn itself to some other unlucky bastard that would be put into his place. 

One day.

If he lived long enough.

If he could hold off that final despair. 

He let his head tip back against the lip of huge wrought-iron tub and exhaled, listening without really hearing the servants’ whispered words as they spoke above and around him. The clink of porcelain, a teacup on a saucer settled down next to the bed. The commands by the emperor’s own personal servant, a rung above the other two on the ladder. 

Someone came and helped him to sit back up, washed his hair for him. Emil never opened his eyes even to see who it was. He murmured answers to the questions put to him.

He did enjoy the way they knew to scrub at his scalp, though, the gentleness that with the emperor was laced with humiliation, but with the servants was simple efficiency.

It didn’t matter.

As long as it wasn’t the emperor touching him, back already to bring him to the brink of death but refuse him the final peace, he didn't mind. As long as it was only a human servant, with warm hands and a beating heart. As long as he did not feel those chill, long fingers closing slowly around his throat, feel the cool breath against his jaw, the graze of those sharp fangs over the scars of dozens of wounds left to heal only with time.

As long as it was a human who touched him, at least he could feel human himself - if only for a moment or two. 

He had not felt human often, these past two years. Instead, he wore a pendant on a leather cord like pampered dogs wore collars, the emperor’s vampire clan mark carved into it. It was a collar he could never - would never dare - remove. Emil remembered the first time it had been slid over his head, how cold the pendant had been, at first. He had been kneeling on the floor, arms bound behind him and tears still drying until his face felt like cracked sand. His father’s body had been still warm from the slaughter that had taken his family and left him the heir to lands that had been conquered.

Not that being heir meant much, when the emperor had seen him and demanded his life.

If only... if only it had been just to feed.

He had been lifted to his feet by the emperor’s seemingly effortless strength - oh, but he hadn’t been the emperor, then. Just a minor noble, someone whose ambitions had been laughed at by the wealthy humans who thought themselves above vampiric predations. But the vampire plague had taken the country faster than anyone thought possible. It had spread east and west into the neighboring lands, and when they had come to Emil’s home, there had been no stopping them.

Emil had been a prize, that’s all, a symbol that the soon-to-be emperor could take what he wanted whenever he wanted it. There had been protests, but each one had been quelled. Every riot violently suppressed, each battle won, the man who held him rising and rising in the world until finally, half of Europe knelt at his feet.

No one cared about the nobleman who had become blood supply and plaything, begging on command and baring his throat with only a crook of the emperor’s ringed finger. His schoolmates all probably assumed he was dead. It... it had been a kindness the emperor had done, to have him announced as having died with his family. It had been a mercy, that everyone believed he was buried back in Austria-Hungary with his parents and brothers.

Really... he was, in a way.

The Emil who had witnessed his father’s bloody death had died then and there, in the dining hall of their estate. He wasn’t sure who had risen from kneeling and allowed himself to be led in numb horror to the conqueror’s bed, but it hadn't been the same man who had gone to his knees in the first place.  

He might have left his own mind, during the bath.

He was in the tub, staring at nothing. Then he blinked and found himself lying back on the bed in the fresh, clean bedding, head on a pillow, staring once again up into the gilded canopy above him. He wore a loose white shirt and dark pants. On a side table, that cup of tea had long since cooled and lost its steam. 

Who had made it?

Where had they gone?

When had he gotten dressed, or been dressed, without noticing?

Moreover… how long had Emil been lost in wherever it was he often went, after the emperor’s visits? 

It didn’t matter. 

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, the room briefly swimming around him. The emperor’s temporary accommodations in this strange place - some neutral ground between invader and invaded, where representatives met at tables to bicker and argue before the vampires slaughtered them all anyway - were the nicest available, but he would have been happier sleeping on the floor, if only he were allowed to sleep alone. 

Or to sleep during the night.

But he had to stay awake. If the emperor wanted him again, he would be punished if found sleeping without permission again.

He couldn’t have said what inspired him to look over at the door. It was purely some thoughtless fancy, but he felt his breath catch in his throat when he realized… the door was cracked open. He could see a sliver of the hallway just beyond it.

Emil swallowed, his throat tightening nearly to breathlessness as he tried to understand. The door was never left unlocked, had never been open. All his prior escape attempts had been through windows he’d broken or jumping out of the emperor’s auto and running into the crowd. This could not be real.

It must be a trap, a test, the emperor toying with him. Another of his games. It... it must be.

