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heartlyrins · 12 days

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I haven't seen any no req rules on your blog so i apologise if im overstepping a boundary, it's not a req tho but it looks like it (? idk either just a heads up?? using tumblr after a while bear with me)

ive been thinking of incest sunday x reader where you essentially take robins place aka youre robin and the cannon robin doesn't exist. not really in the haha he noncons u 24/7 way but more of an emotional incest way before it gets sexual/romantic and involves a lot of grooming

he's nice, caring, he's here if u need anything and always cares for his dear little sister (or sibling, but ill keep it fem reader cuz youre in robins place), just ignore the weird touches and how incredibly touchy he gets with you when youre both alone and hidden!

dont think youre of the hook though, he still has very high expectations for a young sweet girl like you! singing lessons, private tutoring and all of the sorts! you practically have no social life, and oh what's that? you want to go out? nope,sorry sweetheart, another time - sunday replies as he gives you yet another touch on the thing as he explains every single mistake and pinpoints your every insecurity

it starts off nice and slow, he begins the weird touches and stares when you were very young. when the nanny was changing your clothes perhaps or you two were showering, before it escalated to something more. i dont see him as "id drug to keep you close", hes already got that weird xipe hallucination power thing that he used on aventurine

hed probably guilt trip you into letting him take your virginity because the world is tainted and theyll hurt you if youre not careful. maybe even take ur first kiss too while hes balls deep and telling you that hell keep the bloodline pure with his sweet perfect little sister

i also like to think sunday is a bit fucked in the head due to past trauma like if he was groomed himself or even molested and he simply mimicked what was done to him rather than doing it cause haha im evil, i dont see much rep of him being fucked up cuz something happened to him in the past.

id like to see ur take on that tbh idm if its a fic/ficlet or something but id gladly see sundays character study on the fucked up obsessive sister fucker version

Maybe I will make a fic of this.. But my aventurine fic is not even completed yet 😭

tw:INCEST, noncon/dubcon, grooming (non-sexual), coercion, guilt tripping, manipulation, brainwashing, slight misogyny, Sunday is the warning itself, DLDR and block if ur uncomfortable

Robin!Reader would be good.. But imagine he's more obsessive and strict than he would ever be with cannon Robin.

YES. He would groom you not in a sexual way, but in a way that he wants you to be according to him. No, grooming isn't only based in romantic or sexual and it HAS been shown in media. (The nearest example is Tomura and OFA)

I feel like he wouldn't need any trauma to actually do this to someone—it's just how he is and he doesn't really see the wrong in it even as an adult.

He has been doing this as a child, it's in his mind to manipulate someone in order to get what he wants. Unlike a normal child who cries and rolls on the ground to get a piece of candy—it wouldn't be that for him.

If he wants it—then he would get it, in this case the thing he wants is you.

Ever since you were both a child, he would be stuck to you at every moment. You want to bath? Sure, but he's going. You're very fragile as a halovian child—and especially a girl at that. You need your big brother to protect you wherever you go.

Despite the fact that he's everywhere with you, there would be times where sometimes he just can't be at that moment. But somehow, he makes it feel like you're in a constant watch even when he's not there.

When you expressed your dreams to be an idol, you thought that he would oppose to it but it's actually quite the opposite! He helps you get voice and vocal lessons with a private teacher and it's every single day that you have to suffer practicing.

What do you mean you want a break? This is your dream yes? He's just helping you achieve your dreams, isn't your big brother so caring?

It's when you start filling curves around your body that he realizes his romantic feelings for you—at first as a child he thought that it had to be with the fact that he has to protect you.

But now that you're both grown, he now knows it's something more than platonic. The first time he touched you a bit further down that he usually would was when you were both just reaching the peak of famous.

He became the head of the family—you've became what you wanted and what he wanted, an idol. That's when it hits him, becoming famous means that he had to share you with other people.

And then before he knows it.. You will disappear from his grip. So he restricts you from going out, you're supposed to stay by his side anyway, you know that right?

And you're supposed to give your virginity to him. It's important. He's helped you achieve your dream, so you need to help him back. No it's not wrong, it's actually quite normal.

You don't know what to do? That's okay, he'll guide you. Look, he's already balls deep inside you—no don't turn your away and face him.

Now that he's tainted you, you can go out now. But remember that he's always watching you.

#tw.dark content #tw.noncon #tw.incest #tw.dubcon #yandere hsr #hsr smut #sunday noncon #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday smut #sunday #sunday hsr #hsr noncon #hsr angst #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail

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reiderwriter · 3 hours

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Four In Some Velvet Morning

Chapter Two of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Civility in the office is equal to pettiness in all things, but when you help Spencer out in a sticky situation, it's all your mind can think about well into the early hours in the morning.

Warnings: Uncomfortable situation with a student (non-reciprocated), suggestive touching, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, soft dom! Spencer.

A/N: The second part is finally here!! I hope you enjoy the various office shenanigans of Spencer and our reader. Based on the results of our last chapter, I've made a taglist, which you can access through the link below! Have fun reading, and be sure to let me know what you think in the comments~♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist~♡

You loved Mondays, or you did love Mondays when they meant only a single teaching hour and a free office to catch up on however much work you'd put off the week before.

But, like everything in your life now, Mondays were ruined by Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you and your coffee arrived at 8:45 on Monday morning, he was right there. You heaved out a sigh of frustration, and he didn't respond, so you sank into an hours worth of annoyed sighs and silence.

“Hmmph,” you huffed, standing from your desk and making your bookshelves. Still ordered alphabetically, and topically, you tried your best to look for the reference guide you'd been annotating all semester. But with no helpful guide to which topics it was that he'd used, you found yourself turning around to address your silent, unwanted companion.

“Spencer, my reference book, where is it?”

You stared blankly at him for a few minutes as you watched him trace a finger down the page he was reading. Delicately, he turned the page and resumed reading the next one, stroking the page like it was a lover in a tender moment, his fingers trailing down to offer his intimacy.

“Spencer?” You said again, and he again ignored you.

“Spencer, there's no way you're reading that fast, cut the crap and answer my question.”

“I can read 20,000 words per minute. Thus, I am busy. And weren't you ignoring me?” You took a deep breath and counted to ten in your head before replying.

“I thought we were being civil, Spencer.”

“I am being civil. I'm very civil. Are you being civil, Ms. Y/N?”

“Doctor,” you spat out. “I may have only one to your three, but I did work hard for it.”

He stopped reading and looked up at you, noting the angry look on your face. Standing up quickly, he checked his watch, grabbed his bag and jacket, making sure to carefully slide the book he was molesting into his bag, and walked straight for the door.

“Spencer!” You said indignantly, and he turned back to you with a sarcastic smile, pulling the book you were searching for off the bookcase and throwing it in your direction, before stalking out of the room.

“Jackass!” You shouted behind him as he sent a wave over his shoulder.

Civility. Well, if that was his idea of civility, you could be just as civil. And you'd start by taking all of the books off of the bookshelves once again.

When three hours had elapsed and Spencer had concluded the day's work, he was disappointed to find the office empty. He didn't dwell on the feeling for long, though, as he flipped the light switch to utter chaos.

You'd pretty much gutted the entire shelf, leaving pretty piles stacked all across his desk, chair, and the floor surrounding it, making it near impossible to make his way to his desk without moving something.

The shelves weren't totally empty, though. You'd left roughly thirty books on the centre shelf, held in place by paper weights he recognised as his own acting as bookends.

A post-it was stuck to the first book.

“Ignore this,” you'd written, a lipstick kiss pressed into the paper as your only form of signature. For plausible deniability, of course. You'd never sign your name to a crime.

He sighed and lifted a hand to start taking some books down when he spotted it.

“D…o…n….t…,” he would've gotten further but for the grin spreading across his face as he read the first letter on each book spine. You'd spelt out five words, and he felt a vague sense of satisfaction knowing you'd spent so much time just trying to mess with him.

“DONT TOUCH MY SHIT, JACKASS,” you'd written. But he was absolutely going to touch your shit.

Much to his chagrin, you didn't return to the office that day, too busy with other duties to need to go back. You also wanted to give him a wide berth, hoping that he'd have time to simmer instead of immediately retaliate for all the shit you'd pulled that morning.

Which was why Spencer found himself at work at 6 a.m., getting an early start so he could see your reaction to his, honestly quite tame reply.

You'd acted like a toddler throwing toys out of your pram for no reason. And while he wasn't exactly acting mature himself, he could at least liken himself to a young child throwing the toys back in frustration.

Everything about sharing this office with you was going to be frustrating.

He opened his book again - War and Peace - and began reading through it as he waited for the sun to rise and you to arrive with it.

It was well worth it to catch the look on your face.

“Jackass,” you muttered under your breath as you walked in, coffees and pastries in hand.

He'd put the majority of the books back on the shelf in his order and system. But he'd also left out a large pile of books, blocking the narrow passage between your desk and the wall. It was taller than you and hardly stable, and since you did not want to get concussed on a Tuesday morning, there was no other route to your desk but squeezing behind his.

You huffed out a sigh, dropping what you'd hoped would be truce coffee and breakfast on his desk before standing to push past him. He blocked your way with his arm as he finished up reading a chapter.

“Password?” He asked, not looking up from his desk.

“Very funny, let me pass.”

“Incorrect,” he smiled, nodding towards the shelf where you'd left yesterday's message.

“Seriously?” You asked. His answering look supplied the answer you needed - try me.

“Don't touch my shit, jackass,” you said in a sarcastic tone, trying once again to push past. His damn arm was still too solid, and he pushed you back once again.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but that was yesterday's password. You'll have to try again.”

Squinting down at him in confusion, you did your best not to dump his coffee over the top of his head as he nodded to the shelf again.

Your writing was still there, but one shelf down there was a new message.

“BUT… ILO…I LOVE… TOU-” You froze, your entire body going hot as you walked back over to him. He was taking a sip of his coffee, as you desperately avoided eye contact. You knew you were attractive, but you honestly didn't think that Spencer would be interested in you like that. And flirting like this, so out of the blue?

Something had to be wrong with him.

“Password?” He asked, taking another sip.

“B-But I love touching you,” you stammered out, cheeks aflame.

He somehow coughed and snorted at the same time, shooting out of his chair with wide eyes.

“More-” he coughed. “That's not… There's more.”

Your eyes went wide as saucers as you ran back over to the shelves, reading to what was actually the end of the message.

“But I love touching your shit,” you mumbled, and he didn't bother even raising a hand this time. He let you pass, and you sat in tense silence for the rest of the morning.

You got over the awkwardness soon, though, and began using the shelves to torture each other between classes.

You'd once replaced all three textbooks for his class with Russian language versions, back firing spectacularly as he smiled and began reading from them anyway.

He'd started putting important texts on the very top shelf and hiding the only step on the floor in some classroom or the other. Though he too had quit that when other members of staff grew frustrated at the steps disappearance.

You both kept up with the book messages.

“YOU'RE… TOO…LOUD”

“I DIDNT… DO…ANYTHING”

“YOU BREATHED”

“BOO HOO”

“COFFEE…PLEASE”

“IM NOT…YOUR…ASSISTANT”

“WITH THREE… SUGARS”

“I HOPE…. DIABETES… GETS YOU”

“SO…MATURE”

If you were being honest with yourself, you'd probably have realized that you were having a lot of fun hating Spencer Reid. Which made him a little bit harder to hate.

You wished he'd have been more mature about the whole thing, really, so you could despise him without laughing at his audacity every five minutes.

Thursday was the worst day for both of you. Thankfully, he'd taken your advice and scheduled his office hours around your classes.

What he hadn't taken into account was that on Thursdays, you had several classes on different disciplines and for different degree levels, meaning a truck load of resources you had to either cart around with you all day (impossible) or you'd have to drop into your office regularly to pick up your things.

