#threat of noncon

[deluxewhump]

the bahkauv: part three

Prev

CW: hurt, more hurt, no comfort yet but a glimpse of it. Brief verbal threat of noncon, pliers as torture device, muzzle, broken bones, ear and hand whump, nonhuman whumpee, burning alive, immortal/quick healing whumpee, slight language barrier, brief thoughts/ideation of death and mortality, multiple whumpers

Hunters camp (before):

At first, the hunters thought the Bahkauv was a vampire. It made sense, in the confusion of the moment. Vampires were far more common than its kind was anymore. That and it had fangs.

At the camp, they soon realized the Bahkauv was not a vampire. This revelation did nothing to protect it. Close enough, they said. It was still a non-human creature, and had a long history of attacking, robbing, and even killing humans.

The first day in captivity, nothing happened. The Bahkauv twisted and pulled at its restraints, trying to no avail to find some give in the ropes that bound it hand and foot. How naive it had been. It had no idea the depth of the hatred these humans had for it, and for the vampires they didn’t kill outright.

One of the hunters caught it trying to manipulate the knots and beat it with fists and boots before putting its first muzzle on its face. At first it had been angry, hissing and spitting at the hunter’s hands that were wet with its own blood. That got it a backhand that made its ears ring and its head ache. The bit was sharp and huge, shoved to the back of its throat so it gagged and secured so tightly it thought it would choke. Humiliated, it had shrunk against the clapboard wall and sulked.

Pride would soon be a forgotten luxury.

The next day, two hunters came for it, dragging it stiff and sore from its first beating out into the yard along with a couple of screaming vampires. The sun was climbing in the sky, which was why the vamps were screaming and carrying on so. It felt an intense gratefulness that it could not burn from the sun as they could. One of the hunters grabbed its muzzle and turned its chin to force it to look.

“You see that? You think you’re better than them, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

Another hunter joined the first. He had a mocking, self satisfied grin. “Let’s teach it a lesson in humility then. What are we waiting for? It was going to tear Byron’s throat out before we netted it.”

“Look at these. Is this fur?” the first hunter stroked one of the Bahkauv’s ears with the pad of his thumb. It shuddered at the unexpected touch. It was not affectionate, or kind, but it happened to be very gentle, and its ears were as highly sensitive as its sharp canines. It recoiled in disgust from the hunter’s hand— and its own reaction to it.

“It appears human when it’s not attacking. Except for a few details. The fangs are one. The ears. And of course it’s utterly vicious, despite being relatively intelligent. Can’t teach it a thing.”

“I bet I can teach it something,” grinned the first. It took the Bahvauv’s fur-lined ear between its forefinger and thumb again, this time pinching so tears sprung to its eyes and it bit back a surprised gasp of pain.

“Don’t be shy. Let’s hear a pretty little whimper at least. You’re going to make a lot of noises here.” The hunter pinched the sensitive skin and cartilage harder, his nails breaking skin beneath the soft layer of orange fur. The Bahkauv grit its teeth as best it could around the bit, and would not make a sound.

“No?” The hunter took something from the belt at his waist. Cold metal replaced fingers. Though the Bahkauv didn’t know it yet, it would come to know the word pliers very well. Such a simple tool, and so effective. Humans love tools— pliers and muzzles and fire. The teeth of the pliers bit down.

The Bahkauv screamed around the bit. It tried to pull away, but the hunter had it firm by the muzzle.

“There we go.” He gave the pliers a few sharp tugs, eliciting high pitched yelps. Its delicate ear was caught between the mean metal teeth like a fishhook.

“That was a healthy scream.”

“It’s an angry scream,” said the second. “That will change. If you take that thing clean off, you can dry it out and send it to your kids for good luck. Like a rabbit’s foot.”

It made an indignant sound, half-scream and haf-growl, saliva tinged with blood dripping from its muzzle.

“Well shit, that’s a good idea. I already ruined this one for now, it’s got a hole in it. I’ll get the other one.”

The hunter had been right that its silence wouldn’t last. It screamed as it was parted from its left ear.

—

It did not take the camp of hunters long to figure out that it regenerated itself quickly. Its ears grew back slowly, as did its fangs when they were later pulled. Everything that had a human appearance healed faster, though all the more painfully for it.

The first time they burned it, they didn’t know if it would survive. Neither did the Bahkauv. When it did, and its skin began to immediately repair itself, they were delighted. The Bahkauv was horrified. If that could not end its suffering, what could?

It was put back in its cell at dusk. It was unnatural for a creature like itself to dwell on death, but after being burned alive all morning and afternoon, over and over, with no more than an hours’ reprieve in between, it began to despair.

“Don’t cry,” crooned one of the hunters from the door of its cell. It scrambled into a sitting position, startled. It had thought it was alone.

“You were a favorite today. We all feel so much better for having played with you. A real morale boost. Look how quickly all that pretty hair has grown back. Your nature works hard to protect your disguise as human, doesn’t it? If I cut myself, the blood would clot and the skin would eventually knit back together. But not like you.”

The Bahkauv pressed its back tight against the wall as the hunter approached. This man was one of its torturers earlier that day— a younger one, not twenty five, tall and broad chested, with colorless blue eyes and close-shaved pale hair. He slipped a pair of pliers from his belt— the teeth were thick and blunt, not sharp like the ones they used to cut its ears. “And who knew you could speak? Do you understand, or did you just learn a few words like a talking parrot?”

The hunter squatted in front of it. Its heart pounded wildly, the staggering, paralyzing fear from the day returning and overriding its exhaustion. He took one of the Bahkauv’s hands in a strong grip. The pliers covered the first knuckle of its pointer finger, still pink and healing from the fire. It crunched down, shattering the first knuckle so it felt like gravel inside its skin.

It wailed, wildly trying to wrench its wrist from the hunter’s grip. It was so weak— like in a dream where it could not run or fight back. Healing and burning and healing again had sapped all its strength. Its anger at the hunters had long been replaced by desperation. Why did they want to hurt it so badly? How could it get the pain to stop? When it couldn’t, it stopped wondering why. It knew why. And this hunter was about to remind it.

“God, you sound like a person. You look human. That makes them hate you more, do you know that? It’s uncanny. Except for those devil eyes, you could be a boy of twenty summers, or less. Some of them even wonder if you’d be worth fucking. I think a lot of them wonder, and who could blame them? But no one wants to be the first to try it.” The pliers traveled to the next knuckle and perched there, waiting, on its freshly formed skin.

“No,” the Bahkauv whispered, tears flowing, saliva dripping from the corner of its mouth, raw and chafed from the bit that was always shoved to the back of its throat. “No. Pl-please.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Do you know those words? They’re the only ones you used all day. All goddam day, even in such unfathomable suffering. I could smell it every time your flesh melted, and still you only said no, and please. But do you understand?”

It was beginning to. Its own mother tongue was not human. But it had the same capabilities for language as the humans. More, even, and could infer with greater accuracy things the humans thought and felt as they spoke, which helped decode the words.

“A thing like you shouldn’t beg, anyway. It won’t work. You don’t deserve our mercy.”

