#cw: thoughts of animal abuse

[absolutechaosss]

Something I've been thinking about a lot lately is how elves are shown to handle grief and trauma and how that relates to Mithruns character.

The Canaries care for Mithrun is mostly well intentioned. They legitimately like him! But it is also kind of terrible at times? Most of their care is focused on the Bare Minimum that keeps him alive and his care and comfort isn't really considered because well...to them, he's not capable of understanding it anymore.

We know this because Kabru is assigned as his care taker and Lycion comments that his hair is shinier. This means even in the stressful survival situation of the dungeon with Kabrus terrible cooking and scavenged meals, he is physically healthier than he was with the canaries.

I think it's relevant Kabru was the one to care for Mithrun this way and the one eventually realize he can be capable of new desire because Kabru is intimately familiar with how elves treat trauma. Not only was he a traumatized child but I think the most important parallel here is actually Rin.

If you haven't read her section in the Adventurers Bible, Rin is also a sole survivor of a tragic event and was taken into elven custody. She is catatonic and deeply deeply traumatized. And the elves handle it *terribly*. She's treated as goods or as an animal and she's shown to be unresponsive and not able to speak. Her recovery is directly linked to her meeting Kabru when he's brought in to help her.

Rin and Mithrun are opposites in elven society. Rin is barely a person, Mithrun isn't only an elf, but a prestigious and wealthy one. But both are survivors of horrific circumstances that hurt their ability to care for themselves and perform daily activities. And for both, it's pretty clear that it was assumed that this would become their fixed state, one where care and gentleness was pointless, because they had lost the faculties to process it.

Anyway I guess I wonder if years later when Kabru hears Mithruns story and how his condition is incurable and thus denies him personhood he thought of his. I wonder how much more quickly Mithrun may have been able to adapt to his circumstances if he wasn't told he was "broken". To me at least, Mithrun was always able to react to new things and adapt, but if everyone in the world is acting like you're basically dead and unable to ever do anything than be a weapon again yeah why wouldn't you assume that. No, I don't think Mithrun will ever be back to his former self and have all his desires back but he is able to carve out space for himself so quickly with Kabru, compared to his extensive and leas effective initial recovery with the elves. Perhaps this too is an area where their lifespans hinder them as they assume 20 years is a totally normal recovery period so why would they need to try more.

[c-schroed]

Just watched the new Alien: Romulus movie and there's this one thing... Well. Just imagine.

Imagine you're some intern at some Weyland-Yutani science facility. You're new and it's of course a huge privilege, so you're excited, and then your supervisor, some android named after a random chess piece, approaches you and bam!, you recieve your first order:

Bring me the Rat Stomper.

Which, of course, allows you to reply with

Original footage of the Weyland-Yutani Rat Stomper© in action after the cut. Content warning for fictitious corporate cruelty directed towards one equally fictitious poor rodent. And a spoiler is there, too.

Don't get me wrong, I love the new Alien movie, but an apparatus to flatten one (1) single rat? WHY DO THEY HAVE SUCH A THING ON THEIR SPACE STATION?

P. S. Don't worry, the rat is fine. Alien Super Serum© revived it.

Well. Kinda.

At least it destroyed the Rat Stomper in the process. Good riddance.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

[cws: drugging, SA and SA apologia, fantasy racism/ableism, forced institutionalization.]

-

i know i never shut up about it but god i am still just. So Salty about how the show handles the dynamic between mayor jones and pericles for many reasons, and one of the biggest is that there are really strong overtones here of sexual assault.

a character who already brings to mind the Slimy, Shady Cis White Guy with Buried Allegations archetype:

takes advantage of the trust of someone who's doing something with him in secret--

(which will get that person in a disproportionate amount of trouble compared to him, if they're discovered)

--to catch him off guard so he can grab him, drug him, and do violent things to his body while he's unconscious; scars him for life in a way that is disabling and should cause a lot of ongoing suffering, which, like many other things that should have a strong negative impact on him physically or psychologically, the writers ignore; and dumps him there alone to discover what's been done to him when he wakes up.

specifically, he does this to someone from a marginalized group that's highly unlikely to be believed if they tell anyone what he did--and going by the fact that mayor jones never got in any trouble until present day, he wasn't.

goes out of the way to ruin the life of the victim and discredit him as thoroughly as possible, because he's a loose end and he needs to shut him up.

flees the scene and gets away scot free with this for twenty years, has a successful privileged career and is considered a pillar of the community in the meantime.

when his dirty secret, which he's been paranoid about finally facing consequences for after the victim has recently become a risk again, is discovered, it's a huge career-ending scandal.

is redeemed by the end, while his victim goes on to be the Monstrous Irredeemable Pure Evil Main Villain and also sexually abuse someone himself, which is played as horrific and traumatizing (as it should be).

more specifically, is portrayed as showing redeeming, heroic anti-villain qualities by backhanding the victim into a wall as hard as he can in present day.

me: hm. yeah fuck this

[traumatizedjaguar]

tw animal on animal violence, tw predator vs prey violence

[burning-sol]

I was raised by owners who starved me and berated me by the name they gave me. They caged me and chained me so I bit my chain until my teeth were sharpened and the chain broken. I did not tell them I was leaving. I did not tell them where I went. I left when they didn't expect it. I don't look back at this hometown plastered with posters of my old photos, labelled by my old name. They think I'm a lost dog but I know where I am, and it is NOT sitting by their side.

I am hungry, I have been walking alone, I am anxious to find someone who will love me but if I do not make you fight my sharp teeth and my growls, how am I to know you will put in the effort to love me for who I am? I wasn't always this way: one time I let a person get close enough to hear me, my bark, and they ignored me. They commanded me by the name I'd tried to forget, they made me sit so they could kick me, and when they tried to collar me I ran away.

There will be people who want to collar you, chain you, make you play their games. There are people who want to put me down. There are people who tell me to be quiet, to not howl or bark or whine. They call me wild as if they hadn't casted me out and left me exposed to disease and injury and fleas. They cannot understand what I've become, they do not see my brighter coat and softer eyes behind all this hurt and the dirt that is stuck to my fur and waiting to be cleaned by the hand of a gentle owner.

