#the collector series

[deviant-doughnut]

Harlan & Seth: “Please help me.”

Written for day 31 of @augusnippets

CW: explicit non-con; non-con against a transmasc character; brainwashing; forced to watch (technically); creepy whumper; blood; non consensual drugging

Part One

The Collector shoves Harlan’s legs apart and forces his way in between them. Harlan fights to hide himself and can’t anymore, every inch of him uncovered and bare. The Collector looms over him, his shadow as cold as sudden night. Harlan’s lungs ache at the flashing hunger in his eyes. It renders him breathless with panic. The Collector does not yield. He takes up space that should be Harlan’s, his hands strong, his frame an immovable mass. Harlan struggles and The Collector pins him, hand on his sternum, cool fingers bridging the gap between Harlan’s long, ropey scars.

The Collector’s smirk is sickly, lips wet and gleaming. His ravenous gaze is a wildfire, humiliation scorching Harlan’s skin. A free hand grips the flesh of his inner thigh, the pain blunt and claustrophobic, a bruising shock of vulnerability. The Collector watches him struggle. His eyes leave no inch of Harlan untouched, unviolated. The collector watches as he thrashes beneath him, both predator and trap as Harlan cries out, tries and fails to kick, to punch. Where The Collector does not have him, the shadows bind him tight. The Collector’s eyes flash bright at Harlan’s naked, trembling body. Harlan whimpers and gasps, struggles and writhes. The Collector is nonplussed, pleased even. His grin twists bile at the back of Harlan’s throat.

“Aren’t you impressive,” The Collector murmurs. And then, as casual as an afterthought, “I’m going to tear you apart.”

“No,” Harlan whimpers, eyes wet, face hot with the shame of pleading.

“Yes,” says The Collector. His free hand goes to the folds between Harlan’s thighs. “I’m going to make you scream. Even he won’t try to save you.”

Harlan gives a shuddering gasp. The Collector pushes two fingers inside him.

Harlan whines. His head falls leftwards, eyes finding Seth in the darkness. Through the sheen of Harlan’s tears, the shadows bleed into Seth’s edges. His boyfriend is upright, unbound, cross legged and swaying softly in the spot where The Collector abused him. Seth stares glassily at the display before him. His woozy gaze locks with Harlan’s, and his lips curl into a smile. He’s drunk, untethered from reality, barely there in the room with them. Harlan’s heart shatters for both of them.

“Seth,” Harlan tries, voice ragged and strained. “Please. Please help me, Seth. Please.”

Seth sways, watches, emits a broken laugh.

“He’s happy,” says The Collector, curling his wrist as he fingers Harlan roughly. “When was the last time you saw him happy?”

The intrusion is aching and expert. Pain and pleasure bleed together until Harlan squeezes his eyes shut against all of it, mouth open to let out forced moans.

Soon enough, The Collector crawls over him. Fingers withdrawn, it douses the unwanted pleasure inside him and leaves only disgust in his stomach. For The Collector. For himself. This whole thing is a sickness and Harlan swallows it down. His heart hammers hard as The Collector prepares, takes himself in his hand. Hard flesh slides southward; hot over Harlan’s clit and thick against his aching entrance.

“I hate you,” Harlan bites, voice shaking, tears pulling free as he says it. The Collector pauses. His head tilts back, mouth falling open. From his parted lips spills a carnal moan, and Harlan realises his mistake with a shudder. This is exactly what The Collector had hoped he would say.

The Collector presses his hips quickly forward. Harlan’s entrance gives.

The stretch is too sudden. The Collector works himself down to the hilt, and Harlan yells underneath him. The Collector moans at his tightness, a sound rumbling low in his throat. Harlan instinctively clenches around him, a belated attempt at keeping him out. The Collector gasps at the grip.

“Oh, Harlan,” he murmurs. “You’re so good at this. You’re a pro.” He punctuates the sentiment with a passionate thrust. A sob bursts freely from Harlan’s throat, and The Collector builds to a punishing rhythm.