Muscles flexed in the hunters thick, tanned forearm as he squeezed the plier handles together. Another crunch, and a second knuckle was destroyed under their powerful metal bite like glass broken inside a cloth sack. It shrieked so it thought its throat would tear open, pounding its foot uselessly against the wooden floor. The hunter narrowed his blue eyes as its scream tapered off into raw sobs, shaking its head no, over and over.

The pliers retracted and settled over its middle finger, on the first knuckle. The Bahkauv keened in dread, looking into the hunters face and finding not a flicker of regret or a glimpse of mercy. It knew hurting it entertained each hunter in different ways, but it pleased them all none the less. Each crunch of the tool was cataclysmic, and it was hard to imagine how at any point today it would have chosen this immediately to get the fire to stop, because now it did not think it could handle another crushed bone. And it had many more knuckles.

“Either way,” sighed the hunter. “Tomorrow we will burn you again, and see if you know any more words, little parrot.”

__

After they made camp, the three friends slept around the dying fire in their bedrolls. Francis tied a rope to his own waist and looped the other end around the Bahkauv’s collar so it slept six feet away from him. No more escape attempts. If it moved, he would feel it, and they both knew it.

The men slept. The Bahkauv tried to lie awake and alert, but its exhaustion was too great, and soon it slept too. The howling of wolves woke all of them in the wee hours of the morning. Disoriented, it leapt awake, scrambling along the length of its rope. In the hunters encampment, this would have led it to a solid wall it could press itself against, but now it led to Francis. It bumped into him and whimpered, waiting for a backhand or a cuff to the ear.

“Hey. It’s alright,” Francis told it gently in the darkness. Why were their voices so soft and blameless when they spoke to it? It had been waiting all day and now all night for the first blow, the first violence or pain from its captors, and still it had not come. It was like waiting for the pliers to crush another bone.

“They won’t come much closer. You’re alright. You’re safe with us. They sound kind of beautiful, don’t they?”

Stephan and Arthur got up out of their bedrolls to settle the horses, who were stamping their hooves and whickering nervously.

It hadn’t meant to crawl so close to its captor, but once again it was not punished for doing so. Something was different about them than the hunters, but it didn’t know enough about humans to assign much meaning to this observation. It was true the unmistakable sounds of the wolves had frightened it awake, and made the fine hairs on the back of its neck stand up. But it wasn’t afraid in the way it understood fear now. That kind of fear was reserved for humans, with their tools and fire and deliberate malice. But what a strange thing to say. Safe with us. Like they would protect it. It could not imagine humans as protectors.

Still, it slept closer to Francis til first light, with three feet of slack in the six foot rope.

-

Tags

@paperprinxe @whumpsday @i-eat-worlds @handsinmotion @stormchaser819

@annablogsposts @clickerflight @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud @scoundrelwithboba, @blood-and-regrets

[justplainwhump]

Bull

Meet B's opponent in his first big fight.

[Dany: Fighting Ring Arc]

This is adapted from an RP with @hackles-up, my beloved B (Beast) is her character.

Content / warnings: illegal fights, forced to fight, threats of noncon, humiliation and dehumanisation, broken bone, shock collar, whumpee x caretaker, bad guy pov. BBU setting implied.

Today's arena was impressive; even though it was as improvised as they all were. Set in the old sports area of an abandoned factory's rooming house, the organizers had invested in quite a bit of equipment and service to make the venue memorable.

Large stage lighting systems were installed on the long sides of the pool, spotlights that would later illuminate the fighting pit on the bottom of the empty pool now dancing over the expectant audience, the caterers flitting between them, and the fighters preparing in a cordoned-off area opposite the entrance.

Bull stood in the fighter's area with crossed arms, his back to the wall, the size of the empty half circle around him a good indicator for the respect he'd earned himself over the past years. He was a favorite; his owner's, but also, the crowd's. Every now and then one of the guests in their suits or evening wear would step in closer to the cordon, look at him, and nod contently before they pulled out their wallets and turned towards the betting stations. He allowed himself a short smile. More money meant more clout, meant more rewards. Bull had started as a desperate street fighter, but he had worked himself up to his own room in his master's house, his own chef, his own physical therapist.

Only thing he'd ceased getting, something other Dogs had, were Chewtoys.

Bull went through them too quickly, Master had said. He'd have to wait for the fights. It was an unspoken law, that everyone who set up an opponent for Bull, everyone who wanted to challenge the champion, added a prize for him as well. He hadn't seen tonight's one, yet. Not that it mattered much. He'd win. He always did. And after, there'd be someone scared and warm waiting for his cock.

Usually, these prizes were runaways, gathered from the street, or discount pets after a third or fourth refurb. Skinny, scarred, pathetic. Most weren't even Romantics. Didn't matter. Bull didn't want to be seduced.

They rarely made it long. Sometimes, spectators of the fights would pay Bull's master extra, to let them watch the aftermath. In those cases, they did last longer. Bull knew how to give a spectacle.

He figured they'd want a spectacle tonight, as well. Bull was the headliner, scheduled for the last fight of the night - as always -, but this time, they pitted him against fresh meat. One of Hank's, this place's head operator's, latest findings. The man was good at spotting potential; but setting his latest toy up against Bull in his very first fight? Risky, to say the least.

From the corner of his eye, Bull saw one of Hank's trainers pointing at him. Ryder. Arrogant, overpriced ass who wouldn't last a second in the pit himself. Only thing he could achieve was mess with WRU products conditioned minds. His Master had brought Ryder in as a trainer for Bull once, because he was meant to be the best. Hadn't worked out well. Bull didn't fight because of weird WRU drugs messing up his brain. Bull fought because he wanted to. Because fighting opened doors for him. Because he couldn't just do whatever he wanted, but was celebrated for it, revered even. His Master had a claim on him, sure, but both Bull and him knew, he could walk away whenever he wanted. He just didn't want it.

Bull's gaze rested on the Dog next to Ryder. Curious, that Hank let Ryder train the newbie. Quite the investment into someone who'd be obliterated. He watched the new Dog with a glint of lazy interest. Big, just like Bull himself. Lot slimmer around the waist, though. Built to be not only strong, but pretty, too. He was younger than Bull, but far older than the usual fresh meat they'd throw on the market.

And obviously pumped on drugs. Bull smirked and gestured at his trainer. Well then. He'd match that. His trainer raced to his side with a drinking bottle. Filled with the good juice. Bull took a big gulp. "What's that guy's story?"

"They call him the Beast. Runaway WRU they found on the trash and built up again."

"Guessed as much."

"There's more though. Something you should know."

"Hm?"

"Bait's his girlfriend."

Bull chuckled. "Pathetic. Dogs don't do relationships." 
"Maybe he's an unusual one. He's going to want to defend her."

Bull watched the pet from hard eyes. "I'll keep him alive then. Let him watch."

The trainer tilted his head, but his reply was drowned out in booming music, tuning over into an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen! We have a great line up for you tonight, so get those bets in and let’s get this show on the road!”

The new Dog startled at the noise and the following roar of the crowd.

Bull chuckled half to himself. This would be easy. Still. He could make it easier still.

"Where is that prize?" Bull asked, over the cheer of the audience, unfazed by the noise. It would grow a lot louder, when he came up, later. "Get her here. Pay someone if you must. Gonna push some buttons before we're on."