If I'm a fucking feral dog to you, if that's all I'll ever be, that's fine by me. But don't pretend you love me just to tell me to sit, so it will be easier to kick me, to put a collar on me, to pin me to the table and put me down. Don't make me die by my dead name. Don't put me back in my cage. DON'T GET CLOSE TO ME OR I'LL BITE YOU.

[legofemme]

I hate animal r/ghts activists i hate how they put their personal feelings over the wellbeing of animals i hate how theyve ruined animal husbandry discussions i hate how they use disabled people as props in arguments and talk about them like theyre no different than a piece of livestock i hate it i hate it i hate it. Every day i think about sanctuaries that keep animals alive when theyre suffering and cant reason or understand why. I think about the footless pig who couldnt walk and was crushed under her own weight i think about cows missing limbs hooked up to "wheelchairs" that cut into their skin due to their own weight and stop them from living a normal life i think about horses being stomped on by 200 lb grown men to 'fix' sway backing i think about every animal who has suffered and hurt and died in pain just because a human thought they were "helping" by treating the animal LIKE a person. Why is it so bad to not want to see things that cannot comprehend or reason through their pain to be at peace.

[coulsonlives]

i wonder how many animal lovers were scarred for life by gotg3

[wireddless]

Addict

pairing: Coriolanus Snow/Reader

cw: 17+ hate. fucking. dubcon, possessive behavior, corio is emotionally abusive, vaguely implied Plinth reader, p in v, unprotected sex, nsfw below the cut,

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i just know hes so hung you guys i want him so bad

Living in the shadow of Lucy Gray was never an easy feat. That’s all she was after the erasure; a shadow, soon to be only a whisper on the sleeping breath of Coriolanus. The closest he could ever feel to real love was with the District 12 songbird, and had she been more than just a district animal, a member of the Capitol, there was no doubt in your mind he would have married her instead.

Your days at the academy, a few years his inferior, were spent in the naive mindset that he was fully capable of love. However, the only true love he would ever feel was towards the power in his cold-handed grasp. After your graduation, you continued living with your family, their prized figurehead of poise and beauty, until they managed to propose your hand to him, only a year or so before he became president.

Coriolanus, living on top of his family’s hidden debt and poverty, accepted nearly immediately, driven by the thought of the millions that came with your name. Your family, so charmed by the icy man, was manipulated into paying for the lavish ceremony. A Capitol wedding was a spectacle to behold, a sea of colored heads and garments, textiles in unique patterns decorating the spectators in a myriad of colors. An insipid eye-sore, in his opinion.

And there you were, the pale lavender of your dress cascading down your body like the drapes that covered a window in a lonely mansion, baby fat gone. The bright light in your eyes that has now long-since faded, the happy expression you held, truly believing the facade he had put on to convince your family that he was a perfect match, it all fueled a fire of satisfaction in his psyche. He remembered the young girl from their studious days, the sneaky glances shot his way from a face framed by baby fat, it was so easy to take advantage of a schoolgirl crush, to charm his way right into your heart. He’d never go hungry again, and he could finally focus solely on his rise to power.

Or so he thought. When you managed to pick his intentions apart and discovered the cunning and manipulative nature of the man, you became defiant, fucking petulant. Your once tender and loving gaze, seeking to nurture and care for him, hardened like the calcium deposits on the well pumps in the poorer districts of Panem. He heard in passing from the workers of the house about your violent fits of tears late at night. It wasn’t like he cared, hell, the idea of your reddened face damp with tears and snot amused him to no end. But fuck if it didn’t annoy him when Tigris became your closest friend and confidant.

Coriolanus kept you locked away in the golden cage of his home, not permitting the men of his staff to go near you, forcing you to discuss with him the simplest task of visiting your own family. You were still the key to his now inherited wealth, a prize that he had won with cunning and malicious tactics, and the thought of you straying into the arms of another man, who could take you, who could take even a bit of the control he held, it infuriated him to no end.

It took almost a year for you to realize that without your family, he was completely broke, and it took almost two to realize he never once held even a glimmer of fondness towards you, that he was using you. Tigris, who had spoken to you during her regular visits, had become the arms you fell into when the agony of your situation first befell you. Her hands wrapped around your body as she shushed and hummed quietly were a solace to you as the pain dawned on you. Three years after your marriage, you would speak in hushed tones over cooling tea, not bothering to hide your glare when Coriolanus bothered joining. He was no longer the subject matter of your conversations with Tigris, instead discussing gossip that had spread through the yammering mouths of Capitol citizens, and the newest trends to pass around them. She had become your dearest friend, one he couldn’t find a valid reason to hide you from. Though he never would admit while his heart was still beating, despite your shared animosity, you were still his favorite accessory.

The Reaping ceremonies for the next annual Hunger Games would begin soon, which became a sensitive topic between you and Coriolanus. It was no secret to you who Lucy Gray Baird had been, who she had been to him. What the hunger games meant to him. You resented her. Not for the place she held near his heart, but for managing to escape him before he had caged her.

The fire of your arguments was always sparked by her name, the tinder and fuel having already been prepared by the years of building resentment. Almost always in his office, your hands would shove him back as he rapidly approached you after you provoked him with harsh and unforgiving words, only fanning the flame of hatred he felt towards you. Then he would corner you, your back against the wall as one hand found your neck and the other found your hair, his fingernails digging at your scalp. His minty breath falling out of his mouth in heavy gasps as he fought the urge to kill you right there. You made him feel as though he was an animal from the districts, dirty and foaming at the mouth. And he hated that.

“You know I would never harm you.” He’d always reassure you when his grip on your throat finally loosened, his eyes taking in the way you would suck in air he had prevented from reaching your lungs. Coriolanus considered what little he allowed you, even the air you breathed, a favor. He thought himself generous, benevolent even. He wasn’t of course, and you were always quick to point that out.