You'd ended up in the same queue as the myriad of undergrads that were taking his course or just auditing and wanted to pick his brain on his off hours, and it was hell each time.

“God, isn't he just so fine. An 18-year age gap isn't noticeable, right?” One girl whispered to her friend as you turned the corner, books in hand, ready to use them as defence weapons should the need arise. The need to laugh and yell it was too much had you biting your tongue quickly. The man was 10 years older than even you, and even you had to pause at the age difference. These girls were practically children.

“And his hair? I just want to tangle my hair in it and pull him down to my-”

“Girls! Please remember this is a hallway, and your professors are still trying to get some work done.”

To their credit, the two first years did turn crimson in shame, sending each other panicked and dirty looks as they communicated their shared horror.

You stepped up to the small hall window at your office and peeked through the blinds.

Another student was inside with Spencer, and the panicked look on his face meant that his conversation was probably going similarly.

The students in the hall whispered and glanced at you every few seconds, and if you weren't in the biggest rush of your professional career, you'd take the time to ask them if you had something on your face.

Instead, you just tried to knock on the glass and hope Spencer would notice your plea for access.

When Spencer noticed you at the window, his eyes locked with yours, his mouth forming a simple plea as the undergrad inched closer to him.

“Help,” he mouthed.

You shrugged in reply, wondering what would possibly be so bad that he'd need your help of all things.

It was then that you noticed the undergrad had reached out a hand to play with the buttons of his jacket, stroking her hand along his chest as he cringed backwards.

You watched him take her hands off him, but she was tenacious, or just a downright creep, and she grabbed his thigh this time, pressing her chest forward. You couldn't see it yourself, but you knew from his reaction and instantly turned head that she was dangerously close to flashing him.

Or she was just doing it.

His eyes pleaded for help again, and you barged into the room with a large cough.

“Doctor Reid, if I could have a moment of your time? It's urgent.”

You dumped the books on your desk, and he jumped up to greet you, stepping out of the young students' grasp and almost shielding himself behind where you stood.

“Of course, yes, Y/N. It is urgent, so I'm sure the students will... be understanding."

He turned back to the student and gestured helpfully to show her the door, but her angry gaze was stuck on yours.

“Old ass skank,” you heard her whisper under her breath. From the hand on your arm and the furrowing of his brow you knew Spencer had as well.

“I'm sorry, what was that, Miss….?”

“Hmm? I'm sure I didn't say anything, Doctor Y/L/N.”

“You-” Spencer began but you silenced him with a hand on his chest.

Her gaze flicked to it, and she grew redder in the face, as if she were truly angry at this development. Interesting.

“Spencer,” you span around, totally ignoring the student now, wrapping your arms up and around his neck. He blinked in confusion once and then twice and hesitated, but let his hands land on your waist.

“It really is so urgent that we speak. Alone. I wouldn't want your precious students hearing anything I have to say to you.” You leaned in closer for the last words, letting your voice flow like honey, neatly seductive as you did your best to remind the student of her place.

Which was as far from a professor's bed as possible.

“She's just leaving, Y/N,” he whispered, equally as breathy as you, if not more. He didn't bother a glance over your shoulder to check, though, keeping his eyes on you as if you were a tiger preparing to pounce on him at any second.

The student grabbed her things and huffed out the door. As soon as the thing was shut, you pulled the blinds totally shut and detangled yourself from Spencer completely, giving yourself a wide berth after bringing yourself so close.

You hadn't realized how long and pretty his eyelashes were until you forced yourself to look at him, how nice his eyes were. The image of them burned into your brain - jealousy, probably. Men always had the best natural eyelashes. It was incredibly unfair.

“What the fuck was that?” You whispered, trying to contain your laugh as you knew the walls here were anything but soundproof.

“Shh,” he hissed, his ear pressed to the door as he listened to the remaining undergrads outside start talking. They obviously hadn't got the memo.

“Is this an official FBI strategy?” You teased.

“Shut up, would you? They're talking about us.”

You found yourself all of a sudden pressed against the door next to him, trying to listen in on the conversation outside.

“So it's true? He's really screwing her?” You slapped a hand over your mouth, both from shock and to stop the hysterical laugh bubbling up in your chest from jumping out. The girl sounded distraught. She sounded absolutely heartbroken. "The coffees every morning were suspicious, and they're always in the office so wrapped up with each other, but I didn't think they were seriously screwing."

“No wonder she was giving us dirty looks earlier,” the other girl whispered back.

“I heard he got her the job here. Pulled some strings, you know. And then, when it didn't look so suspicious, he started and asked for the shared office.”

“Gross! Total nepo hire!”

“No, Tiff, Nepo is when your parents get you the job. What she's doing is just called being a whore.”

Your mouth grew dry, and you pushed back off the wall, suddenly uninterested in anything else the girls had to say.

“Y/N…” Spencer took a sympathetic step your way, offering you an awkward smile as you started busying yourself organizing books.

“Nothing I haven't heard before, Spencer, don't bother,” you said, throwing some papers into your briefcase and keeping your hands moving.

“Though I will say they're getting more creative with their back stories since I have been working here half a year longer than you.”

He watched you work around the office, picking up items and tidying them away as you made a line of tidiness through the chaos of your desk.

“Do you think they all think that?” You asked, curiosity somehow piqued.

“That I got you the job?”

“That we’re screwing,” you said, finally turning to face him.

But the movement was a mistake - you hadn't heard him step closer, so as you turned his face was directly in front of yours, his nose practically touching your own as he looked down at you. It was enough so that the sharp intake of breath you took smelt like him, like he'd wrapped himself around your body and kept you there.

“Do you think they think we're screwing?” He asked, meaning to move away, or at least give you the space for you to do so.

“It doesn't matter to me what other people think,” you smiled up at him. “Because I wouldn't touch you with a tensed foot pole.”

You're thinking about the comment well into the evening, right until the moment your head hits the pillow.

You're thinking about the way his eyes dropped to your lips when you said those words, how he stepped closer and closer until you were backed up against the door.

“You were fine touching me earlier, Y/N. What is it now that makes it unappealing?” He whispered into your ear.

A hand came to your waist as your breath hitched.

“Is it the goosebumps I leave on your skin?” His hand pressed harder as it rose up to your chest. You gasped as he took one of your breasts in his hand, fondling it.

“Is it the way your heart beats uncomfortably hard when I'm close?”

His hand dropped again, falling down the plains of your stomach until he was stroking along the top of your pants, begging for entry.

“Or is it the way I make your cunt wet? It must be so hard pretending to hate me when you want my fingers stuffed inside of you.”

You gasped, but your tongue suddenly didn't work, as he slipped past your pants and his fingers were suddenly on your underwear, grinding the pads of his fingers against your slick pussy.

“You dont have to answer, I think I can tell just from feeling this. Shit, Y/N, I could probably slip into you right now with no resistance,” his fingers pushed inside of you as you gripped his arm for support. It was stronger than you expected, rigid as he tensed his arm.

You let him use your body, aware of your soft sighs and moans as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands were inside you, then they pulled out, and somewhere in between his fingers and his cock filling you, you'd been pressed against the bookshelf, facing it and grabbing at the shelves for stability as he made good on his promise and pushed right into you without a care in the world.

“Spenc-Spencer, the books-”

“You know the books aren't a problem, Y/N,” he groaned into your ear as he pumped deep inside of you.

But the books were a problem, and they fell to the floor with each rough thrust, vibrating as they landed.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buz-

Your eyes shot open the next day, and you jolted out of your slumber, a pillow between your legs as you tried to find your release squirming and humping against it. You reached out for your vibration phone alarm, switching it off quickly to avoid the memory of those falling books from your fast fading dream.

Spencer hadn't touched you in that office. He'd taken your comment at face value and let you leave for your class, but it had stuck in your head.

You'd spent the entire night thinking about his hands on you, and you were entirely uncomfortable with the conclusion you were drawing.

Because now, you supposed, you'd quite enjoy the idea of Spencer Reid touching you wherever he damn well pleased.

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid series #dom spencer reid

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maddyguru · 1 year

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The Metamorphosis

Synopsis: One evening after work, Sasaki turned into a demon and did what he shouldn't do to his own flesh and blood sister.

WARNING: This fic contains non con, gang r*pe incest, dark content, graphic violence, the use word of r*pe multiplet times, loss of virginity, contains TG manga spoilers, DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU'RE UNDER 18. this is just a preview chapter.

The tight grip on your wrist had tears sliding down your cheeks. A whimper couldn’t stop his actions, couldn’t soften his rigid heart. No matter how many ‘please’ escaped from your lips, the words fell onto deaf ears.

“Please...” Again, you whimpered, crying for mercy. Blinking away the tears, another came through as fast as you eliminate the salty substance. It keeps on soaking your cheeks, down to your collarbones and chin.

A sob escaped your lips, when Sasaki slid his other hand to your collar, later feeling the flesh of your breast. Your stomach was in knots; not the type you’d feel when your lover caresses you, but rather this awful-gut-wrenching feeling when a predator is touching you. Your brother is not supposed to touch you like this, right?

His fingers cruelly tuck away the stubborn piece of your shirt which tightly clutching your cleavage. Shaking your head, pleading, looking into his eyes did nothing. It was pointless. You couldn’t plead anymore, you know that; but somehow, your mouth move on its own when you cried “oniichan...”

Your body felt like it was in the air when Sasaki slowly lets his face and lips trail in the crook of your neck. The shivers running all over your body is enough to point out how uncomfortable you are: with his knees slide in between your legs, pressing against your pussy covered with only the thin material of your panties, you lay motionless on the wooden floorboards. A mewl escaped yet again when his tongue licked the skin of your neck.

“Shut up and do as i say.” He demanded, kissing your skin again and again when all you want is to escape this hell. You have always followed nii-san’s orders since the both of you are orphaned by the death of father and mother. You have always listened to every one of his soft commands, but...

Eversince Sasaki’s appearance altered, so did his demeanors. With great recognition from his workplace after the RoseWald’s case, came a new man you didn’t recognize after coming out of your 2 years coma.

He wasn’t kind and gentle anymore. With every wrong move you make in the house comes with scolding, plates flying and eventually breaking, a few slaps here and there. You couldn’t understand what was going on; for a few months, Sasaki turned violent, and you grew afraid.

It never came to this during those dreadful months. But now Sasaki is ripping away his clothes after he came home from his investigation, grabbed her by the waist right here in the entry way of their small apartment, and molesting her, his own sister.

A sob yet again. “But nii-san, this is...” a hand clamped down on your mouth, his red gloves resting tightly to serve a warning to you; shut the fuck up or else. His eyes hiding behind his glasses glared at you.

“Do as nii-san say, and maybe I won’t hurt you as much.”

But your lips are already trembling and you’re crying when his hand let go and reached down to snatch away your panties. No. It hurts. This hurts...

If you want to be tagged for the next chapter, lmk! 💗 Also, feel free to send me thirst.

#tg #tokyo ghoul #kaneki ken x you #nimura furuta x you #tw.dark content #tw.noncon #tw.incest #tw.blood #tokyo ghoul fanfiction #kaneki ken #furuta nimura

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fanficfanattic · 3 months

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Got tagged by @jamietarttsnorthernattitude for:

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

…“But Georgie still maintains a non-molestation order against you.”

Simon, speaking to James Tartt Sr after he has swaggered into Nelson Road. From the Season 1 Jamie gives himself over to ransomers to protect Phoebe. Since the detectives are working with Roy to figure out who would target his niece, and how that got Jamie roped into this mess, they are using Nelson Road as a bit of a staging area.

Georgie and Simon arrive shortly after the team is made aware that Jamie is confirmed missing. So they’ve got an idea of who Georgie is. But that woman? That isn’t the same woman they’ve seen once her ex shows up.