Emil pushed himself fully upright, then. He slid to the edge of the bed and stood, leaning against one of the four posters for balance as his head swam the world spun. His heart lurched painfully in his chest, beating with labored throbs that made it hard to expand his lungs. 

Somewhere in this cavernous place, his master would be smiling as he watched nations fall at his feet, as the radio sent updates on the battles in France where human men fell in waves, some rising as vampires to turn on those they had called friends - against their will, but when one’s vampire commands… the fledglings, as the emperor called them, obey.

There was no way for the humans to win, and yet they fought to the bitter end. Even brought some of their own vampires to the side, including the oldest one to survive the madness of life too long lived.

They had held longer, here, and now the Americans were involved, but...

He was distracting himself. If it was a trap, well, he would have to step into it and feel it close around his foot. But if it wasn't... could he live with himself if he ignored even the tiniest, slimmest chance?

One foot in front of the other, each step a little less difficult than the last. He went from the bed to the doorway, just barely brushing his fingers against the heavy wood. When he eased it open a little further, some part of him was braced for screaming rusted hinges to give him away, but… no. The hinges had been oiled recently. The door swung, smoothly silent, and Emil stared into a perfectly empty hallway.

Of course, it was nearly midnight.

The vampires would all be moving around, the servants had come by and done their work, and only the blood would be left, some of it tied down and some simply too frightened or lost in the haze of the vampire's venom to wander.

Emil was far past being frightened, by now. And the emperor did not always give him enough venom to leave his mind too emptied to act.

If he tried to run and was caught again, he had no doubt he would be killed for it this time. He had pushed his master’s patience too often, to its limits. And yet… was the way he lived now even living, or simply an impossibly slow death anyway?

Emil took one step.

Then another.

He shuddered, goosebumps on his arms and a chill down his spine. He felt dizzy for an entirely different reason as he stood in the hallway, alone, for the first time since his capture two years before. No servant, no minder, no guard, no emperor-master whispering vile promises in his ear with a hand curving around his waist. No vampire nearby licking their lips and threatening to turn him to mincemeat whenever his master grew bored and threw him to the pack to be devoured.

Gas lamps gave off a warm, flickering yellow light up and down the hallway. The emperor disliked the new electric lights, as he kept calling them, the same way he loathed the automobiles that nonetheless outpaced the horses. The rest of this building was wired for the electricity - but the emperor’s own quarters were still lit with gas.

It took only a few seconds to move from the door to the end of the hallway, but Emil felt like it took ages. Each second ticked painfully, violently by the second hand on a clock hanging on the wall. His heart seemed to pound in time, his hands shaking so hard that when he tried to open another door, it took him three tries to grip tight enough to pull.

This door’s hinges squeaked - just a little. Emil froze, heart in his throat, and stared with wide, white-rimmed eyes around him, waiting for the shouted demands to be still, for a hand to clamp down and drag him back to the bed, where the emperor would have him chained, just like he had at the beginning.

His ankle still wore scars from the metal cuff that had been closed just a little too tightly. It had taken months to earn its removal, months that must be earned again after every single escape attempt failed. 

The wounds lingering along his throat beneath his bandage stung, reminding him of his place in this dance of war between nations - to lie in bed and wait to be wanted, to be consumed, once again. He had wanted to play soldier, as a young boy. He had never gotten the chance as a man.

No one came after him, and so Emil moved further, keeping to shadowy areas, shifting in and out of emptied rooms when people walked past, staying carefully out of sight. He found boxes and boxes of papers, telegrams and notes from the front. The further he went, the more what snatches of speech he overheard from those he was hiding from were no longer in a language he understood. At some point, his careful movements had taken him out of the emperor’s quarters and into the enemy’s.

This building was neutral ground, but only if you stayed to your own side of it. He caught snatches of French and English, but no longer any German.

Emil was trespassing, then, and it was only a matter of time before he was noticed. There was no escape here - taking advantage of that unlocked door had been a mistake. As high as his hopes had risen, they crashed far, far lower. He found himself shifting into a wardrobe, sitting heavily down and curling into a ball, hands over his face. He would be found, turned over to the emperor, chained back to the bed again. He would be made to regret ever trying, yet again, to find some life outside of the hell he had been forced into. The Allies would sneer at him for the blood doll he'd been forced into being, and would care no more for him than anyone else.

The rumors said the Allies had offered asylum and even amnesty in some cases to any of the newly-turned vampires who could find their way to them, the ones forced to fight against their will. But would they offer the same to a man tied to a bed for two years?