Today's argument was only different in setting, within the walls of your shared bedroom rather than his office. You had shoved him, predictable, and turned to storm away, wanting to find a guest room to sleep in instead. But before you could reach the door, his hand had yanked you by your hair back towards him before nearly throwing you on the bed. When you sat up to scramble away, he shoved you back down by your shoulders and crawled on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress, an echo of your frequent taunts. It was rare that you two would actually be in such a position, as neither of you particularly craved intimacy with one-another, yet the way one hand slid up your negligee and gripped the curve of your thigh conveyed a much different message tonight.

“I just wish you’d shut up for once, you know that?” He growled. Coriolanus Snow was an aggressive lover. He put all his weight on his forearm strung across your chest to keep you pinned down as his fingers left their place on your thigh and slid up to the junction of your legs, cupping your heat rather aggressively before shoving them aside and sliding his fingers over your folds to find the sensitive and rather neglected bundle of nerves. You could hardly hide the shudder that overcame you as you responded.

“Fuck you!” You spat at him, writhing under his touch. Your head fell back on the luxurious sheets and you bit back a moan as he swirled his fingers in a circular motion over your clit, stirring the lust you had repressed to life. How he loved to see your eyes rolling back into your skull as you fought surrendering to his ministrations. The edges of his mouth lifted in a smug little smirk when your arousal became more evident, making your cunt slick and pliable.

Oh, how he adored to see his poor, neglected wife fall victim to her own human nature. It made him want to consume you whole, like you were a treat he got all to himself. Coriolanus’s mouth fell to your collarbone and his teeth scraped over the thin skin as he slipped his middle finger inside your sopping hole, earning an earnest mewl from your normally argumentative lips. He bit down rather hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder as he slowly, teasingly pumped his finger in and out. This would be easier than he thought.

He tilted his head back up to take in the sight of your demeanor flickering to something more vulnerable, before taking your mouth with his. He kissed you like you provided the air he needed to breathe, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate. You’d be a fool to say you didn’t still crave him after the years of strained marriage. His teeth clashed with yours as you both attempted to deepen the kiss. When he pushed another finger inside of you, hooking them and speeding up, your mouth fell open with a shaky moan, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

When your mother described to you what sex was like, she explained it like an intimate dance, where two souls would merge with love and passion. But it was never like that between the two of you. It was always a battle, aggressive and antagonistic as one of you sought to take something from the other. For Coriolanus, it was a display of his authority and control. His fingers quickened in pace and your hips bucked up into his hand, searching for more friction that would aid in your release. And he was benevolent wasn’t he? Who would he be to deny such a rare and primal pleasure? His fingers continued their attack on the spongy roof of your walls, pushing you closer and closer until your hand tore at the skin of his back with the intensity of your orgasm. Still seeing stars, he pulled his lips from yours and hovered them over your ear, his cheek brushing against yours, damp with tears.

“See how easy everything can be when you just stop resisting me at every turn?” You opened your mouth to respond, to bite back when the arm that pinned you down quickly shifted so his hand could cup over your mouth. He loved shutting you up. His silent voice hissed in your ear with a lingering promise. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

So focused on his words and hot breath on your ear, you almost didn’t notice when he pulled his fingers from inside you to tug down your panties, discarding them somewhere behind him before fumbling with the breeches he slept in, the cold air of the room hitting his stiff cock. He brought that same hand up before him, spitting in it and spreading the wetness of his saliva over his hardened length. Barely giving you a second to process all that was happening, he pressed himself inside of you, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow furrowing as your tight, wet heat engulfed him entirely.

Having not been intimate with him in so long, it was like he was splitting you open, and you cried out with pleasure into his hand, your own lashes pressing together as you took his total length. Coriolanus didn’t remain still for long, and his hips soon began setting a bruising pace, his balls slapping against your ass as he fought the urge to moan himself, not wanting to appear any less in control than he was. Your muffled gasps spurred him on, practically driving him mad as he pummeled into you. The volume difference when he removed his hand from your mouth and forearm from your chest was quite noticeable, and his fingers wove into your hair once more, holding your head back against the bed as he swallowed your moans with his mouth.

The stinging pain of your nails in the skin of his back when they flung around him was dulled by the sheer thrill he felt taking you like this. The hand that coaxed your orgasm out of you found its way to your thigh again, pushing it up over your torso to rest on your shoulder, allowing him to thrust deeper inside of you as his fingers dug into the hot and tender skin. You nearly screamed into his mouth from the change in sensation as his hips came flush with yours over and over again. For a brief moment, he pulled away from the kiss to bite and suck at the skin of your neck, letting you sing out unmuted by his hand, as he imagined his songbird would so many years ago.

Coriolanus hated you. He hated almost everything about you. He resented you the way you resented him, but he was still addicted to you. Addicted to the control you allowed him as he fucked you stupid, to the way your pitful moans were brought about by him, to the dumb fucking look on your face as your body managed to make his hips stutter and falter as he came inside you with a low moan. He didn’t care about pulling out. You were his wife, a state figurehead, it was part of the job description to give birth to his children. Maybe getting you pregnant would even do him the favor of shutting you up. He didn’t bother helping you clean up as you readjusted your nightgown, instead opting to wipe the sweat from his brow and tuck himself back in the satin pants he intended on sleeping in.

Coriolanus Snow was not capable of real love. All those close enough to him were well-aware of that fact, including you. But when he crawled into the bed and pulled you, still breathless and trembling, up next to him, when he tucked your head into his chest in a possessive manner, your hands pressed against his heated chest, when he fell asleep holding you like you’d run away too, you momentarily convinced yourself he might have been able to love.

[atyourmerci]

Gold wing, angel

meanloser!ellie X classpresident!r

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, v angsty, slight bondage, cunt slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, lite angel symbolism, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: actually surprised I finished a req (you all applaud me) this is inspired by “GOLDWING” by billie.

Ellie was a sick drug. Something not to be desired. She was the epitome of the allure of indulging in something you shouldn’t have, shouldn’t know, try at very least.

How did she get this way- who made her like this? Anger taken out through bodies of admission in an act of revenge. Taking back what was taken from her. Her pride regained by your submission.

You could have never fathomed the aggression the loser from AP American literature could obtain. You thought she’d beg on her knees for you. Worship your every move, starstruck by even getting the chance to touch you.