His glance followed the trainer, wandering over the spectators, who cheered as the first fighters of the day were let down into the ring.

There he was, the ring's manager, Hank, standing next to his boss in the first row.

By their side, kept on a short leash, knelt a young woman in a tight black catsuit, her face pressed against Hank's leg.

From the distance, Bull saw Hank shake his head. His boss put a hand on Hank's arm, saying something into his ear, that caused Hank to lift his arm and throw an with an indignant gesture at Bull.

Bull grinned. He always got what he wanted. He made the money tonight, after all.

It was thrilling, to see the bristling Hank stomp towards him, the bait dragged behind him, struggling to keep his pace as she crawled on all fours.

The girl could've been conventionally attractive, Bull guessed, if that was what one was into. Tall, skinny, soft, cute little cat ears nestled in her short hair. She was also humiliated, terrified, and drugged just enough to make that terror plain obvious but render her unable to do anything. That certainly was something Bull was into. He smiled, flashing all his sharpened teeth.

"Don't do anything stupid, Bull." Hank kept the girl on a tight leash, as he arrived just on the other side of the cordon. It wasn't only rope keeping them in, though.

Circuits were embedded in the floor, that would set off the collar of any Dog who crossed it before the time for their fights. Bull knew precisely where these are, and how to avoid them when he sauntered towards her.

He grinned, ignoring Hank's speech.

He could swear the bait was shivering already.

"So, Kitty," he snarled instead, making sure the new guy overheard. "I hear you're used to taking Dog cock?"

It was enough already. From the side, he heard an animalistic roar, alarmed screams from the handlers.

The new guy was lunging forward, gnashing his teeth together, all but dragging the two handlers desperately trying to pull back his leash.

"Dany!" His voice was harsh and raw.

"Dany," Bull all but purred. "They give names to the fucktoys? What a waste."

"Beastie! Stay!" Ryder was running towards his charge.

"Catch poles! Get the catch poles-" Hank yelled orders at the handlers.

The commotion in the fighters' area had stirred the audience, enough for their attention to shift from the fight down in the pit to tonight's main contestants. Murmurs and laughter erupted, even a cheer or two for Bull.

He grinned, taking in his surroundings.

Hank had pushed himself between the Fighters and the girl.

Not far enough though.

At the other end of the area, the WRU pet had shaken off the handlers trying to pull him back and charged towards Bull, letting out a guttural roar.

Bull knew exactly where he could step, and his arms were long enough. His left arm pushed Hank away, his right wrapped around the girl's leash and yanked.

The whore wouldn't have been any match for him in any state. Drugged as she was, she all but fell right into his arms with a hoarse scream, just as he spun back towards the charging idiot, the girl pressed firmly against his front, right in the Beast's path.

The other stopped dead in his tracks, inches in front of them.

"Easy, buddy," Bull taunted. "We're not on yet."

It sounded like the fight had been interrupted down in the pit. All eyes were on them now. Perfect.

Bull fastened his hold of the fucktoy, acknowledging the press of her warm, tense body against his, her frantic heartbeat against his chest, that caused a pleasant stir in his groin. She'd be fun, later. He leaned in the slightest bit, licked a slow, long strip over her neck, making sure his sharpened teeth caught the light just right.

"You've fucked her before, too, haven't you? Don't you think I too deserve a taste of what I fight for?"

"Bull," Hank hissed. "Step down."

Bull ignored him easily. Hank would acknowledge the rustle of bills around him just as much as Bull did. And even if he didn't - Hank's own boss sure did. All attention was good attention.

The other Fighter took another slow, predatory step towards Bull.

Behind him catch poles were silently, hastily being snatched up. Fingers hovered over controllers. Nobody dared to make a move though. It seemed as if everyone held their breath.

Then, the wannabe-Beast lunged forward, eyes glaring with unbridled fury, his first crashing towards Bull's face.

He had no idea what he was getting himself into. Too bad for him that Bull did.

The bitch screamed, when the pet's fist came crashing towards her. Bull had to leave it to his opponent - he was fast. Good to know. No chance for Bull to wrestle his girl in the line of attack, just to throw himself back and dodge. The "Beast"'s fist brushed over Bull's cheek, but failed to fully connect.

Before he could even withdraw his arm, his eyes widened. His body spasmed. He fell over like a felled tree.

For the tight fracture of a second, Bull expected a shock of his own. None came. So he just watched his opponent crumble in front of him. The whore's heart against him was racing, her shiver a tantalizing distraction on Bull's skin. He gently lowered his mouth over her neck, pulse under his enforced teeth. Her breath stilled. As did the audience's.

"Intermission," the announcer's voice crackled over the speakers. "We've decided to interupt tonight's program, and pull forward our main fight. Please, refill your drinks, adjust your bets, and be ready to see Bull vs Beast, starting in no less than five minutes!"

Bull locked gaze with his Master, in the first row, slight panic in his eyes, gesturing for him to let go. Bull rolled his eyes. Idiot. As if Bull would risk disqualification like that.

He slowly pulled back from her neck, felt the tension of the audience dissolve, just like his Master's.

"I'll finish with you soon enough," he murmured into the whore's hair, loud enough for those spectators around him to brighten up in anticipation.

"Fighters, step back," another announcement cracked.

Bull nodded his head in faux deference and set the prize down to her feet, ready to toss her back to Hank.

Not without a little signature, though.

A slight twist of his arm was all it took.

He felt her bone shift under her skin, heard it crack, just as he let go of her with a swift push.

She landed in a heap in front of Hank's feet, screaming in pain.

*

The audience slowly retreated, ushered back by Hank's security. Handlers rushed in to look after Hank's sorry ruffled Beastie, already sitting up, pale from the shock's aftermath, rendered unable to do anything but growl. What a throwback for the upcoming fight these shocks would prove to be.

Bull's own trainer appeared by his side with a bag of ice for his face, and he reached out to take it. 
His gaze rested on Hank though, and he relished the way the manager's lip formed an asshole. He'd never say it out loud, though. Hank knew where his boss' money came from.

And so he seethed in furious silence as he signalled for a medic to look after his pathetic fucktoy's broken arm.

"Waste of time," Bull mouthed, grinning at Hank and lifting a finger to draw a line across his throat. "She's done. They both are."


----

Dany tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @distinctlywhumpthing @Whumping-on-the-ridge @queenofthenoobs @ocean-blue-whump

[sabspoetic]

Oh. My. God. OH MY GOD! I need a part two😭😭 it’s just *🤌🏼💋*

I ship you with dark jensen

Dark Jensen?! Jake Jensen?! Wow, lovely. This is a happy surprise! And inspired another Drabble.

Pairing: Dark!Jake Jensen x Reader Word Count: 1,011 Warnings: Stalking, obsession, creepy behavior, threat of violence to loved ones. Threat of Non-Con/Rape. Please do not read if this upsets you!

18+ Please!!! This is not beta-read, so any and all mistakes are my own.

You couldn't sleep again. It was hard to remember the last time you got a good night's sleep. It was almost a blessing that you didn't have to go to work tomorrow. Your little admirer saw to that. He saw everything.

