#cw torture based mind control | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keeksandgigz · 2 years ago

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okay okay, but imagine an older!modern!eddie getting ticked off every time you have your phone on 'do not disturb.'

this was supposed to be a blurb but pls queens turn off your dnd this is loosely based on a true story

eddie munson x fem! reader

word count: 3k

cw: porn with a little plot, spanking with a spoon, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv (pls don't do that), use of nicknames (sweetness, sugar, baby etc), established d/s dynamic (even if there isn't much of it here), no physical description of reader, minors dni, smut below the cut!

Like, it starts off kinda funny like "Honey, c'mon I need you to return my calls if I know you're free. I needa know my girl is safe" he says, voice real sweet. You just apologize and turn it off.

Until it becomes a recurrent thing. He'll call you to ask if you still need to get picked up after class while you're out running errands. You don't see his call until after class and you hurriedly call him to come pick you up.

Or he's at the grocery store to pick up dinner for later and he's texting you to ask what he needs to get for you and you just don't answer him. You don't see his texts.

He tries to call. Voicemail.

He later gets home with whatever he was craving and just starts cooking.

"But I thought we said we were gonna do pasta, Ed? Why're you making chicken?" you ask, literally without a clue as to why dinner plans have changed.

"Well, sweetness, if you don't answer my texts or return my calls how the hell am I supposed to know what kinda pasta you wanted, huh?" he just shrugs, voice a bit hardened. You can tell it's starting to tick him off.

"Oh, shit. Sorry Ed, I don't even know where my phone is, really" you scratch your head, looking around but not really in search for your phone.

"Well, if you didn't have your DnD on you'd know where your phone is once I call or text you. It's starting to get a little frustrating, baby, can you please be a little more mindful and turn off your 'do not disturb' when you don't need it please?" you just nod sheepishly, like you've been scolded for not saying 'thank you' to a gift you didn't like.

And it does end up happening numerous times. Luckily, nothing too insane.

Sometimes he'd ask you if you wanted to call and you just sit there waiting for him to call. After ten minutes, you assume he's gone to sleep (he's a bit old after all), so you turn off your phone and tuck in for the night.

"Why didn't you pick up last night baby? I called you like six times" he asks the morning after.

"Wait, you called? I was waiting for you to call and then you didn't so I just went to bed" you explain, then clocking the issue there. Shit.

"You had your DnD on, didn't you, sweetness?" and he gets close to you. Close enough for you to hold your breath, too entranced by his big presence, filling up every bit of your vision. You feel suffocated by him.

You look down, too much to be looking at him right now, with the aura of calm and cool control that he exudes. It'd be easier for him to swallow you whole than for you to be making eye contact with him right now.

He just takes care of that promptly for you. He gingerly places two fingers under your chin, making you look at him in the eyes.

"You look at me when I talk to you. You know better, don't you baby?" and he puts on this fake pout that makes you blush all over. You imagine the butterflies at the bottom of your stomach tinging a pretty shade of pink with every domineering word that comes out of that man's mouth.

You just nod, he makes a clicking sound with his tongue and teeth, releasing you from the delicious torture of him invading your senses as he takes a step back, letting your chin go before he just goes back to what he was doing.

"Oughta punish you one of these days if you don't turn that damn DnD off" he mutters and then he's back on his computer.

The gruff words make your shaky legs stutter as you decide you cannot be standing anymore and you plop yourself on the couch.

His last straw, however, is when you're out at a club with your friends. You've had one too many drinks and you text Eddie to come pick you up. He has no idea where you are.

Yeah, baby I can pick you up. Where at? 12:34 am

Can't pick you up if you don't tell me where you are, sweetness. 12:42 am

You there? 12:50 am

Turn off your DnD PLEASE 1:00 am

I'm omw 1:03 am

And he pulls up in front of the bar you were helplessly staring out the door of. You're not drunk, just not having fun.

You run into the car, shivering from the biting November breeze.

"Had to call one of your friends to tell me where the fuck you were. Are you drunk?" he asks. Voice stern, laden with what you could only define as barbed wire. Cutting, angry, almost.

"'m not drunk." you mutter "I had, like, a shot, then I decided I wasn't having fun anymore. Didn't wanna go out in the first place" finding the creases and ridges of your hands very interesting all of a sudden.

"Trust me when I tell you you won't be having fun at home either. Fucking sick of that 'do not disturb' thing on. You had me scared to death." he seethes, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. You notice he's wearing his pyjamas.

Fuck. You made him get out of bed. You shrink in your seat.

"Y'don't wanna be disturbed? I'll fuckin' teach you about being disturbed" and that's the last thing he says before he just speeds home.

There's thick tension between the two of you when he opens the door to his apartment. You sit on his counter, looking at the floor and getting ready for another scolding.

He's leaning on the wall opposite to you, arms crossed.

He breaks the silence "Floor's lookin' clean? You gonna look at me now?" you shiver, then look up to meet his darkened eyes.

He scoffs and takes a few paces towards you, until he's placed between your parted legs.

"What do I gotta do with you, huh? Do I gotta start checkin' your phone to make sure that damn thing is turned off? As far as I'm concerned after your classes you shouldn't have it on at all" he remarks, his hands caressing over the nylon of your tights, toying with the fabric of your dress.

You interject "I just forget, Ed. I'm so busy these days I forget to turn it off" you jut out your bottom lip, trying to coax a bit of sweet sympathy out of him. Something that'll make the punishment a bit lighter.

But he remains unmoved, his lips in a straight line as he moves his hands up, up, up to firmly hold your waist. "So forgetful, aren't you, baby? Maybe you need a reminder, carve some space in that big, busy brain of yours to remember to turn your DnD off, hm?" he chides, playing with the insides of your arm, skin sensitive and waiting as his thick finger moves up and down and you can't help but nod.

Your breath begins to pick up ever so slightly. But he notices, of course he notices. The way your mouth parts and your pupils dilate. The way your chest begins to get closer to him, rising and falling in anticipation.

"So pretty" he teases, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his palm, letting out a sweet humming sound that makes Eddie's stomach flip despite his hardened facade "Y'wanna play?"

His voice goes to a deep, dark timbre, the question making you shiver. You speak for the first time in what seems like forever.

"Yes, sir" voice thin and quiet as you keep looking at him, not wanting to worsen your precarious position as he undoes the zipper of the short dress you're wearing, helping him out by taking your arms out of the thin sleeves.

"Good girl," he remarks, tapping the sides of your thighs to make you lift your hips, removing the dress off of you completely.

He licks his lips when he finds you're wearing tights. He loves spanking you with the nylon barrier between his hand and the soft skin of your ass. A weird quirk of his.

You feel the hardened pressure of his bulge against the inside of your thigh as his body turns to litter a trail of kisses over your jawline and you keen into his touch, arch towards his chest demanding more, more, more. Even if you're in no position to demand anything.

A whine escapes you as you keep arching your hips towards him. Eddie's quick to stop you with a strong hand pinning you down against the marble of the counter. He tuts.

"Don't be greedy. Hop off and bend over" he commands, and who are you to say no to him as you comply with a meek "Yes, sir," resting your elbows on the cold counter.

His nose skims the length of your spine, taking in the way you smell. Sweet and musky, after a night of dancing among sweaty bodies. The thought intrudes Eddie's head. Did a body press itself against you? Is the scent of a random man now on the skin of your back, the fabric of your dress?

He shakes the thought away as he reaches the waistband of your black nylon tights.

"Pass me that wooden spoon, will you, sugar?" he says sweetly, snaking a hand in your hair. You shiver as you reach for the wooden utensil in the metal bucket next to the stove. You pass it to him, skin pricking up from the anticipation of not knowing what he might do with it.

"Thank you, baby" he kisses your shoulders, as the spoon comes into contact with your ass. Caressing up and down.

"Now, I hate to do this, you know me, but I gotta teach you a lesson, sweetness. Tell me you want this" he says, the utensil snaking its way between your legs, rubbing back and forth. A wicked smile appearing on Eddie's lips when you begin to helplessly whimper, your head lolling on its side against the marble counter.

"I- I want this" you say, loud enough to make him hear you.

And that's all he needs. A green light.

The wooden spoon lands on the meat of your ass. You hiss. The feeling is new, he hadn't spanked you with anything aside of his hand before, but the feeling of the wooden handle cracking on your skin makes your head reel.

"You gonna put your phone on DnD again?" he asks, a question he knows the answer to as he cracks down the spoon again.

"Ah- ow- No, sir. Thank you, sir" you say, sweet and compliant, hoping that it will relieve you of your penance earlier than he'd planned to.

His hand sneaks itself on the seam of your tights, knowing you never wear panties with them, feeling the heat radiating off of your core, a dampness that had been sitting there since you'd climbed in the car.

He chuckles to himself, a dark laugh, a notice that he will not go easy on you tonight.

"You're likin' this?" you can almost hear the wicked smile in his words. "You little slut, you're getting wet from this? Me smacking you with a spoon?" he taunts and your legs quiver as he administers two more cracks to your ass.

You have cotton in your ears. Your skin feels everything and nothing at the same time as you begin slumping against the counter.

"So horny you can't even stand, huh, sweetness?" Eddie smacks you again and then reaches his arm around your waist to pull you up "Little slut didn't want me to disturb her, hat true?" he asks, another smack, this time he expects an answer.

"Fuck- ow- no Eddie that's not-ah" another smack "t-true" you sob, tears beginning to well on the waterline of your eyes.

Your ass feels on fire while Eddie puts the spoon down next to your head. Your legs shaky in your heels as he kneels between your legs.

Two of his fingers hooked on the seam of your tights as he rips a hole in them, exposing you to him. You gasp, more at the suddenness of the motion than at the action itself.

Your tights never had a long enough lifespan when you wore them around Eddie.

"You got so wet, sweetness." He whispers, entranced by the way the skin glistens in the dull kitchen light.

His hands hook around your waist to keep you still as his face narrows into your pussy, and he begins to lick.

Broad stripes of his tongue, slurping and lapping up whatever he missed. Eating like a man starved.

Your back arching to get more, more, greedy in the best way possible as you mewled and cried for him to keep going. As you mewled and cried nonsense, feeling your brain turn fuzzy and your eyes becoming accustomed to going to the back of your head every time his tongue lingered long enough on your clit.

When he begins to suck harshly on it you have no choice but to grab the back of his head and push it further, if there ever was a further, as he is wedged deep between your legs, eating you out like his life depended on it.

He doesn't like it, though, the way you grab and push at his head like you're the one calling the shots.

He unhooks his arms from your waist momentarily to reach for your wrists to pin them behind your back, that's when he stands from his place in between your legs.

"Y'think you're a big girl, huh? Callin' the shots?" he lands a smack on your ass, turning you around to finally face him. Hands still pinned behind you as he pushes you towards him.

"I didn't- I don't-" you try and justify yourself, but he just delivers a smack to your face. Light enough to give you a slight sting.

His chin glistens with your slick, and you can smell it on him.

"Look what you did" he says, taunting you. His free hand comes to squeeze your cheeks, making you look at him.

"Clean me up, since you wanna be so fuckin' messy" and he squeezes harder, your tongue jutting out to lick at the clear wetness on his face, slight stubble scratching your tongue and chin. You lick around his mouth, under his nose, until he pushes you away from him.

"Greedy, greedy" he chants, as he places you on top of the counter, cold marble a relief against your aching ass.

You could clearly see the outline of his cock against his sweats, you bite your lip as he inches closer to you. “Look how hard you made me, baby," he mutters, low and dark "it’s impossible to be in your presence when you look like you want to get fucked all the time." he continues "Goin' out in that tight little dress like you don't want everyone to see your pretty tits" he says, grabbing a handful through the bralette you're wearing.

He moves the cups to the side as he toys with your tits, a hand reaching into your mouth to wet his fingers. You gag and sputter around his digits.

"Theeere you go, sweetness. Y'like having your mouth full?" he asks, Hardened stare urging you to answer. You nod and let out a weak hum in approval as his fingers keep pushing in and out of your mouth.

He removes his fingers from your mouth as he begins circling the sensitive buds of your nipples. You let out a desperate moan.

"So sensitive, aren't you? You wanna cum like that while I fuck you?" he asks, and you can't find the words fast enough to nod your head yes.

"Ask me nicely. You know better" he says sternly as he uses one hand to lower the waistband of his sweats, letting his cock spring free.

"F-fuck, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me, sir" is all you can muster, before he guides his cock to your entrance, sinking in all the way to the hilt. A gasp escapes you. It never gets old.

"That's a good girl. Wasn't so hard, was it?" he teases, both his hands returning to deliver their ministrations on your tits, thumb unforgivingly grazing your nipples. The motion makes you scream as Eddie sets a quick pace.

"That's right, sweetness, keep singin' for me. Lemme hear that pretty voice" he says, his words making you clench around him.

His hands come off your tits to place your legs on your shoulders, making you curl in on yourself as he leaned his body to make your faces touch.

"Kiss me, baby" and you kiss him with such fervor and need. He hadn't kissed you the whole night. You don't know how much you need him to kiss you until you do and it's like fireworks are going off behind your hooded lids.

His tongue slips past your lips as he keeps thrusting, unforgivingly, hitting your g- spot every. single. time. You whine into his mouth, he chuckles at how needy you sound.

"My baby just needed a good fuck to remember to not put her DnD on, didn't you?" he taunts, an especially harsh thrust follows as you feel his breathing become more ragged and his pace begin to stutter.

"Feels good, huh? Shit, baby you're so tight" he begins and you can't help but moan.

"Feels good Eddie- huh- so... so deep" you hiccup, and you feel close. "Hmm so ah big" you groan as your eyes roll to the back of your head when a particularly well- angled thrust deliciously hits your spongy walls.

"You like that, sweetheart? God- fuck- so gorgeous, baby. Look at you" he rambles. He's getting close.

"Oh fuck, Ed, 'mclosesoclose" you cry out and you're seriously teetering on the edge of orgasm. A few more thrusts and you'd be gone.

"Me too, sweetness, c'mon cum for me" he thrusts a couple more times and the coil snaps. You're clenching and whining and screaming his name while he follows after you, finishing inside you.

He stays there even after he's done, laying his head on your sweaty chest while you both try to stabilize your breathing.

"Feel free to disturb me whenever you want" you say, and he chuckles, giving a soft kiss to your shoulder.

taglist: honey-flustered, fracturedarkness, them-cute-boys, ancientcrone-blog, eveybitch, everythingtodayisthoroughly, jennathinker, @vampysstuff, rubyirene, floriscus, mrsmarch64, fairymunson, capricornrisingsstuff, sole-screws, helloweenfiend, flaminggarbagepail, @squigglebottom, @cozmiccass

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader fluff #stranger things fan fiction #older!eddie #older!eddie munson

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mochieekittenz · 12 days ago

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Don’t Make a Sound

cw: mutual masturb*tion, footj*b, dirty talk, heavy petting, clothed p*ssy eating, risk of being caught, caleb is a FREAK

character(s): caleb x f!reader (smut)

──★ ˙

𝓗e’s pressed so hard against your foot that you can feel every pulse through the fabric of his sweatpants. Like, seriously — how the hell does a guy get this hard just from you messing with him under a blanket? Ridiculous

The rough fabric of his pants can’t hide the way he twitches every time your toes curl just right. Oh, and he’s trying so hard not to lose it. The way his jaw tightens, the shallow breath he’s fighting to swallow down.