Emil might rather die than see the look in their eyes as they understood what he was, what he'd done.

He had to get out of here, or death would come in the end anyway. No matter how well behaved he was, the emperor would become bored with him. Worse... he might choose to Turn him, and then he would be subjected to the man’s commands burning through his vampiric blood for all eternity, or at least until he was no longer wanted and was disposed of anyway. There would be no choices for him. There could be no final rebellion, not unless he took his chance now and ran.

Two of the enemy came into the room and Emil went still. He could hear them talking, but all he knew in their language was hello, goodbye, please and thank you, useless things like that. He had no idea how to say, I am not a spy, please, I need help, what do you want to know about the emperor? I will tell you anything, just don’t give me back to him, please don’t give me back. Please don't torture me, I know nothing useful, I only don't want to be his any longer.

The two men spoke. Papers rustled. Eventually, though, the door opened and closed again. Emil waited, counting to one hundred three times inside his mind, and then he cracked open the wardrobe to peek out.

The men were gone.

One of them, though, had left his dress jacket draped over a chair. 

Emil moved in a rush, ignoring the dizzy spin that still clung to the edges of his vision, pushing himself out and jerking the scratchy wool on. It fit almost perfectly, which felt like some small miracle of luck. His pants were all wrong, but it was dark at night and dim even with the lights. Maybe he could go unnoticed, if he was quick and looked busy.

He rapidly finger-combed his hair, trying to get it to be less mussed, to be more the English style he'd seen here and there.

He made it halfway down the hall before he realized, with something like embarrassment more than terror, that he was still barefoot. It was just that, losing so much blood, his feet mostly always felt cold and a little numb. He was never allowed shoes unless the emperor took him outside anyway. He hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t wearing them. Someone would eventually see that...

But maybe he could make it outside before they did.

If he could make it outside, he could disappear into the city streets, leave the soldier’s jacket somewhere to be found and maybe returned to him, and… he had no idea what would come after that.

Emil no longer cared.

He hadn’t felt this alive since the emperor had first taken his chin in hand and called him beautiful, right to his face, since the pendant had been slid over his head and settled cool against his skin to mark him as no longer fully a man.

He hesitated as he pushed up a window inside a dark room, feeling the breeze from outside come inside with a biting chill. One hand went up to graze fingertips along the leather cord, to find the carved pendant. He…

No.

If he wanted to even have a chance to survive recapture, he could never take off the emperor’s mark, no matter how he hated its eternal weight and how easy it was to forget it was even there.

“Oy, Nightley, is that you?” A voice spoke up. He knew none of the words, beyond you, and he turned to look, startled. He felt like a deer freezing in the glare of sudden light. The man in the doorway squinted at him. “You look rough, Lieutenant. Trouble sleeping?”

He recognized the lilt of the man’s voice as a question having been asked. Emil swallowed, and took a chance - he nodded, and hoped he hadn’t chosen the wrong response.

“Me too. Bloody hard as hell to sleep with fangs all over the place. Although I guess you have it easier than most, since you’re used to the damn things, aren’t you?”

He chanced another nod, a shrug of his shoulders. The man came closer and Emil’s heart dropped into his stomach, terror sending chills down his spine, his arms, even to the very tips of his fingers and toes. He would be known, in a moment. He would be handed back to the emperor, to face his rage, or he would be used as a bargaining chip in the negotiations and the emperor would simply find some other pretty creature to claim for his own. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Blackthorne’s sort of a prickly business. Oh, shaved off your moustache, did you? Odd choice, thought you liked the damn thing. Anyway, you want a smoke? I’m dying for one, myself, always helps me relax.” The man held out a cigarette.

Emil took it, trying to hide how badly his fingers trembled. He nearly dropped the damn thing. The man lit his own cigarette with a match, fire briefly flaring and then dying out, and lit Emil’s as well.

He chanced, keeping his voice raspy as he inhaled and exhaled the cloud out into the night air - he hadn’t had a smoke since the emperor claimed him, it made the blood too bitter for him to enjoy - a simple, slight, “Thank you.”

He knew how to say that in English, at least.

“Welcome, lieutenant. Bloody mess, this war with vampires business. Keeps a man from his bed at all hours, and I feel like I’m just… buildin’ a wall that’ll get kicked over as soon as it’s done.”

Emil made a sound. Was it a yes, or a no? Even he couldn’t tell. The man’s tone gave him nothing to go on. He was guessing and he had no faith in his luck. It wasn’t as if he’d had any before this.