"It's only temporary," your boss had told you. His look of pity made you want to scream. It was only a matter of time before they outright fired you. What would you do then?

You didn't want to drag your friends or family into this. Part of you wondered if they would even believe you. Because Jake Jensen was a nice man. He proudly served his country. The man adored his niece. The loveable goofball was awkward around people he liked. He couldn't be a person with dark intentions.

Except he was. His military training made it easy to blend in when he followed you. His hacker mind made it even easier to find out everything about you. Almost everything today had a paper trail and they all led to his hands now. He could take your life apart piece by piece if he chose to.

Strangers found his charm endearing. The way he spoke of his niece, they knew he wanted a family of his own one day. He decided you would be the one to give it to him. What about what you wanted? What about your desires?

You heard the text alert from your phone beside you, grabbing it after a few seconds. You didn't want to look, but not knowing was even worse.

“Can’t sleep?”

You ignored the message, setting the phone back on the nightstand. The bastard knew you couldn’t sleep. He was just taunting you at this point. And like salt in an open wound, he sent another. You had to look.

"Don't ignore me, gorgeous. Please."

You sneered at the screen, setting it down once again. The "please" was a false sense of security. He was ordering you to respond. And you stubbornly refused because you were tired of being nice. Being nice was what got his attention to begin with.

You embarrassingly jolted when the device began to ring. You could silence it, but he would keep calling and calling. Worse, would he show up if you ignored him?

"What do you want?" you answered, keeping your voice steady and devoid of emotion.

"You don't sound very happy to hear from me," Jake replied. "That hurts my feelings."

"Just leave me alone, Jake," you muttered.

"I can't do that. You know I can't. Why are you being like this?"

"Yes, you can. It's actually very simple. I'll give you a list. Please, stop texting me. Calling me. Emailing me. Watching me. Following me. Don't even think about me. Just move on," you told him, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I'm not the one for you."

"I can't do any of those things, gorgeous," he said after a moment, like he was trying to repress his anger. "And you are the one for me. We're going to be happy together. I know it. I waited long enough for you."

"I'm not-"

"And since you like lists so much, I'll give you one of my own. The first thing I'll cross off my checklist when I go inside is to tie you down to the bed," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Jake…" you whispered, looking around as you sat up.

"Then I'll cut through your clothes. You're wearing one of those old t-shirts, aren't you?" he asked as you looked down at your body. "It's a shame. You shouldn't wear t-shirts unless they're one of mine."

"I'm hanging up," you warned him as you got to your feet.

"Don't you dare hang up on me!" he snapped, making you freeze. He never got angry with you and you had to remind yourself that he could hurt you. "Now…" he continued, his voice deep again. "Where were we? Oh, yeah. Tied to the bed. Clothes cut off. Next thing I'm going to do is kiss all over your body."

Your throat felt dry as you went to your computer. Someone could call 911 for you. Nothing happened when you tried to turn it on though. "What the hell?" you asked.

"I wonder if you'll gasp or moan as I part your legs and kiss right between your thighs. I'll bet you taste as gorgeous as you look," he continued, as if you didn't say anything. "Oh, if you're thinking of messaging someone...don't. Unless you want Cougar to pay them a visit. He hasn't had any target practice in some time."

"Jake, please," you whispered as you went to the bedroom door, your hand shaking as you locked it.

You heard him moan on the other end. "You said the next thing on my list...You begging for me to take you. I will again and again. Will you scream my name when you come or will you whisper it? It honestly doesn't matter to me. It'll still be my name on your lips when you clamp down on my cock."

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn't prevent a tear from falling. You wanted to forget his words, but they kept buzzing in your ears. It didn't matter that you had been attracted to him. He was obsessed.

"I'll keep fucking you until you know where you belong. With me. Wrapped around my cock and filled with me. My list sounds pretty nice, doesn't it?" he said, his voice gruff as blood rushed to your cheeks. "Fuck, I don't think I can wait any longer."

"Leave. Me. Alone. You need help, Jake. And I can't be the one to help you," you got out. You didn't want him to know that his words got to you. "And you're never going to have me. Ever."

He waited a beat before he chuckled. It was an eerie sound. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" he asked.

You were about to ask what he meant when you heard your front door open.

[myperfectvictim]

I don’t want to drug your drinks behind your back— for you to peacefully fade into unconsciousness. Confused and unaware as to what’s happening to you.

I want to drug you knowingly. I want you to fight with all of your strength, kicking, swinging and thrashing against my hold. Slowly growing weaker and weaker until you’ve drained yourself completely. The back of your head forced upon my shoulder, your fatigued whimpers slipping through my fingers— as you look up to me, petrified and helpless. Your lashes flicker, the last burst of energy before your eyes roll back.

And for the next few hours— you’re fucking mine.

[dumbdykedog]

god if i dont get dicked down and used soon im gonna lose my mind i feel like im in heat

[yourneedylilpup]

thinking of having a roommate who loves seeing me walk around in an oversized shirt with no bra and pj shorts that make them question if i’m even wearing anything underneath because of how they’re hidden by the shirt.

i want them to be a little creep who gets off on how trusting i am towards them.

who sneaks into my room when i’m out to steal my panties and use them as a cum rag before putting them back in my closet. knowing i’ll wear them even if i see the stains cause i’ll just assume i ruined them myself and decide they’ll work until i get some new pairs.

who watches me put on lotion after i shower, seeing me rub the white cream into my skin and wishing it was their cum covering me instead, taking my half empty bottle of cream and adding a couple loads of thick cum to it, loving the way i don’t question why the bottle is little fuller now, nearly creaming their pants seeing me cover myself in the cum filled lotion, it’s almost like they’re claiming my body marking it as theirs.

who can’t take it anymore and sneak into my room while i’m asleep, find me sleeping in those ridiculously short pj bottoms, moving them to the side, seeing my pretty pussy presented just for them, getting me nice and wet with their tongue while stretching me out with two fingers, adding a third to make sure i’m nice and prepared, finally getting to fuck me all nice and gentle like a cute princess, so blissed out finally being able to touch me in the the depraved ways they’ve been craving and hearing me make those sweet sleepy moans that bring them so close to the the edge that they don’t notice how rough they’re getting with me, pausing mid thrust when they hear me whisper their name, looking down to see my half awake and unfocused eyes, slowly starting to thrust again while cooing at how cute i am to be having such a depraved dream about my roommate, lulling me back to sleep while still fucking into my wet cunt, cumming harder than they ever have before right into my pussy only to pull out and watch it leak out of my hole, using thier thumb to push it back into my cunt before wiping their hand in my hair and fixing up my shorts, going back to their own room completely spent and ready for sleep.

who wakes up the next morning to see me act like nothing happend and i don’t have dried cum covering my thighs and making my bed head worse.

maybe my lovely roommate will decide to start making nightly visits to my room to test just how oblivious i can be.

[x--sinner--x]

Listen, I didn't mean to push my cock into your pussy while you were sleeping. It was part of a dare and my stupid friends dared me to fuck the girl I found hottest and film it as proof.

I was planning to be in and out, making sure you never knew what happened. But the moment my cock went inside, it felt so good that my thoughts of pulling out just left me. I was just dumbfounded and wanted more.