But she didn’t. She reveled in taking you off your high horse, got off on watching the student body president, proper and witty, utterly depraved by getting her cunt abused by a fucking moron.

-

98- A fucking 98, you did not deserve a 98 on the midterm paper. Your work was frankly sloppy, lacked comprehension. It made you ill knowing you were turning in something so lackluster with your name slapped across the front so proudly. The only thing that made you sicker was the thought of receiving special treatment- you had an image to uphold. You got to your position in this society from your own intellect, blood, sweat, tears and all. Kissing ass for a fucking 98 wasn’t in the cards.

The class began filing out as usual, like wild animals in a pack, shiny white teeth like daggers. Meshing together in their navy steam-pressed blazers, hair like defining fur, the only indication of individuality.

Except for her, sticking out like a sore thumb, the great big elephant in the room. Breaking many rulebook codes with her black nail polish, unkept hair to the standard policy, her white polo unbuttoned at the top two buttons that revealed her freckled chest. Despite her all around degenerate persona, she was irritatingly smart. Maybe if she had an ounce of charm she’d take your place.

With the rest of the class out of sight she stares at you. Not cutting off eye contact you both rise from your chairs you practically run to Mr. Stevens desk. The slap of two papers hit his desk, a 98 and a 90 shining in red sharpie ink on the white papers.

“I don’t deserve this,” comes out in unison, the sincerity in your voice cut open by the harshness in Ellies.

“Please one at a time, ladies.”

Before the words can even escape your lips Ellie rages, “I worked my ass off on this. I deserve better than a 90,” she spits out. “I know you can do better than this Ms.Williams, I expect more from you.” Ellie scoffs back at him, “this is bullshit,” she muffles but continues standing at his desk.

Mr.Stevens nods his head in your direction for your speech, you glance at Ellie with her arms now crossed, awaiting your protest. You brush off her insistence on staying and begin, “Mr.Stevens, I appreciate your grading and understanding my agenda for the midterm, but objectively this is sub-pare work. I think you may have given me someone else’s grade… maybe you mixed up my grade with Ms.Williams.”

He doesn’t skip a beat, “I don’t mix up grades, you earned it. Now if you two will excuse me,” Mr.Stevens directs you both to the now empty hallway.

Ellie storms out with rage, cheeks flushed and lips pressed closely, you follow behind. “‘ms Williams’? the fuck was that?” Ellie presses in a scowl, words echoed in a bare hallway.

“Look I read your paper, I think you deserved better,” you retort in an attempt to soothe her. You cant seem to keep your eyes off her cupids bow, the contrast of soft pink lips against her tired skin.

“Oh thats fucking rich coming from ‘ms I don’t deserve my grade’ you’re pathetic,” she points, eyes thinning.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch more people would like you,” you attempt, heat rising in your own cheeks, heart thumping roughly in your chest.

Ellies cruel disposition contorts into a grin, inching closer to your body, “you’re fucking him aren’t you? Ms. perfect sucking off the teach so she can stay on top?”

A power so foreign comes before you, using force to push your wrist into her chest, though she doesn’t budge, “shut up.”

She returns your aggression, pushing your bodies flesh up against the brick wall behind you, ripping the breath from your lungs. Your hands instinctively grip into her shirt. Her eyes are wild, as if she was surprised she’d taken it this far, or rather puzzled by the fact you haven’t broken your grasp.

You both pant from the intrusion, glaring, waiting- waiting for someone to cave.

Like a dog on a leash you dragged her in, pulling her by her fabric until her lips met your own. A depraved act, met with open mouths and wandering tongues. Hatred in its finest form, digging into her as if you’d ever thought of it. A subconscious desire pulled from the depths of your cravings.

Before true indulgence she pushes you off, taking a moment to look at your hazy disposition, drunk on delinquency, “don’t ever do that again,” she pants out. Taking her thumb she wipes the saliva from your bottom lip and takes off without your response.

-

Time after time you went back. You told yourself you’d stop, never talk to her again. Yet there the keys were in the ignition, a path that you knew like the back of your hand. Leading, controlling your own fate of defacement.

“Can you please just open the door,” you plead on her doorsteps, mind and body corrupted- to only be pleased by the mental games, the destruction in forms of submitting to her.

Strung up like an old doll long forgotten in the attic, bound wrist behind your back and ankles tied to the head of her bed, vulnerable and needy.

“What now? Use your fucking words,” Ellie remarks before spitting on your neglected cunt. Your body winces at the sensation of the hot liquid dripping down the pulsing flesh, “please I promise I’ll do whatever you ask.”

She hovers over your squirming body, carful to not give you the satisfaction. Gripping your jaw in her hand, “do you ever pay attention to what I tell you? You don’t deserve to come,” cocking her free hand back to lay a purposeful slap to your slick folds causing you to scream out from the blissful pain.

She lays another one into the already beat red skin, a cruel grin growing on her lips as she hears you enjoying it. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” she asks glaring at your tucked in lip, eyes glossy. You nod back at her, signaling your approval for using your body as her personal vessel.

Somehow it was good enough for her, dropping down to your perked nipples and sucking it into her teeth as she uses her hand to cover your eyes. You’d learn very early on that you weren’t allowed to watch her use her mouth on you. In the odd occasion she’d let you have your cunt in her mouth shed have your face shoved in the sheets while she took you from behind. She never told you why- and you didn’t dare ask.

Your wrist wriggle behind your back as your chest arches into her mouth, hot and wet. You obsess over what it would feel like on your mouth again, most nights were spent only thinking of her mouth- foreign, an impenetrable fortress. You began to chase the chance of the feeling her again.

You feel as her mouth comes off of the swollen bud as she removes the hand on your eyes, “don’t look,” she says with no threat in her tone, but you don’t risk crossing her.

You shut your exhausted eyes, dropping your head back as you feel her wrap her arms around the meat of your thighs. She drags an antagonizing strip up your slit, jolting your body into the mouth.

She goes as slow as possible, providing as little pressure she can muster up to the swell of your clit, but from her slaps it wouldn’t take much. Your body akin to a fish gasping for air out of water, squirming under her touch. She digs her fingers deep into the flesh as a warning.