Tagging, with no pressure, @orbitalpirate @abubblingcandle @izzyspussy @jamiepoptartt @yorkshire-rockchick @goodmorninglovelies42 and the first three people who see this who aren’t named here!

#simon ted lasso #georgie ted lasso #jamie’s mum georgie #jamie’s stepdad simon #james tartt sr #jamie tartt #roy kent #tag games

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romana-after-dark · 1 year

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The Wrong Way: Bonus Chapter

Tommy Miller x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, an both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, rape (not Joel), somno, graphic depictions of violence, being turned on by violence, pregnancy, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot)but fair warning, major age gap

This is a reader fic, reader is early 20's, Joel is 40's at this point, reader is small enough that the men can lift her, but these are strong men. Reader is also referred to as little one, little girl ETC, but that's more in reference to her age/innocence than physical size.

Please reread warnings, as they have been updated. Also for this fic specifically, heavy on the self victim blame. I'll have a a note at the end about it.

Additionally for this chapter, dub-con for Tommy, bordering on non-con. He is not into it. If that angle of this srt of thing disturbs you, don't real this chapter. I'ts not neccecary for the plot, but I had people asking.

*************************

“You can never tell anyone, or we are both dead.” Tommy tells you before instructing you to lay on the bed and take off your pants, and you did as you were told, nervously exposing yourself to him, but you keep your legs closed. “You’re gonna haveta open up if we’re doing this, I ain’t pry’n your legs open.”

You knew Tommy wasn’t a fan of this proposition, but was trying to help you. You wondered how the brothers ended up so different… It was Tommy who tried to stop Joel from fucking your face, trying to stop him from buying you. It was Tommy who convinced Joel not to deflower you last night, Tommy who brought you food and amenities and finally, Tommy who was taking your virginity now for the sake of easing you into whatever Joel had in store for you.

You open your legs, and Tommy placed his hands on your hips. “Take deep breaths, I’m going to do my best to make this easier on you.”

“Okay” you whisper, trusting him for no other reason other than he was kind to you.

Tommy tried to touch you between your legs, and although it felt a little good, you pushed his hands away. “Just do it.”

You weren’t looking at him.

“C’mon, let me make this easier, warm you up.” Tommy spoke softly, trying to calm you. His voice was soothing, that was for sure. It wasn’t like you trusted him completely, you still felt that if you made the wrong move Tommy would hurt you, especially if it was under Joel’s orders, but you felt fairly confident that with this at least, he would take it easy. Joel wouldn’t show mercy.

You shook your head, still facing the wall. “Joel won’t make it easier, I shouldn’t get used to it.”

Tommy sighs. “He might. But either way, it’s going to hurt less if you are relaxed. Or, I guess more relaxed.” You still refuse his touch. “Okay, can I start?”

You nod, and Tommy carefully slips a finger inside you, and you whimper, wishing you could swallow your pride and let him make you feel good, but you refuse. You refused to find any pleasure in any of this, you could hold onto at least that bit of pride.

You were tight already around his one finger, and Tommy realizes you might be more innocent than he thought a 20-year-old would be. “Honey, have you ever touched yourself before?”

“No” You choke out. You had touched around between your legs, experimented a bit, but never put anything inside, and never brought yourself to an orgasm. You didn’t even know women could until your friend explained it last year.

“Fuck, okay” Tommy wanted to end this, but if anything, this was more reason to do this. Tommy's comfort wasn’t important, and he put his feelings aside. “Another?” With your permission, Tommy puts another finger in.

And to your embarrassment, a small moan slips out of your mouth, making you immediately blush and shut your eyes.

“It’s okay.” Tommy reassures, thick fingers stretching you and fucking you as your grew wetter despite your best efforts. “It’s okay if it feels good, it’s supposed to.”

Shaking your head, you refuse his words. “No.”

“Joel’s got a lot of pride, honey, depending on the day, he might want to make you cum.”

“I won’t. I won’t let him have this.”

Tommy put his free hand on your thigh, and you welcomed the comforting touch, but you wince at the third finger. “You can let me have this, if you want to. It’s natural for your body to react to this, even… even like this…”

The warmth in your stomach was growing harder to hold back, so all you trust yourself to do is shake your head.

Tommy took his hands out of you, and you couldn’t help feel just a little empty. You look at him, and you can see how hard he’s gotten from touching you, his face and neck slightly red under his dark skin. “We can stop here. Might be better. You didn’t bleed…”

When you looked at him with confusion, he elaborated. “If you bleed with Joel, there won’t be any room for suspicion.” Tommy looked at you more intently. “I need you to understand that if he has any reason to doubt you aren’t a virgin, he will fucking kill you.” Tommy might be dead too, but if he was being honest, Tommy didn’t think Joel would kill him; he spent too long keeping him alive. He’s make him suffer, though.

“Tommy, please…” You beg. You were scared, and Tommy was the only option to prepare you, to keep you from going madly insane.

Tommy did not want to do this, but if this was something that could help you, he would.

“Okay, but you have to promise to tell me if you want to stop.”

You wanted to stop now. You never wanted to start, but this is where you were at, and this was the best option for you. “Okay”

Tommy took off his jeans, placing them under you to prevent the dead give away of the blood on the mattress. When he took off his boxers, you were still intimidated by his sheer size; he wasn’t as big as Joel, but bigger than the three fingers that were previously inside you. He lined up at your entrance, and slowly pushed in, holding back a moan as your warmth enveloped him. Tommy couldn’t lie; you felt good. When their raiding groups went somewhere that didn’t have established relationship with and, as the name implies, raided, Tommy wuldn’t participate in the rapes that the other men did. Joel didn’t either, which Tommy couldn’t understand. Sex was paid for, in which consent was dubious at best, but not like the brutal gang rapes of the other men. Joel wouldn’t stop them, however. Tommy wouldn’t have sex with someone he didn’t feel was willing, leaving him with a dry period. There was someone he was seeing, but this was under Joel's nose, leaving him with little contact. Oh fuck, what was she ging to think abut this? That was Tommy’s burden to bear, not yours.

When he was fully seated inside you, Tommy couldn’t help but groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he stilled, waiting for you to adjust to him. “I’m going to start moving, okay?”

“Okay” you whisper. When Tommy began moving, it hurt, the initial pain dulling into a ache all around your lower body, you kept finding yourself holding your breath and being unable to get enough air in; your chest was tight. Even as your panic began to shoot up, the slight burn began to subside just a bit, replaced with something good. There was discomfort still, however, a feeling you couldn’t tell if it was good or not, and definitely pain.

“I need you to relax, honey. Deep breaths.”

“It’s going to hurt no matter what.” You choked out, tensing up even more as breathing felt like it all but stopped.

“It’ll hurt less if you don’t fight it, I promise.”

Tommy was talking about Joel, you knew… he gently rubbed your arms, massaging up your shoulders, whispering to you breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out, until you regained your ability to breath. When you found you could again, you realize the pain was all but gone, leaving you with th bubbling warmth again, and the general discomfort of such a foreign feelings inside you.

“There you go, good job, you’re doing good.” Tommy praises as he continues thrusting, having talked you down from panic. “I can make you come, if you’ll let me.”

You almost said yes, you felt close again but who comes under these circumstances? You would feel even more dirty, more wrong, more used than you already did. “Please don’t” you said with a small cry.

“Okay, I won’t” Tommy wished you’d let him, let him ease at least a little of the guilt he felt, but he couldn’t really argue with you. You did, however, allow yourself to revel in this just a bit. It was the first time you had been touched in kindness in a long time, save for a few hugs from your friend and even rarer from your brother. At the very least, Tommy was gentle, he was soft, and he tried to make this as easy as possible. You were just happy to feel kindness. When he came, Tommy pulled out and spilled onto his pants, and you almost wanted him back. You were so lonely, even this connection felt like something.

Tommy, however, was glad it was over, ready to get the fuck out of this room and scrub this day off him, and hopefully be somewhere else when Joel comes back so he didn’t have to hear what Joel would do to you. He pulls the blanket over your exposed bottom; you were too shaken to dress yourself.

You sit up, pulling the blanket over your chest even though you were still wearing Tommy’s shit he gave you last night. You still felt exposed. “Thank y-”

“Don’t” He couldn’t look at you, scrambling to get his clothes on. Tommy Miller wasn’t an asshole, he didn’t just fuck girls and leave them, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being in this room and around you any longer. He felt guilty, he felt perverted for being with someone so young, even if you had practically begged. He needed to get out of there; he felt sick. “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I just- I have to go, I need to go”

You watch in silence as he pulls on the pants with your blood, and you can see the guilt on his face. “I’m sorry, Tommy”

Tommy avoided looking at you and left without a word.

*************

Despite what Little One is saying, being turned on and cumming from assault or rape happens more than you'd think. It happened to me and that doesn't make it any less rape. I don't want to take this fic super seriously bc if we're applying real life morals to it then I shouldn't be humanizing Joel at all, but it will be romantic later on. But I do want to say at the end of all this that this is fiction, all this is wrong and bad.

I also feel bad for Tommy, as I was writing it I'm like.... damn if consent is only given enthusiastically and freely, Tommy isn't really consenting either is he?

Anyway, any guesses as to how Joel finds out, or what joel does when he learns?

real fast self promo, if you like Triple Frontier and dream about getting fucked by all of the boys, HERE YOU GO

Thank you so much for your comments! They absolutely keep me writing, it's good to know your writing makes an impact. Also thank you for the support after those nasty anons, and thank you for being so anxious for more! That being said, just know that finals are coming for me. I have a 12 page paper due next week, and a 5 page paper due a few days later, and my oral final for Spanish. I am..... stressed. But this chapter was mostly done so i decided to finish it today and give it to you bc ill be honest, chapter 3 probs won't be out for a few weeks. If you are anxious for a new chapter, i love hearing it! but please dont ask when, only bc i dont know ahaha!

Wish me luck! just found out ill be taking 12 credits this summer oh god.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @tidlewav3 @bunnnyy-dummy @slutfortimotheechalamet @foggymoonbanana @dinsbaby @miraclesabound @jenna-ortega @primosworld @marclovers @threeheadedlamb @secretwriterpp @the-fox-den

some of the tags just don work! lmk if theres a way i can fix this, but if theres nothing to be done, you can sign up for notifications when this blog posts! It dont post very much here so you wont get all kinds of notifications

#Tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller reader #tommy miller you #tommy miller smut #tommy miller reader smut #tlou smut #dark tlou #dark fic #dddne #dead dove #non con #dub con #the wrong way series #dark joel miller #fem reader #fem!reader

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opinated-user · 6 months

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so... this is a straight up lie that MO told to save LO's face.