Rocked underneath him on the hardwood floor, Harlan refuses to look at The Collector. He cries, he trembles, and he wails when the angle is changed too abruptly. But he keeps his eyes closed or he glances at Seth. The smile Seth wears grows smaller each minute, paling with the set of his pallor.

“Seth,” Harlan whispers, throat sore from his yells. “P-please. Come back to me, baby. Please.”

“He loves me,” says The Collector, voice rough with exertion. “Don’t you, Seth?”

“Yes, Collector,” Seth answers. “I love you so much.” The words pierce like a blade but there’s a flatness to his voice. The Collector responds with a breathy laugh, as if he doesn’t notice. The barest embers of hope spark, somewhere among the shadows that gather in his chest, the dark echoes of The Collector’s assault.

At some point he pulls out, a searing withdrawal. He slides his cock downward from Harlan’s pussy, stops when the head of him touches his ass.

“Please don’t,” Harlan tries. It’s useless. The Collector spreads him wider, a dull ache through his hips, and works until he pushes inside.

Harlan wails, jolts with the shock of penetration.

The Collector moves quickly, breaths ragged and sharp. He rocks deeply into him, pain rushing quick to his depths. Harlan keeps his eyes shut. One hand grips Harlan, holds him down by his hip. The other finds his hard clit and uses it, fingertips rubbing in circles on its sides, then swirling his own wetness over its sensitive head. Harlan jerks bodily, gasps roughly on each repetition.

“Oh fuck,” breathes The Collector. Harlan feels stretched obscenely. Seth, to his left, hums a tune he can’t recognise. The ache shoots in blinding bursts through his body — the small of his back, the backs of his thighs. Sweat slides down over his sides, collects at the backs of his knees. Seth’s song is melodic but it stops and starts, a scrap of one song then another.

“Tell him he’s beautiful,” says The Collector.

“Don’t,” Harlan urges.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Seth tells him, faraway voice, his stare growing vacant.

“Good boys,” The Collector gasps. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” Seth murmurs. “We belong to you, Collector.”

The Collector loses his rhythm at that. He ruts wildly, every thrust rough and unpredictable. Harlan sobs and gasps and yells. He clenches his muscles with every swipe over his clit. His orgasm builds like a whispered threat, gaining traction and volume by the moment. Harlan fights it until he knows that he’s lost, until the familiar feeling grows steep to its apex, and he knows he’s about to orgasm.

The Collector’s hand falls away from his clit. It’s the first time Harlan can bear to open his eyes. The edge of his orgasm falls back from his reach, as if swallowed slowly by shadows. The Collector grips Harlan by both of his hips, bruising grip and heaving breaths.

He meets his wet eyes as it happens.

The Collector’s orgasm shudders through him. A burst of hot wetness spills deep inside Harlan, The Collector’s moaning a cacophony of euphoria from which Harlan suddenly cannot look away. The way he squeezes his eyes shut, mouth open to cry out in ecstasy. The way the adrenaline ebbs out of his muscles, and The Collector peers down at him, eyes bright, lips curled in twisted bliss.

He’s sated, victorious. He’s violated both of them today. Seth, to his left, tilts his head and observes him, impassive.

The Collector pulls out of him swiftly. Harlan doesn’t think he can move from the floor, his limbs shaking, muscles jolting in recoil at each movement above him. The Collector tucks himself away — wet with slick and bright slivers of blood. He buckles his belt, metal against callous metal. The floorboards of the storeroom creak as his weight recedes, as he strolls towards the doorway almost lazily.

“Harlan,” says The Collector. Harlan flinches at the sound of his name, the singsong cadence of it of his attacker’s tongue. He gasps, he trembles. His body aches and he doesn’t reply. He peers up towards the doorway from the floor. The Collector’s dark eyes glint in the shadows, a monster peering back at his broken prey, as though Harlan is a pile of bones stripped and bloodied.