“If you ever want to come again Id advise you behave.”

“P-please,” you plead to her, legs shaking as you whimper her name over and over like a prayer.

“I said no, i swear to god I’ll ruin every fucking orgasm,” sliding her two fingers into your clenching hole she drives slow pumps as she returns her mouth to your clit.

Your face contorts in concentration, attempting to hold yourself back but you could only be held off for so long.

“Ellie- Ellie!” bursting at the seams, your body detesting her rules, letting the hot white cum coat her fingers. She only fucks you harder, faster through your orgasm. This is a game you weren’t to win, rather to allow herself to revel in your pain. She got off on destroying your mind, making it to where you can only be pleased by her punishment.

Ellie kept her word, working you up on the edge of finishing and stopping completely, laughing at your pathetic state, crying and begging to come.

Clipping your wings, she hung them on her walls as a trophy. Pleas echoing her room, come splattering her sheets, your lips chapped and neglected.

[luveline]

hiya jadey! A hotchner!reader x spencer request for you <3 Maybe Spencer comes home a little tense/snappy from a case and reader misinterprets it as anger towards her so she starts clesning and catering to what she thinks Spencer needs so he isn’t angry at her anymore? (even thought he never was.)

She sort of regresses into what she did when her adoptive parents weren’t pleased with her :(

love you love you love you superstar!

i love u <3 | fem, 1k

cw past emotional abuse

The door to Spencer’s apartment closes with a distinct clunk. Certainly shut too hard. 

It sends a horrible feeling deep into the very pit of your stomach. Like you could cry, then and there. You frown at the odd feeling and stand to shake it off. 

Spencer’s home. 

“Hey,” you say, calling without seeing him, making your way into the living room from his kitchen to find him at the door. 

His bag looks heavier than usual on a slouched shoulder, his hair puffy. He must’ve showered before they flew back into Virginia and air-dried his short curls. He drops his bag on the floor, scrubbing his face, nose and eyes screwed up tightly as his glasses push up to his forehead.

“You okay?” you ask.

His face flickers. “Fine.” 

It’s not the greeting you’d wanted. Maybe you’re egotistical or something but you’d at least expected a hug. He’s the one who invited you over, surely he wants to see you?

The queasy feeling worsens. 

You give him a little kiss on the cheek to test the waters. “Missed you.” 

“Yeah, I missed you too.” 

You aren’t convinced. Spencer rubs his face again, trudging to the couch to lay down. 

You send yourself into a tailspin. Looking around the apartment, you can see why he’s unhappy. You left your cup on the coffee table, your handbag on the armrest, there’s so much to clean up and put away. 

His silence means you did something wrong. 

He asked you to be there. He left you the key. But maybe he didn’t really want you there after all. 

When you were younger, you’d get home from school, and a half hour later your father’s car would park in the driveway. You’d get this feeling, then, a tenseness, not necessarily fear but anticipation. Some days it wouldn’t matter, and most days he’d come through the door like a animal to be coaxed into softness. You’d convince him to be angry at something else. Enable his fury, agree with every word he said. 

Smiling, calmed, he’d walk into a spotless kitchen and find a pan soaking in the sink. I just wish you’d have some fucking consideration, he’d say. Or, Really? Or he’d sigh like he couldn’t believe it and slam a cabinet door. 

Nothing was right. You weren’t worth any patience.

“Dove?” 

You peek around the doorway again, your tidying having taken you to the kitchen to wash your cup. “Yeah?” you say. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Just– just cleaning up.” 

“It’s fine. It’s clean, don’t worry about it.” He frowns at you. “Are you okay?” 

“‘Course.” 

His frown deepens. Spencer only ever frowns when he’s confused. When he’s upset he tends to press his lips together in an accidental pout, and when he’s angry, he’s stony. Spencer’s good at profiling because it’s his job. You learned it at home. Seeing anger in things most of all. 

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” you ask, wiping your hands on your shirt. “Sorry, I should’ve asked how the case was. It was tough, right? It– I mean, they’re all tough.” You smile as you sit on the couch beside him, one leg tucked underneath you. 

He shakes his head. “I’ve missed something. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“You’re not acting like yourself.” 

“Sorry.” You wince. “I thought you were having a bad day?” 

“I am. Or, I was.”

Spencer holds out his hand. When you take it, he pulls you toward him with the care of someone who knows what it’s like to be startled, shuffling toward one another to be knee to knee. He holds your arm like it’s all of you, pressing you to his chest. 

For a while, you just sit there. Quiet, almost silent, the apartment rests around you. Spencer frowns at your hand as he draws lines up and down your arm, but slowly his frown softens, and you realise your stress has faded with it. Spencer isn’t angry. And if he were, it’s not with you. 

“Sorry I shut the door hard when I came in,” he says. 

You feel caught. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Today was really bad, I got into it with Emily and the case… I don’t know. But coming home to you…” 

Spencer curls your fingers over his hand and presses them to the underside of his chin. 

“Thank you for coming over,” he says. “Did you eat?” 

You can’t help smiling, turning your hand slowly to cup his cheek, to hold him still. “I was waiting for you.” 

“Well, you decide and I’ll go pick it up.” 

“I can’t come with you?” 

“Do you want to?” He turns into your touch, glasses pushed against his eye, his lashes on the lense. 

You take back your hand. “Sure.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll walk. It’ll be nice, the weather’s not too bad.” 

“You feel okay?” he asks. 

“Worried about me?” 

“What your brother might do to me,” he says, nodding into the joke. Then he cracks just as quickly and tugs you in to hug you sideways. “Worried about how I made you feel.” 

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, but you don’t want to talk about it anymore. You push up taller than him to encircle his head and neck, pressing your nose into the soft crop of his hair. He squeezes the small of your back with similar gusto. “Got my wires crossed,” you mumble. 

”Want me to uncross them?” 

You say, Please, and Spencer pushes you away from him to put your arms firmly on the right sides of you, uncrossing you, and kissing you on the nose. 