back when that video that MO linked came out, Courtney was at the bottom layer of the iceberg of the LO rabbit hole. nobody knew if he even existed because he had been a non entity for years. nobody had seen from them nor knew anything about what they could tell about LO. the "allegations" that KP would have heard around were Stockholm, Lizzy, Brittany and Patchs, none of which reached a big enough audience for people to take them too seriously. which is a shame, but being around LO and especially having someone like MO constantly insisting to you that it was all made up lies made by transphobic people that should and can be easily dismissed. KP at the time was facing her own allegations, so i can't really blame her if she honestly thought LO must have been in the same boat and that she was probably right that it was all made up. we can sit here and blame her all day long for not doing a better research, for not reaching out to any of LO's victims, for not trying to do her due diligence, but the truth of the matter is that those allegations are easy to dismiss if you never look too deeply into anything. if it was necesary for Courtney, the actual real life sister of LO, to come out and tell his own experience from his own mouth, to finally wake her up to the fact that she was interacting with a predator then i can't really blame her. Lizzy can be an spiteful ex, Patch could be a mentally unstable liar, Brittany could be an attention hungry drama generator. but the real life sister, someone who lived with LO, someone who is related, someone who came from the same family, you can't dismiss that so easily. "nevermind the fact the person who "the video made by those goons was taken down because their triumvirate fell appart" this is another lie. they weren't taken down. they were first unlisted and then put behind a paywall because PZ are greedy nobodies that need to scrap for any intertnet attention they could grab. P also has many allegation of sexual miconduct that are being documented as we speak and there's a lot more about those two that we still have to uncover. LO knows that P has the allegation of spreading Courtney's nudes. nobody believes that actually happened, but she acted as it was and she used that excuse to post the irl workplace email of P, since she did had her doxxing information since long before any of this. point is... why, honestly, why are we suddenly giving so much unjustified integrity to PZ that they would take down Courtney's video because somehow they just knew it was all lies? LO never trusted on PZ having any single good intention in their bodies, so why are suddenly treating them doing the one thing that would benefit LO as something they did out of a good reason? "nevermind that the person who made those heinouse accusations did the same thing but it's different" actually, it is different. a child, who was abused by a family member and therefore has no real idea of what those actions mean, touching another child and stopping because somehow they could feel that it was wrong to do so... it's miles different than another child taking advantage of another that was sleep, therefore unabled to reject them, for almost a decade and only stopping when that child put a physical barrier in order to stop them. if anyone out there really thinks those two things are the same, then i implore you to read in the effect of CSA in childhood and how that manifest. a child being abused and having their senses of boundaries broken because of it it's not evil, and i'll not accept that kind of victim blaming. LO's molestation probably started off the same way, but unlike Courtney, whatever negative feelings she had about it were never enough to stop doing it. she kept abusing, molesting, touching, stealing her underwear, saying to third people that she'd date a girl like Courtney and then, when she was already an adult and Courtney was out living his own life, she continued on to keep

creating scenarios where Courtney would have sex with her or their incest was normalized. MO, you were used to draw one of those scenarios. you should know there's a reason why those panels were eliminated from the blog.

this is honestly vile. i guess i really shouldn't be surprised because MO fully supports the narrative that a 6 year old Courtney was fully able to stop the abuse that 7 year old LO was going through, but still. this is gross and dissapointing.

#lily orchard #lily and mikaila orchard

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battleangel · 7 months

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Why Cant I Be Naked Outside?

Ive been naked inside of my apartment all day for the past two days.

Im a full-time freelance podcaster.

What started out as pure laziness and a response to an arthritis flareup turned into a thought experiment:

What would happen if I went outside naked right now?

Why cant I go outside like this? Who am I hurting?

One of the biggest bullshit programming in American soeicty from the literal time we are "born" is you cant be naked outside.

Lifelong conditioning, programming, brainwashing and endless reinforcements.

And I literally cant walk outside right now naked without potentially being arrested, harrassed, assaulted, raped, abducted and/or killed.

The societal programming against public nudity is both conscious and subconscious, subtle and overt, transparent & hidden, embedded & obvious.

Why cant I go outside naked?

Bullshit automatic responses:

•Safety

•Hygiene

•"Public decency".

Lmao.

"Order & morality".

Big fucking yikes.

Why does the state have an "interest"?

Hygiene is such a crock.

The people who say omg!hygiene like the ones who commented my tiktok in my underwear are all full of shit.

The lie is vaginal discharge, menstrual bleeding and STIs (genital warts & herpes, etc) could potentially infect and/or transmit diseases, bacteria, germs, etc on public chairs, benches, seats, stadiums, etc if people werent wearing underwear.

So, they claim not wearing underwear is "unhygienic" therefore public nudity laws are necessary.

So, if I go outside in underwear that covers my butt and pussy and nothing else, were good to go right?

Ofcourse not, because there are topless laws for women.

Nipples are outlawed.

There isnt the slightest pretense about hygiene.

They just screech about "teh childrenz!" (who also have nipples btw) and "public decency" and they throw in a lie about how its "unsafe for women" when they would be the first ones out there raping the first woman who had her tits out.

Yeah, okay.

Its not about "morality", "order", "decency", "hygiene" or "safety".

Its about motherfucking control, repression, paternalism, the patriarchy, misogyny, sexualizing the female body, the contrived creation of the "forbidden" and the "taboo", its about making people hate their bodies, shame, repression, forced guilt, sex is bad, hiding the body, no confidence, never flaunting, women never owning their sexuality, Madonna/whore complex, virginity as a prized communal possession, virgin as status and trophy, women presenting themselves to men to be consumed, women presenting themselves as objects of desire, equating femininity with demureness and being ladylike with being pure innocent and virginal, female obsession with clothes hair makeup jewelry endlesd adornments plastic surgery dieting through othering their own bodied by keeping it hidden under bras underwears Spanx Skims undergarments girdles slips tights stockings skirts dresses jeans pants shorts corsets socks knee highs thigh highs, othering mystifying commodifying & pornifying the female body by keeping it hidden in real life from men until they lose their virginity and creating an environment where men depersonalize the female body and make it a vessel of their endless wet dreams and masturbatory fantasies.

If everyone was naked from jump street (we are but we dont stay that way), noone would give a shit.

Nudist colonies and beaches are like that, nudity is the everyday norm so noone reacts, cares, stares, points, ridicules, insults, harrasses, etc.

They all just go about their day at the beach, eating, shopping -- so then, why cant we all do that at non-nudist colonies & beaches?

Please.

They want the rapes, sexual assaults, molestation, sexual abuse, hebephilia, pedophilia, sex addictions and compulsions, sex disorders, repressions & traumas.

Its a tool of societal control to control the populace just like violence is.

US has the most violence per capita in the world.

Gun deaths, shootings, stabbings and murders.

It doesnt have to be this way.

They want it this way.

Why are my vulva, labia and nipples such a problem?

Why has my naked female body been so sexualized, otherized & dehumanized?

Why is a natural thing -- my naked female human body as is -- something that is met with such force, sexualized violence, oppression, repressed desires, rage, outrage, anger, terror, shock, revulsion, arrests, being killed while in custody, jailed, convicted, fined?

Why cant I just walk outside like this, fully naked, and check the mail all of two minutes away and then walk right back to my apartment without saying anything or interacting with anyone?

Why does my landlord care?

Why does the mailman care?

Why does the white stay at home Karen, her dry ass husband and Little Timmy and Madison care?

Why does the maintenance man at my apartment complex care?

Why do my three neighbors in my apartment complex -- all male and single -- one downstairs under me, one upstairs and one downstairs in the unit next to me care?

Why does the person walking their dog care?

Why does the doordash delivery driver care?

Why does the school bus driver care?

Why does a naked female body elicit such strong, visceral, ugly, vicious, violent, unhinged responses?

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foxymoxynoona · 2 years

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The Lowlander (Chapter One Preview on Tumblr)

(Banner & Line breaks by @awrkive)

The Lowlander (Complete)

Avvar Warrior Jungkook x Noble Halfelf OC

Summary: Out of the frying pan and into the fire: Marguerite is already used to life as a barely-tolerated outcast, being the elven daughter of an Orlesian noble, but after her travel party is attacked, she goes from one hostage situation to the next. Sure, her new "man" is brave and handsome and one of the best warriors in the Hold, but he's also hard-headed, impatient, and expects her to be the perfect Avvar woman. She refuses. She will not lose herself in this place. Anyway, she only has to endure him until she can figure out how to make her escape, or face an even worse evil at the end of a month...

CW: explicit sex, language, captor-captive trope & trope inversion, graphic violence, gore & grievous injuries, sexual assault, dub-con, power dynamics/imbalance, non-consensual touching, character death, murder, pregnancy loss & fertility issues, character death, period-typical sexism, loss of virginity, domestic violence, angst, fluff, smut, pining, depression, brief suicidal thoughts, hurt/comfort, really dark stressful times, loss, grief, drug use, alcohol use, religious themes, HAPPY ENDING THOUGH I swear

Read entire work on AO3 | Read Chapter One below

At first Marguerite didn’t move, not at the first scream. It was low and angry and someone was always yelling at someone else here. Even the second scream didn’t give her much concern because at least it meant the violence was focused on someone else for the time being. She shifted in her wooden cage, wincing as the rough bars tugged at her hair. She barely slept anymore, just dozed curled up in a ball in the corner, because falling asleep inevitably meant waking up with someone stroking her face, tugging at her clothes, or poking her with a sharp stick. And that was just the kids, before the adults ran them off, so they could douse her with freezing water, throw rancid food in for her to gag at, or drag her out for what she understood to be a ritual beating. Every day. When the sun was at its highest. Without fail.

Her ribs ached. Her lip was stiff and swollen. Her arms and legs were covered with the bloom of purple and brown bruises, the older ones even turning yellow. The scariest part honestly wasn’t the beating though, it was the order to the beating. There was process, intention, organization. They never beat her hard enough to break anything. They never caused her to lose consciousness. Just enough to make her cry, to make the ring of singing attendees cheer, and then she was doused with buckets of various things --herbs, seeds, hay, gravel, and water-- and dragged back to her cage. It was humiliating and terrifying and painful. But she wasn’t dead. The same couldn’t be said for anyone else taken from her travel party, those unfortunate enough not to just be killed instantly.

That they were counting down to something was obvious to Marguerite, though she didn’t know what. It confused and relieved her she hadn’t been raped or even molested, other than some wayward pinching. But the starving and beatings were enough, the jeering, the yelling strange words at her even though she was certain they spoke the common tongue same as her. Each day that passed in which she was only beaten, not killed, gave her more anxiety, not comfort. Something held them back, but she could see it in the way they stared at her, that whatever it was would not last forever. And she was afraid. And tired. And afraid. And hungry. And she just wanted to go home.

She’d grown familiar with most of her captors, at least by face. She didn’t know any names. The one who scared her most had long wild red hair and a jagged cut beneath his eye and he liked to hold her arm through the bars of the cage and stroke her hair so she couldn’t pull away. Sometimes he flicked his tongue at her, a filthy gesture that filled her with dread. Only once had he spoken common tongue to her.

“Go ahead, Lady. Piss yourself with fear. I like when my fuck smells like piss.”

“You’re vile,” she’d retorted without thinking of it. He’d thrown her across the cage; she’d gashed her forehead on a knot in one of the wood bars and then gone limp, pretending to be dead. It hadn’t fooled anyone.

All this was to say, Marguerite was miserable, and afraid, and a prisoner. So when the third shriek bled into a cacophony of shouts, she wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. She stood in the cage, holding the wooden bars with trembling, frozen hands. Out of habit she glanced to the occupants of the other cages in the row but they were all empty. Everyone had died except her.

The attackers broke on the makeshift camp like a murderous wave. Marguerite watched with a detached horror as a spear of unfamiliar warriors shot straight through the camp, cutting down her captors left and right. Then the spear split, the warriors splintering out to take on the ones who lived here and all Marguerite could do was watch as blood sprayed, as shouts fractured into groans and silence. Bodies slammed back against her cage and she threw herself backwards, afraid of being injured and yet trapped.

Wait. But if she could get the cage open, now was the time to flee! She crawled around, searching for a body close enough for her to grab a weapon. The gate had a metal lock but the beams were held together by rough rope and maybe she could hack through it while no one paid her any attention. She jumped at the sound of stone and steel sparking against each other, at the sound of wood splintering under blunt force. She yelped as an arrow sliced through her cage, narrowly missing her and planting itself into a man on the other side.

Marguerite crawled lower, trying to ignore anything that wasn’t her own heart beating in her ears. She couldn’t be distracted. This was her chance. She grabbed the collar of a body she just could barely reach and dragged, grunting at the exertion. It worked, at least enough for her to grab a dagger still tucked into his chest belt. Only to drop it because her hands were shaking too much.