Sorry I came inside you. I really have to go now. Thanks for the picture.

I hope you will love the present I gave you 10 months from now.

[suicideassistance]

“Stop raping me,” stop crying and I could.

[smileymxx]

Rubbing my cunt outside in the yard. Hopefully no one sees me🥰

[prettylittle-420slvt]

Wow. You’re so fucking pathetic, all it takes is a few videos and pictures of dicks flooding your inbox and you’re running off to the bathroom to go beg them to use your pussy and how you want them to cum in you. I thought you were a boy? Looks to me like you’re faking it if you’re begging the men flooding your dms to fuck you and make you beg and cry. Begging them to whore you out, begging them to use your cunt.

I mean fuck, you’re even talking to them about possibly getting a puppy to train to fuck you and lick your cunt. Is that what you want? For me to stop being nice to you and stop caring about how you’re doing? Because if so, I don’t give a fuck how much you cry or beg or get scared of me. If you want to whore yourself out, it’s going to be on my fucking terms. I fucking own you. Your cunt? Mine. Your womb? Mine. Your tits? Mine. Your fucking pathetic ass moans, whimpers, cries, whines and whatever other pathetic noises you make? Mine. All of you belongs to me. You’re only here because I allowed you to be.

The men in your dms? I’ll send them proof of how you’re mine. They’ll watch videos of your body being abused while you’re sobbing brokenly begging me to stop, that you’re sorry and you’ll be better. That you’ll never do it again. They can watch me stretch you out as I shove in toy after toy into your pussy while I tape a vibrator to your clit at its highest setting. You can take it, after all how else were you planning on taking the men in your messages? They can watch me choke you out until you’re on the verge of losing consciousness, on top of flooding your system with weed and alcohol. I’ll be sure to tie your legs apart too, so you can’t try to close them when you get overstimulated.

Maybe I’ll be nice and get you just what you wanted, a puppy. I’ll be sure to teach him how to turn you into his bitch too. Have him snarl and snap at you if you don’t hurry the fuck up and present for him. Tying you to the bed for hours while I feed him off your pussy. He’ll only be good and sweet for me too, so you’ll be completely powerless against him. And you’d better be fucking grateful that I let him knot you and cum in you. If I find out you wasted a single drop of his cum, you’re getting locked in a crate with him for a week. And I will know if you wasted any of his cum, or if you break any of the rules I’ve given you. I’ll be rigging the house with cameras and microphones so you won’t be able to hide or lie.

And oh? Is it too much? You’re sorry, you didn’t mean it? Well it’s too fucking late now. I tried being sweet, and loving, I tried being gentle. And you wanted to go and fucking test me. This is your fault. I told you I could be mean. And this? All of it? It’s only a scratch on the fucking surface of my imagination.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

inviting | dramatic | silent street

Nico can tell that the way he's leaning over him scares Lux, he notices how badly he's shaking, but he can't make himself stop. He wants to get to the truth so badly that he can't stop himself. He doesn't lean any closer, but he keeps his voice intense. “You're stuttering. You're avoiding eye contact. You're getting defensive. You... You flinch away from me. You act like you're scared of me.”

He pauses, studying Lux's face, his body language, his movements, every detail, searching for something to contradict his words.

Lux is breathing so shallowly, so quietly, as if hoping that he'll be able to pass under the radar and Nico will back off. "I'm just - I'm n-nervous. I'm a nervous person." A tiny, strained laugh. "I don't like... I want some s-space, please?"

Nico is practically fixated on him. He watches the shallow movement of his chest, the way he's trying to seem like he isn't completely terrified. The laugh comes out so fake, so forced, and the request for space is so meek...

“Stop lying to me.”

Nico's voice is so soft, but his eyes are intense, searching. He can't believe how hard Lux is trying to keep up that act, when it is so obviously fake. The way his hands are folded in his lap, the way he's shaking... he's falling apart at the seams.

Lux's eyes widen. Nico is outright refusing to back off. He is in danger. He looks to the front door again, eyeing his escape route.

"I want, I, I want to leave."

Nico sees the glance toward the front door, his eyes following Lux's gaze, and before he even realizes it, he grabs him by the shoulder in a tight grip, stopping him from running.

“No. No. You're not going anywhere. You're staying, and you're going to answer my question.” He uses his body to move closer, trapping him against the couch.

Lux sucks in a gasp, face going starkly pale with pain. He tries to twist free, gripping at his shoulder and whimpering. His shoulders are so bad, so sore and stiff. He can't handle this. He is trying to push Nico away, to get up off the couch.

The pleading and struggling and whimpering is too much. It's almost pathetic, the way Lux is trying to get away from him, the way he's so desperate to escape, but Nico's grip on his shoulder is tight and relentless. He can't help the way the anger rises in him again as he snaps at Lux, his voice sharp and frustrated.

“Stop. Stop struggling, goddamnit. You're just making it worse for yourself.”

Lux wants to struggle, he wants to get out. He desperately wants it. But he is good by nature, he was taught to be. So he falls still under Nico, breathless and terrified, cooperating out of fear.

Nico notices the way Lux freezes up, but his grip on the boy's shoulder remains tight and firm. He's watching him, studying every flicker of emotion that crosses his face, every twitch of his muscles. He can practically feel his heart racing, the tension in his body.

“Good boy. Now, you're going to answer me. And I want the truth this time.” He leans in even closer, his voice low and demanding.

A single tear, small and darting quick, slips down Lux's cheek. He shudders and continues to hold still, upon being called a good boy. It seems to ping perfectly with his conditioning to guarantee cooperation.

He cowers under the oppressive leaning over him, eyes squeezing shut, breaths tiny.

Nico sees the tear on Lux's cheek, and it twists his heart. The look on his face is so vulnerable, so broken, that he almost wants to back off for a moment. But he can't give in to that. He needs to know the truth, he needs more than that single tear.

“Look at me. Open your eyes.”

He's so close now that he can hear the shallow shuddering breaths coming from between his lips, hear the way his heartbeat is racing.

Those teary eyes flutter open, pretty tears beaded on his dark eyelashes. Lux is gasping softly as sobs come out, under the pressure. He obeyed, and he is listening.

Nico studies his face for a moment, taking in the sight of the delicate tears on his lashes, the tremble of his chin. He looks so small and fragile. He's breathing so fast, on the verge of crying, and it's clear that he's terrified of what Nico's going to do to him... it's clear that he's obedient, and cooperative, and so very scared.

“Lux, I need you to listen to me, okay? This question, and this question only.”

His voice is firm as he speaks, his grip on his shoulder still tight.

Lux's lip wobbles worse at the pain in his shoulder. "Oka-ay," He breathes, sounding as obedient as anything.

The single word of agreement is enough to reassure him that Lux is going to listen to him, that he's going to answer. There's no hesitation, no more stuttering, it's just a timid and terrified agreement.*

“Does Emory ever lay his hands on you?”

There is no choice anymore. Lux tried to hold his ground, to tell the truth, but it wasn't want Nico wanted to hear. He will say anything, at this point, to make this stop. Even if he has to tell a terrible lie about the love of his life.