[miirohs]

nightingale [m.v.s]

pairing: Mob Boss!Max Verstappen x Nurse!Reader wc: 1.7k cw: indications of ppd (not explicit but you'd have to read the lines for it), max is not the most mentally stable, abuse mentioned (not in detail) an: elle is 100% made up and if yall want more family content hmu i can do it 😝 also, the nightingale oath isn’t universally used, but essentially it’s almost the same thing as the Hippocratic oath doctors take :)

“She won’t stop crying!” Max snapped, frustratedly clutching the rails of the crib as the baby in it cried relentlessly, giving you a crazed look from the corner of his eye as you got closer. It was like dealing with a wounded animal that refused your help.

“Breath Max. Breath.” From the moment you had arrived at the Verstappen home, it had been walking on eggshells, anger fueling his every waking move from as far as three weeks as he prowled around the house.

“Godverdomme (goddamnit) Y/n, I know that! Why is she crying though?!”

You reached out a hand, stroking his back gently. You ought to be as angry as him for having you snatched off the streets but you couldn’t, not with the reveal of his child. You had the barest idea of what he might have been going through.

“I don’t know, I'm not… yeah.” The look in his eyes turned sharp and you closed your mouth, staring down at your hands.

“I’m leaving, I can’t do this right now. Don’t come after me or else.” He threatened, the anger on his face fading into a stoic look as he turned away from the child, one look you feared more than his explosive anger.

It wasn’t until he left the room, gun drawn in hand, that you could breathe again, nearly collapsing to the floor.

You turned around, weakly holding the rails. You could hear him barking at the guards from inside the room, fading into the distance as your anticipation slowly died down. You thought that maybe today, you were good as dead.

The baby’s fussing had died down long before you had finally noticed. You hesitated when looking at her, reaching in to pick her up gently.

“Hi Elle.”

All the baby did was look at you blankly, eyes still wet from the countless tears that’d been shed before Max left. She had his gorgeous blue eyes, but most likely her mothers soft face.

You knew he was a dangerous man, and now you supposed the baby knew as well, seeing the way she’d been crying before Max had finally left the room. It wasn’t an isolated incident as well, building up across many miniature incidents.

The most shocking part, though, was the fact you’d been told the biggest kingpin in the Netherlands had a child. You would’ve laughed in the face of the person telling you before, but now it felt realer than it had been for the last couple weeks.

You gently cradled the baby in your arm, rocking her lightly as you looked out the door ajar to the hall. You could hear the guard grumbling in discontent as they went about their business, yet none of the commotion had bothered Elle. 

She had finally fallen asleep in your arms, gripping onto your finger as you put her down, a strong sense of familiarity washing over you. 

You spent a good part of your time caring for children, as this was no different to you.

Letting go of the crib, you steeled your nerves to walk out the room, arms crossed in front of your protectively as you eyed the men in the hall.

One of the guards, Daniel, held you back gently by the shoulder, looking at you with curious eyes. This was probably one of the more rare times seeing you, it was like you’d never left the nursery from the moment you got here.

“You can’t-”

“He kidnapped me from my own home Daniel. I don’t think he has a right to keep me from going wherever I want in his house.” You snapped, surprised at how hoarse your voice seemed.

He didn’t fight you, simply nodding and slinking back to his spot because there wasn’t much he could do to convince you to stay. 

You could easily recall your steps to the kitchen, the heat in your feet dispelled by the cold tiles as you entered.

You didn’t know how long you were there, standing blankly at the sink as the water continued to fill up in the glass.

The glass was overfilling and you watched it, hands clenched into fists before you released them entirely, weight rolling off your shoulders.

The sound of a door slamming snapped you out of your stupor, turning off the sink and staring into the dimly illuminated living room.

Max came through the door, blood staining his shirt and face, dirt smudge across his nose and cheeks. He noticed you, a look of disparagement in his eyes as he got closer. Looking into his eyes, it really reminded you of Elle.

He ignored you as he limped into the kitchen, opening a cabinet with more gentleness than you’d seen in days.

“I thought I told you not to leave her alone?” He said, voice scratchy and low as if he’d been screaming. 

“She’s finally asleep.”

You responded. He didn’t bother to critize you again, popping open the bottle of whisky and pouring it into a glass. 

He limped back to the living room, settling into an armchair with his back to the cityline. He looked almost formidable as the harsh shadows cast lines on his face.

“You sure have a way of showing you care, Max.”

“I know you aren’t criticizing me now, schat.” He laughed humorlessly, sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh yeah, because kidnapping someone to take care of your child really says you love them.” You snarked, eyes trailing to his sides. 

There were minor tears when you hadn’t seen his shirt before he left, heart beating loudly as you got a glimpse of his bloodied side as he pushed himself up.

“What happened to you?”

“What do you think happened?” He said, rolling his eyes as he lowered the glass from his lips.

“Well, this isn’t healthy. For you or Elle.” You said wearily, finger tracing the rim of the glass. “Have you ever considered therapy? It might-“

“No.” 

You blinked, surprised by his sudden refusal. “Why not?”

“I can’t. Do you know the kind of risk that poses?” He grumbled, clearly offended at you for suggesting so.

“Okay then, sure would’ve been better if you’d kidnapped a therapist rather than an underpaid nurse to do that job for you. Secrecy and all.” 

“That’s how you want to play then? I’ll give you the money, then leave this place and never come back, if you’re that desperate.” He gritted through clenched teeth, temper clearly being dialed up by the reminder.

“What? Absolutely not.” It was your turn to reject his offer, staring at him blankly. You didn’t know why that made you feel so upset.

“I’m offering you money and allowing you to leave, what more could you want, schat?” He scoffed, sharply putting down the whiskey glass as he held his head in the other hand.

“I can't just leave her like that, you know that as well as I do.” He remained silent, which you took as permission to get closer to him.

He didn’t protest as you leaned over, yet flinched slightly as you pulled his shirt up.

“Calm down, if I had any intention of hurting you, you’d know.” You rolled your eyes, turning up the light a little more so you could see the full extent of his wounds.

“I don’t think it’s necessary-“ 

You cut him off with a sharp inhale. The other miniature wounds stared back at you, barely cuts compared to the jagged scar that ran down his side. “When did this happen?” You whispered.