In trying to reach it again, she realized the red-head man had spotted her. He stood perfectly still and calm despite the whirl of battle around him. He grinned at her and stalked over, stabbing anyone who dared step in his way. When he reached the cage, he slammed the butt of his axe down on the lock twice to shatter it, and threw the cage door open.

“Leave me alone,” she pleaded.

He grinned, “No one to stop me now, girl. Let’s go.”

“No!”

He shrugged, his grin growing wider as he stepped in.

“Think I won’t fuck you right here? It’ll be all the sweeter with the smell of blood in the air.”

She tried to dart past him but of course he was too quick. He grabbed her throat and slammed her down to the ground. Her layers of skirts and petticoats were a bit of a deterrent, perhaps they even did more to protect her than her thrashing and clawing and screaming. He tried to drag them up, all the layers, without dropping his axe.

It was frustrating him, her fighting angered him. He dropped the axe and grabbed her shoulders, slamming her down so hard she briefly saw stars. Dazed, she looked to the side, to the eerie battle still raging just beyond the cage. The sun had only just come up. It was all so strange, how quickly the world had gone from night to red with blood and here she was just in the middle of it, helpless to stop this angry man from having his way with her.

Her gaze came back into focus, pausing briefly on a man who locked eyes with her. He’d frozen, or maybe she was disoriented. Whatever the truth, the moment of eye contact was enough to knock her back into herself.

The red-head man had succeeded in dragging her skirts up and was about to just rip clear through her pantaloons. She bucked beneath him, catching him off-guard. Not enough to toss him off, but enough to buy her a second. She shrieked and kicked her legs.

“Get off me! Go! Get off you disgusting, foul--” She broke off with an ear-splitting shriek when a sharp point suddenly bloomed from the man’s chest, stopping only a foot above her own. He looked with confusion down at it for a second, only to then spin.

The man she’d seen a moment ago, the one she’d made eye contact with, easily danced around the red-head man as he grabbed his axe. Marguerite threw herself backwards to get away from the clash of weapons in the small space, the red-head man still fighting on despite the spear skewed through his chest. It was horrifying. Blood streamed out, and her hands slipped on it, knocking her onto her back.

The new man gave the red-head man a bemused stare, then stepped forward, swung his own axe the opposite way, and cleaved the man’s head from his body like it was nothing.

Marguerite’s head swooned. She scrambled backwards, gagging and retching up sour bile as she rolled through the open gate of the cage and landed painfully on the cold stones below. She didn’t need to stick around to find out what this new man would do with the spoils of his battle.

But being outside of her cage meant now there was nothing at all protecting her from the furious conflict. She darted here and there, trying to remain out of the way, but weapons were flying, arrows zoomed by, heavy bodies stumbled and thudded, and the ground was littered with things to trip her up. She also didn’t know this place; she’d only been led routinely up and down a single path. She didn’t know where to go to escape. She couldn’t think or see clearly. All she knew was get away.

A heavy boot stomped on her. She yelped and rolled as the person continued to fall, a massive man who would have easily crushed her on impact if someone hadn’t grabbed her arm and dragged her up.

“Stay close,” the man from earlier told her, pressing her to his side.

“What?” The fact he spoke common tongue baffled her. The fact he’d followed her. Even his command. Suddenly he pushed her down, spinning around her and biting out with his axe. A second later she felt the spray of warm blood across her face and hands, which she’d covered her eyes with. She was going to die. There was no way she could survive this murderous chaos. The whistle of an arrow inches from her ear would have made her piss herself for real if she hadn’t been so dehydrated.

A grunt made her open her eyes again. The man wiped at his forehead, plastering his hair back with blood and sweat. His ponytail barely held his wild hair, and the blood dripping down from a gash on his crown mixed with the white and black paint decorating his skin, making him look wild and terrible. His eyes were opened wide, searching around for the nearest threat, thick eyebrows in a stern angle. His dark gaze found her. He had no facial hair, which surprised her among these people, making her briefly wonder his age.

His age didn’t matter. He clearly was a competent warrior, comfortable on the battlefield; in an instant he’d turned from her and carved through two more warriors like they were nothing, his axe flashing as if he merely danced. Their bodies fell without even a counter attack. He’d even stepped backwards, so then all he had to do was turn and grab her arm to drag her up.

For a moment he stared into her face, far too close for comfort, and yet… his eyes narrowed like he recognized her. Like he’d confirmed she was someone in particular, even though she was certain she’d never seen him in her life.

“You are ok?” he asked.

It was wild. It was the first humane question anyone had asked her since the she’d watched her travel party slaughtered as she was carried off by cruel, evil men. It was the first drop of compassion. And it broke her. Was this a good man? Had he come to save her? She grabbed hold of his vest and pulled herself against his chest, desperate to believe there could be an end in sight to her torment.

“Save me,” she pleaded. “Take me home. Please. Please. ”

His arm wrapped suddenly around her, yanking her around as he lifted his axe and grunted at the effort of keeping the incoming strike away from her. She cried out and buried her face against the leather and furs on his chest. When his hand pressed to her head, holding her there, she felt the briefest moment of… relief. Someone strong had her, someone who had not yet hurt her, someone who was killing those evil men. His paint was scary but maybe it was a nice man under it, maybe not even a man much older than her. It was over.

He dragged her away from his chest, and panic replaced the momentary relief, panic he was about to push her away. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe it was only instinct that had made him protect her but he was repulsed by her clinginess.

But the look he gave her was so strange. For a moment, his gaze overpowered all the chaos, his eyes looked so impossibly large and deep and gentle that it completely disarmed her. She’d managed to shock him, that much was clear, and it shocked her that a fierce warrior like this could be shocked.

Just as quickly the look passed. His face hardened and he gripped her arm, dragging her along. She barely felt his touch though, tossed now back into awareness of what felt like the final minutes of the attack. Only a handful of warriors still clashed. She watched as one of her captors suddenly dashed his axe across his own throw, blood fountaining out as he slid to his knees. She gasped and leapt closer to the warrior she’d attached herself to, but it made her stumble. He wrenched her back to her feet and kept her moving but it hurt her arm.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Be silent,” he told her, his voice sharp in a way that made her sulk. So much for the hero, talking to a lady like that…

He dragged her away from the camp, to where many of the people he’d arrived with were cleaning weapons and inspecting wounds. He shoved her forward, pushing her down to the ground next to several bound men from the tribe that had held her. One hissed and snapped at her and she yelped and shuffled backwards away from him; one of the new warriors swiftly kicked him in the ribs. Before she could thank him though she saw his gaze, the gleam in his eye as it raked over her.

These men too spoke the common tongue, they must, because her savior had used it. But it was another language they spoke to each other now, a half dozen fo them suddenly animatedly talking about her. One held up a length of rope, another raised his axe, and while she didn’t understand she could sure make some guesses what they were arguing about. A man behind her grabbed her arm and lifted her clear off the ground, pressing his face close to her face and breathing heavily. When she yelped and struggled and kicked him, he laughed and dropped her roughly back to the ground.

Desperately she looked around for the man who’d saved her, eager for his protection once again. The other men weren’t all like him, she understood now. Maybe they were just as bad as the first tribe. Winning didn’t make you kind or good. But he, he was different, right? He’d saved her. He had kind eyes. He was easy to pick out, his hair dark while so many others either had lighter hair or had painted over their dark hair. He hadn’t painted his hair, but slicked it back again now, trying to tuck it back into the leather strap it refused to be held by. It wasn’t quite long enough, she realized, which would have been humanizing, if he didn’t look otherwise so… serious. Unconcerned with her. Focused only on the battle.

Questions were asked of him that he answered shortly, and when someone pointed at her, he only flicked his hand in her direction. The dismissal was clear. She protested but there was nothing else he’d do for her, he didn’t even look at her again as a man grabbed her and tossed her over the back of a horse. She tried to wriggle into a better position, one that didn’t make it hard to breathe, but they’d already begun walking, even though the clashing had just finished and people were still picking through the camp.

It was destroyed, she realized with a start. She’d thought her captors cruel and invincible, but they’d been carved up like a turkey. She stared at the place, watching as a few fires were put out, the smoke curling up to the sky. Bodies were left where they’d fallen, except for a few which must belong to this new tribe; some men remained behind, carefully wrapping them onto boards. Meanwhile the hostages taken alive were tied and dragged behind the horses, expected to walk or let the skin be torn from their asses.

There was no guarantee these new captors were better. Whatever brief hope she’d placed in her savior was quickly buried by the familiar, hungry looks men gave her as they mounted horses and rode around her. It was all the same to her. She wouldn’t know they were any different if she hadn’t seen them killing the other men. Those men had beaten but not raped her. Would that be different now? A new tribe, new rules, new dangers. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do this anymore.

There wasn’t a good moment so she just went for it. She slid from the horse, but the impact of landing on her feet was harder than she expected and she fell on her ass. Still reeling, she leapt up and took off at a sprint.

Comically fast, she was lifted from her feet by a rider.

“Bad girl,” this new man told her, giving her a broad grin. “Do not run.”

“Let me go.”

“Scarier things than us out there.”

“There’s nothing scarier than barbarians,” she argued, only to gasp when he shook her. He just dangled her above the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

“Yes,” he told her, chuckling. “Angry barbarians. Be good or I break your legs.”

She went silent, only to whimper when he dragged her sideways into his lap. That was not where she wanted to be, his arms wrapped around her as he held the reins of his horse. Another man said said something to this man that made him laugh and pat her ass. She glared but figured it had little threat behind it. She was helpless. She was always so helpless.

Turning away with shame, she saw the man with the dark ponytail again. He stared at her a moment, then turned his horse and rode ahead, finished with her.

Marguerite cried silent tears as she was simply transported from one captivity to another.

Read entire work on AO3 | | Multi-Story Series Masterlist

#jungkook ff #jeon jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts fantasy au #bts fanfiction #bts ff #warrior jungkook #jungkook x oc #bangtan smut #bts smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fantasy au #jungkook fluff #jungkook/oc #fighter jungkook

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beardedmrbean · 2 months

Text

A social worker has been jailed for eight years after he was convicted for a series of rapes and sexual assaults.

Thomas Proctor was found guilty of attacking three women in Glasgow, Fife and Lanarkshire between January 2002 and August 2019.

The High Court in Glasgow heard he used his job to prey on the women, as well as threatening to have the children of two of them removed from their care.

The 43-year-old raped one woman while she was recovering in hospital.

He also took advantage of a victim after she drank water with a mystery substance in it.

Proctor, from Airdrie, Lanarkshire, had denied the accusations but jurors found him guilty of a total of 11 charges.

'Simply disgraceful'

The charges against him included the repeated rape and indecent assault of the first woman at different locations in Lanarkshire.

Proctor was found guilty of sexually assaulting the second woman at a flat in Glasgow's Maryhill.

He was also convicted of raping and making threats to a third woman in Fife and Lanarkshire.

Judge William Gallacher imposed an 11-year extended sentence on Proctor, meaning he will be in prison for eight years and under supervision upon his release for three years.

The judge told Proctor his actions were "simply disgraceful."

He added: "It is difficult to figure out the appropriate sentence due to the level of abuse carried out over a period of time.

"I will impose a significant penalty. You will have grasped that because of the gravity of this case, there is only one thing I can do."

After the sentencing, one of Proctor's victims said: "I am really pleased with the judge's reflections of the offences.

"I understand the appropriate length of the sentence however my fear is that it doesn't reflect the number of potential other victims."

An indefinite non-harassment order against Proctor's victims was granted. He was also put on the sex offenders register for an indefinite period.

In his closing speech to jurors, prosecutor Alan Parfery told how Proctor was "calculated in a predatory fashion" towards his victims.