“Who do you belong to?” The Collector asks. Harlan’s stomach roils slowly, a shadowy sea, troubled and churning beneath the still. He swallows hard. The Collector’s release slips onto the floor, spilling slow from Harlan’s aching entrance. He forces himself not to whimper.

“You,” he manages, his voice a pained scrape from his throat. The Collector’s lips quirk upwards, approval and amusement at once. He nods.

“Good boys,” says The Collector. “My pretty toys.”

With a flick of his wrist something changes around them, the very air altered by the movement. The weight in the shadows falls like a veil. The monsters hidden in the darkness abate. The magic suspended among them extinguishes. The shadows are just shadows, The Collector is just a man, and Harlan and his boyfriend have been raped. Nausea curling through him, Harlan eases his knee up to cover himself.

Ten feet away, Seth jolts bodily in Harlan’s periphery. He gives a shuddering gasp.

“I’ll be seeing you,” says The Collector.

And then, from the shadows, he is gone.

[nikolutke]

Giving tumblr a go! Which means I will be posting some backlog to start off :)

Original Post Date: 03/19/2023

[yz]

1970 Dodge Charger 500 (replica?) with a 440 cu. in. 7.2L Magnum V8 outputting 375 HP. You're looking at 4-carb high-compression engine paired with a Tourqueflite transmission built as a limited-production NASCAR edition.

Ashland Car Show, September 2024.

Fujifilm X-T50 with XF 23mm f/2.0.

[corviddrawsstuff]

And I try my best, to prove that nothing’s out to get you.

[waywardsunlight]

Thanks for Watching. 👋

[chaotomatic]

Yall no wonder The Collector has no understanding of death. He spent years with Belos who cut through people like they were nothing, like they didn’t matter. Belos treated his golden guards like toys as well. If he breaks one, he can always get/make another. And that was the collector’s entire experience with witches for YEARS. Before that they were trapped and hidden away in their seal.

Its nice to see that collector wants to learn and grow though. I hope to see more of them in the future :)

[kollectorsrus]

[offline-nobody]

please give me as many more of these as feasibly possible im begging you

[piosplayhouse]

Wwx is the only mxtx main protagonist who would not be a my little pony fan. But he does own a 20% cooler shirt

[officialshojobeat]

New Shojo Beat Releases for October 2024

These volumes are in bookstores now.

Otaku Vampire’s Love Bite vol. 1 by Julietta Suzuki **New Series**

Red River (3-in-1 Edition) vol. 1 by Chie Shinohara

Kimi ni Todoke: Soulmate vol. 3 by Karuho Shiina **Final Volume**

Tamon’s B-Side vol. 5 by Yuki Shiwasu

Rainbow Days vol. 12 by Minami Mizuno

Vampire Knight: Memories vol. 9 by Matsuri Hino

Vampire Knight Complete Box Set

[lorikblyat]

[cyle-stuff]

THE OWL HOUSE FINALE SPOILERS!!!

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This moment ok??

Luz didn’t even hesitate to save him…

AAAHHHHHHHH

And the fact that The Collector still didn’t have an understanding of death and didn’t understand that Luz is gone, she dead. So he kept asking where she is, to come out already…

Till he finally got finally some sort of understanding…

(And then Luz came back, which jeez, this kid probably still has a shit understanding of death because of that)

[leabethchase]

My Percy Jackson funko pops finally came in!! 🙌🏾

[yz]

Big bad brothers. 1966 Chevy Chevelle SS 396 in Red and 1967 Chevelle SS 396 in Blue. Ashland Car Show, September 2024.

Fujifilm X-T50 with XF 23mm F/2.0 lens.

[thefigureresource]

Asuka Langley Sohryu : Collector's Edition [Neon Genesis Evangelion] 1/7 scale from Kadokawa coming January 2025.

[pinkfai]

Source: fashionfairytale21 on Instagram 💕