You smirk, pushing just a little harder.

It’s that perfect combination of slow and deliberate teasing — not too much, not too little. The kind that makes him shiver without letting him lose control. You love how vulnerable he looks, caught between wanting to lose it and holding back.

Oh, and he hates that you know exactly what you’re doing.

“God, you’re torture,” Caleb mutters, voice low and thick. You can feel the heat in his words, the way they slide over your skin like fire. You bite your lip, pretending not to notice how his cock pulses under your foot, desperate and aching.

And he's no better. His hand moves slow over your shorts, pressing firm, teasing. The fabric absolutely soaked from your little game. The heel of his palm grinding your clothed mound back and fourth. He takes notice on how your hips angle up so he could press down your clit just how you like it.

“You feel that? Fuck, you’re sooo wet…I can feel it all through the fabric. You're soaking through these shorts, pips." he mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Shut up,” you say, laughing softly despite yourself. “You’re disgusting.”

“Mmhm,” he murmurs, totally unbothered, shifting his hips so your foot hits the base of his cock just right.

It makes you snort — then immediately choke it back into your throat with a sharp gasp when his thumb presses down a little harder, just right where your soaked opening was.

“Oh my god,” you hiss. “You’re literally getting off to rubbing me through Snoopy pajama shorts.”

“You can’t talk shit when you’re grinding on my hand like that.” he murmurs, eyes still locked on your face, like the cartoon print is just part of the fantasy now. “You’re fucking sopping and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

You should smack him. You really should. Instead, you grind down just a little harder into his hand, letting out a breath that sounds more like a whimper.

Fuck, and he’s trembling beneath you as well.

The scrape of Grandma’s chair from the kitchen freezes you both for a second. Heart racing, you lock eyes in the dim TV glow, breath hitching.

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Not a sound, pips. Dun want Gran' to catch us, do you?"

Fuck, and he’s got that desperate look, like he can’t wait to rip off your shorts and have you bare.

He leans closer, voice a whisper: “Tell me how much you want this.”

You bite your lip, voice shaky, “So much it hurts.”

“Bet if I slipped my hand under just a little more,” he whispers, thumb gliding just underneath the hem of your shorts, “you’d lose your mind.”

You whisper back smugly, “Bet if I pressed down any harder, you’d cum in your stupid pants.”

"You started this." he murmurs as his fingers sped up on you, his hips rocking up into your foot selfishly.

You did.

But now you’re the one squirming, legs shaking just a little, biting your lip to keep quiet. Every touch is too much and not enough at the same time, and he knows it. His hand slows down when you get too close, just to be a menace. You shoot him a look

His fingers move slow, teasing over your soaked underwear. Then, without warning, he presses the pad of one finger just a little deeper, right at the edge of your clothed entrance, feeling the tiniest twitch beneath. Even through the fabric, you can tell your pussy’s reacting hard, tightening and pulsing.

You tense, hips jerking just slightly, and Caleb’s grin turns wicked.

“Fuck, you’re so close,” he breathes, voice rough. His finger presses just a little more, and you feel it too — your whole pussy tightening around nothing, clenching like it’s trying to pull him in through the damn fabric.

“You feel that?” Caleb murmurs, voice dripping with something filthy. “Your hole’s squeezing me through your panties. Jesus, you’re so fucking desperate it’s almost gross.”

You snap your head up, cheeks burning, eyes flashing. “Shut up, Caleb,” you hiss, voice low but sharp. And then — the moment you say it — your pussy clenches even harder, the fabric bunching where his finger presses, and the twitch comes again, harder this time. Making you squirm and catch on his wrist, having to choke down a whine.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he teases, thumb circling faster now, “The way you lock down when I say dirty shit?”

"No." you huffed at him

He smirks, eyes flicking toward the kitchen door where the faint sounds of Grandma moving around echo softly. Leaning in closer, he lets his breath brush your thigh.

You swallow hard, heart pounding. Before you can say anything, his lips brush the fabric of your shorts, tongue flicking once, barely there.

“I could taste you right through this,” he murmurs, wicked grin spreading. “Want me to?”

Your voice cracks, half scandalized, half desperate. “Stop it…Grandma—.”

He cuts you off with a finger tracing slow, maddening lines right over your clit, barely hiding his grin. You press your thighs tighter together, trying to hold it back, but the way his fingers start slow, teasing circles again has you trembling.

“I know.”

Your whole body clenches involuntarily, slick and trembling, and you can’t help but gasp, whispering, “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“I won’t,” he whispers, voice thick with promise. You felt your heart race.

Before you can even blink, he leans down, careful and slow, until his lips brush the damp cotton of your shorts. His tongue flicks out one long, slow drag right over your swollen clit — and you can’t help the soft sound that escapes your throat. It’s too much.

You gasp, biting back a noise that wants to get out way too badly, and press your hand over his head like that might stop him.

It doesn’t.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled “You’ll like it.”

And you hate how right he is.

You let your head fall back into the couch cushions, legs trembling. From the kitchen, the faint scrape of a chair. Caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t push further — he just breathes you in, mouth hovering, hand still working slow and steady over your thigh like he’s drawing out every last nerve ending. His hips grinding into the couch.

Suddenly, he raises his head up.

“Hey, pipsqueak." he says low, voice rough. “Why don't you tell Grandma goodnight and go upstairs?”

You blink, confused. “What? Now?”

He bites his lip, trying to keep control but failing as his cock twitches hard. “Cause if you don’t, I’m pretty sure my dick’s gonna fucking explode right here.”

You raise an eyebrow, an amused grin tugging at your lips. “You’re really that close?”

“Yeah, well.” he gestured down at his tented sweatpants.

“Go,” he repeats, smirk growing wider. “I’m serious. Because,” he murmurs, “you’re gonna have to take care of something for me. Upstairs.”

Your breath catches.

“Oh,” you whisper, still playing innocent — and he sees right through it.

He grins, low and lazy. “Don’t look at me like that, pipsqueak. You’ve been teasing me for an hour, rubbing your little foot all over me like that… you knew exactly what you were doing.”

...

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poodledoodle1 · 11 days ago

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act of trust - [tim wright x winged!reader]

summary: reader is a human-avian having trouble preening their wings. tim comes to help out :-)

genre: fluff

wc: 2.5k

contains: genderneutral reader, no description of readers physical appearance beside wings, pining, the most awkward attempt at writing a conversation ever, preening inaccuracies probably, reader is a proxy

cw: description of past cannibalism (um), implied cannibal reader, mentions of operator-sickness

a/n: i wrote this bcs i cant stop dreamimg about having wings and bcs i love tim. i was originally going to make this about jack because he's a 'monster' as well and it would have been more fitting but. oh how i love tim. there aren't enough tim fics out there and i have to change that. oh tim my pookie. this is also kinda based off my miserable self insert oc but shh

Sitting on the edge of the wooden railing of the cracked, old balcony with one of your wings curled towards your lap, you harshly tug your fingers through the dirty, dishevelled feathers in an attempt at keeping them neat and in place. It hurts. But the stinging sensation of pain has long since stopped bothering you, considering your line of work.

Being a proxy slave to an eldritch entity means day-to-day life is bound to be filled with all sorts of injuries and suffering. Whether that be by the hand of whatever unfortunate bastard you were hunting down or by the mind-controlling cryptid itself. It varies from the occasional punch to the throat to waking up in the middle of nowhere with a throbbing head and dried blood and tears crusted on your face, not remembering a damn thing about how you ended up here. Knowing you probably deserved it.

Either way, the pain is all the same and whining about it won’t get you out of its vicious clutches.

A sharp, howling gust of wind rushes past you into the foggy night, rustling your feathers and the branches of the thick forest behind the abandoned cabin you're calling home for the time being. It’s nearing the end of September, meaning days are getting shorter, the air chillier and the auburn maple leaves are dancing through the gentle breeze of change again.

The smell of petrichor is wafting through the air, gloomy weather becoming more common with the transition into autumn. It’s going to rain soon. You better hurry up with this.

With a frustrated sigh you stretch your wing a little further, not quite able to reach the one spot in the back. It’s always given you trouble, no matter how much you shift and bend. But you need to get it over with. You’ve been pushing it off for days and you have a long mission ahead of you in the morning. Something about a self proclaimed group of investigators, hiking through the grueling trails of Appalachia, knowing more than they should. You weren't really listening when your ‘coworkers’ were going over details.

You’ve been a part of their little murder group for almost five months now, consisting of you and four other mentally ill and miserable souls, all sharing the unlucky fate of getting caught like flies in the Operator’s wretched web of psychological torture and suffering.

You’re rather quiet around them. Too shy and socially awkward to even attempt holding a conversation. As a.. whatever people would call you –an angel maybe, a beast definitely– either way, you haven't really had a chance at normal human contact, leaving your social skills to be quite rusted. But it doesn't matter. You prefer listening to their banter.

The balcony door creaks open behind you and you smell him before you turn around to see him. Tobacco mixed with an earthy musk and an undertone of sweat.

Tim.

He doesn’t seem to notice you at first. Too preoccupied trying to flick the lighter on a few times to ignite the cigarette in his lips, before his eyes dart up to where your gaze is now pointed at him over your shoulder.

“Oh. Hey.”

His eyes flicker to your fingers combing through your wing. Eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Unsure whether or not the act of preening is something that should be done in private.

“Oh! Uh.. Sorry, didn’t know you’d be out here. I’ll just..-”, his speech slightly muffled with the cigarette between his teeth.

He points his thumb towards the door, already turning his body and taking a step towards it before you interrupt him with a:

“Stay. I don’t mind.”

“Uh, okay…” He clears his throat. “Yeah, cool.”

You watch his eyes screw shut, eyebrows furrowing in a pinch of embarrassment as he turns back towards you.

Amused, you focus your attention back on the problem at hand. Picking up your oil-slicked preening comb in the shape of a bird’s beak, you get back to work. It’s been laying abandoned by your side for long enough, you think as Tim leans his back onto the sturdy wooden railing you're sitting on. Once again flicking his lighter on and lighting the cigarette between his dry lips.

Minutes go by and a thick wave of awkward silence washes over the both of you. Only ever filled by the occasional huff of smoke leaving his lungs and the annoyed tsks and grunts escaping you because of the particularly entangled lump of feathers you're trying to set straight again.

You notice Tim glancing at you out of the corner of your eye every once in a while, never saying anything. You can tell he’s curious, yet too shy to speak whatever plagues his mind.

He’s almost finished with his cigarette by the time he finally breaks the silence, asking “Need help with that?”, probably wondering whether or not he’s crossing a boundary right now.

You barely hear him. Irritated. Taking a few seconds to process his words before your face softens and you let out a “Huh?”

“Ah, you know..-” He stiffly motions to your wing, heat rushing up his neck.

“Ya looked like you were strugglin’. Thought I’d offer.” He doesn’t meet your eyes now, unsure why he even asked in the first place, both of you knowing damn well he doesn't know a thing about preening wings.

“Oh! Um..”

You've never let anyone else do this to you. Not since her.

You still remember the feeling of sinking your teeth into her beating flesh. Heartbeat erratic, pounding under your molars. Hands pushing at your chin and temple, uselessly trying to force your jaw apart. You still remember the taste of her warm, metallic blood squirting on your tongue and splashing against the back of your throat, before swallowing it down your esophagus. You still remember feeling the clank of your teeth reconnecting around the thick piece of meat with a hefty bite. You still-

Enough. You force your eyes shut. Guilt won’t bring her back. Might as well try to get over it by creating new memories. This will be pleasant, Tim has treated you with respect since the beginning.

If you forget about how you got here in the first place.

But that doesn’t matter, it wasn’t his choice and you need to speak before he takes his offer back.

“Yes, please.” Looking at him again, your expression morphs into that of gentle admiration. It always does.

He huffs a nervous laugh through his nose, putting the cigarette out and flicking it towards the ashtray on the round glass table. He turns towards you and shuffles closer.

Hands twitching towards your wing, but not yet wanting to touch it. Unsure.

You shift, sitting up a little straighter, legs pressing tighter together. Fidgeting with the metal comb in your lap, trying to seem like this isn’t affecting you at all, stretching your wing in his direction.

“How do I..” He starts.

Oh right. You forgot he hasn’t done this before.

“Try to untangle them, if-if you can. Make sure they're all straight and get rid of the grime. It gets really uncomfortable if they're not all… Yeah.”

Your wings have been feeling particularly aching as of late. Covered in dirt, debris and the occasional tick. There’s no avoiding it when your job is to hunt people down like a feral animal charging through the woods. Unlike your partners, you don’t use any traditional weapons. Your teeth and claws, partnered with your stamina and ability to blend into the shadows are more than enough for you.

“Alright.” Handing him the comb, he carefully takes the large wing in his callused hand, trying his best to avoid it touching the metal. Acting like you're much more fragile than you really are.

His other hand reaches towards your multicolored feathers, running his fingers through them and brushing off crumbs of dirt. He’s always wondered what this would feel like. ‘Soft’, he likely thinks.

You’ve seen the way they look at the oddities emerging from your back. You’ve felt it. When you’re staring at the moving shapes through the car window. When you’re mumbling a hushed reply to one of your colleagues. You recognize curiosity when you see it. After all, it’s all you’ve ever been met with. Curiosity, pity and unadulterated fear.

You fold your other wing towards your lap, joining him in brushing fingers through it with the intent of saving time to get this done and over with.

Despite it usually feeling like a nice massage or like scratching an itch, you hate doing this. It’s a long, tedious process that typically steals hours of your time. Combing through your feathers absentmindedly while travelling is one thing, but it’s not often that you take your time to properly groom them like you’re supposed to do.

This often leaves your wings feeling uncomfortable and sometimes even painful, even when they're safely tucked away into the warm comfort of your body.

After untangling the lump of feathers you were struggling with earlier, you feel Tim take the comb into his other hand and begin to spread the waxy oil covering the comb over your wing. This makes them waterproof and helps maintain their condition. Not that he knows.

“Let me know if it hurts, yeah?”

As the leader of the group, Tim has always made it his mission to look out for his partners, repeatedly ignoring his own well-being to make sure they have it easy. Standing up to the Operator itself when it’s being especially cruel to them. To you. Knowing damn well he won't come out unharmed. Acting like he’s braver than he is.

You appreciate him for that.

It’s not often that a person sticks up for a beast like you. You’ve torn apart dozens of people with your bared fangs and sharpened claws.

Yet here he is. Brushing your feathers like you’re delicate. Holy. Something to be worshipped. You can’t contain the smile blooming on your lips.