"...Y-yes," Lux whispers, another tear slipping down his cheek, his adam's apple bobbing with emotion. His lips are a little pinkened with upset, his eyes even more blue with the crying.

Nico can practically feel the terror in the quavering response. The way it comes out like a tiny whisper, the way it's laced with tears. The word "yes" is simple but packs a punch, bringing forth a rush of anger and disbelief inside of him. He didn't want it to be true, but he can't deny what he's hearing. He is suddenly more determined than ever to get the truth out.

“How?”

His grip on Lux's shoulder tightens.

Lux sobs out loud at the pain, now. "Please, you're h-hurting me, please, I... d-don't make me say it..."

Even through his anger, he can't ignore the way Lux is pleading. There's a small pang of guilt as his grip only seems to cause more pain, but he doesn't loosen his hold. There's still so much he needs to know, so much he needs to understand.

“Say it. Don't make me repeat myself. I need to know how he lays his hands on you.”

Crying in full, now, Lux just sobs for a minute, eyes falling closed for long stretches. "I... I-I... h-h-hit, hi-it hit hits m-me?" It's a lie, Emory is so gentle. So understanding. Lux feels safer with Emory than with anyone else in the world. But Nico is... doing something. Looking for the answers that he likes, that he... wants.

And there it is. A soft and shaking confession. He's admitting to being hurt by the person who's supposed to cherish and protect him. But this answer only leads to more questions for Nico. He looks at Lux, his eyes fierce and demanding as ever.

“He... hits you? What do you mean? In what ways? Where? And when?”

Reality is breaking down, in Lux's mind. Too much abuse in his past, too much conditioning. He will do anything to make this stop. "F-for, for, for being bad? When - when I'm b-bad...?"

Nico can see that Lux is unraveling, the conditioning taking hold as his past and present blur together. The words don't quite make sense, but they still make his heart race. He's still so close to him, still staring into his eyes as he asks for more details, to understand the abuse.

“What do you mean, when you're being bad? What does he hit you with?”

This must be a fantasy for Nico. What will come next? Hitting? Groping? Something worse? Lux is shrinking down as if he wants to dissolve into the couch. "I, I, a, his h-ha-ands... his hands..." He isn't even talking about Emory, at this point. He is meshing Anthony and the Hunter together, in his mind, as examples of what abuse sounds like.

Nico's heart is racing as he listens to the stream of words, seeing the fear in the way Lux is shrinking back against the couch, how his shoulders are hunched and how he's shaking, trembling like a leaf. The confession of physical violence from a man he thought was perfect only serves to deepen his anger, the fury that's raging inside of him.

“His hands? He... He hits you with his hands.”

Lux, tiny and trying to hide, nods obediently. The confession means nothing. It was forced, it's a lie. But Nico doesn't seem to care.

"Don't... don't hurt me, ple-ease... please, just let me go..."

His heart is breaking, seeing the way Lux is so afraid. Hearing the tiny, pleading voice asking not to be hurt. The way he's trying to shrink down into the couch and disappear. But he can't let him go, not now.

“Shhh. Be quiet.”

He leans in even closer, and his free hand comes up to hold Lux's chin, his grip gentle but firm as he forces him to maintain eye contact.

With a forceful shiver, Lux falls obediently quiet. He seems to take the leaning in as intimacy and shudders again.

It's clear that Lux does well with commands like that, and a quiet stillness settles over the room for a moment. Nico's eyes are fixed on his face, studying every flicker of emotion that appears there. The tears, the trembling, the way his muscles are so tense even as his body obediently falls still. He looks so terrified, and so fragile. And so beautiful, with those pretty tears on his lashes. The urge to hold him, to comfort him, is strong, but he holds back.

Lux holds still while he waits for Nico to make the next move. Lux is not a fighter. He does not struggle, ones he's told to hold still. He is good. He is good. He was trained to take it well, and he will, if he is scared badly enough.

Nico is still leaning close, staring into his eyes as he runs his thumb over Lux's chin. He can see the way he's holding perfectly still, waiting for instructions. And he is so, so obedient. There's something fascinating about him like this, like he's submitting without any resistance, holding still like a good little boy.

“Stay still. Don't try to move, and keep your eyes on me.”

There is something distant about Lux's eyes, now. Perfectly obedient, he does stay still. He doesn't try to move. His eyes are locked on Nico as if he will be shot in the head the second he disobeys.

Nico can see that distant look in his eyes, and it only deepens the fire inside of him. He is so used to fighting from Lux, so used to seeing flashes of defiance that this sudden obedience is new and exciting. It makes him want to push all of his boundaries, see how far he can go before he snaps back. He reaches up with his other hand to gently cup his face in both hands, his thumbs stroking over his cheeks.

“Good boy. That's it, you're being so good for me.”

He has heard that before, from other attackers. From abusers. Lux shivers at the words anyway. He holds still, all but for the wobbling of his chin.

Nico watches how Lux shivers and trembles from the simple compliment, the way his chin wobbles under the touch. It's almost pathetic, seeing how easy it is for him to break, and he can't help but speak again, in a gentle voice.

“Such a good boy, you're being so good for me. Stay just like that, yeah?”

He's so close to him that he can hear his shaky breaths, and he can feel the warmth of his skin under his hands.

Lux whimpers softly, but holds still. Someone taught him well to be cooperative and complacent.

Lux's soft whimpering only makes the fire inside of him burn hotter. He holds eye contact, his dark gaze practically burning when he speaks again, his voice firm and commanding.

“Shhh. Stay quiet, love.”

He rubs his thumb over the younger man's bottom lip, tracing the delicate, trembling flesh. He's so used to seeing that mouth turned into a cocky smile, or muttering smart little retorts, and now he wants to see it put to better use.

The thumb on his bottom lip. Another familiar thing, and Lux's eyes go more distant. He knows what's coming. It feels like his fault, his fault for coming here. For trusting someone.

Nico can see the way his eyes grow even more distant, and he takes note of that for future reference. His thumb presses down harder on that pretty lip, pushing it down and pulling it out slightly, as if he's testing how much he can force that mouth open.

“You're doing so good for me, staying still like that. Such a good boy.”

Lux takes a shaky breath. He is a good boy. He doesn't want this, doesn't like it, he wants to go home to Emory... but right now, he has to survive. Has to obey. Lux opens his mouth hesitantly, breaths still soft and tremulous.

Nico lets out a soft, shuddery little breath as Lux obeys and opens his mouth. It's almost too much, seeing that pretty mouth slowly opening and submitting to him. Seeing his pretty lips part, letting that hot, shaky breath hit his skin. He leans in even closer, and the hand that was holding his chin now comes up to grip his jaw, tipping his head back. He is so, so close to him now, still gripping his face with both hands.

“Good boy. Such a good boy. Such a good boy for me.”

Lux isn't sure what is coming. A kiss? Something going into his mouth? Terror makes his breaths hotter and shakier. He holds his mouth open, anyway, preemptively obedient for Nico. His brows furrow adorably with misery.

When he sees the way he looks so worried and miserable with his mouth open, he can't help but tease him a little. He leans in even closer, so close that their faces are practically touching, and he whispers soft words against his lips.

“You're so pretty with that mouth open for me like that. Such a good boy.”