The first woman was raped while she was recuperating in hospital from a medical procedure.

Proctor attacked the woman again at a house in Lanarkshire after he came into the room and pulled down her pyjamas.

The second victim recalled waking up to finding Proctor molesting her.

The final woman got to know Proctor having met him online.

The court heard she ended up in his company after she returned from a night out with friends at the Edinburgh Festival.

She said Proctor gave her a glass of water and they kissed, but her next memory was waking up in some pain.

Prosecutors said he had caused the woman to "ingest an unknown substance in water" to overpower her for sexual activity.

Jurors heard a similar sort of incident happened on two other occasions.

He gave her water, told her to "drink up" before she later awoke and had "flashbacks" to what had happened.

In his closing speech, Mr Parfery said Proctor spoke of his position as a social worker to make sure threats to two of the women "packed a punch".

Referring to one of the victim, the prosecutor put to him: "You told her that you held such a job and how the system worked.

"That she should be intimate with you if she wanted to keep her child. The cruellest of cruel threats."

Proctor denied the accusation adding that he never mentioned his work to "threaten" anyone.

He had latterly been a social worker in the Alloa area in Clackmannanshire before being suspended.

After the case Clackmannanshire Council confirmed Proctor was no longer employed by the local authority.

#nunyas news

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allegra-writes · 1 year

Text

"The Lesson"

Claimed series Part V

Armand x Daniel Molloy

NSFW

Warnings: Oof, let's see. Somnophilia, non-con elements, minor character death. I mean it, Daniel and Armand basically molest a sleeping or otherwise unable to consent woman, literally consume her as a meal and then proceed to get hot and heavy right next to her corpse. It is pretty misogynistic and I felt very uncomfortable writing it at times, but there is a plot reason for things to unfold the way they do this chapter. However, if any of this themes makes you uncomfortable, please do not read it.

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable character, and for legal reasons I won't be accepting tips for this story or any story set in Anne Rice's Immortal Universe. Thank you!

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

They came in through the window, like the nightmare creatures they both were now. Armand first, of course, Daniel was still as clumsy as a newborn calf taking its first steps on a barn floor when it came to the flying gift, so naturally, his maker was already leaning over the sleeping figure by the time he made it into the room.

It was a nice room, with cream-colored walls and a narrow single bed covered in a deep midnight blue comforter. The closet, bedside table, and small desk were also painted white, to imitate a set, but upon closer inspection, Daniel could see the different styles and materials. Still, the mismatched furniture didn’t take away from the charm of the small space, if anything, it gave a kind of whimsical quality to it. There were makeup tubes and hair pins strewn among old notebooks, a colorful scarf on the back of a chair alongside a maid uniform, evidence of an ordinary, inconsequential life being lived. If life was ever inconsequential, Daniel mused as he examined the rare black orchid plant kept on a faux antique ceramic mug, the titles of the few books in a language he could speak: Radcliffe, Poe, Shelley. He could see what Armand had meant back down the street when he had first caught whiff of the girl, half in love with death indeed.

“Daniel,” Armand’s voice cut through his reverie, “quit your delaying”

Right. They were there because of him, after all.

“Beloved, you need to feed” The older vampire’s tone softened as Daniel reached him, “and I chose her just for you”

And wasn’t that just a whole other level of fucked-up, not only Armand’s words but also the way they affected Daniel, warming him up inside the way only a youthful-looking vampire with cooper eyes and coal-black curls who ordered the entire menu of a fancy restaurant for him, or brought home emeralds and sapphires the size of his thumb because they reminded him of his eyes could? But he was too old now, wasn’t he? To try and pretend to be at war with himself. The very least he could do was refuse to be a hypocrite and admit that, when it came to Armand, all his morals, all his idealism, all the equality and human rights he had fought so hard for his entire career, simply flew out the window. What did those matter anyway, when he wasn’t human anymore?

As in a trance, Daniel walked ahead to meet his would-be-prey.

She was lovely. Long brown hair spread on white pillows, older than his daughters -thank god for the small mercies- and paler too, all milky skin so thin he could see the veins running under it, a web of blue and purple strings pulsing with life and heat. Daniel’s throat went dry, the hollow inside his stomach growing deep and black and endless. He felt lightheaded, the weak, slow beat of his own heart reverberating in his ears. Reluctantly, Daniel had to admit to the hunger.

“She’s beautiful”

“She’s perfect” Armand corrected, as if offended by the imaginary implications that he would pick anything less than top quality for his fledgling. Daniel realized she truly was, the shape of her voluptuous and undeniably seductive under the light sheets, enticing in her trusting, helpless sleep. Was this how Armand had felt looking at Daniel? All those nights, so many years ago, when he would wake up to his demonic lover’s weight on top of him, buried fangs deep, cock deep inside of him? Had he looked like this, so innocent, so defenseless, so ripe for the taking?

The girl’s eyes fluttered underneath her eyelids, stirring under Daniel’s gaze as if even in her unconscious state she was aware of the danger. But the soft stroking of Armand’s knuckles against her cheek was all it took for her to settle again, relaxing into the mattress, lips parting as she sighed in contentment.

Armand leaned to place a chaste, almost sweet kiss on her forehead.

"Come nearer, beloved," his maker commanded, hands never stopping their gentle stroking of that warm, pink skin, "focus your attention on her. Can you hear it? Do you feel it?"

It wasn’t hard, to find her heartbeat and let it capture him. To let the half-formed whispers from her mind reach his, even in her sleep, her melancholy, her sadness, her indefinable longing.

“She yearns for it, the rapture, the embrace, something she has only but glimpsed in her dreams, but has slipped from her like water through her fingers,” Armand explained, “yet she knows it exists… Wouldn’t it be cruel, Daniel? To allow her to go on without it, bereft in the isolating wasteland of modern existence, unsatisfied, victim of brute men and their rough deceivings, abusing of her passion and neglecting her?”

If Armand expected a reply, he was left wanting it. Daniel was incapable of replying, mesmerized as he was by the graceful movements of his maker’s hands as it glided over the sleeping beauty in his arms, tossing aside sheets, pushing up her sleeping shirt, uncovering more and more skin as it went.

“Our embrace, my beautiful boy, can penetrate that isolation, can delve into the root of her soul, we can give her that ecstasy she craves. It would only be fair, you see, in return for the precious elixir of her blood…”

“Return?” Daniel frowned, even as his eyes were still glued to the place Armand’s fingers were digging into the supple flesh of her inner thigh, sliding down until they could hook around her knee, parting her legs for him to see.

“Yes, Daniel, in return” He could hear the amused smile in Armand’s voice, “If you thought I brought you here to feast on her sweet, unpolluted blood and give her only darkness for all reward, you misunderstood the whole affaire”

There was a connection there, some parallel to be drawn between all those threesomes back in the seventies, letting Daniel watch Louis feed from him, and what he was proposing now, but Daniel’s mind was too muddled by hunger and desire to be able to examine it. Too far gone to even consider the ethics of what he was witnessing, as Armand popped the buttons of the girl's shirt one by one, baring full breasts and pink nipples to Daniel’s ravenous stare. Armand’s eyes were just as greedy, making sure he had all of his fledgling’s attention before lowering his head to trail open-mouthed kisses down the woman’s neck and chest, and breasts, letting his fangs nip at the delicate skin of her areola, only lapping at the drop of blood that sprung from the tiny cut once it slid down the curve of her tit. The sleeping girl arched her back, the softest of sighs leaving her mouth, and Armand rewarded her by bringing one of his hands down to tease at her covered crotch with the pad of his thumb, a wet patch quickly darkening the light cotton.

“Would you like to sample, Daniel?” The dark-haired vampire asked, the very image of sin with his blood-stained lips and naughty little smirk. Throat too dry for speech, Daniel nodded.

Instead of offering up her wrist or her neck as he expected, his maker slid his hand inside her panties. Daniel watched it move obscenely under the fabric as Armand fingered her for a few moments, before taking his hand out and offering him the glistening digits for him to suck clean.

Obediently, Daniel crawled towards him, taking the proffered fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste. It wasn't as good as blood, at least, Daniel didn't think it was. The truth was in the forty-six hours he had been a vampire, Armand’s blood was the only one he had tasted. His maker had fed, oh, he had fed plenty, it was obvious by the searing heat emanating from him and by the flush darkening his brown skin, probably sneaking out to hunt while Daniel still slept. But he had only drunk from Armand. Their time since he had first woken up as a member of the undead was spent in a feverish haze of animal, lustful sex, and little drinks from each other. Still, Daniel imagined if there was something to come even remotely close to the blood, it was this, this sweet, almost cloying nectar from their delectable little bride.

Armand smiled at him adoringly, approvingly.

“After all these years, all the distance between us… you are still my good boy, aren’t you, Daniel?”

Before any reply could take shape inside his head, the lovely beauty trapped between them woke up with a start. Daniel could feel her confusion give way to terror, and then to recognition as she took in the monstrous apparitions sharing her bed. It was a surreal thing, to be able to spy, but only partly, on the silent conversation taking place in front of him.

“It’s you, it’s really you… I dreamed of you… No, I’m not afraid… I knew you would come, I knew both of you would come”

It was her the one to initiate the kiss, even if Armand was the one to gently push her into Daniel’s arms, she was the one to part her lips and slip her tongue inside the mouth of the young immortal, moaning as she cut herself on his fang in her eagerness to taste death.

The first taste of her blood was a revelation. It was like sunshine flooding his veins, waking his senses back to life, bringing everything into an even sharper focus. Even time seemed to move slower as he departed from her candied, wet mouth and sank his fangs into her dainty little neck.

There was a struggle, at the beginning. After the initial sobering stab of white-hot pain, she twisted and scratched and beaten at Daniel’s chest with all her might, but her feeble human strength was no match for a vampire, not even one as young as Daniel was, and soon enough she gave into the swoon, letting Daniel press her close to his chest. Letting the hard pebbles of her nipples rub against him, arching her back for him as she melted into his embrace, pliant and supple again. Letting her heat warm Daniel’s lifeless body. Letting her pulse feed Daniel’s veins with every beat, letting his heart feast on her own.

He caught a glimpse of the enchanting dream Armand had woven for her, of the slightly damp moss she laid upon as a fresh breeze graced her skin, of the crickets and forest creatures serenading her to sleep under the night sky bejeweled with the stars she loved so dearly, before her mind faded completely.

“That’s enough, lover mine” Armand coaxed, voice soft but firm, “let her go, lest she drags you into that gentle goodnight with her”

Daniel found that was easier said than done. Letting go of her was as difficult as leaving a cozy bed on a cold winter morning, but Armand’s insistent hands left him no choice but to comply. A soft thumb swept over his lower lip.

“So messy…” Armand mused before licking the blood off his chin and mouth, and yes, that was the taste Daniel had craved for all this time, better than the swoon, better than the blood, the sweetest taste was his maker, his Armand. It was as easy and natural as muscle memory to pull him in on top of him and guide him to straddle his legs. Even after all those years, after all he had changed both in life and in death, Armand still fitted with him like a puzzle piece, like a perfectly tailored suit, meant just for him. It was only right, to feel Armand’s possessive touch under his t-shirt, those impossibly soft fingertips trailing his ribs one by one, the scrap of those glass-like nails sending shivers over his entire body.

Daniel’s own hands weren’t idle either, bunching up Armand’s sweater to his armpits so Daniel could suck and bite at those sensitive nipples and hear the pornographic sounds Armand always made when he focused on that particular part of his anatomy.

“Love these tits” Daniel growled low and dirty against Armand’s skin, “prettier than any girl’s”

Armand’s moan was filthy as he tugged at Daniel’s hair hard enough to rip some strands from his scalp, making him almost dizzy with want, if such a thing were possible for a creature of the night. But Armand was so fucking perfect, so hungry for it, hips rolling against Daniel’s, hands ripping his shirt off his body, Daniel couldn’t help but think, for the millionth time, he was going to be his undoing.