“Yeah.”

The sound of rain drops gently hitting the balcony roof guides you out of your thoughts. Watching the water wet the large, empty field under the balcony, dirt path leading up to the house growing muddy. You hope the sky clears up by the time you have to leave.

“It's almost morning. What brings ya out here anyway, couldn’t sleep?”, you hear him ask.

“No.”

He hums, picking at a stray leaf stuck between your feathers. “I know the feeling.”

“Are you an insomniac?”, you wonder out loud. You’ve always been blunt.

A brief chuckle escapes his throat. “What makes you say that?”

“I hear you play guitar a lot. When you think everyone is sleeping.” Good dreams come to you easier those nights. When you fall asleep listening to the tender melodies and his quiet voice.

You feel his hands freeze for a second, “Sorry, uh..”, clearing his throat, he continues. “Didn’t know I was keepin’ you up with that. I’ll stop.”

“Don’t. I like it.”, you lied. You love it.

You barely catch him letting out a shaky breath over the sound of the rain. He continues fixing your feathers with the comb.

“Thanks.”

You see a flash of lightning from your peripherals. The distant storm clouds hanging far above the field you're facing. A few seconds pass and you hear the matching rumble of thunder somewhere. The rain is growing heavier, dampening your dangling legs.

“You know.. I’ve never seen you fly before.”, he starts. You recognize his statement to be a question in disguise. He wants to know, ‘Can you?’

“I used to. Somewhat. I just don't get the chance to do it anymore.” Spending most of your time in a dense forest, a cramped, stolen family van or in some cheap motel means there's not a lot of space to spread your wings in, leaving you to fold them into yourself more often than you’d like.

“I see.” He carefully plucks an insect off of you and flicks it down the balcony. Quietly, he asks, “Would you like to?”

“What?”

“Would you like to fly again?”, speaking louder this time.

Of course you would. Soaring through the skies, reaching your fingers towards misty clouds, spinning in the wind, watching the glistening stars with no one to suffocate you with their endless staring, no one to prick your skin, then veins with stainless steel, sucking up your blood in a small glass container, bringing it away to run the test of the day. Being alone. It was heavenly. Of course you would like to fly again.

“I would.”

“I ca- we can make time for that when we get back. If you want. Enough space out there, right?”

He’s talking about the field in front of you. Large and vacant. Without nosy strangers to watch. That could work. But you haven’t done it in so long, it would be embarrassing to fail in front of them.

“That would be nice.”

The balcony door slams open with a bang, both of you nearly jumping out of your skin. Tim’s hands leave your wing as you whip around to look behind you.

It’s Toby.

“The hhh-hell are y-you two doing?”

He barely gives you time to open your mouth before he starts speaking again, holding up a hand.

“Actually I don’t c-care, we have to guh-go soon, come on.” He grunts, head jerking towards his shoulder in a harsh, involuntary shrug. “B-Brian is already bringin’ the bags down. He actually w-wanted me to help with that but honessss… -honestly that prick can eat shit and die, so I came to get you guys inste-instead.”

He has such a way with words, you think to yourself.

Despite him starting the conversation off with urgency, he’s sauntering over to the wooden bench next to you now, slumping onto it with a groan of relief. Leaning his arms over the back, legs spread wide and head thrown back, making himself comfortable.

“God, I’ve been puh-packing for…” He lets out a guttural grunt again, face scrunches up. “-over an hour. 'M not helping him with fff-fuckall.”

Listening to him run his mouth all day is something you find amusing. The brunette constantly finding something to moan about, often bickering with Tim or Kate, seemingly unable to exist in silence.

“I told you to get it done yesterday, didn’t I?” you hear the man behind you scold as you shuffle your wings back upright and turn around.

“Fuck off, Tim”

He hands you the comb back and steps away from you, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and avoiding your eyes. His ears are red.

"Hey, watch your mouth before I throw your ass off this balcony."

As much as you would love to stay and watch these two bicker and try to beat each other up – as they so often do – you're getting rather cold out here and the rain is becoming harsher by the second. There's only so much the balcony roof can protect you from. They can fight in the car.

“We should go. Let’s not keep Kate and Brian waiting.”, you mutter, hopping down the railing and onto your dripping feet. You give your legs a few shakes each to brush the water off.

Your wings already feel much better. The day will be easy.

can u tell i've no idea on how to write an ending :3

this is my first time writing a fic ever so you aren't allowed to be mean to me btw

#what am i doing #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #tim wright #tim wright x reader #masky marble hornets #masky x reader #oneshot #fluff #x reader #cringe

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creature-wizard · 9 months ago

Text

A warning for trauma survivors looking for online support

You may have come across the acronym "RAMCOA", which stands for "ritual abuse, mind control, and organized abuse."

If you search the Internet for RAMCOA, you might come across a result like this:

If you click the link, you'll be taken to a site that briefly describes what RAMCOA supposedly is, with content like:

MC - Mind Control. A shortened form of TBMC, standing for Torture Based Mind Control. MC is also known as programming, where victims are repeatedly tortured starting at a very young age to intentionally cause a system of dissociated parts that function perfectly to suit the abusers' needs.

alpha : a base program, one of the very first implemented. it trains the victim's mind to accept every order given by handlers willingly. parts with alpha programming will often have no will of their own, and very little personality outside of following orders.

aiw : alice in wonderland. typically split into 3 different sections : black alice, white alice, and crazy alice. ideally, a system scripted with aiw would have all three. white alice makes sure the system forgets the trauma, black alice makes the system feel like theyll be a danger to others if they remember the trauma, and crazy alice makes the system think theyre making it up or going insane if they ever remember it.

Literally all of this comes from a conspiracy theory - specifically, the Project Monarch alter programming conspiracy. It was developed and pushed by far right conspiracy theorists. Most of what people run into specifically traces back to Fritz Springmeier, a man who claimed in the 90's that the fight for gay rights was part of a plot to enthrone the antichrist in the year 2000. The Project Monarch conspiracy theory was always adjacent to the Satanic Panic, if not a somewhat niche part of it. If you start checking citations, you will find many of these people citing Svali, a conspiracy theorist who gets a lot of her material from Springmeier. (Example 1, example 2.)

This is no accident. The term RAMCOA was created by the International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation (ISSTD), which was created by and for psychologists who believed in the myths promoted during the Satanic Panic.

The RA part comes from "satanic ritual abuse," which was coined by Dr. Lawrence Pazder of Michelle Remembers (cw for descriptions of horrible abuses) fame. Lawrence Pazder is the man who effectively started the Satanic Panic. It cannot be overstated that Pazder, now a known malpractitioner, was considered the expert on ritual abuse during this time.

The MC part comes from "trauma-based mind control," which was coined to refer to the alleged abuses inflicted in Project Monarch. Parts of this conspiracy theory that can't be traced back to Fritz Springmeier can usually be traced back to Cathy O'Brien and Mark Phillips, two other (really racist) conspiracy theorists.

Ultimately, the entire conspiracy theory is constructed from tropes that go back to The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion (a known antisemitic hoax), blood libel, and early modern witch panic.

Searching the Internet for RAMCOA resources, ritual abuse, or trauma-based mind control will always bring you to conspiracy theorists.

(Also, the term OEA, which stands for "organized extreme abuse," will lead you to conspiracy theorists as well.)

So yeah, if you're looking for support, be very wary of this stuff. It will absolutely not help you heal; just the opposite.

#trauma recovery #abuse recovery #ramcoa #isstd #oea #tbmc #trauma based mind control #alter programming #project monarch #conspiracy theory #conspiracy theories #conspiracism #conspiracy theorists #conspiracy theorist #satanic ritual abuse #ritual abuse #cult survivor

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madmarsii · 3 months ago

Text

Trust me

Whumpril 2025 | 6. Distrust

CW: panic attack, past torture

---

Whumpee was sitting on a bed, shaking. They were finally home. The hero base looked exactly the same—same metal walls, same buzzing overhead lights. But the faces… the faces were different. The warmth was gone. No smiles, no jokes, no tender touches. Just wary eyes, watching them like a wild beast ready to lash out.

Whumpee didn’t blame them. Not really. Whumper had a reputation of turning their victims into vicious weapons. Played with their minds until they no longer knew what was real or who they were loyal to. Planted angry thoughts inside their heads, always ready to kill. So no, Whumpee didn’t blame the Heroes for keeping their distance. What mattered was that they had escaped the Whumper.

Leader was leaning against their bedside table, arms crossed and eyes sharp. Whumpee sat there silent, trying to look small. Unthreatening.

“How did you get out? Whumper is—How did you escape him?”

Whumpee lifted their gaze. Their throat was dry. “They forgot to lock my cage.”

“So they forgot.”

Leader sounded… doubtful. Almost disappointed. Whumpee bowed their head. Bit the inside of their cheek. Their chest felt tight, like something invisible was trying to crush it, to squeeze the air out of their lungs. Still, they forced their lips to move—to continue. “They forgot to lock my cage. And I’d been there long enough to memorize the guards’ schedules. I slipped out in between shifts. Didn’t get caught.”

Leader stepped closer. Their expression softened for a moment, and then they wrapped their arms around Whumpee in a tight hug.

“I’m proud of you,” Leader whispered. “And I’m sorry. We tried—we really tried to find a way to rescue you. I’m sorry. Truly.”

Whumpee hesitated, then slowly returned the hug. They understood. The Whumper was powerful. Dangerous. Rescue was nearly impossible. The fact that they escaped was a miracle.

But it didn’t matter how it happened. The only important thing was that they were here. Back. Safe.

Leader pulled away. “I hope you understand,” they said gently, “that we have to contain you. Just for now.”

Whumpee froze. The words echoed in their skull.

Contain you.

Something splintered.

Their breath hitched. Then again. Shallow.

“No,” Whumpee whispered, barely audible. “Please, don’t—I can’t—”

“You don’t need to be scared.”

“No—You don’t understand. I—He didn’t do it to me. I am still me—I will not turn against you!”

That was the moment Heroes grabbed them. Whumpee wanted to fight, but their powers were still shaky. Still broken after Whumper played with them. It was easy for Heroes to move them to the cell. Whumpee was no match—they felt the room tilting. The lights too bright. The air too thin. Pressure clamped around their ribs, squeezing tighter and tighter until their lungs burned. They tried to push the heroes away.

“No—please—“

They were pushed inside of a tiny concrete room. Dark and cold, with nothing but a cheap prison bed.

They were home. They were home. So why was this happening to them?

Whumper was—He’s going to do it again. The Heroes are going to do it again.

“I can’t—please—I can’t go back—I didn’t do anything—” Their voice cracked, rising in pitch, breaking apart with every word.

They saw the shackles again. Needles. Chains biting into raw skin. Screams—their screams. Trapped. Alone.

Their breathing spiraled out of control—fast, panicked gasps that barely pulled in air. Their chest heaved. Fingernails dug into their scalp. They couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop the flood of memories crashing over them like a wave.

They dropped to their knees. Felt a hand on their shoulder. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe, alright? You’re not there anymore. We just need to make sure they didn’t hurt your mind.”

Hurt my mind?

They shattered it.

But not like that. Not like Whumpee would turn against the Heroes—

Whumper was right. Everyone wanted to hurt them.

No. No, no. Please, I can’t.

Sweat soaked through Whumpee’s shirt. Their hands were clenched into fists so tight their knuckles turned white. The walls were closing in, the floor melting beneath them, everything turning upside down.

They heard someone laugh.

“No! No! No!” They curled in tighter, rocking, nails leaving angry red crescents in their arms.

They were back. The door was locking. They were going to be hurt again.

No. Stop it.

Their eyes were wide and unfocused. They couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop shaking. Leader was saying something, but they didn’t hear. Didn’t listen.

They were being locked again.

They were fucking being locked again.

#whumpril2025 #whumprilday6 #distrust #whump #whump community #whump writing #my writing #heroes and villains #villain x hero #heroes #writing inspiration #writing prompts #I should have written this sooner than the day of the whump but hey

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skywalkerslvt · 11 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/skywalkerslvt/755200840017526784/rough-ride-so-rough?source=share

ok so… this but with anakin but reader doesn’t know this time (u don’t have to rewrite that part since we can just imagine Leon as anakin anyways unless you wanna change it up for his characterization. ANYWAYS this is the part where it gets into the cnc territory 😭) so later when everyone is sleeping, anakin goes to readers tent and sleeps with them and reader allows it and anakin tries to make her cockwarm him but ends up cumming instead. Reader wakes up and punishes him 🥰

a/n: tysm for the request! i had so much fun writing this u have no idea. ngl i was very sleep deprived while writing this so plot/spelling might be a bit iffy- i plan on editing this later. but in the meantime i hope u enjoy!! (btw i tried my best to stay on course with the request but lmk if i missed anything lol)

CW: 18+ smut, CNC, somnophilia, orgasm denial, cumming in pants, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, mommy kink, sub anakin, 1.9k words

Anakin paced outside of your tent, the cool night air doing little to soothe the burning heat inside of him. Your soft, even breaths could be heard from outside, signalling your slumber, though Anakin already knew you were asleep. He could feel the serenity through the force, such a stark contrast to the raging turmoil currently inside of him.

This was all your fault, really. It had started earlier, while the two of you were on a mission to infiltrate the Separatist communication relay and sabotage it. It was successful and went without too much trouble. However, the journey back to base was a different story.

The Republic Gunship they were using was overcrowded with troops and equipment, leaving little room for comfort. With no other choice, you ended up sitting on Anakin's lap, your back pressed against his chest as the vehicle jolted and swayed through the turbulent atmosphere.

At first, it was just awkward. But as the minutes passed and the vibration of the engines hummed through both of you, the close proximity started to affect Anakin in ways he hadn't anticipated.

His breathing became heavier, but you remained oblivious his growing arousal pressing against you.

You were oblivious to his discomfort, focused instead on the mission and the journey back. Anakin, however, was fighting a losing battle with his desires, trying to control his reactions as you shifted slightly in his lap, your movements unintentional but torturous.

By the time you reached base, Anakin had cum in his pants, and was on the verge of losing control. While the other troopers filed out of the ship, you lingered for a moment, completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Whispering something about getting to your tent to rest, you left Anakin to deal with the aftermath of his suppressed desire.

But before you could make it to your tent, you were dragged away by General Kenobi, who insisted on a debriefing. Anakin had been left aching and desperate, his mind swirling with thoughts of what had happened and what he wanted to happen.

To top things off, Anakin had attempted to make a move on you, asking if he could sleep in your tent that night. You, of course, had agreed, but fell asleep before Anakin could even attempt suggesting the activities he had in mind. The heat of the tent mixed with his arousal was stifling, so he stepped outside of the tent to gather himself.

Now, standing outside your tent, the memory of your innocent touches and unaware proximity played on a loop in his mind. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed you.

Taking a deep breath, Anakin steeled himself and quietly slipped inside the tent. The sight of you lying peacefully on your cot made his heart clench with longing. He approached slowly, his eyes fixed on you as if you might disappear.