He gently pushes his thumb deeper into his mouth, rubbing against his tongue.

The mouth almost falls closed in overwhelm at the whispering, then instantly opens again. He will obey. He will obey. Lux whimpers in fear as the thumb presses into his mouth. He swallows nervously, eyes tearing up more.

The tiny, fearful whimper that comes from his throat as the thumb enters his mouth only makes him want more. He pushes his thumb in deeper, rubbing against his tongue slowly, getting a good feel for how his mouth feels. It's so warm and soft, and his eyes stay fixed on those tears that are starting to fall from his lashes, streaming down his cheeks.

“Shhh. It's okay. You're being so good for me.”

He is being good. Lux makes a tiny, frightened sound and just keeps on taking it, eyes up and aimed at Nico. It looks almost obscene, with his mouth open and Nico's finger in there, as he looks up through teary eyelashes.

Gods, he is gorgeous like this. The combination of fear and submission on his pretty face is enough to make his head spin. He's practically panting from how worked up this has him, and he's practically lost in those eyes, the way he's looking up at him, tears streaking down his cheeks while he lets him push his finger into his mouth. The power is intoxicating, and he just has to kiss him, licking the tears away from his face.

Lux finally flinches again, cringing down hard to try to escape the kissing and licking. "S-, sss-stop, stop stop stop please..." It is a tiny, feeble whisper. He is too afraid to actually struggle.

He shushes him, but this time, he's gentler. He pulls away slightly, and his hands leave the younger man's face. He doesn't hold him in place, no longer forcing his head. Instead, he brushes the damp hair away from his face, his touch a little kinder.

“Shhh, I'm not going to kiss you again. I won't, I promise. Calm down. You're alright.”

Lux is a shuddering mess. He nods, because there is nothing else he can do. "Oka-ay. Th-thank, thank, tha-ank you..."

Nico watches him for a moment, just letting him catch his breath and try to calm down. He can see the tremors that are still going through his body, and part of him still wants to push, to see how far he can get him to go. But he also doesn't want to put him through too much. So for now, he just pats his hair, running his fingers through it gently.

“It's alright. You're okay. Just breathe for me, alright? Stay calm and breathe.”

It is horrifying, being guided to calm down by the man who was just forcibly kissing him and calling him a good boy. Lux tries to settle down, chest hitching with soft little sobs.

He continues running his fingers through his hair, gently rubbing his scalp and trying to soothe him as much as possible. Seeing the way he's trying to calm down, but still crying quietly, is oddly endearing to him. He wants to keep him like this, as close as possible. He wants to make him feel safe and comforted and loved.

“Shhh, it's okay. You're being so good for me. You're doing so well, love. Just keep your eyes on me.”

Lux is avoiding eye contact. "Okay. Oka-ay. S-sorry, Nnh, Ni-ico."

Nico sees how he's avoiding eye contact, and that won't do. He reaches up, gently gripping his chin and tilting it up, forcing those pretty eyes to look at him.

“Shhh, look at me. You're alright. Just look at me, okay? Don't look away.”

Those eyes focus back on Nico again, swimming with mindless terror. Maybe this isn't over yet. His chest is fluttering with little gasps. The many, many scars across his chest and arms as just barely visible at the edges of his shirt. He has been through a lot before.

Nico sees the terror in those eyes and it only deepens his need to comfort him. He's so small and fragile, in such a frightened state. It makes him want to press him up against his chest and hold him and pet his hair and tell him he's safe, and that he won't hurt him. But he doesn't. Instead, he simply keeps him in place with those fingers on his chin, just looking into his face for a long moment. He can see a few scars on the parts of his skin that are exposed, and he wonders how many more are hidden by his clothes.

Hitching sob-breaths are the only thing moving Lux's body. Aside from that, he is being perfectly still. He wouldn't fight anything at this point, and they both know it.

Seeing how he's being so perfectly obedient, so still and sweet, even though he's clearly terrified... Gods, he wants to keep him like this. He wants to keep him small and sweet, so well-behaved and good for him. He can't help the way his own breath shudders in his chest, like he's the one who's overwhelmed and shaking and crying. The urge to lean in and kiss him again is almost overwhelming, but he doesn't. Instead, he just watches those tears continue to fall, his voice a little lower than before.

“Why are you crying, honey?”

Horrifying. Creepy. Lux shudders, opens his mouth to speak, gives up. Finally, he just shrugs lamely.

His hands don't leave his chin, and he keeps him in place, looking into his eyes as he watches him try to speak and then give up.

“Use your words. I want to hear your voice, love.”

Lux whimpers, miserable and frightened. "Cry-ying, beca-ause, because, I... I'm s-scared."

He just nods, staring into his face when he hears that soft, miserable little voice answer him. He sounds so small and timid, so afraid. Gods, he's so, so vulnerable and helpless in this state. He lets out a soft breath, his own voice gentle and tender.

“You're scared, sweetheart? You're scared of what?”

"Of, of, o-of..." Another wretched little sob. "Of y-you."

That one word stabs straight through him, piercing his chest like a knife. Of him. He's scared of him. He swallows, his grip on that jaw tightening ever so slightly, but his voice is still soft when he speaks again, still gentle with the shivering, frightened boy in front of him.

“You're scared of me? Is that what you're saying, honey?”

Lux is terrified. He swallows thickly, eyes flitting away then instantly returning, aware that Nico wants eyes on him. "Mmhmm."

Nico watches the way he's looking away, then looking at him again when he remembers that he's supposed to be making eye contact. He wants to be so, so gentle and sweet with him, but he can't help the way his grip on his jaw tightens and his voice hardens at his response.

“Why are you scared of me, then? Tell me why. Give me a reason, love.”

Confusion flickers across his face. Lux hates having to banter with his attackers. It's... humiliating. Makes him feel like he's making it up, like he's being dramatic. "Beca-ause... because, you, you're f-... because I said no, and you're, you... you're just... f-forcing it."

Nico's grip on his jaw tightens a little more at his words, but he tries to keep his voice gentle and even when he speaks. He sounds almost sad when he talks, like he's hurt by the accusations.

“Forcing what, though? What am I forcing, love? Tell me.”

Lux shifts unhappily. "Kissing me. Touching... being, being s-so close. I don't... I ba-arely know you."

The words sting. It's true, they don't know each other very well. Despite that, however, he's never felt so drawn to anyone before, he's never wanted someone so badly. A part of him aches at the thought that he's scared, like a physical pain in his chest.

“Shhh, shhh... I'm not going to force you, I promise. You're just being a little dramatic, sweetheart.”

Doubt flashes in his eyes. Lux has been gaslit before. Has has his mind messed with. He isn't sure of himself, when he's called dramatic. His old boyfriend used to say that.

"...Sorry," He croaks, unsure of what to say, now.

He looks into those eyes and sees the doubt and lack of assurance, and it only drives his need higher. He can hear the little croak of an apology that comes from his mouth, and he swallows down the possessive feeling that's rising up in his chest. It's not the time for that. Instead, he tries to sound reassuring when he speaks again, his voice soft.

“No, no, no. Shhhh. Don't say you're sorry. You're not doing anything wrong, honey. You're being so good. Just stay here with me. Relax.”