He slammed his glass down again and you flinched back, split seconds before you could look him in the eyes again. They were slightly sorrowful, but otherwise empty, where there had been every negative emotion a human could muster moments before.

“It was my dad.”

“Did he…” You didn’t finish the sentence, swallowing your doubts as you stared at it.

“Yes. It was in a fight. He won, obviously.” He answered, short and clipped as his posture dropped slightly. 

“Is this why you don’t want Elle? Because you don’t want her to go through-” You asked meekly, cut off almost instantly. “The old man is dead. I killed him myself, made sure he couldn’t lay a single hand on anyone else.” Max hissed, a few beats passing in between the both of you.

“Do you know anything about her mother maybe? I could probably pull together something if-”

“She’s dead.” 

You blinked, mouth gaping slightly.

“She was a prostitute. Most likely gone from all the drugs up her system by now. That’s why I needed you. Our old doctor… left his position early.” 

You watched him get up from his spot, clearly done with the conversation, but something about what he said seemed to strike a chord in you.

“So you brought me to make sure-“

“The baby wasn’t affected. You weren’t a doctor but you did just fine I suppose.” He finished, back to you and he poured himself another one.

“Max, do you know what a Nightingale oath is?”

“Een nacht wat (a night what)?” You continued on, though you had a feeling you knew what he said.

“It’s an oath some of us take. To protect and to serve.”

You got up, feet pattering against the ground as you got closer to him.

“I don’t think anyone really abides by it anymore-“ He let out a short laugh, clearly unbelieving of your words as you continued, “-but maybe, just maybe, that’s why I haven’t gone home just yet.”

“Are you sure you want this Y/n? When you could just as easily leave and go home now?” He muttered softly, hunched over the countertop as your hand met his back.

“I’m sure. You need the help Max. You can’t deny it.”

“Then so be it nachtegaal. I can’t stop you when you’ve made up your mind.” He murmured, steely blue eyes meeting your own as he held your gaze.

“Maybe, once you’re well enough, you can finally form some connection to the child.” You sighed, looking at him. “I promise it.”

“You’re very confident in this plan of yours.”

You smiled inwardly at his words. “Why else would I be here if I wasn’t?”

[imsilay]

How about König rescuing his obsession from an abusive boyfriend and then claiming her while he watches helpless?

LATIBULE

mdni, cw: abuse, cursing, hair pulling, punching, beating, broken bones? (idk im terrible at tagging :/ )

word count: 0.8k

i’m gonna make pt.2 :) edit: POSTED! here

cr: paldedpul on twt (i’m not sure)

Your cheek burned and you gasped with pain when your boyfriend hit you across the face. “You fucking slut. You’re no good for anything.” he hissed and grabbed a fistful of your hair. He yanked it back and caused so much pain that your mouth fall agape. You tried to reach his hand and push him away from your hair but he didn’t gave you time to reach. Another hand found your throat and he pinned your back against his chest, pulling your hair and squeezing the oxygen out of your lungs. All you could do was squirm and cry. You felt so pathetic, helpless. The man you loved was taking his anger out on you because things didn’t go as he wanted.

At the time you thought everything was over, the door broke open. Your boyfriend’s head snapped towards the door and his grip loosened. Your body fell down and you coughed, gasping for air. Before you could process what was going on, your boyfriend’s body fall next to you with a loud thud. Then someone sat on his stomach and punched him in the face, hard, so hard that you heard his jaw break. The man didn’t stop. He was furious. How could that bastard hit his little one? How could he hurt you while König was afraid to touch your hair? Who did he think he is? The only reason König let him to be with you was the smile on your face when you talked about him. And yet, that bastard was here, hurting his little one. A deadly mistake. Punch after punch, König mercilessly hit your boyfriend’s face without caring about his pleading.

“‘m gonna break your bones until you pass out from the pain. Then i will do it again, again and again. Until there’s no broken bone in your body. Arschloch.” König hissed. Then he grabbed him by the collar and pulled his body up, as if he was a bag of potatoes. König threw him in the chair, his face was covered in blood and he was groaning in pain. “But first…” König forced himself to look at you. His heart ached as he saw your tears. That was the last thing you deserved. He just wanted to snap that stupid boyfriend’s -not anymore, now he was a living dead- neck. “Beg forgiveness from meine Königin.” (My queen.) König grabbed his hair and pulled his head up to face you. Your boyfriend was crying and begging for forgiveness from you for half an hour. Whenever you tried to say it was enough, König pulled his hair harder and forced him to beg with a broken jaw some more. It was just the beginning of the endless pain Konig would cause him.

After he decided it was enough, Konig tied him down to the chair and walked to you. With his hands covered in your ex’s blood and trembling uncontrollably, König fell on his knees and embraced your body tightly, until every centimeter of your body was covered by his massive frame. "Don't cry." he mumbled like it was hurting him physically to see you in pain. "What that arschloch did to you?" He kissed the top of your head and caressed your hair with his trembling hand. He was so afraid to touch you, you barely felt the hand on your hair. "It hurt." you sobbed. As your cries increased, you clung to his body, burying your head into his neck and wetting his t-shirt with your tears - he hugged you tighter. “Meine Königin…” he whimpered like an injured animal. “Don’t cry, bitte. I beg you.” his whole body tensed with the want for your ex’s blood. He wanted to draw blood, to cause pain from beyond that bastard caused you. “‘m gonna kill that bastard.” he mumbled and kissed your hair again. He was using all his willpower not to fall for his anger. “Say something.” he buried his head into your hair and held you tighter. Trying to contain his anger. Hearing you cry was worse than the torment he received in his past. It was worse than the time when they cut a deep wound on his chest or pressed hot iron on his back. He wished for another wound rather than seeing you cry that much.