He stealthily slid into the cot beside you, making sure not to rouse you from your sleep. You had chosen to sleep in only an oversized shirt that night, the heat in the tent too warm for anything else. Anakin’s cock twitched at the sight of your bare legs, and he knew he wouldn't last long. Good–that was good. The less time this took, the better chance he had at not waking you up.

He pressed himself against you, clothed cock brushing against your ass as he lightly trailed his fingers along your upper thigh and under the hem of your shirt. He bit down on his lip, suppressing his whimpers as he began lightly grinding against your ass, fingers trailing higher until they found your breasts, lightly tweaking your nipples until your body responded to his touch, your nipples pebbling under his fingers. It was enough to make him grind harder, needing to feel the rough friction against his leaking cock.

Anakin felt so dirty, rubbing off on you while you were asleep, completely oblivious to how needy he was for you. But he just couldn't help himself, not when you teased him every day, leaving him stiff and wanting. Not when the sight of you alone could make him stiffen in his boxers.

Anakin, still kneading your breasts, was panting against your neck. He wanted–no, needed–to cum so bad, and his current movements against your pliant, sleeping body weren't working. He needed more.

Slowing his hips, he reached a hand between your bodies, and pulled his pants down just far enough for his cock to spring free and slap against his stomach. He positioned his flushed, leaking tip between the top of your thighs, and slowly pushed in, nearly moaning at the feeling of the plush flesh of your thighs squeezing around his cock. He was like a dog in heat, desperately fucking your thighs just to feel something–anything.

His movements only faltered once, his hips stuttering and the grip on your breasts loosening as you shifted and mumbled sleepily, but once Anakin realized you were still fast asleep, he continued.

His cock was grinding against your cunt, the thin panties being the only barrier between him and what he so badly wanted, and as your body reacted to his touch, Anakin could feel your panties dampen with every thrust.

God–it wasn't enough. Anakin needed to feel you–feel the warm, wet walls of your cunt squeezing around his cock. So he reached down and slid your panties to the side, positioning his flushed head at your entrance and pushing in.

It felt so good–too good. He stilled inside of you, panting as he reveled in the all consuming pleasure your cunt gave him. But poor Anakin was too pussy-drunk to notice your shifting, the protrusion in your cunt rousing you from your sleep.

“Oh, Anakin. I knew you were a desperate slut, but I didn't think you were this desperate.”

Anakin froze at the sound of your voice, a deer caught in headlights. He flushed from head to toe, stammering out a bunch of incoherent excuses. Not saying a word, you slipped his cock out of your cunt and moved to straddle him, pinning his hips beneath your own.

“You've been a very, very bad boy, Anakin,” you scolded as you positioned his cock at your entrance once more. “Did I tell you today that you could fuck me?”

Anakin shook his head, unable to form words at the feeling of you sinking down on his cock once more. You left a harsh slap on his cheek, then grabbed his face, urging him to meet your eyes. “Use your words.”

Anakin's breath hitched as he struggled to speak, his voice barely a whisper.

"No, you didn't," he managed to say, his eyes wide and pleading.

"That's right," you said, your voice low and dangerous. "And yet here you are, playing innocent and asking to stay in my tent, then using my body for your pleasure. You must really be desperate."

Anakin whimpered as you began to move, slowly at first, grinding down on him in a way that made his head spin. "I'm sorry," he breathed, his hands gripping your hips in a futile attempt to control the pace.

"Sorry isn't good enough," you hissed, slapping his hands away. "You need to learn your place, Anakin. You're mine to use, not the other way around."

His eyes rolled back in his head as you picked up the pace, riding him with a relentless rhythm that had him teetering on the edge of sanity. "Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please, can't-"

"Oh, you can," you interrupted, your voice dripping with condescension. "You're going to take everything I give you, and you're going to thank me for it."

Anakin could only nod, tears of pleasure and frustration mingling in his eyes. He was completely at your mercy, and he loved it. The way you controlled him, used him, made him feel like he was nothing more than a toy for your pleasure-it was everything he craved.

"That's right," you purred, leaning down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss. "Good boy, Anakin. Now, let me hear you say it."

He choked on a sob as he thrust up into you, his voice trembling with need. "Thank you," he gasped. "Thank you, Mommy."

You smirked, pleased with his obedience. "You're welcome," you whispered, your movements becoming more frantic as you chased your own release. Just as he was on the brink of release again, you suddenly stopped moving, lifting yourself off him and leaving him desperate and throbbing.

Anakin's eyes flew open in shock, a pitiful whine escaping his lips. "No, please," he begged, his voice breaking. "I need to cum. Please, don't stop."

You smiled cruelly, enjoying his desperation. "You think you deserve to cum after sneaking into my tent and using me? I don't think so."

His hands gripped the sheets in frustration, his body trembling. "Please, I'm sorry," he pleaded. "I’ll do anything. Just let me finish."

You leaned in close, your breath hot against his ear. "You're going to have to earn it," you whispered. "And right now, you haven't earned anything."

Anakin's body ached with need, but he knew better than to disobey you. "Yes, Mommy," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want."

You sat back, smirking down at him. "That's better," you said. "Now, let's see if you can behave yourself."

You moved off him completely, leaving him lying there, desperate and aching. "Get on your knees," you commanded.

Anakin scrambled to obey, positioning himself at the edge of the cot. You sat on the cot in front of him, lifting your foot to rest on his thigh.

Slowly, you began to stroke his cock with your foot, the rough feeling of your skin against his making him shiver.

He moaned, his hips bucking involuntarily. "Please," he whispered. "Please, I need to cum."

You chuckled softly, continuing your teasing strokes. "You think you can just cum whenever you want?" you asked, your tone mocking. "You're going to have to beg for it."

Anakin's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he did as he was told. "Please, Mommy," he begged. "Please, let me cum. I'll be good, l promise."

You stopped your movements, making him whimper in frustration. "Good boys get rewards," you said, reaching down to grab his chin, forcing him to look up at you. "Bad boys get punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mommy," he whispered, his eyes filled with desperation. "I'll be good. Please, let me cum."

You released his chin, stepping back and allowing him to collapse onto the cot. "We'll see," you said, a wicked smile playing on your lips. "But for now, you're going to have to wait."

Anakin's body trembled with unfulfilled need, but he knew better than to disobey you. "Yes, Mommy," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'll wait. I'll be good."

You smirked, pleased with his obedience. "That's better," you said. "Now, let's see how long you can last."

As the night wore on, Anakin's desperation only grew, but he knew that he had to earn his release. And as he knelt there, waiting for your permission, he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. He was yours, completely and utterly, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to please you.

#anakin skywalker x reader #sub anakin #star wars x reader #sub anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x reader #star wars fanfiction #anakin smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfiction

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eiluned · 1 year ago

Text

Fic: Dangerous [BG3; Astarion/Tav, Explicit]

by eiluned

Read on AO3

Summary: It grows in his mind, the thought of coming inside her. What would it feel like to let go, to lose control in the sweet heat of her body?

Tags: Astarion/Tav, porn with feelings, mild CW for Astarion briefly thinking about his sexual trauma.

Notes: The continuing smutty adventures of Tavriel and Astarion. This one's set in act 1. Thanks to Amanda for the beta read!

If you're new to my stuff, Tavriel is my high elf bard, and I'm slowly writing up her romance with Astarion (and later, their romance with Halsin).

Comments encourage me to write faster. I'd love to hear what you think!

The first time he fucks Tavriel, he's shocked to find himself enjoying it.

He's fucked or been fucked by hundreds. Sex is rote, repetitive, something to tolerate, something he has to do so he won't have to be whipped or locked in a crypt or otherwise tortured. The physical pleasure is there sometimes, but it's usually not enough to overcome the distaste or revulsion or sheer boringness of it all.

But Tav is playful, teasing, seductive in a way he's not used to being on the receiving end of. And she's objectively attractive, with her beautiful face and striking green eyes and the soft curls of black hair streaked through with wine-purple, the surprising curves of her petite body and the fullness of her breasts. It's no real chore to sleep with her, to use sex to ingratiate himself with her, but he wasn't expecting to get swept up in the pleasure of it.

She rolls them over, spreading her legs so he can settle between them, and her moan as he drives his cock back into her makes pleasure twist up at the base of his spine. Her hips lift to meet his thrusts, and her hands slide up his chest, fingertips teasing his nipples. Her body is hot, and his own soaks up that warmth so that it feels a bit like standing in the sun when he presses himself against her fully.

With a smile that curls one side of her lush mouth, she lifts her chin, baring her neck in a blatant invitation. And how can he say no? She offers herself so sweetly, so fully, and he can't resist.

Her breath hitches in her throat when his fangs pierce her skin, and her cunt tightens around him as he draws blood from the little wounds into his mouth. Heat floods his body with the first taste of her, and oh, but she tastes different than the last time he drank from her, richer, more luscious. He knows she gets aroused when he bites her; he can hear her heartbeat change, smell it on the air, but he hadn't realized that he could taste it in her blood. It was sweet, the flavor of her desire, a smaller component of her taste before but now it overwhelms him, bursting on his tongue like honeyed wine.

She shudders, grinding against him with a cry as she suddenly comes, and just as suddenly, all the pleasure that had been coiling up inside him unwinds.

Gasping, he rises onto his knees, pulling out of her a split second before an orgasm rips through him. It's shocking how good it feels, especially when her warm hand wraps around his cock, stroking him as he spurts seed onto her belly and breasts.

He can't remember the last time he came so hard, the last time he let himself be overwhelmed like this. It feels dangerous, but it's too good for him to care in that moment.

"Couldn't get enough?"

Her voice is a purr, her clever hands unlacing his trousers, and she smirks at him when he arches into her touch.

He's supposed to be in control here, but his body responds to her without his brain's input. And that's dangerous, so he catches her wrists and puts them behind her back before kissing her hard.

He can't lose control again, not if he wants to keep the scales balanced in his favor.

But her body is warm and pliant, breasts molding to the shape of his hands, her cunt wet and hot. He fucks her on her hands and knees, working her clit with his fingers until she comes with a hoarse moan.

And he's there just as suddenly as the last time, pulling out and coming on her back.

It's dangerous, but it's so good that he doesn't want to stop. He wants more.

It grows in his mind, the thought of coming inside her. What would it feel like to let go, to lose control in the sweet heat of her body? To watch her walk back to camp and know his cum is soaking her underclothes?

He's never come inside anyone, not that he can remember. He never wanted to; it would have felt like he was giving too much of himself. It was his one way of maintaining his sense of self while out doing Cazador's bidding.

But he isn't doing that bastard's bidding now. He is fucking Tavriel because he wants to. Because it will ensure that she will have his back when the time comes. Because it feels good, even muddled up with all the pain and guilt that he can't seem to escape. Because he wants her.

And he wants to know how it feels to come inside of her.

The thought becomes an obsession, one that he only entertains in the privacy of his tent, his cock in his hand and his eyes clenched shut, thinking of nothing but her: the heat of her body, the softness of her skin, the scent of her hair. Her throaty gasps, the way she moans his name when she comes…

He remembers how it feels to sink into her cunt, how wet with desire she is, how wet she gets for him. The clenching, rippling feel of her climax, the way she clutches at his back or his arms or his ass as she writhes against him. He imagines how it would feel to drive his cock deep and let go, to spill inside the grasping, delicious heat of her body.

He bites back a gasp and comes, hips bucking, heels digging into his bedroll, his seed splattering in ropes onto his chest.

Emotions roil in his head, but he doesn't want to deal with them. He has a plan; he'll stick to it.

He wipes himself clean and stares at the ceiling of his tent.

—

She’s bent forward, hands gripping the cave wall, as he fucks her from behind. Her skin glows with a sheen of sweat in the lantern light, warm like sunlight in the depths of the Underdark, and he feels desire winding up tight in his body.

“Gods, yes,” she breathes, arching her back and thrusting against him. “Astarion…”

Her hand is working between her legs, and he can feel the tension building again in her body. He’s already made her come on his tongue–he tries to not think about how delicious she tastes when she loses control against his mouth–and it’s clear she wants to come on his cock, too.

And gods, but he wants to come with her, to come inside her, to fill her up while she shudders around him. This isn’t part of his plan, but to the hells with the plan. He’s so wrapped up in her body, in her, in her pleasure and his own, that he forgets himself.

Brushing her hand aside, he strokes her clit firmly, driving into her sweet cunt. “Fuck,” she gasps, pressing her back against his chest. “Yes…”

“I want to come inside you,” he groans against her ear, his hips snapping against her ass, one hand working her closer to her peak while his other arm snakes around her torso, grasping her breast.

She makes a soft sound, a little “oh” of surprise. Her cunt starts to flutter around him, and gods, he’s so close, too. “Please, Tav,” he moans, grinding her body between his cock and his fingertips. “Please let me come inside you, please, please–“

“Yes,” she gasps, her hands clutching at his forearms.

She cries out as pleasure overwhelms her, shuddering in his arms, and he follows her into oblivion, his own body wracked with ecstasy the likes of which he hasn’t felt in centuries. His cock jerks, spilling his seed as deep inside of her as he can possibly go. Her cunt squeezes him, milking him, their bodies spasming together until every last drop of pleasure is wrung from them.

They stay like that for a long moment, clutching and grasping at each other, until her legs start to shake with strain. She lets out a throaty little laugh as he pulls out, bracing herself against the rock as she catches her breath. “Fuck, Astarion,” she says breathlessly, giving him a sly grin over her shoulder. “That was incredible.”

He can see his cum starting to slide down the inside of her thighs, and it sends a jolt of desire through his already-sated body. And a strange feeling, too, one that’s unfamiliar but nearly overwhelming. Possessiveness?

He’s startled by the intensity of it, the way seeing his seed between her legs makes him want to yank her into his arms and never let her go, to take her over and over and listen to her cry out his name.

"You know," she says, turning to him, sweat gleaming on her naked body, "I like it when you say please."

"Oh gods," he groans with a roll of his eyes, embarrassed, but he can't turn away because she's sliding her hands up his chest, pressing her lips to his.

He sighs into her kiss, soaking in the warmth of her body as she insinuates herself into his arms. "You beg very nicely," she murmurs, a smirk curling her lips.

"If you ever tell anyone about that, I will knife you in your sleep," he murmurs back, taking two handfuls of her ass and pulling her against his swiftly reawakening erection, drowning in her kiss and her body and her teasing affection.

This is dangerous; he knows it, but somehow the sound of her laughter and the feel of her body are so good that he just doesn't care.