He tries. He really tries to relax. Lux holds still and tries to quieten his tiny sobs.

Nico tries to sound soothing as possible as he speaks, his fingers tracing soft, gentle patterns against his skin.

“You're shaking so much, love. I want you to breathe for me. Just try and take a few slow breaths, alright? Let's do it together.”

He takes slow, deep breaths, exaggerating the motion intentionally so that the younger man can follow his lead. While they breathe, his touch stays soothing as he rubs the pads of his fingers against his skin gently.

Still weeping, just silently now, Lux follows Nico's lead and breathes on cue.

When he sees that Lux is following along, his breath is slow and even with his own, he nods, his voice still gentle, still loving.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Just like that. Good boy.”

He continues the gentle rubbing of his fingers against his skin, trying to keep him relaxed and soothe his trembling. The words come out before he can stop himself.

“You're so good for me. So very good.”

Lux hates being touched. He's not taking it well, breaths getting choppy, closer and closer to a panic attack.

"Ple-ease," Lux whispers pitifully. "Don't... don't c-call me that."

Nico hears his soft request and feels a sharp pang of affection well up in his chest. Gods, he sounds so broken. He's so, so delicate. Even the idea of hurting him at this point is becoming too much. His voice is gentle as he speaks, his hand moving away from his shoulder.

“What, sweetheart? Don't call you what?”

"A g-g-ood... a good b-boy. I... I don't l-like it."

He can hear the tears and stuttering in his voice as he stutters out the words, and it just makes him want to pull him into his arms. The urge to gather him up and hold him against his chest nearly overwhelms him. But he pushes it down, trying to stay still and keep his hands to himself. He has to be gentle.

“You don't like being called a good boy? Why not, honey?”

A shudder of disgust at the term of endearment. Lux shifts uncomfortably. "Because, I... it just... I, I, I don't..." He shakes his head a little. "Ba-ad memories."

He sees him shiver and shift uncomfortably, and the way he describes ‘bad memories’ makes him ache to soothe him, to hug him and pet his hair and make him feel good and safe. He doesn't do it, somehow. Even though he's desperate to pull him into his arms, to feel his skin under his hands, he keeps his distance. Instead, he tries to keep his words as gentle as possible. He wants to coax the answers out of him.

“What bad memories, love? Tell me about it. Help me understand.”

Lux doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to be here. Summoning up the courage, he pushes Nico back gently, getting enough room to shove himself up off the couch and take a tremulous step toward the door.

"I don't - I - I'm gonna go. I'm just... gonna, gonna l-leave." He sounds uncertain, like he's afraid Nico will tackle him to the ground and assault him just for trying to leave.

Nico watches as he shoves himself up off the couch and moves away, and even from across the room, his heart aches. Something about him, maybe the way he's so small and clearly terrified, puts an aching pain in his chest. He doesn't want him to leave. Something deep and visceral inside of him screams at him like an animal when he hears those trembling words.

“No. No, no, don't go. Sit back down.”

Lux takes another step, backing up, toward the door. His shaking hand is reaching behind him to find the doorknob. If Nico decides to charge, Lux might not have enough time to wrench the door open before he's dragged back. "I - uh, I-I, I don't th-think, I should... I, um, Em-, Emory's w-waiting, back home. I n-need... I need to go. Please."

Nico's eyes darken at the mention of this Emory, jealousy igniting in his chest. Gods, he doesn't want him to go home. He has the sudden terrifying thought of some other man, someone who isn't him, holding him and touching him, and it makes something primal and possessive rise up inside of him.

He steps forward, eyes narrowing on him as he moves closer.

“No. You're not leaving.”

[myperfectvictim]

Sweetheart, you are getting raped. Conscious or not. You're going to want these drugs.

[dumbdykedog]

wish men i ring out at work would just randomly grope me or make more misogynistic comments towards me or like maybe bend me over the counter and break me and show everyone what a whore i am and start inviting more and more people to use me and uhh uh i mean uhhh 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[x--sinner--x]

I just kidnapped an innocent looking slut from a club I was at. I spiked her drink without her noticing, and it was her fault she came alone in the first place. I waited until she took a sip of her drink and passed out to slowly drag her into a bathroom stall, broke a window and slowly got her body out the window so that she doesn't fall on the way out and I swiftly followed her. My getaway car was just parked out front, so it was easy to get her inside the car and drive away.

As I brought them to their new home, I tied their hands together to the bed frame and removed their pants and waited until the effects of the drug wore off and for them to wake up and find the situation they were in. I just sat in a chair next to them as they woke up, immediately screaming and flailing their legs in the air as if that's gonna help them get free. Once they realised they don't have pants on, I could only imagine the humiliation they faced, because they tried to close their legs together so that I won't be able to look.

The reason I didn't take off their top was because I wanted to toy with them even more. So I took my pocket knife and started marking their exposed skin, and their screams were just pure melody to my ears. I slowly started to cut through the fabric, cutting circles around their nipples to see how hard they were. I then cut another circle around their belly button, just to increase the humiliation they were facing.

I placed my pocket knife to their neck and made them quiet down as I came on top of them and forced my cock through her wet pussy hole (she got wet from fearing me, how sweet), as I sucked on her exposed nipples. I went down and licked her belly button and her exposed armpits and also their neck, to make them feel as dirty as possible.

Ahhhh now my head is reeling with ideas on what to do with this pathetic slut...

(like and reblog this and get me to 100 notes for part 2....)

[the-grimm-writer]

Your haunted house story has me feeling feral- knowing my friends if they saw me being fucked by a “haunt actor” they’d assume I was just whoring around, so pour one out for me probably dying in that scenario, but the idea of him just plowing away even if other patrons start to walk by, or see. Like would he kill them or not even bother stopping… 💛

Ngl my friends would think the same thing 😭

.

So I can see it being one of those 18+ attractions where the actors can get hands-on and you have to sign a waver to get in, so not many people would be too surprised if they walked past and saw someone getting freaky on the floor lmao

But there's a bonus! He wouldn't kill your friends or anybody, really. Only if they see that something's wrong and try and pull him away from you. Then you'd have to try and pull him back as he grabs his axe, swearing you'll do anything as long as he doesn't kill them.

He'd be smug as hell about if nobody stops him, though. Smiling at you as he mockingly wipes away your tears and leans in close to you as he speaks, his other hand covering your mouth so your muffled screams sound even more like moans.

"Look at that. Even your friends know that you belong to me now."

And he wouldn't kill you!! He'd never kill his favorite victim <3. He'd only threaten to. Telling you how it would be such a shame if he had to cut open your pretty neck if you don't kiss him or say whatever you want him to.

He'd be super degrading too, taunting you for coming undone despite knowing that he's a killer, how your fear has only made you clench around him tighter. How you must be as twisted as him if you're really about to cum too since you know he wouldn't think twice about killing anyone you care about (like he doesn't know exactly what it takes to get you to hehe).

Just playing mind games to fuck with your head so by the time he's finished you're basically clinging onto him when he picks you up and takes you away with him, too shaken up to try and fight back or get help.

And by the time people discover what actually happened at the haunted house, it's too late. You're stuck with him now. 🥺

[smileymxx]

I'm back 🥰