The man chuckled, unbothered, and turned away. “Not in a mood for natterin’ tonight, are you? Well, I’ll leave you to yourself, then. Oh, Blackthorne was looking for you. Shall I tell him you’re in here?” 

Emil heard the question-sound again, and he paused, staring outside, and then just nodded. 

“Huh. You are a quiet one tonight. Well, fair enough.” The man, sounding maybe a little upset, disappeared back out into the hallway. He was gone, though, and Emil inhaled his cigarette so deeply the embers flared bright in the near-darkness. He listened to the man walking away and slowly followed, closing the door behind him. He counted to sixty, and then moved back across the room and eased the window open the rest of the way. 

It was easy enough to shift one leg out, then the other, turning and moving slowly downward until his bare feet touched cold grass. 

In the room he had just left, the door opened again. “I swear,” Said the voice of the man who had given him the cigarette, “I thought it was you I saw in here, Lieutenant. Oy, wait, look over there-... someone's gone out the window!"

Emil let go in a panic, turning to run and then coming to a sudden stop. There was a high fence all around the building, too high for him - weak from blood loss and the enforced idleness of captivity - to climb on his own. 

There were shouts from the room behind him, and welcome adrenaline flooded his veins as he simply turned on his heel and ran like hell. There had to be a gate, a way out onto the streets, somewhere he could safely disappear to. Or even a stable, a place to hide long enough to try to think of his next move. 

There had to be somewhere-

He was so busy looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed that he ran directly into a wall.

He landed with a thump on his back on the grass, the breath knocked out of him, mouth open like a fish on land until his lungs cooperated again and he could inhale with a wheeze, trying to climb to his feet, stumbling. A hand caught him by one arm, and he jerked back as hard as he could.

“Hey, Lieutenant, are you-”

He took off running again.

"Hey!"

"Catch him! He's got my dress jacket!"

"Who the hell is that? Is that one of the Germans?"

His head pounding, vision narrowed to a single panicked point, a tunnel of clarity surrounded by sheer, impenetrable darkness, Emil ran.

He couldn’t run for long. He adrenaline wouldn't hold out. He could already feel it threatening to flag, but there was a tree next to the fence, and if he could climb it, he could get over.

Then he would just have to be able to keep running.

If he could just run for long enough, maybe he could get far enough away that the emperor would not drag him back to hell.

[quietwingsinthesky]

there just is something to the fantasy of having to be good, having to be straight, having to do all of this work to be recognized and accepted as One Of The Good Ones. and then along comes someone who doesn’t bother, who you’re told is evil and monstrous, but they’re also free. don’t you want to be free, deep down? and you can’t admit it, won’t admit it. but that’s okay, you don’t have to, they’re going to make you do it either way. they’re going to make you like it whether you want to or not <3

[ex0rin]

Rope burns and bruises (E) - 2.8k

Carl Grimes/ Negan Smith @febuwhump Day 5: Rope Burns

consensual non-consent, older man/ younger man, rope burns, bruises, blood, tied up, carl grimes is a little freak (affectionate), carl didn’t die, carl is eighteen, blowjobs, negan smith being negan smith, febuwhump, febuwhump 2024

Negan moves right out of the shadows of his cell to get closer, crouching down to peer at Carl through the gaps in the metal – “Hey. Fuck. Hey kid, you okay?” he asks, squinting through the darkness to watch as Carl struggles to get up onto his knees, hands tied with thick rope in front of him and Negan’s willing to bet - with the way the kid’s squirming - that his ankles have been given the same treatment.

OR: Carl needs a hand, gets a mouth instead.

READ ON AO3 HERE

[saederkrupps]

i think the convo around dark content gets frustrating to me because it does need more nuance than "what you like in fiction =/= reality" but you say that and people automatically are like "yeah! it's fine to do all this stuff but not this (insert thing)"

[justplainwhump]

Just A Fling: Equipment Room

My favourite genre of writing: 'Dany refuses to acknowledge that she is not fine'.

This is set in an AU with @wildfae-afterdark, mentioned Peyton (in his pure, unaltered form) belongs to Vic. Set a while after Dany and Peyton started their affair. And then, something else happened.

[Just A Fling Masterlist]

Content / warning: implied past assault (m/f), past drugging, memory gaps, trauma response, allusions of gas lighting, allusions of date rape (even though that's not what happened), implied consentual sex.