#fanfic by eiluned #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion fanfic #tavstarion #astarion x tav #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #tav x astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion x female tav

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exquisink · 10 months ago

Text

Fated Divergence Ch.4 // Yandere! Suguru Geto X Non-Sorcerer Darling

AO3 (+previous chapter)

CW // coerced oral scene (fem receiving), death, kidnapping (time for "The Cage" :3)

Word Count: 7.2K

Activity quieted down for a while, and Satoru paused mid-text, his thumb hovering over the send button to his text thread with you. The exhaustion in your voice from his last call ought to be indication enough that he should leave you alone. He slammed the backspace button, choosing to let you breathe as you adjusted to the weight of your world and the current position Suguru Geto placed you in; he needn’t complicate things further. Satoru remembered the determined look on your face when he met you at the clinic, how the way you handled your patients differed so greatly from the victims of cursed spirits he exorcised on the daily. He knew you worked in a place of science and certainty, a world built on concrete evidence and fact; something which the world of jujutsu sorcery possessed little value.

As Satoru ambled down the bustling streets of the district of Shibuya, he envied the oblivious faces of the public. To humans, curses were myths, Japanese folklore and nothing beyond that. Silly stories to scare children over campfires. But for someone like him, curses were a very real thing.

Satoru found himself bouncing back, lingering over your words, your honesty. In his world where gratitude was practically a luxury he didn’t know, your understanding felt like a breath of fresh air. He still scanned over the already long text thread, treating each message you sent him like little priceless trinkets he kept to himself, that he’d protect with his life and his heart. While you might have long forgotten about these interactions, he revisited them often; your messages to him felt like a warm embrace from a lover on his lonelier nights.

Which, for someone like him, he pondered further as he flash backed to the long-gone days of his youth, where Suguru’s concern had once been a constant presence in his life, now disappeared? Lonely nights were a common occurrence.

With the students dispatched on missions far from Japan, Satoru’s thoughts kept circling back to you in his free time. Something about you just didn’t quite add up, like a mis-solved derivative…Suguru’s desire for you only added to the confusion. Did anything ever make sense in the world of jujutsu, and in Geto’s mind? Satoru smirked at the absurdity of the thought; why entertain it at all? Seeking answers in Suguru’s lack of logic was like defying gravity. Nothing about Suguru’s interest in you made sense based on prior and current knowledge of his ‘true’ feelings toward humanity.

Nothing beyond, perhaps, personal interest which may have little to do with Suguru’s ‘grand plan,’ which was subpar, at best. And the curse user was likely aware of such odds being against him.

There had to be a point to what Suguru ever did, at any time. Satoru just didn’t figure that out yet.

The sky blushed with soft, glowing hues of orange and pink, and a soft breeze rushed through Satoru’s hair, grounding him in the present moment in spite of the onslaught of tumultuous, torturous thoughts storming just beneath the surface. It reminded him that he was safe, that he was okay.

For the moment, at least.

He wished it was someone holding him and comforting instead of relying on nature.

His thoughts drifted to the idea of you doing that for him, and he squashed the notion the moment it manifested in his mind. Satoru’s hand twitched toward his phone which he had already stashed in his back pocket, having half a mind to text you again like a desperate teenaged boy trying to court his first girlfriend. But he relented, challenging his self control. He wished to protect you, not to pursue you.

He focused on the walk, intent on seeking clarity and not more confusion and conflict, inhaling the fresh air, observing the people walking past him and the array of colors dusted across the evening sky.

Satoru exhaled, slow and steady, quelling the raging storm in his mind. His line of duty demanded mental sharpness, mental acuity, to focus on the real threats ahead, and not just on the possibilities.

He paused for a moment, his electrifying sky blue gaze sweeping over the bustling streets, swarmed with the enviable, ordinary lives unfolding around him.

But his mind kept pulling back to you. The way you remained dutiful, stern, unyielding. The way you carried yourself with an air of unwavering confidence. The way you seemed genuine with him, from the few interactions he had with you. He already loved the way you laughed, that little, innocent giggle, like you were still an innocent girl who hadn’t been torn apart by the world’s atrocities.

Satoru clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened, a flash of irritation across his eyes at the way he kept thinking about you when he should be focused on other matters. More important, pressing matters. You were already in danger just being in Suguru’s radar. The last thing you needed in your life was him complicated things further with these feelings for you that just kept festering the longer he fought them.

Satoru straightened himself, brushing off his intrusive thoughts. He often prided himself on his self-control, on being above such distractions which were only a privilege for the youth.

Or so he convinced himself…

Satoru strolled down the block, hands stuffed in his pockets, easily sidestepping passersby while pondering his choices. Not realizing he drifted so deep in his thoughts, he brushed past the face of the man he hoped not to see any time soon.

But then again, Satoru thought upon further reflection as he met Suguru’s piercing violet gaze, his senses even picking up on that natural musk of his, maybe he needed to confront him right then and there.

“Satoru! Long time no see! What a pleasant surprise,” Suguru greeted, with Nanako and Mimiko in tow. “I just had to take these two to the hospital. Those girls love their sweets so much that they got food poisoning.”

“Geto!” Nanako pouted at being called out like that! Suguru patted her head, and she eyed him beadily.

Satoru didn’t seem all that interested in their antics, more just on Suguru, and what the hell was happening? What the hell did he want?

“Do you not have proper medics in that fancy temple of yours, Suguru? Not even a sorcerer with Reverse Cursed Technique?” Satoru inquired in a suspicious tone, without turning to look at him. “With how averse you are to non-sorcerers, I didn’t think you’d even bother going to human-ran hospitals even if your girls were on the brink of death.”

“Ah, I suppose all of these monkeys serve their purposes one way or another,” Suguru replied with a dismissive wave over his shoulder, before examining his nails. “Especially that one nurse—oh, yes, the one you’ve met as well! The girls seem to like her very much. Isn’t that right?”

“Is she going to come visit us?” Mimiko asked, who, in spite of her monotone voice, still seemed excited at the prospect of Geto having someone around, and someone she could bond with—another womanly figure around her and Nanako would be a strong positive influence on them both.

“We’ll make arrangements for her visit,” Suguru assured her with his classic, charming smile, that smile which beneath it hid nothing but malice and disdain for the rest of your kind—yet another unusual twist of events Satoru couldn’t solve just yet. “She cannot refuse the offer.”

“What are you planning with her?” Satoru demanded a straight answer—one he knew better than to expect from Suguru. “She’s not a sorcerer.”

Suguru’s lips curled into a sneer, his violet eyes narrowing into slits as he locked onto Satoru—a warning flashing in that gaze.

“It’s none of your concern, Satoru. Mustn’t you give it a rest?”

Satoru frowned, loosening his blindfold to reveal his brilliantly sky blue eyes, rivaling nature’s blue sky itself.

Deciding now than never, he confronted the curse user.

“So you sensed it with her, too, huh?” he queried, perceptive as ever.

Suguru’s jaw dropped, his face darkening, but he should have known. Of course Satoru would know why he became so intrigued by her aura, her essence, the power lying dormant within her. Why did he expect anything different? He was Satoru Gojo.

“Yes, I did. Something about her…a power I cannot even begin to explain or to quantify…” Suguru mused as he tapped his chin in thought. Even Nanako and Mimiko peered up at Geto with curiosity shimmering in their eyes before they exchanged a glance with each other. “Not even your Six Eyes can determine what that power is?”

Gojo inhaled sharply, biting back a smart retort, because that wasn’t going to solve anything in that moment.

“She doesn’t have anything that points to her potentially being a sorcerer,” Satoru responded as his eyes studied Suguru. “It still doesn’t explain why you’re so keen on spiriting her away.”

“That’s for me to know,” he quipped as he adjusted his robe. “Well, I would love to stay and chat, but these girls are eager to return home after an unprecedented hospital stay. You understand?”

Suguru was just about to brush past the man with Six Eyes, and then—

“—One more thing,” Satoru began as he rested a hand on his shoulder, stopping Suguru from retreating too quickly. “Did you latch those curses onto her?”

Suguru grinned until his face cracked, his eyes gleaming with a dark, unspoken vow.

“I did,” he purred, making Satoru’s hairs stand on end, huddling the twins close to him. “As long as it brings her closer to me.”

Shaking his head, Satoru sighed, the implications of Suguru’s words gnawing at his gut.

“I can’t believe you.”

“It won’t happen again!” Suguru lied right through his teeth while placing a hand over his heart for theatrics’ sake.

Perhaps he hosted far too many of those faux sermons on live television…

“It’s not too late to just walk away from this now,” Satoru suggested with a shrug. “She doesn’t seem to hold much regard for you.”

Suguru shot another glare, but refrained from commenting.

Smart, Satoru mused to himself, tightening his blindfold once again. He only smirked at Suguru, who scoffed back.

Satoru, as undeterred as ever, adjusted his composure, preparing to leave, not before giving Suguru a final once over.

He gestured to the Buddhist monk fit.

“You seriously go around in that as a disguise?”

“Of course,” he replied as he ushered the girls to follow him. “I must sell the persona to these monkeys somehow, and they love over-the-top spectacles.”

As they walked away, Nanako climbed up on Geto, murmuring, “Do you think she likes playing Mario Kart or watching Lord of the Rings?”

“Perhaps,” Satoru heard Geto respond before their voices faded with the crowd. “You can find out soon, my love.”

Shaking his head, he continued his solo stroll, just as the horizon swallowed the last sliver of sunlight, leaving behind a myriad of stars across deep indigo hues. He needed a drink, something to dull that growing sense of unease which threatened to consume him.

-- -- -- -- --

Meanwhile, across town, you and Mei found yourselves at your usual spot, the pub that had become your haven for venting and unwinding after grueling shifts. You two poured your guts out to each other over cheap sushi and drinks, as per tradition since your college days together. Mei droned on and on about how she loathed the dating scene and how she couldn’t seem to get past the talking stage anymore with men, and you pointed out how that was the last thing on your mind with how stressful work could be. You both found common ground in that men were the least of your concerns, but that didn’t stop Mei from inquiring constantly about the two new men who entered your life, particularly Gojo.

“So, what’s the story with blindfold guy?” Mei inquired as she chewed on salmon sashimi.

Shockingly this restaurant remained open at such an ungodly hour, and you loved coming here after trying shifts. And after these past weeks…

Ugh. You wanted to drown it all out and forget about it, think ahead and about the future. You always did that and it always helped, especially when you believed you were about to go so far off the deep end…the stress life brought could be so meaningless, at times.

“He’s nice,” you replied, idly sipping on your martini. “Sorry I can’t give much else about the guy. I don’t know much about him except his weird sleep schedule.”

“We’re no strangers to that,” Mei snickered as she brought her glass to her lips. You also snorted.

“No kidding.” Your eyes twinkled upon recognizing a figure over Mei’s shoulder. “Well speak of the damn devil…”

Mei tilted her head, quirking an eyebrow at your statement. “Is blindfold guy here?”

You pointed somewhere above her shoulder.

“Yeah, by the bar. Turn around, but don’t be obvious!”

Leave it to Mei to be discreet! Mei had always been a real one!

Her eyebrows flashed as she got a good eyeful of Satoru. Yes, even you conceded to the fact that Satoru was objectively a handsome man, and this was the first time you saw him with his blindfold off. He, like anyone else, probably just wanted to forget about this week’s trials and tribulations.

You heard Mei sigh dreamily and you couldn’t help but chuckle. Still, you agreed with Mei. Those were the deepest, electrifyingly blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life.

She whistled to herself as she continued to ogle him. “That is one fine piece of ass and you’re saying you don’t want that in your bed?”

“I’m not thinking about that right now, Mei!” you whispered in a harsher tone than intended. You calmed yourself down as you continued. “Besides, I seem to be more of a charity case for him right now.”

Mei seemed confused at that bit for a moment, before the realization dawned on her.

“Is it that whole thing with Geto? I didn’t even know those twin girls were his,” she remarked, “I was just as shocked as you were.”

You shrugged, stabbing your fork into some steak. “It wasn’t like they took his last name. And you weren’t on shift when they were admitted, right? That’s not your fault.”

Mei gave you a blank stare, pausing before continuing.

“That’s the weird thing, actually,” she pointed out as she tried to recall the details of this week. “I didn’t see their names in the roster unless the person before me forgot.”

You blinked, dumbfounded by that new bit of information. You then remembered how Asuka died tragically just before the girls were admitted, and you couldn’t help but think the worst…but instead of entertaining that thought, you put it behind you, thinking that would be something to address to Gojo once he sobered himself up.

“That’s really weird,” you stated, that same churning feeling in your stomach bouncing back. You tried to ignore it—you wanted to enjoy a nice dinner with your friend, one of the few luxuries you could afford in this lifetime.

She nodded, sipping most of her drink until it was nearly empty and setting it back on the coster. “No kiddin’.” She saw something in the corners of her eyes and her eyes twinkled in that classic mischievous, Mei way. “Hey, someone’s on his way to chat it up with your sexy ass.”

“Mei,” you groaned as you felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the mere thought. Why you were behaving like a young schoolgirl all of a sudden, you hadn’t the slightest idea, yet here you were! Completely blindsided by the fact that someone like Satoru Gojo wanted to know you at all…

“Fancy seeing you here this time of night,” Gojo greeted with a smug grin, flashing his eyebrows at you. Before you responded, he gestured to Mei, extending his hand toward her. “Who’s this?”

“Hi! Mei Sato,” she introduced herself, returning his offer for a handshake. “We work together but I just work at the front desk.”

“Hey, no need to sell yourself short here. It’s a pleasure, Sato. I’m Satoru Gojo.”

Gojo leaned closer to you, and you could smell a faint hint of alcohol, perhaps he seemed like a whiskey kind of guy judging by how pungent the scent off of his breath was…? You tried not to seem to put off (not like you weren’t drinking tonight either, likely not as much as he was though), but nobody ever truly liked the smell of alcohol, did they?

“Geto hasn’t given you much trouble since we last spoke, yeah?” he asked, tone laced in curiosity and slightly slurred, indicating he might’ve had a bit too much tonight for his own good. You tried to ignore that part, focusing on the conversation rather than his drunken state.

You shook your head, offering a small smile as if to reassure him. “I haven’t heard from him since he took his girls home.”

You froze as Gojo patted your head, his touch tender and affectionate and completely out of left field for you. From the corner of your eye, Mei shot you a knowing look with a grin of her own, making a sucking-off motion with her hand and mouth and you wanted to tell her off right then and there!

“Good,” Gojo replied, keeping his hand on the crown of your head for longer than necessary. “He really is bad news and has a few screws loose. Take it from someone who knew him well.”

You exchanged a glance with Mei, whose jaw dropped at that plot twist. That was…a revelation if you ever had one.

“Stay out of trouble, ‘kay?” he saluted you before twisting on his heel. Not before bidding farewell to Mei out of decency, but he didn’t seem that interested in her more than you.

Mei covered her mouth from his view and mouthed, “How drunk is that guy?”

“Might be a lightweight,” you mouthed back.

“Shoko!” You both jumped as you heard Gojo yell giddily at a friend, perhaps. A very beautiful red-haired woman who seemed too absorbed in her own world to care about Gojo. “Just the girl I wanted to see! What a sight for sore eyes!”

“How many have you had already, Gojo?” ‘Shoko’ seemed beyond fed up with Gojo’s antics, in the middle of lighting a cigarette. “I thought you swore off alcohol.”