“Hey! I liked that t-shirt” He protested, lying through his teeth cuz the truth was he couldn’t give a crap about the old, faded, grey piece of clothing. He simply wanted to hear Armand say:

“I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you a thousand shirts just so I can tear them to shreds to unwrap you” Just like the old times, “You are my gift from Louis, my beautiful boy”

“Am I?” Daniel replied, defiant as always, “Why don’t you tie me up all tight and pretty with a bow then? What you waiting for?”

"So impertinent" Armand tsked, sliding his hand inside Daniel’s jeans in retaliation, "I would punish your insolence, but I know you'd only enjoy it"

Whatever reply hung on the tip of Daniel’s quick tongue, it was left unsaid as Armand’s fingers closed around his length.

It was still as intense, as electrifying, as debilitating as the first time. Daniel couldn’t help to throw his head back, his neck suddenly too weak to support his swooning head. Armand’s hand against his nape, however, pulled him back into place, probably so Daniel wouldn’t get a glance at the quickly cooling corpse right next to him.

“No, keep your eyes open, beloved. I want you to look” He commanded, sounding as breathless as Daniel felt. It wasn’t a hassle to obey, though, not when Armand was taking his own cock out of his pants, thick and long and pulsing with borrowed blood, Daniel couldn’t have taken his eyes off of it even if he had wanted to. And he certainly didn’t want to.

Armand spat on his hand then, nasty and vulgar, before wrapping his hand around both their members. Fingers unable to surround both girths at the same time, he started slowly pumping his hand up and down, in the rhythm that was sure to drive Daniel mad.

What the technique might have lacked in physical stimulation, more than made up for in visuals, the image of Armand’s cock pressed against his, longer, leaking all over his, the contrast of his bronze skin against his, stone white and washed out, they way it seemed to grow and fill even more before his eyes, the way the veins popped…

“Armand…” Daniel pleaded, without knowing what for, “Need… I need”

“Yes, beloved” Armand replied, guiding Daniel’s face to his neck, “here, from my throat”

It was just what the fledgling needed, shuddering with the force of his release the very instant his maker’s blood hit his tongue.

“Yes, like that” Armand husked, the rhythm of his hand growing more and more erratic, the longer Daniel drank, “harder, take it all…”

Daniel bit down deeper, sinking his human teeth on the hard flesh, tearing muscle up, making Armand explode, copious amounts of hot fluid bathing his cock, splashing on his stomach.

He retracted his fangs then, but kept lapping at the open, messy wound with his tongue, relishing in the waves of both aftershocks combined, refusing to let the link between their minds shut down again, holding Armand’s shivering body close against his, uncaring of the mess. There was a desperation, a deep melancholy emanating from Armand’s thoughts as he came down, the same bone aching loneliness he had caught a glimpse of the very first time they had come together at that bar, eliciting the same ferocious devotion in him, and he suddenly understood…

The dance was finally over.

Daniel’s destiny had finally been fullfilled. The devil’s minion through and through, born, dead and reborn, at last reaching his final form. Forever servant and master to the ageless creature clinging to him.

Don’t let me go, it begged, don't ever let me go.

I won’t, Daniel vowed, knowing in his blood there would be no running away for him.

I won’t, a promise and a threat, I love you.

I love you, a blessing and a curse, I love you.

Forever.

Next part (back to 1973)

#claimed series #the devil's minion #armand x daniel molloy #smut #dead dove do not eat #mind the warnings #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #interlude with the undead

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beevean · 6 months

Note

Netflix Hector is dumber (pre season 4 at least) than Potato Casca and has less agency

Let that sink in

... alright, I wouldn't go that far

There is, however, something to be said about that scene when Casca gets assaulted by three bandits, and somehow she manages to neatly steal a sword and slit their throats :)

Even in her insanity, for a fleeting moment, Casca knew how to defend herself. Most importantly, she did, because those men who assaulted a defensless woman were pigs and, and this is the crucial part, were treated as such.

Just sayin'. Always just sayin' :)

... just to be clear, although I doubt anyone will find this post: my complaints about N!Hector, when I don't consider him as an adaptation of Hector but as his own character, have little to do with his lack of physical badassery. I joke about how I wished he had smashed Lenore's head, but the point is not "if he's not a fighter he's worthless" - hell I will always defend Shinji who got flak for similar reasons, men should be allowed to be non-fighters. I'm happy with him sneakily circumventing the limits of the ring to get back at the sisters, despite my complaints about how little of a role it actually played.

The point is that the story downplays the significant trauma N!Hector has just endured in order to clumsily build a "tragic" romance between abuser and victim, and so far I have not read a single argument in favor of the Lenector storyline in S4 that doesn't downplay or ignore the rape that happened in S3.

Say what you want about Berserk, but it always knew to treat rape and abuse as they deserved, no matter the genders. Guts was molested twice by women, and while the scenes were not as visceral as the rape scenes carried out by men, they weren't hot either, Guts was visibly uncomfortable the entire time. At one point it even had Guts crying for Gambino's love despite him selling him off to Donovan, and his complicated feelings for his father weren't abuse apologism, it was a realistic reaction to unhealed trauma. Because Berserk had a much better grasp on psychology than NFCV.

#anti netflixvania #tw rape

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morbidology · 2 years

Photo

Strafbattalion, often referred to as “Hitler’s Dirty Dozen” were infantry units consisting of convicts and felons, all which were taken from German prisons and sent on dangerous operations, akin to suicide missions. One common mission of these doomed men was to walk across minefields in order to clear them. Those who refused any dangerous operation they were ordered to do were executed on the spot or taken to Sachsenhausen concentration camp.

One such unit was the 36th Grenadier Division of the Waffen SS, whch beame known as the Dirlewanger Brigade, which was formed under the orders of Henirich Himmler. This particular unit was led by Oskar Dirlewanger, a convicted child molester. It was considered the “worst of the worst” and consisted of mostly murderers and rapists. Non-surprisingly, weaponizing these dangerous men proved deadly. They conducted mass executions on civilians; raping and torturing many of them beforehand. On one occasion, they set a pack of starving dogs upon residents of a small village.

Another documented case reveals how they poisoned a group of young children with strychnine, for their own sadistic pleasure. It was said that they killed as many as 30,000 civilians before being sent to the front line, where they proved to be inexperienced in real combat fighting.

#Strafbattalion #history #wwii

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whumpcereal · 2 years

Text

behavior modification, part seven

<previous, masterlist here!

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @aut0psy-s, @reflected-pain, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

content warnings for: EXPLICIT NONCONSENSUAL TOUCH, MENTIONS OF CSA, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, invasive questioning, emotional manipulation, negative self-talk, restraints, muzzles, humiliation, cages, dehumanization, institutionalized slavery, past minor whump (again, not detailed & only used as a means for backstory), edging, references to past noncon, implied future noncon

part seven, jack's intake interview (part two)

Ivan’s fingers hover over the keyboard.

“Typically, Romantics are custom-ordered, so their handlers know which responses to encourage. You, my darling, are an experiment in fitting every specification, in learning how to condition—and decondition—any desired behavioral response. And we’re developing an entirely new protocol based on you. You’re special, Jack. Trainee Zero, so to speak.”

He taps the numbers into the white field, and Jack flinches with every keystroke. There is no color left in the boy’s face.

SUBJECT: 000000M

Eventually, those numbers—the absence of value—will replace sweet little Jack’s name. He will be nothing. And then, he will be Ivan’s.

Ivan smiles, and he keys in the date and time of Jack’s acquisition. He leaves the facility assignment blank.

“Now, I’ll need your help for the rest of this, sweet boy. Do you understand?”

Jack nods vacantly, his leash jangling against his chairback.

“Given name?”

Jack works his jaw back and forth before answering. “John Michael Kenyon.”

“And your date of birth?”

“M-May 21, 1998.”

Ivan laughs. He looks over the screen and raises his eyebrows at Jack. “Oh my. Old Joe really was robbing the cradle, wasn’t he?”

“Don’t talk about Joe!”

It’s adorable, the way sweet little Jack forgets himself. His cheeks are red again, and there’s a delicious little snarl curling against his pretty pink lips. He tugs too hard against his leash, and his throat seizes beneath his collar when the chain pulls taut.

He’s even more adorable when his body jerks and rolls with electricity, rattling the chain behind him.

“Careful now, Jackie. You remember that you said you’d be good. You said you’d answer the questions; that’s the only reason you’re not muzzled right now.”

Jack still twitches, the cuffs at his wrists pulling against the bar beneath the table’s edge. His eyes are half-rolled back in his head. He’s gorgeous. Soft. Pliant. At Ivan’s complete mercy.

“Are you ready?” Ivan asks, knowing full well the boy can’t respond.

Darling Jack’s only answer is an animal grunt, low in his throat. But he manages to nod, tears spilling from his pretty blue eyes and sliding all the way down to his slack, spit-soaked jaw.

He’s already coming undone. WRU was right about the collars.

“Excellent, sweet boy,” Ivan says. “You’re doing so well. Now, this next bit is important. Sexual orientation?”

“S-seriously?” Jack slurs.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Ivan shakes the remote at him. “You’re a Romantic, darling. Harnessing your preferences is an important part of your training.”

Jack won’t meet his eye. “Gay.”

“Only men, then?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s fortunate.” Ivan’s nostrils flare, and he inhales a slow breath. “Not many women order Romantics. And besides, you’ll be prepped and ready for me, won’t you?”

It’s then that sweet little Jack really starts to tremble.

Heat coils low in Ivan’s belly, and he spreads his legs wide. “Next question.”

---

SEXUAL HISTORY: Subject’s first sexual experience was at age 13; he maintains that this was non-consensual and established a pattern of abuse that lasted for several months. Similarly, Subject claims that he was molested by guards at a juvenile detention facility and routinely used by other inmates as part of a token economy. Subject engaged in illicit sex work between the ages of 15 and 18; some of this activity was facilitated by a staff member from Subject’s group home. Subject reports hypersexuality during and following this period, until at least age 19. Previous to intake, Subject was involved in a monogamous relationship with a stable partner for a period of two years; partner was substantially older and furnished much of Subject’s lifestyle.

Jack’s cheeks are stiff with the salt tracks of his tears. He can’t see what Ivan’s typing, but it doesn’t matter. He knows what he said, what he admitted to. It’s not like he’s never talked about it. His therapist knows. Joe knows.

It wasn’t your fault, baby. That’s what Joe said when Jack told him. He held Jack, gently, like he thought Jack might go to pieces in his arms. It was the first time anyone had treated Jack’s body like it might be fragile, like it was something that deserved protection. Jack remembers that he didn’t understand, that he tried to pull away from Joe’s tenderness. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved to be used.

I’ll never make you feel that way, Jackie. Never, never. You are more important than what your body has to offer. I promise you. You are more than what’s happened to you.

That night, Jack let himself cry, and Joe wiped his tears away.

Ivan does not wipe away Jack’s tears. He’s only too happy to watch Jack’s face disappear behind the thin mask of his own pain. He looks up from his laptop and smiles.

“That must have been very difficult, Jackie,” Ivan murmurs, and Jack winces at the nickname. “You must be very strong, to have survived so much.”

Ivan’s fingers fall to the keys again.

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Subject should have high capacity for masochism; pain tolerance appears to be high, and sexual history indicates extensive experience with submissive positions and hard use.

Ivan leans back in his chair and scratches at his balls. Very fucking professional.

“Now, Jack. Remember, part of this interview is about understanding your, ah, preferences, so that we can incorporate them into your training.”