The thing that finally makes Dany cry is hearing the question out loud, the very plain, very simple question she's been asking herself every night since the party.

"What happened?" Dennis asks softly from behind her.

She's been gathering her clothes from the floor of the tennis club's small equipment room, while he's still lounging on the folding bed.

She wasn't ready for this.

Her muscles lock painfully and she freezes right there, back still turned to Dennis.

"Dany?"

Nothing, she wants to say. You're overstepping. None of your business. You're my coach, not my therapist. Fuck off. Shut up. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

But the words won't come out. The white tennis dress she's just picked up tumbles back to the floor.

Nothing.

Fun. Let's just have fun.

The bed creaks as Dennis gets up steps in behind her. "Shh," he murmurs. "Sit down, Dany."

Shh. It's alright, Dany.

It wasn't. It isn't.

Dennis steps around her, lets her see him, before he carefully puts a hand on her forearm. "Come on. Sit."

He guides her back to the stupid, creaky folding bed, and nudges her to sit down on the edge. She follows numbly.

She followed someone else numbly, too.

"You're hurt," Dennis says.

Dany shakes her head. She's not. She's had a medical check. Not even a scratch. She's been assured she's in perfect physical shape.

She's fine.

"You've been acting off all week. And right now, while we were - You're never like this. I... I know something is wrong. What happened?" Dennis repeats.

He puts a hand on her knee, and she flinches. "Nothing," she whispers and pushes his hand back. "Nothing, I'm good."

"Listen, I know we're not friends, I am in no position to intrude but -"

He's right. They're not friends. Dany doesn't fuck her friends, and she doesn't befriend her fucks.

She likes it like that. Never personal. She makes sure they agree on that.

Peyton had agreed on that, too.

"Please, Dany," Dennis urges. "Did someone -"

Stop, she thinks. Please, stop.

Tears well up in her eyes, and she can't do anything to hold back.

"I don't remember," she whispers. "Please. I... I don't know."

She remembers being with Peyton, flirting, kissing, laughing. She remembers being alone, cold, dissheveled, with a foul taste in her mouth and a horrible headache.

She remembers his texts from later that night, she's stared at them, countless times since.

you were really drunk. i think maybe you took something too, you were acting strange.

drink some water.

It's okay. He wasn't her friend. He doesn't owe her anything. She's a grown up woman, she's capable and strong, and she's responsible for her own actions.

Liquid ecstasy, her tox screen had said.

Let's just have fun, Peyton had said.

Dany sobs.

Dennis' arms wrap around her, and oddly grateful, she buries her face against his chest.

He smells like Dennis, a bit sweaty, a bit of his too strong sports deodorant, a bit like the softner. Not like Peyton.

Not like the other figures that have been haunting her nightmares.

Not like the one who -

No. This is just Dennis.

"I'm fine," she croaks. "I'm sorry, Dennis, I'm... I'm fine. I-"

Someone rattles at the door, followed by an angry knocking. "Dennis? Open up. I don't care about your private lessons. Forgot my bag in here."

"Fuck." Dennis hisses, as he jumps up and gathers their clothes from the floor, tosses her dress back at Dany.

"Coming, buddy, just a sec."

Dany slips into the dress, as Dennis stuffs the rest of his stuff into a bag.

It's okay. She's good. She wipes her eyes with her hands, runs a hand through her hair, and calls up a practised smile, when the door opens.

"Ah, afternoon, Dany," Brad says, without batting an eye. "Nice seeing you back. Can I put you two on the roster for next week, then? Mixed double?"

"Brad, Dany's not -" Dennis begins, but she silences him with a single glare.

"Never been better," she lies smoothly. "Put us on. Let's crush them."

"Cool," Brad says, as he opens a locker and pulls out his bag. "See you then. And make sure this room gets aired."

Dennis stares at the door closing behind him and back at Dany. "Dany, you really should -"

"We play tennis," she interrups. "And we fuck sometimes. That's it. None of that gives you the right to tell me how I'm feeling."

"I was just -"

"I'm good. I deal with my stuff, you deal with yours." She flings her bag over her shoulder and sniffs. "And Brad's right. We should really let some air into this room."

"Whatever," Dennis scoffs. "Yeah. Sure."

And, right as she leaves the room, "Just get help, Dany. Please."

She pretends she didn't hear him.

[sophiethewitch1]

once again writing something im not entirely sure people will enjoy. i play dark content as a joke probably a bit too much lmfao. and even then I'm still not going to write noncon?? because i don't know??? my vibes are off???