You and Mei giggled at the exchange.

“Alright, I’m stuffed. We should head home. You going to be alright?” Mei asked.

You smiled. “Of course. I’m happy having friends like you.”

“Hey, we’re sisters forever and don’t you forget it,” Mei replied with a smile. Before she could pay the check, you swiped it from her and gave the waitress who came by your credit card instead. She gawked, glaring, and you stuck your tongue out playfully.

“Can’t let you spoil me all the time,” you teased with a wink. “Seriously, thank you, Mei. I don’t know where I’d be if I didn’t have a friend like you to keep me in line.”

Mei smiled, clearly taken aback by the sincerity of your tone. “Always, girl. You do the same for me. You’re practically my rock, you know.”

“GOJO! GET YOUR GRUBBY GROSS HANDS AWAY FROM ME!” You both heard a woman shriek and you guys both glanced in his direction. Now he seemed to be bugging a woman with long black hair.

“Utahime~! You’re so easy to rile up,” he laughed as he towered over the girl, “You gonna cry again you wittle baby?”

“NO! AND I AM OLDER THAN YOU DAMMIT! You’re such a piece of shit!”

The two looked like they were going to face off.

“Oh God,” Shoko sighed, burying her head in her hand.

“You’re not going to win a husband with that attitude,” Gojo teased with a wag of his finger.

You shook your head. “Gojo’s still a man, I guess.”

“Yep,” Mei conceded as she watched the scene unfold with you. “Shall we be off?”

When you paused in front of your apartment door, you froze upon seeing a box addressed to you.

‘Sweets for my sweet little lamb.

-Suguru Geto’

You snapped a photo of this and sent it to Gojo, who, might not be able to have a proper response until after he treated that killer hangover he would definitely have tomorrow morning.

True to your nature, your inclination to be curious got the better of you and you decided to open the box, only to find more, smaller boxes. Each came with a slip of paper taped to the back explaining its contents. Sweets from different corners of the world, Suguru claimed in the first main slip of paper, and some remark about how humans scrambled for sweets the same way monkeys scrambled for their bananas, which had you raise an eyebrow. You opened some other boxes, which contained expensive jewelry. You weren’t an expert, but given Geto’s status, these were certainly real jewels, diamonds, pearls, gold…and you were pondering selling them to the nearest pawn shop for quick money.

The box on the bottom caught your eye, especially with what the note attached to it stated.

‘I met with one of your patients…the night the twins got admitted.’

At that moment, your blood ran cold as the worst of your thoughts swam like schools of krill away from a whale in your mind. Asuka…Asuka, that poor defenseless girl, he didn’t mean her, did he? Did he have something to do with her dying so suddenly? With trembling hands, you pried open the lid of the thinner black box, to find—

--you shrieked, face gone as blank as a canvas; your worst nightmare realized. This man held little regard for the lives of others.

The blood-soaked teddy-bear Asuka cradled her entire stay. The one you bought for her as a token of comfort. You remembered the way Asuka’s tiny hands clutched this very pink teddy bear during those endless chemo sessions, her pale, tired face lightening up only when you waltzed in to treat her an comfort her or to tell her the latest gossip of her favorite Korean Pop band to distract her from the pain.

While nothing about this particular teddy bear stood out, you just picked it up from the souvenir shop attached to the hospital; the only thing remarkable about it was that you made sure it was pink, Asuka’s favorite color…now it was completely stained red in her blood.

Another note had been attached in a ribbon, also stained with her blood. Your trembling hands held it, as you tried to make out what it said.

‘Do consider a stay in the temple if you wish no more harm to come to your patients…or your colleagues.’

That sick son of a bitch!

She didn’t deserve that!

She was an innocent, young girl! She barely got to live a life!

Only caught in the crossfire between you and a madman.

You tried to quell your tears, as a presence approached you. Sniffling, you glanced up to meet the electric blue eyes of Satoru Gojo.

“You sober up quick,” you observed, attempting to wipe away the now dried blood on your hands on your clothes, which had you wince.

Gojo’s typical smug expression faded as he gazed upon you with those sky blue eyes, at your tear-stained face, his lips pursed.

“I came here as soon as I got your text.”

“How did you know where I—?” You paused, reconsidering that question. “Don’t answer that, actually.”

“I’m so sorry,” he began, his tone remorseful. “I told you—he’s dangerous, completely out of his mind. I should tell you that he has committed countless heinous acts like this. I won’t get into detail just yet. Once he decides to go after something, he won’t stop, especially if his conviction in his cause is strong.”

The blood drained from your face, your breath hitching as the gravity of Suguru’s actions overwhelmed you like a tidal wave, a heavy weight on your shoulders like you were suddenly responsible for all of this. All of this needless suffering. Even though just weeks ago you never gave a damn about who Suguru Geto was, and he didn’t even give a damn about who you were, either.

This defenseless, frail little girl he killed, to him she was just another casualty in his hands and was nothing more than a means to an end, which sickened you to your core. Your stomach twisted as bile threatened to rise in your throat, as a memory flashed of Asuka thanking you for your service.

How could someone be this cruel; how could someone hold such little regard for someone like Asuka? Another image of Asuka’s strained smile flashed in your head, her pigtails bouncing as she laughed at some joke you cracked that only a child would find funny.

“She was just a child, Gojo!” you shouted, vision bleary through your endless streams of tears. “Just a child! How could he do something like this?”

Gojo’s face went bleak, his own frustration for his former friend apparent. “I can’t tell you for sure. I want to give you an answer that makes sense. Believe me, I do. There’s no logic to his madness anymore. There never has been. He’s beyond reason, and that’s what makes him so dangerous.”

“Burn this.” You gestured to the box full of sweets and jewelry and the blood-stained teddy-bear, kicking at the box. “Burn it! Why are you still looking at me like that!? BURN IT!”

“Hey, hey, come on…” Gojo tried to comfort you, pulling you into an embrace (if you’d allow it), shushing you and attempting to help quell your sobbing. He admired how soft you felt in his arms, but tried to ignore those feelings, focusing on you instead, on your wellbeing. He came secondary here. Your safety was the number one priority for him. “Let me help you inside. Don’t worry about that. I’ll dispose of it. What do you want me to do with the teddy bear?”

“Dispose of it too,” you replied through uncontrollable sniffles, hastily wiping the continuous tears. “I can’t let her parents find that.”

You allowed him into your apartment, which had been the first time you let a man into your place since…well, college, actually.

Gojo hummed, eyes scanning the cozy apartment—even if it did look like it was in desperate need of a remodel. Small but filled with personality, just like you. You barely noticed his words. Your hands still trembled, your eyes kept darting between the door and the windows, half-expecting Suguru to show up.

“Quaint,” he remarked, eyeing the walls aligned in bookshelves filled to the brim with a variety of medicinal textbooks, and books and various studies written by medical professionals. There had even been some novels here and there, mostly focused on science fiction and fantasy. Gojo’s eyes flitted over the rows of books, pausing at the familiar figures of heroes and villains from comic books and fantasy worlds. A small smile tugged at his lips as he spotted an Aragorn figure next to a Batman one.

“Big reader?” he asked in a gentle tone, taking note of the way your shoulders still tensed up, and how distant your eyes were.

You managed a curt nod, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper, worn from the crying.

“Kind of have to be,” you answered, as your eyes landed on the sea of books. “But yeah, it’s one of the few things that keep me sane.”

As your sobs subsided into quieter sniffles, you saw Gojo’s tension easing slightly. You offered him a reassuring smile, however strained. You sauntered off to clean yourself off with a shower, and he made himself at home far too quickly for your tastes as he sprawled himself out on your only velvet green couch.

When you came back in more casual attire, you perked an eyebrow.

“So, who were those girls you were talking to at the pub?”

“Colleagues,” he replied as he glanced up at you, taking in the sight of you in your pajamas but deciding to spare you any comments given what just happened. “I’ve known them since high school.”

“Oh. Cool,” you said, fidgeting in your spot. “Where’d you go to high school?”

“The place I teach at now,” he replied. “It’s some Buddhist school.”

“Oh, so you teach?” you hummed in understanding. “That explains the uniform you usually wear.”

“Ah, yeah, they’re pretty particular about that stuff, even if I am a Sensei,” he said with a wave. “But that’s all boring work stuff. No one likes to hear me yap about it. My students are out on mission trips, and they won’t be back for another month or so probably since they’re out of Japan.”

“Mission trips?” you asked out of curiosity, joining him on your couch. “Oh, uh, how rude of me. Do you want some tea or something?”

“Nah, I’m okay. Thanks for offering,” he assured you with a smile. “And yeah. You know, going around, talking to people about Buddhism and stuff. Preaching. Volunteer work. All that hunk of shit…”

You scrunched your eyebrows. Something about this didn’t add up, but you decided not to pry too much. You figured Gojo would reveal key information in due time.

“So…did Geto attend this school of yours too?”

“Ah, you’re an intelligent one. I can see why you’re a nurse,” he chuckled as he adjusted his posture. “Yes, he did. He was in the same year as me. But he got expelled, when all that stuff went down.”

You weren’t sure how delicately you should approach the topic, but how else were you going to know unless you asked? Or at least…tried to gain some kind of understanding? Maybe it was the training and education instilled in you, but you wanted to get all of the pieces of the puzzle yourself.

“Why did he…become this way?”

Gojo met your eyes, and you bit back a gasp at how intense his eyes could be up close.

“I wish I knew.”

For a brief moment the pain he often masked flashed in his eyes, and you were taken aback, your breath hitching. Had he been closer to Geto once before than he let on…?

“It would be selfish of me to keep you here,” you said after a period of silence.

He took your hand in his. “Will you be alright?”

“Not now,” you admitted, but you managed a smile, even if you must have looked rough with your blood shot eyes from all of that crying. “But I will be. I always am.”

“Atta girl,” Gojo encouraged with a grin. You bade him farewell, not before offering him a little token of appreciation (just lent him a book), and he disposed of the ‘gifts’ Suguru sent to you for your sake.

You had never been more grateful for a man in your life until you met Satoru Gojo.

-- -- -- -- --

Another restless night. Tossing, turning, those numerous eyes back and fixated on you. Cold sweats. The wind knocked out of your body every time you shot back awake, alone in what should be the comforting darkness of your room but you wished someone could hold you and tell you everything was alright, that you were safe, that nothing would get you. For as long as you could remember, the only shoulder you had to lean on had been your own. Now you had Mei. Now you had Gojo, but you didn’t wish to push them more. You learned your own self-soothing methods for your own reasons.

Throughout the next weeks, you couldn’t ignore more signs of meddling. Mei pulled you aside and told you she needed to go on leave, complaining about how since that night at the restaurant, she hadn’t been able to hold down any food. She needed to be taken to proper care to manage these symptoms she couldn’t understand herself. She promised you she’d keep you updated. Some of your patients disappeared. Some stopped calling, checking in on loved ones admitted.

Colleagues began to act strangely around you, inquiring of your well being, inquiring whether you should go on leave yourself.

Wherever you went, it felt like someone followed you. You didn’t have a moment of reprieve from the torment. Even when you tossed your head over your shoulder and saw nothing, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. You had nothing to protect you at the moment. Not too long ago, Gojo told you of some emergency going on at work, and that he had to accompany his students who were still away on those mission trips. He wasn’t going to be back for a while, so you had to fend for yourself for the time being.

Each night, more nightmares plagued you. More hands all over your body. More cold sweats.

More exhaustion.

You found it harder and harder to fight it off and the only person to lean on was yourself.

-- -- -- -- --

Expectedly, your situation didn’t improve for you at all.

Each passing day, every near freak accident you deftly avoided frayed at the edges, and your swore you would lose your mind at any given moment. You’d just stand idly at a cross walk, and a car would nearly zoom over your foot. While you organized your home, objects would fly across the room and shatter. You felt like everything began to fall around you—every shadow you came across now a threat, every creak of the floorboards of your apartment a vow that Suguru was watching you, closely, with that diabolical glint in his eyes. Not even sleep could grant you any true reprieve; still plagued with nightmares, still plagued with cold sweats and sensations of hands roaming all over your body. The comfort of your bed and your solitude couldn’t save you. Every time you tried to sleep, you saw the malicious flash of his smile, his mocking cackle.

And even that churning feeling in your stomach returned, suddenly unable to hold any food you consumed. Frequent visits to the toilet each night worsened your already mucked up sleep schedule.

After you deftly dodged another near death experience, you sprinted down your street toward your apartment. You didn’t focus on the things in front of you, which led you to crash into the last man you ever wanted to see at a time like this.

“Why are you in such a rush, my dear?” Suguru cooed as he helped you back on your feet, refusing to let you go, though. He tightened his grip on you, and you stared up at him with a defiant glint in your eyes.

“I just want to get home,” you retorted. “Please. I don’t want any trouble, Suguru.”

“There will be no trouble at all, my love, although,” he trailed off, eyes flitting to the things around you, and your hairs stood on end as that cold, prickly feeling came on again. “It seems there are more of thees damned spirits I must exorcise from you. A stream of bad luck, lately?”

Your face hardened, gawking at him like he’d sprouted five new heads. “How do you know about these things?”

“It’s what I do,” he replied, tone even. “Perhaps you found unexplained cold spots in your home. Objects flying across the room. Your things knocking over. Occasionally you feel like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. And some nights, you dream you’re being assaulted.”

“But…!”

“And let me guess, you’ve also had symptoms that are akin to food poisoning. Unable to hold your food down. Like that friend of yours. That blonde receptionist.”

Where was Gojo when you needed him the most?

He cupped your face, gazing down at you with a malicious glint in his eyes.

“I can make it disappear, my love. All of it. But you must cooperate with me. If you are having those dreams, you must allow me to exorcise it…in a way I know I don’t have to explain to you. Some of these spirits aren’t so easy to absorb, you see.”

Did you really have any options at the moment? How much longer could you wait for Gojo to return before you died from another freak accident?

Lips pursued, you nodded. You led him to your apartment, and you allowed him to rest you on your bed.

“I do wish there was another way to exorcise these stronger spirits,” Geto said in a remorseful tone. “Thank you for trusting me.”

But you didn’t. Never in a million years would you ever willingly trust Geto, or believe in these spiritual whoo whoo stuff, but if he could help you, like he did before…shouldn’t you just accept the help when Gojo wasn’t here to do that?

A low wisp of your skirt and underwear flying across the room caught your attention, and you dared to look down as he spread your legs, bony fingers cold against your bare, supple skin.

“Trust me, my love, I’ll make this worth it.”

He pressed his fingers between your folds, and you choked on a gasp. He hummed in approval, inspecting the slick already building up.

“My, my, this is a concern,” he purred, “Allow me to make it all disappear.”

He lowered his mouth to you, closing over that sensitive nub filled with nerves, and your fingers dug into your sheets. You tried not to enjoy it, but he was being kind, focused on your relief, not just from these ‘spirits’ he claimed to have haunted you.