Jack presses his lips together. He isn’t an idiot. He knows what that means. That Ivan will use the things that make Jack feel good to destroy him. That he’ll obliterate all of the progress Jack has made in the last five years. That he will lock Jack back inside those lost years, and this time, there will be no way out.

“For instance, when you’re with Joe, what’s your role?”

No. No fucking way is he answering that question.

“You understand what I’m asking, don’t you? It isn’t hard to figure out how you were used before–” Jack squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He bites his bottom lip so hard that he can taste copper on the tip of his tongue, “--but I bet Joe was gentle. I bet he let you call the shots, didn’t he?”

Was. As if Joe belongs in the past tense. Jack’s eyes sting with angry tears, but he won’t let them fall. Not this time.

“Did you top old Joe?” Ivan asks. “Or did he pretty up the things other people did to you?”

Fuck you, Jack thinks. He doesn’t realize that he’s actually said it until another shock blows his nerves apart–and then another, and another, until Jack’s chair tips off-balance, sending his chest into the edge of the metal table with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. He opens his mouth in a desperate gasp, but his chest keeps seizing, begging for air.

Ivan is next to him now, and he guides the chair legs back to the floor by Jack’s throat.

“You’re lucky I need you to speak, darling,” Ivan soothes, and Jack wriggles in his bonds as Ivan traces a gentle finger down his throat, “but I’d choose my words more carefully if I were you. This really is one of your last opportunities to speak freely.”

Well, if that’s the case–

“Fuck you,” Jack rasps.

Ivan doesn’t shock him this time. Instead, he slaps Jack so hard across the face that Jack can’t help but cry out–and then, Ivan’s mouth is on Jack’s, pressing Jack’s lips open with the muscled dart of his own tongue. Jack tries to pull away, but Ivan’s hand is anchored against the back of his head, and there’s no way out. Ivan sucks at Jack’s tongue, and then he bites it, hard enough to draw blood. Then, he pulls away.

“Did you like that?” Ivan asks.

Jack spits his blood on the table’s spotless surface, chest heaving. “Fuck. You.”

Again, he waits for the blistering assault of the shock, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Ivan’s teeth fasten tight around his earlobe. Jack yelps, but Ivan knuckles into his hair and holds him fast.

“No, darling. I think it’s the other way around. I’ll be fucking you soon enough. That’s all you're good for, isn’t it? No matter what Joe made you think. This was always how it was going to end for you, wasn’t it?”

“No!” Jack rasps, his throat aching beneath the hard press of tears.

Jack thinks of the boy he saw when Bill took him to WRU. Of his empty eyes. Of the way he did what the handler asked without hesitation, without resistance. Of the cold fear that knotted in Jack’s belly when he thought of himself in the boy’s position. How he told himself that would never be him. Even when he sold himself to other people, he told himself it was because he wanted to, because it was an easy way to make extra cash.

Joe took him away from all of that. Showed him it didn’t have to be that way. That he was worth more. But now–

Jack tries to jerk away, but Ivan’s breath is wet and hot in his ear.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’d do to me if I unchained you, Jack. But in time, you’ll become accustomed to my expectations for you. In time, you won’t fight at all.”

Ivan uses his free hand to trace a gentle line down Jack’s chest, scratching his nails over Jack’s belly and down into the thatch of dark hair between his legs. Then, he wraps his hand tight around Jack’s exposed cock and begins to move.

No. Jack jerks against the restraints at his wrists, tries to slam his knees together, tries to protest, but it’s no use. Ivan lets his head go and reaches for the chain behind him, pulling the collar tight against Jack’s throat as he continues to stroke him.

Nothing about this feels good. The friction pulls and stings against Jack’s thin skin as Ivan begins to work up speed, and even as Jack tries to protest, his words strangle inside. But still, he can feel himself beginning to respond. He knows he’s supposed to. He’s done it before.

He tries to shake his head, to shake the thought from his head, but Ivan pulls at his leash.

“I see that look in your eye. The one that says ‘oh, I’ll always fight.’ You won’t.”

As if on cue, a moan forces its way from Jack’s lips. Ivan keeps his hand moving around Jack, his thumb slipping over Jack’s tip and around the base of his head. Jack tries to slow his breath, but it mounts anyway.

“I’m going to undo you, darling. Piece by piece. And when I’m done, you’re going to be my perfect little lapdog. I don’t think I’ll have you drooling at the sound of a bell, but, then again, I’m going to do things to you that Pavlov would never have done with his dogs. And you’ll learn to enjoy them. To beg for them.”

“No!”

Ivan sinks his teeth into Jack’s shoulder then, and Jack can’t help it: he cries out, voice shredding against his own resistance.

“See, it isn’t so hard,” Ivan murmurs. He doesn’t break pace, doesn’t let up. “It won’t all be bad.”

Jack is close, and Ivan knows it.

Jack doesn’t want this. He doesn’t. He won’t. Not ever.

But his body apparently doesn’t give a fuck, because he arches into Ivan’s punishing touch with another moan, and he can feel his spine starting to disappear, his bones dissolving into nothing.

“That’s it, Jackie,” Ivan says. His tongue slips inside the pink shell of Jack’s ear.

And it’s too much. Jackie. That’s for Joe. It’s only for Joe. Jack isn’t supposed to be doing this. Why is he doing this? Why does it feel good? It shouldn’t. It doesn’t. It does. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. He’s so close–

Ivan abruptly pulls his hand away, and Jack actually whines. His cock twitches between his legs, and he tucks his pelvis, trying to rut into the chair like a fucking animal. But it doesn’t work. He’s thrusting into empty air, and there’s no release. His face burns, and his tears overflow.

“No!” Jack cries, but he doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know if he’s asking for more, or if he’s still trying to protest. And it scares him. “Please!” he sobs.

Ivan moves to the other side of the table and returns to his laptop as though nothing’s happened. Like Jack isn’t a complete and total wreck.

“Please. Again. Darling, I told you before, requests aren’t something you get to make anymore.” He smiles and looks at Jack. “Well, I suppose that’s not true. We’ll teach you how to beg. I can see you’ve got aptitude for that.”

Jack can’t answer. He can still feel himself twitching and aching, and his gut is a knot of need and shame.

“If you’re very good, perhaps I’ll finish you next time,” Ivan says, eyes back on the screen. “But we still have work to do, don’t we? Now, about Joe–”

Jack sobs, the basement room blurring around him. But, eventually, he tells Ivan what he wants to know. What choice does he have?

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Former partner encouraged Subject to “top” during intercourse, in an attempt to increase Subject’s agency and self-efficacy in terms of sexual behavior. This preference should be discouraged in order to promote Subject’s absolute obedience.

---

Sweet, little Jack is barely clinging to coherence by the time their interview is done. His body has come back down from their little tête-à-tête. He sags in the chair, his dark hair sweaty and his breath shallow. He doesn’t move.

But it doesn’t matter. Ivan got what he needed. It’s all in the form. Jack’s family history, or lack thereof. His issues with anger and aggression. His early promise as a behavioral analyst. Each and every piece of information will be critical to Jack’s undoing.

What’s more, Jack knows it. He knows he’s damned himself, and the pall of shame the boy’s wrapped around himself is exquisite.

Ivan sends the form to his WRU contact and slaps the laptop closed.

“Are you tired, sweet boy?” he asks.

Jack doesn’t respond.

“Or maybe you’re hungry?” Ivan tries.

That, at least, elicits a ragdoll’s shake of the head.

“Well, then, no need to keep this off any longer.”

He slips the muzzle from the tabletop and stands. He moves behind Jack, and the boy obediently opens his mouth. Ivan stuffs the bit in and fastens the buckle, just a little looser this time. He clicks the padlock into place. Jack’s head bobs forward.

“You were such a good boy,” Ivan says, like he’s talking to a toddler. “You told me everything I needed to know. But it’s bedtime now, isn’t it?”

He unclips the boy’s wrists from beneath the table; Jack’s arms collapse, limp, from his shoulders. Ivan releases the boy’s ankles–nothing. Finally, Ivan gently unwinds the leash from the chair back. Jack slumps over himself.

“Oh, you’re a tired boy, aren’t you, Jackie?”

There’s the hint of a whimper, but darling Jack doesn’t even seem to be able to raise his head.

“Let me help you,” Ivan says.

Jack isn’t a large man, and it’s easy for Ivan to lift him into his arms. Jack’s head lolls against Ivan’s chest, and for a moment, Ivan considers laying him out on the table and taking him right there. He wouldn’t fight. Not tonight.

But Ivan knows that would disrupt his procedure. Instead, he carries Jack to the corner of the basement, where Jack’s new quarters have been arranged.

“You know,” he says, leaning Jack against a cabinet door, “eventually, you’ll sleep with me. I have a special spot for you all set up in the bedroom.”

Jack says nothing. Not that he could, anyway.

“But for now, until you learn your place, this is where you’ll be.”

Ivan unhooks the latch of the crate. He wonders if Jack will even notice in the state he’s in; Seligman said it’s the same crate Jack had for his dog at home. Seligman certainly has a unique sense of humor.

“Can you get yourself in there, sweet boy?”

Jack looks at the crate with red, empty eyes. And then, to Ivan’s delight, he crawls into the cage and collapses on the wire floor.

“Good boy,” Ivan murmurs, petting Jack’s hair. He reaches into the crate and unclips Jack’s leash. Then, he gently takes Jack’s hands and guides his wrists to the O-ring at his collar; once he’s locked them into place, the boy looks appropriately penitent. Like he’s praying–or begging.

It’s beautiful.

---

Jack doesn’t bother to fight Ivan’s touch, and he doesn’t try to keep his tears at bay. He wonders distantly if tears can wear away flesh over time. At this rate, he’ll have trenches in his cheeks before long.

God, he’s so fucking weak.

Joe would be disgusted by him. Already Ivan’s whore. Willingly caged. Ivan’s right: this is always how it was going to end for Jack.

“We left you a little present from home,” Ivan coos.

His hand slips between Jack’s back and the edge of the crate, and Jack feels soft cotton brushing against him. Ivan settles the fabric around him.

Jack is ashamed at how relieved he is to be covered. He clings to the fabric with his bound hands, dropping his nose into its folds. He takes a breath, and he catches spice–ginger, basil, a hint of sandalwood.

He chokes on another sob. It smells like Joe. Joe can’t be here. Joe can’t see him like this. But still, Jack can’t let the cotton go.

“Seligman told me you were wearing it when he brought you in. Of course, he had to cut it open to get you ready for me, but I thought it might help you get comfortable in your new surroundings. It does get awfully chilly down here.”

Joe’s hoodie. At once, Jack is grateful for the muzzle, that Ivan can’t really read his expression; if Ivan knew the shirt was Joe’s, he would take it away.

Ivan’s fingers card through Jack’s hair for a moment. Jack buries his nose in Joe’s scent and squeezes his eyes shut. He can pretend it’s Joe touching him, even if he shouldn’t.

“I know today was hard, Jackie. But, for the most part, you did very well. Maybe this isn’t what you expected when you agreed to work for me, but I promise, it will be worth it. You’re going to help us learn so much. And I’m going to take such good care of you.”

The hoodie is already soaked through with Jack’s tears.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” Ivan says. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Jack’s hair; this time, Jack flinches. Ivan chuckles. “Sleep tight, sweet boy.”

The crate door swings shut, and Ivan secures it with another padlock. Then, he withdraws. The basement goes dark. Ivan’s feet trip up the stairs. And Jack is left alone, wrapped in all that he has left of Joe.

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#behavior modification #jack kenyon oc #ivan peters oc #tw noncon #heed other content warnings #creepy/intimate whumper #defiant whumpee #jack is having a very bad day #feel free to comment or reblog #it would make me feel less guilty about what i've just done to this poor boy #whump #whump writing #tw csa mention

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