[pyrepostings]

To Pin A Songbird

Free Birds and Fiddlers

Cw: dubcon, noncon drugging, needles, Smut with plot relevance

~~~

Kevin knocked on the door of the house. It was cold and drissling rain, and he was glad when the door opened quickly.

"Scotty."

"Hey John. You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, I- come in, please."

Kevin stepped inside, sliding off his muddy boots and draping his half-soaked cloak over the back of the chair by the door. "You said in your letter you wanted to call in a favor. Is it the favor, or something else?" He said with a smirk.

John blushed. "Yeah. You said you would sleep with me again, once, if I asked. Do you still mean that?"

"Of course." Kevin stood, closing most of the gap between them. "I said anything you want. Though, do you want to talk about it first?"

"Talk about what?"

Kevin drew away and walked further into the house. "Well that depends on what exactly is on your mind. For one," He flourished onto the couch, taking a relaxed pose as open and inviting as possible, putting his feet up onto the table in front of it. "Generally speaking, lovers, when sleeping together for the first time or the first time in a long time, will often find it useful to have a little talk beforehand, discussing precisely what they expect from each other. I said I would do as you wish, but I would like to know at least generally what role you want me to play."

There was a strangely strained smile on John's lips as he leaned against the door frame.

"You know, it doesn't have to be detailed, just a general heads up as courtesy. Secondly- it has been quite some time since I gave that offer. I just feel that something might have happened to warrant cashing in now, specifically? A date stand you up?"

"No no, nothing like that." He scratched the back of his head. "I just- I don't want to talk about it. In the morning, maybe." He suddenly mustered his bravado, and started what could only be described as a saunter towards Kevin. "Besides, do I need a reason to want you, in a little less clothing, with your feet off my table, and your ass in my bed tonight?"

By the time he finished talking, he was straddling Kevin on the couch, lips tantalizingly close.

"Hm. There's one more thing absolutely essential before we begin."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"You haven't even offered me a drink yet. What a host you are."

"Oh. Ah, do you want something to drink?"

Kevin smirked up at him. "No, I think we should just get down to business, don't you think?" And with that he reached up and made contact, kissing John's bottom lip hungerly, stifling the sounds of amused confusion.

The pair eventually made it to the bedroom, John pulling off Kevin's harness and flight gear as he pressed him against the closed door, kissing fervently as he ran his hands against every inch of Kevin's skin, disrobing him quickly.

Kevin found himself being pushed to the bed with only his underwear and socks left to remove. He arched his back and pulled a knee up seductively. He knew doing so pulled his hair in such a way against the sheets that it looked like a fire ring halo around his head. He knew how to present all his best features, and he smiled at the effect he was clearly having on his partner.

John kissed Kevin's knee as he slowly pulled the sock off his foot and tossing it aside, and Kevin presented his other one to repeat the process. John was being deliberate now, kissing slowly up Kevin's strong toned legs, sending shivers up his spine until John was straddling him on the bed.

"Is it part of the scene, or did you think I wouldn't want a good look at you too, section commander?" Kevin's tone was light and teasing, making John blush and squirm.

John kneeled up, flexing as he pulled off his shirt, to Kevin's delight. And as John leaned back down, Kevin groped and kissed his now exposed chest until he pulled Kevin's hands back, and above his head, and kissed him deeply, running his hand delicately down from Kevin's jaw, to his neck, nails gliding gently down his side, and hands cupping his hips and thighs.

John kissed down Kevin's neck, biting not to leave a mark but just enough to feel his teeth.

Kevin rolled in the sensation, thrusting up, letting out little breathless moans at each faint touch. John was breathless too, but in a way that told Kevin that he needed this night as a distraction more than he thought.

And as Kevin was getting into a vocal mood, when a sudden pain pierced and flooded his side, he cried out.

"I'm sorry. Scotty, I'm sorry. You're going to be fine."

"What did you do?!"

"It's just a needle. You're going to wake up I promise."

"John, what- let me go!"

John's grip was bruising now, and he was perfectly positioned to keep Kevin down. Kicking and squirming accomplished nothing.

A different kind of chill ran through Kevin, and set his breathing erratic. "John. Let me go. Right now."

"I can't do that. I'm sorry."

He tried to struggle. He braced himself and put all his strength into wrenching a hand free. Because if he could get just one hand free then-

It didn't matter. His vision blurred and darkened, and the last word on his lips was, "traitor."

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