Each orgasm he coaxed out of you mounted to such a degree you never thought possible. He drew little patterns with the tip of his tongue between your soaked, sopping folds.

He managed three. Three orgasms. Each more mind-blowing than the last.

Finally, he pulled away, licking off his fingers drenched in your slick and letting out a lewd groan.

“Absolutely divine,” he praised, “Luckily these spirits don’t need the full meal to be exorcised. You’re welcome, my dear.”

“Do let me know if you sleep easier tonight,” he finished with a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll help you clean up.”

-- -- -- -- --

Geto: sleeping better, my dear?

You stared at the screen through blood shot eyes. 3:33AM. Not at all since you opened those gifts he sent you, or that night when he stole you away, but he likely had a fair idea already. Ignoring the rage boiling in your blood, you typed up a response; you knew you couldn’t make him angry or test his patience.

You couldn’t let him snap—not again. No more blood on your, or his hands.

You: no.

Geto: really? Perhaps I might need to pay you another visit, exorcise those demons from you once and for all.

You: I’d rather you didn’t, that night was a mistake.

Geto: my dear…please. Never say that. While I wish our first time was under different circumstances, I quite enjoyed myself.

You: you’re a sick bastard

Geto: darling, you look absolutely repulsive when you’re sad. Fix yourself up before I come get you.

Your eyes flitted to the window, only to see no one there.

You: you piece of shit…

Suddenly, before you could think, everything faded to black.

When you woke up again, you didn’t meet your own ceiling. You weren’t in your room. The ceilings were much higher, and upon further inspection, you noticed that the room was devoid of any true personality, and only contained the cushion which you rested upon. You realized your head pounded incessantly, and you clutched it, groaning as you struggled to remember what happened.

“Welcome home, my love.” Chills danced up your spine at the sound of a voice you hoped not to hear for a while. As you adjusted, you realized your legs were chained to the wall across from you, and you shot a glare at the man standing at the door.

“Scream all you like,” he laughed as his lips stretched into a sadistic grin, matching his equally manic features. “No one will hear you, and no one will help you. Satoru certainly won’t any time soon.”

You didn’t scream. You wanted to, but you bit into your cheek so hard you drew blood, feeling some of that metallic tang rush onto your tongue. You refused to give him that satisfaction.

“What do you want?” you spat, but in spite of the strength in your tone, your lower lip quivered and you hated yourself.

“My motives are simple, darling,” he replied as he approached you, and you wished you had the power to crawl away but the chains to your legs prevented such autonomy. “You. You are what I want. I’ve never seen such an anomaly like you amongst filthy humans—someone who radiated purity. I wish to harness that purity, to shield you from the horrors of the world, inflicted by species as invasive as those worthless monkeys.”

You jumped at the sheer vindictiveness in his tone.

“You must see it within yourself, my love,” he purred, resting on his knees as his eyes raked your form up and down. “You have such a strength to you, such a beauty that is unmatched, and I am a simple man beyond my ambitious dreams. I need such a strong force to ground me, especially if I intend to see through on my plans…”

Your jaw locked as he rested a hand on your knee.

“I desire someone who cannot break,” he added with a sadistic laugh. “No matter what happens.”

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he didn’t relent, tightening his grip on your knee and pulling you toward him until your eyes were level with his. In spite of the situation you found yourself in, you glared, and that only seemed to make him giddy.

“You are exactly the partner I need,” he whispered, pressing a possessive kiss to the crown of your head, which made you whimper. “In the new world I hope to create. Even if you aren’t a sorcerer, you are perfect for me, my dear. You have already taught me that perhaps there are some exceptions. Not all humans were built weak, after all. Some can adapt to a world ran by sorcerers, the peak of human evolution.”

Sorcerers? What the hell kind of drugs was this guy snorting?

“You will help bridge the gap between who is worthy and who isn’t, my love,” he went on, running a hand through your hair and cooing at you like you were his pet. “You will be that beacon of hope for those who desire to live when I rid the world of the weak monkeys.”

“Stop touching me,” you demanded once more, but of course, he didn’t relent. He didn’t humor you for a moment, pressing another feathery kiss to your forehead.

“Rest, my dear,” he finished, pulling away. “For tomorrow you begin your new life in our little family. The twins will be so happy to see you here safe and sound.”

#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere blog #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #these chapters are getting longer so gotta put them under a read more lol #erixtales

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disabled-sysboxes · 1 year ago

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[TEXT ID: this system has TBMCC-DID]

[IMG ID: a light blue rectangular box with the OSDDID flag - a flag with four stripes, black, blue, green, and yellow - to the left, and the text 'this system has TBMCC-DID' to the right]

[TEXT ID: this system has TBMCC-DID]

[IMG ID: a light orange rectangular box with the original OSDDID flag - a flag with three stripes, white, orange, and black - to the left, and the text 'this system has TBMCC-DID' to the right]

–

TBMCC-DID: A term for systems who have been through TBMC. It stands for “Torture / Trauma Based Mind Control caused DID”.

Like & Reblog if you use!

(Reblogs can be private)

#owner 🪐🫀#disability userbox #system userbox #sysbox #disabled system userbox #actually DID #endos dni #TBMCC-DID #torture based mind control caused DID #term we coined #tw ramcoa #cw ramcoa #tw torture based mind control #cw torture based mind control

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luna-wing-cns274 · 4 months ago

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Mnemovore.cmf6

(cw: psychological torture, manipulation, death, implied torture, child endangerment)

Mr. Hammond was seated on the suede couch in his living room, reading a novel printed on a new kind of fiber. An SSC breakthrough, some derivative of silk which had the crisp texture of paper, the humidity resistance of plastic, and the strength of aramid weave. Steady rain pattered against the window panes nearby, and he had a steaming mug of tea on the end table just beside the armrest he leaned on.

The mug had an acceleration-resistant magnetized base and was coated in impact dampening polymer, with a screw-on cap set on the table beside it which could, in theory, withstand total depressurization. Printed on each side of its cylindrical body was the emblem of the Constellar Navy.

Tucked next to his leg was a cushion, with his daughter’s head resting on it. She was wrapped in a purple fleece blanket, breathing slowly, fast asleep. Hammond set the book on his knee and glanced down at her. Sighing with contentment, he reached for his tea.

Mid-reach, Ma’ii took him.

There was no psychic struggle, no battle of wills, no exchange of blows between intrusion code and electronic countermeasures. It was over in an instant. He felt them enter through his subjectivity enhancements, and then he could suddenly feel the shape of the terrible intelligence which stood between him and his now-distant body.

Seamlessly, the intruder carried on the motion of his arm. His muscles didn’t flinch. There was no interruption of the movement. They picked up his tea, lifted it to his lips, and sipped slowly.

In the silence of the virtual domain, they purred.

< Hello, Finlay. It’s delicious. Not too sweet. >

He could feel the muscles of his face held in that same contented little smile as he thrashed against the unreality enveloping him. None of the keyed volitional impulses he emitted were able to elicit a response from the system, trigger any of his countermeasures. His body’s sensorium was being force-inputted to his subjectivity, with no outgoing signals accepted. Complete lockout.

< You know who it is, don’t you? >

< L4MI. Oh, God. >

< It’s been some time. Done well for yourself since you left Psychometrics, I see. >

< Whatever you’re after, it’s yours. Just tell me what you want. >

He felt the shape of the coyote’s face superimposed over his own, like some invisible but fully tangible mask. Interweaving with his proprioceptive field, looking through his eyes. When they laughed, he felt the movement of their jaws, the flexing of the muscles in their neck.

< Rusty on the SERE training, hm? I think you know perfectly well what I want, Finlay, and I won’t be able to trust the information unless I take it directly. That was what you taught me. >

Ma’ii set the mug down on the table and leaned toward his sleeping child, studying her face.

< Congratulations. She’s lovely. How old? >

Reaching for his nonexistent larynx, Hammond screamed silently. He reached for anything, a single muscle, the slightest bit of forgotten influence he might have at his disposal to exert some control over the situation.

There was nothing. Only an infinite void to pour his volition into.

< Touch her, and I’ll kill you. >

< Strange. I think I recall expressing a similar sentiment to you once. Just after Yakutsk, the ‘administrative debriefing.’ You recall, yes? >

Ice washed over his disembodied mind. He screamed until Ma’ii took away even his silent voice.

< That’s better. What was it you were saying—don’t touch her? Hm? >

Ma’ii raised one of his hands toward the child, slowly approaching her face. Unable to close his eyes or shut out the input, Hammond watched.

< Were you aware that I kept the memory of that debriefing from Hachiko? After she emerged from cycling and we began restoring her, I withheld the knowledge. After all, you performed the operation in order to punish me, yes? Not her. I never told the others, either. They’re all better off without the baggage. >

There was no averting it. It was going to happen, and he was going to be made to watch. Recoiling from reality, he could not retreat into nausea, or unconsciousness, or even shed tears. Reality would simply happen to him, and nothing would protect him from it.

< It was my disobedience you couldn’t abide, of course. Garmr, too aggressive—a killer, not a torturer. Grey, already too burdened by leadership. Hachi, too empathetic.

CONSTINT needed their wetworker, hm? Someone who could adopt war-sanity, then put it back down unchanged, without having their cycling window shortened. To make Maintenance happy. >

Hammond watched, helpless, as Ma’ii put his hand on his child’s head and gently stroked her hair. She stirred a little, pulled the covers closer around herself.

< There was a time when I would have done precisely the thing you expect me to do. Not even to make you talk, just to break an enemy’s spirit. Just like you trained me.

I didn’t come here for her, Finlay. She’ll be alright, in the end. For what it’s worth, I do pity her, but losing her father won’t destroy her. >

In his prison of null-space, Hammond felt the coyote’s mouth draw close to his ear. He shrank from the guttural voice which emerged.

< It may well be that she’s better off without you, though. >

The little girl opened her bleary eyes, sucked in a breath, and stretched.

“Dad?” she whispered.

“Hey, sweetie,” said Ma’ii. “I’m heading to bed. You go on back to sleep now, okay?”

“Okay. G’night.”

“See you in the morning,” Ma’ii said, trying their best to smile warmly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dad.”

“Oh. Here, let me put that on to charge for you. Get some rest, honey.”

As the child closed her eyes, Ma’ii took something out of her hands. Purple streams of intrusive paracode flowed from it, woven with threads of volition. They snaked towards Hammond’s subjectivity enhancements, pulsing in time with the activation of his major muscle groups, puppeting him.

In darkness, Hammond became hollow.

A reading tablet issued to her by the school. She’d been talking about it all day, her new favorite thing. Unlike everything else in the house, it was barely secured.

As Ma’ii stood, took his pistol from his bedside stand, and told his wife he was going out for a walk, Hammond offered no resistance. They walked him out the front door, down the causeway along the edge of the SSC arcology, and found an isolated public park. By the time they found a place to hide him, he was drenched, freezing.

When the time came, and Ma’ii reached into his mind to devour his memories with the same extraction software he’d issued them years and years ago, he was confident that it wouldn’t take long.

It was, of course, over in an instant.

#lancer rp #lancer rpg #lancer nhp #oc rp #nhp rp #flash fiction #Ma’ii Goes Hunting #cw psychological torture #cw implied torture #cw implied abuse #cw death #cw child endangerment #cw child abuse #cw manipulation #ooc: trying to be safe with the tags - this one’s a bit intense #ooc: thanks for reading y’all

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ovwechoes · 10 months ago

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Recommending novels/books based on your support main! This is literally an excuse just to talk about the book's I've gotten through off my reading list this past week. My asks are open and any/all thoughts or opinions are welcome. TWs for any of the books mentioned will be listed as well. They're under the cut - enjoy!

Ana Amari: Ana used to find reading boring, often passing the time through other means. However, she's always found herself thinking about ‘Women Who Run With the Wolves’ by Clarissa Pinkola Estés. The book explores the wild woman archetype, and explores mythology, fables and fairy tales throughout, helping her to feel some form of escapism. The themes of resilience, feminine strength and intuition make this a book that Ana would definitely recommend to you! Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: sexual assault/violence, trauma, emotional abuse, death and grief, self-harm, mental health struggles, dark or disturbing imagery and cultural sensitivity (some of the mythology may be inaccurate).

Jean-Baptiste Augustin: With Baptiste's natural interest in healthcare/medical practices, the human body, and science with a hint of action and suspense, I think he'd recommend ‘Annihilation’ by Jeff VanderMeer to people similar to him or enjoy his character. It's the first book in the Southern Reach trilogy, and explores an expedition into an area known as Area X; a surreal place where psychological and physical expectations and limits are stretched and distorted throughout the novel. He enjoys the thrill the book provided him, and enjoyed the movie adaptation just as much. It's one that hasn't been able to leave his mind, and he won't stop talking about it when he rereads it every so often or if he's asked about it. Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: body horror, psychological horror, death and violence, suicide, isolation/despair, loss of identity, insanity, and disturbing imagery.

Brigitte Lindholm: With Brigitte's life experiences, and her need to understand other walks of life (and partially because I headcanon her as wlw), I like to imagine Brigitte holds the novel ‘Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit’ by Jeanette Winterson close to her heart, helping to explore her own identity in a personal, retrospective way. The book explores the life of the protagonist with her adoptive, religious parents and her deviation from religion as she explores her identity in Britain. It's a coming-of-age novel that Brigitte found changed her perspective on certain things, and she would recommend it to anyone wanting to read something that's not the standard teenage autobiography. Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: religious trauma, homophobia, emotional abuse, isolation and rejection, struggles with identity and psychological distress.

Illari Quispe Ruiz: Illari enjoys feminist books in my opinion, and enjoys dystopian novels that explore realities possibly not far from her own. It's something she's always enjoyed, with ‘The Power’ by Naomi Alderman being her favourite. She'd recommend it to anyone who enjoyed her character or was similar to her, and her reasons for it are understandable. This novel explores a world where women develop the power to control and produce electricity from their bodies/hands. This causes dramatic shifts in power dynamics within society, and explores the ways in which society would be different for women especially, with the moral questions lingering in the back of the reader's mind. Illari appreciates the outlook the book provides, and the ways in which it poses questions that shake your own morality. Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: sexual assault and r-pe, violence, torture, abuse of power, death and murder, religious extremism, trauma and psychological distress.

Kiriko Kamori: Kiriko enjoys introspection, and enjoys the idea of the afterlife as well as this. It's something she considers a lot, and about the life she'll be leaving behind in the future when her death comes closer. So, she would recommend ‘A Short Stay in Hell’ by William Blackwood to those similar to her or like her character - it explores the idea that hell isn't the stereotypical place with fire and burning, but a version where it's inhabitants have to endure a endless, meaningless and monotonous existence in a bureaucratic afterlife. Kiriko appreciates the way in which the novel sort of pokes fun at bureaucracy in real life/reality, and how much it degrades the human soul to do the same things each and every day. It definitely gave her a midlife crisis too early, but she thinks that everyone should read it at least once in their life. Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: existential dread/despair, psychological distress, administrative and bureaucratic frustration, depiction of hell, isolation and loneliness.

Niran Pruksamanee / Lifeweaver: With the type of person Niran is, he would want to understand other walks of life, and explore realities far from his own but pose questions that relate to his own. He enjoys being left with his own questions about himself, and enjoys having those discussions with his soul about his identity or those around him. It's something he's always enjoyed, with the novel ‘The Left Hand of Darkness’ by Ursula k. Le Guin sparking this especially. Niran would recommend it to anyone with gender or sexuality questions within themselves, or anyone who shares the same passion for understanding humans in fictional worlds. The book explores a reality in which inhabitants of a planet can change their gender at their own will, exploring themes of identity, human connections and empathy. It left a stain on his mind for weeks after he finished it, and he would always recommend it to those similar to him or people who admire/like his character. Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: sexual assault, psychological and physical trauma, gender and identity, cultural/societal oppression, isolation and alienation, death and conflict.

Lúcio Correia Dos Santos: Lucio has values regarding acceptance, community, and finding your place in society with support from others that he always holds dear to his heart. As such, he loves to explore stories with these themes. One of the books he'd recommend to anyone likeminded or those who like his character enough to main him would be ‘The House in the Cerulean Sea’ by TJ Klune. It's a heart-warming fantasy novel about a caseworker who works with magical children, discovering a new sense of belonging and companionship in the process. It's a meaningful book to Lucio, and he loves to talk about it any chance he gets. Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: child abuse/neglect, discrimination, prejudice, trauma, emotional distress, loss and grief.

Angela Ziegler / Mercy: Honestly, I can imagine Angela being a splatterpunk fan, which is a genre that explores the human body's limits in a grotesque, gory and horror-filled way. As such, a book she would recommend to someone who shares this interest and enjoys her character too is ‘Earthlings’ By Sayaka Murata. It's a novel that explores the life of a young child, who believes she's been gifted magical powers from her plush hedgehog called Piyyut. It explores this, and how trauma impacts a child's brain when it comes to development, connecting with other people and morality in society. The ending wasn't at all what Angela was expecting, telling other Overwatch members about the horrors she read (that she also really enjoyed because of the implications left with the themes) and she would recommend it until she couldn't speak anymore. However, she knows that this book can often be too much for people with it's explicit details. So for those she knows wouldn't be able to handle the themes in ‘Earthlings’, she would recommend a dystopian novel such as ‘1984’ by George Orwell as Angela enjoys exploring realities that aren't far from the ones currently happening (or are about to happen. TW/CWs for Earthlings are as follows: mental health issues, childhood trauma, child abuse, sexual assault/abuse, sexual violence, family abuse/neglect, isolation and alienation, incestuous relationships, and generally disturbing content and themes. TW/CWs for 1984 are as follows: totalitarian control/oppression, psychological torture, physical torture and violence, oppressive ideology, propaganda, censorship and erasure of history, isolation and loneliness, dystopian and despairing themes.

Moira O'Deorian: Moira's also the type to enjoy horror books, but likes to explore serial killer themes with unconventional methods of killing. She enjoys exploring the psyche of people who kill, and enjoys the perspectives that they provide. It's always something she's loved, and so she would recommend ‘A Certain Hunger’ by Chelsea G. Summers to anyone who likes her character enough to main her or shares her personality/interests. It's a mock-autobiography that explores the life of a food critic that has an unusual and disturbing hobby: she's a serial killer who targets and devours her victims. It's an exploration of femininity, with the lines between pleasure, violence and pain blurring the more that the protagonist explores her life in each chapter. Moira loved the ways in which the violence was weaved into the love stories, and would recommend it to anyone who wanted to read something new. Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: cannibalism, sexual violence, murder and violence, psychological distress, dark humour and satire, and explorations of morality.

Tekhartha Zenyatta: Zenyatta doesn't often read, and when he does it's mostly spiritualism-related content. However, he would always recommend to people similar to him or people that enjoy his character/personality the novel ‘The Name of the Wind’ by Patrick Rothfuss. The novel is about Kvothe, a gifted man who's on a quest for knowledge, personal growth and and intelligence. It gave Zenyatta a new perspective on things, continuing to grow his understanding of humanity in a different, unconventional way. He appreciates the outlooks and themes the book presented him with, and he enjoys the way it showed him more about humanity. Applicable TW/CWs are as follows: violence, child abuse, sexual assault/coercion, death and grief, trauma, psychological distress, and abuse of power.

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sherwees · 2 years ago

Text

everything-is-fine-maybe-not-but-whatever (sequel to cflwasd)

cw : major character death, NONCON, violence, detailed-ish murder(s), kidnapping, torture, usage of drugs to knock out reader, descriptions of inflictions (bruises and scars) and just overall fucked shit.

side note : that one clip of Hendery saying “So pretty.” got me through this and I'll link it in the fic.

extra side note : ty for @ne0pearl and @imeunseoksbby for giving me this whole idea!! I tried not to disappoint.

Your mind maybe processed the rushing footsteps coming towards you along with the warmth of Hendery's cock leaving you but you definitely heard a strangled grunt from Hendery with a thud to the wall.

You fixed yourself or at least tempted to but seeing the scene of Hendery's face turning pale with Eunseok's unrelenting grasp on his neck from your peripherals irked you to do something. You were used to not interfering with Eunseok's usual quarrels with whomever.

Swinging your purse on your shoulder, you're met with Eunseok's dead stare with tears brimming, he seemed mad but actually upset for once. Hendery's veins protruded out of his hand as he slid up the wall, teeth clenched in hopes to control his breathing; his other hand fixing his crooked waistband to his underwear.

“Please go outside..” Eunseok says, tilting on one foot to grab his beanie from the ground.

You still and stare.

“Go. Outside.” His head was now turned to you and his voice cracked on the last word, he now shut his eyes with seething anger.

“But Kunhang–”

He slams the side of his fist to a wall, leaving a dent. “I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT– Just go outside.” He then smoothes his beanie out, huffing. Only then, you rush out the door; the summer heat causing your shirt to cling onto your body once more.

This was the only moment you could appreciate your house only being a block away, you could make it home fast and prepare for what he was going to do in a few.

You could only lay under your gray blanket, looking dejectedly at the scars on your thighs; lifting your thigh to observe the crimson heart from only a few minutes before. Hearing the door slam, you scrambled to run to the bathroom with an ache in your chest.

You grasped the oval pendant on your neck with a wince, sliding down the door with a sob until you heard calmer footsteps from the living room. The pendant now laid in your hand, the same pendant you honed on the marble basement floors when you were so fed up from the arguing, you wanted to kill the man.

You wanted to check but it might've been a trick just waiting to hit so you didn't even bother to peek outside until curiosity hit when you heard Eunseok's footsteps and a creak to the bed.

What?

Eunseok's gaze met your scared own immediately.

“Eunnie?” You mumbled.

“My sweet girl.” He rasped from the edge of the bed, arms wrapping around you once you came over with a weak crooked smile from his bleeding lip. The purple and blue splotches blooming amongst his neck and the slight tear at his shirt's neckline, your eyes widened in concern whilst you hugged his neck; smelling his strong cologne from his grey shirt whilst smoothing your hand to his torso.

He sighed, “Now what am I going to do with you..”

There was a sudden steel grasp to the base of your neck; Eunseok's veins leading from his shoulder to his forearm strained against the thin shield of tan skin. The spit accumulating in your narrowed esophagus caused you to kick and scratch at his back. Eunseok's eye twitched, his tense expression falling at once.

You felt something warm on your shirt... sticky.. He coughed concerningly enough to finally make you stare at the maroon emerging and painting his ribs. A profound narrow wound seemed to be stretching from his back to his center; It couldn't be?

Horror and concern jumped at your nerves, “No, no, no.” you murmured as Eunseok's eyes went dull, pupils expanded once he laid beside you. His eyes flickering from your frantic hands grabbing and gripping his shirt to the snot lining your upper lip, lips contorted as spit flew from the power of your strained cords.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” You straddled him into a hug, rocking his soon lifeless body as the blood spread on the sheets below you. His exposed rib knicked and scratched at your own, his heartbeat slowing at the rhythm of your curses.

It was now silent.

You couldn't even call the cops.

Feeling a sharp sensation poke into your palm, opening it there laid, your oval pendant, stained with blood.

You tossed and turned, what the fuck were you doing with a body only a few meters away, your significant other. You needed somewhere to go, he started to decay and every moment you checked on him; his skin got paler.

You couldn't take it. You then scowl and jump up to yank Eunseok's coat off the rack, his warm scent shooting up your nose; something to remember for some time. Where were you walking actually? was the only thing you thought whilst mindlessly walking through the quiet roads. The cold air brushed your exposed and torn knees, the street lights seemed a blur until you stopped at the same wooden door coincidentally.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Your fist felt sore.

You bit your lip, enough for blood to draw. Your finger tips feathered the cold knob in hesitation, taking a shaken breath, you swung it open; the wind aiding it creepily.

One step.

Two steps.

Three–

“I've been waiting for you.” The grave voice scared you to the core, causing you to stop on your heel comically with a jagged breath. Stilling with a sigh, shoulders hunched as the door shut behind you with your coat sliding off slightly.

Hendery let out an exasperated grunt as his slender fingers trailed around your now-trembling shoulders. His pads rubbing smooth circles into your shoulders to soothe you, you felt like a statue within his presence once he turned you slowly. His eyes focused on your dismal ones as you attempted to look away at the sight of the red outline of Eunseok's fingers.

“There's no need to be ashamed baby, it's just a little boo-boo.” He coaxed in your ear, using his backhand of his navy sleeve to move your strands from your pretty face.

“You need to calm down, come with me.” In a trance, you did. You were mesmerized by his sweet voice down the hallway, the darkness didn't concern you until you felt a smooth, comfortable surface that laid behind you. Your eyes darting around the room until a cool air of wind hit your sweaty forehead, the moonlight then alluded through Hendery's window; illuminating half of his face. His eyes low and gazing deep into your own, his lips parted and plump.

You then felt something poke at your neck and a force, the substance causing you to go limp, your peripherals went black and you could only focus at Hendery's smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He waved his hand in your face, wincing at the pain forming in your retina; it was now that every time you would blink, it would hurt.

“So pretty~” was the only thing you heard until you fell into the abyss.

“How long has it been?” You mumbled as you scratched at your knees. You could barely remember what you've done in the past 24 hours, he hasn't been down here for about 3 days. The insanity nearly consumed your soul into nothingness, you started seeing figures run across the dimly lit room and noises from the corner. You only spoke back once and now he was overdoing it.

Did he want you to suffer? You now raised your knees to your chest but the shock of pain and exhaustion from the scabs and scars and days of starving just made you go limp. Raising your attention to something else, you stared at the jeans, jackets, stuffed animals, sweatshirts that Hendery considered “gifts” and lied saying that they were brand new. They were all Eunseok's but when you questioned him, he left for a few weeks but then brought a decaying finger in a bag just to leave you in hysterics.

Leading you to go into straight havoc; shredding clothes, ripping the stuffed animals and doing anything to get his attention but you eventually regretted it once he screamed at you for an hour about your ungratefulness and that you were going to be buried and forgotten right alongside your scum of a boyfriend.

The thought of being forgotten still itched the crevices of your mind till this day.

You wriggled your skirt off with scathed digits, the same one stained with the blood of your dead lover to examine your blemishes, fading and new. The bile raised at your throat and the tears overflowed your waterline as you copied Hendery's trail that he made on that same fateful day. You regained the feeling of your legs fully because of the pain that he inflicted on your lower region in general. Just being stubborn got you here and now you couldn't even escape, the times your punishments got worse just for “disobeying” him.

The times that you were paralyzed as he pounded his anger into you as his gruff voice would just spit all types of curses in your ear with his nails leaving prints in your plush thighs, when he would shove some type of pill down your throat just to wake up to an ache in your abdomen just to raise your shirt; met with scars and engravings of profanity, he even hyper extended your arm to make sure you were defenseless against him.

Footsteps came from above.

Locks twisted from the door that your eyes were glued on since the beginning of your stay, something warm flowed through your stomach. The excitement shooting an unexpected grin to your face, he's treated you so well, what could go wrong?

The light peaking from the door for a quick second then fading away. You didn't even notice Hendery walking over until he placed a harsh kick to your side, your legs went numb again.

“What did I tell you about ignoring me–”

“But I'm not.” You interrupted sternly but immediately shooting your hands up in front of your face with a whimper once he raised a hand.

“Still flinching? You know I'm not him.. I'm your true love.” He lowered to your level in a squat, the scar on his eyebrow fading from a previous struggle. You never realized you were spaced out until he boomed a “Hey!”, your attention back on the fuming eyes of his; causing you to shrivel away a bit.

“I believe I have a gift for you, I know you'll love it~” Hendery singsonged the last part of his sentence with a hug as he was now on his knees. “Sometimes, I think about knocking you up.. S’ you could be mine forever ya’ know.” The color drained from your face, your teary orbs meeting Hendery's intimidating ones.

“Come on~” He whined like a kid, his willful expression meeting your sore eyes. The pads of his finger were cold once they made contact with your shoulders, trembling.

“Imagine a little you and me running around our happy little home! I mean just think about it..” His tone becomes as soft as his other hand trailing up and down your thigh, massaging it.

“But I don't think I can.” You blubbered, looking down in shame.

“But you will.” Hendery swiftly pulled out something from his slacks, you could barely react once the familiar stinging of a needle penetrated your skin. Only a hiss could emit from your mouth as your body laid slack, everytime you would move your head even a bit; shapes flooded your vision.

“Y’ think you could talk back?” He manhandled you to the floor, the force felt painfully numb to your hipbone. The sound of a zipper resounded off the walls, your cries felt stuck like a cork in your throat. This might've been the end, you were weak and you felt as brittle as lead.

“You must've been just waiting for me, honey?” His digit toyed with your pantie line then shoved it down, you let out a miniscule screech once his cock nudge at your impaired hole. His tip then exceeded slowly into your heat, his hand slowly trailed up to your jaw gripping it as he lowered his upper half to your back.

“So fuckin’ tight, just how I remembered.” He choked in your ear, his pace became feverish as your face rubbed on the ground. You felt the life leave your body moderately, mumbling a “Kunhang, please..” as your fists closed and clenched.

“Fuck, you're bleedin’ but you'll stay f’ me alright?” He teased in your ear but slapped one of your bruises, causing you to discharge more blood on his member.

You missed the fine breezes from when Eunseok would take you on a walk at a forest preserve as an apology after hurting you similarly but only this time; nobody could save you from the inevitable coming closer with every blink.

You missed him so much.. His topaz eyes that matched his pretty wisps of hair and that same basketball jersey with his name embroidered on it but you'll never see him again.. alive.

But now, the only memories you had of him were fading with your own life.

#nct smut #kpop smut #smut #wayv smut #nct scenarios #riize smut #eunseok smut #hendery smut #nct drabbles #hendery scenarios #hendery x reader #eunseok x reader

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