By the time your sobs stopped he was at the edge of going crazy. “König.” you finally mumbled and his heart skipped a beat. “Ja, meine Königin?” he immediately answered, like if you command him to kill he wouldn’t think twice. Your ex’s pained groans filled your ears as you lifted your head from his neck and looked into his eyes. “How did you know?” you questioned. Because you haven’t told anyone about your abusive boyfriend. "I thought i was going to... " he shushed you by slamming his lips into yours, your head was now inside his mask. He pulled your body into his lap and hungrily kissed your lips. He was gentle though. The sudden want to possess and claim you as his was overwhelming, but he didn’t want to force you for anything after your traumatizing experience. "Let’s get you out of here, meine Königin." he mumbled after the kiss and kissed the bruised skin of your neck.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i love to reply all of them :>

also i want to thank y’all for all support on my previous post. it really made my day :’)

[syoddeye]

animal control

ghoap x f!reader | 1.5k cw: pet play, non-consensual touching a/n: no actual animal abuse is depicted. inspired by all the incredible pet fic i've been feasting on lately, particularly touch me 'till i vomit by @/cordeliawhohung and scrap metal muzzle by @/391780. i adore and admire you both. banner is by @/cafekitsune. ⛓️

you’ve only been in the new place a week, but you’re positive the neighbor is committing animal abuse. 

each time you step out for an evening smoke, you hear pathetic whimpering from an old dog house over the fence. you’ve never actually seen the dog, but the shelter’s huge, maybe built for a shepherd or a mastiff. the stake hammered into the ground in front has a thick chain hooked to it, and its length disappears through the entrance.

you’ve tried throwing food and baby talk to lure the poor thing out of its hiding place, but nothing’s worked. it must be petrified with how it goes completely silent at your attempts. the thought of it shivering alone in its house keeps you up at night.

the icy downpour that picks up after dinner is the last straw. you stand at the back door, toe wedged into it to prop it open, and blow smoke into the wet and cold air. sad little whines punctuate the hammering of rain, pitchy and loud. like the dog wants attention, like it’s begging its owner to take pity on it. the sounds strike fury into your heart, an anger you pursue to your neighbor’s door.

huddled beneath the narrow overhang of the door, you wait for a response to your frantic, angry knocking. an answer arrives as you lift a fist to knock again. the door swings open to a pillar of black.

“yeah?”

big, tall, and as broad as the doorway, the neighbor glares down through a balaclava shoved to the bridge of his nose. dressed entirely in black, his arms test the knit of a jumper as he crosses one arm and picks at his teeth boredly with the other. scarred knuckles matching scarred lips. his eyes swallow the glow from the exterior light, flat and inexpressive, but his head tilts after a second, and they drop to your tits.

you hold onto your nerves with both hands. you can stomach a lech if it means helping an innocent creature. squaring your shoulders, you lift your chin and cut to the chase. “haven’t you ever heard of ‘if you’re cold, they’re cold’? seriously, can’t you hear him? i’m going to ring and report you for leaving your dog outside in this weather! and for all the other times!”

his gaze darts toward your flat, then returns to your face. “you’re the new neighbor.”

“yes, which is why i thought i’d address this directly first, before i call—“

“got a name?”

you inwardly fume at the interruption and ball your hands into fists to squeeze, all but hissing it at him.

he squints and licks his teeth, repeating your name with a sneer. “the mutt’s perfectly fine. unless you wanna check for yourself?”

the offer throws you. this is your first time confronting a criminal, but you don't think they typically allow people to witness their wrongdoings. it could be a bluff. given his stature, he's probably banking that you won't challenge him. perhaps, if you at least catch a glimpse and see if the dog's alright, you could sleep and still report him in the morning.

“as a matter of fact, i do. and your name?”

“simon. c’mon, then.”

when you turn to go to the garden gate, he clicks his tongue. “not gettin’ soaked out there, through ‘ere, pet.” he lumbers further into his home.

you hesitate with one foot off the stairs. simon stares from the center of his living room, and raises a single notched brow in a silent well?

you step inside.

he huffs and holds a hand up when you close the door and start to trudge after him, “oi. shoes off,” he barks, then mutters, “no better than ‘im.”

your socks squelch on the cheap parquet, and his eyes flicker down to them before crawling to your face.

“this way.”

simon leads you through the house; the floor plan is the same as yours, albeit mirrored. it’s obvious he’s lived here long enough to make modifications. dog gates screwed into the walls, blocking off the bathroom and stairs. a set of hooks bearing a lead and keys. scuff marks midway up the wall throughout the hallway.

“you always a bleedin’ ‘eart?”

“i’m an animal lover.” you deadpan.

he laughs. 

you pause again at the threshold to the kitchen, staring hard at the glass door leading into his garden. bowls for food and water sit beside the door on a silicone pad, the name ‘soap’ engraved onto their rims. they do not sway you, though. the bare minimum can be met, and a pet can still be neglected.

before simon can scold you again, you tiptoe past the stringy remnants of meat and an empty bottle on his table. a strange little part of you is glad he’s eaten.

he pushes the door open, and rainfall fills the kitchen. he scratches at the stubble on his chin and peers at you, mouth curling into a grin. “just a tick.”

simon turns toward the dark, then whistles.

“soap! c’mere, boy. come greet our visitor.”

from across the yard, the chain clinks and uncoils. you hear the dog eagerly whine and you tiptoe closer until you’re beside simon in the frame. he shifts sideways to allow it, but it’s snug even with your arms and shoulders tucked.

out of the shadows, though, comes not a shepherd or a hound but a man. dressed in a ratty t-shirt and sweats, his head partly shaved, he lunges, eyes widening when he sees you. his advance cut short as he roughly jerks back, held at bay by the length of chain fastened to the collar on his neck. the pain deters him for all of five seconds before he futilely reaches for you, quickly becoming drenched in the process.

you shriek and skitter back, but the mass of simon’s arm swinging around your shoulders doesn’t let you go far.

this man, this soap, stands with his arms outstretched. chest heaving and body swaying as if he had a tail. one or two more links in his chain, and he’d be able to touch you.

for a moment, you simply gawk in disbelief. mind and body unable to align with the pure shock. then, soap’s teeth begin to chatter, puffs of air briefly form in front of his mouth, drool and spit glossy on the bit gag clenched between his teeth.

“well. look at tha’, ‘e is cold.” 

simon’s hand fists your shirt between your shoulders to root you to the spot, and he reaches one long arm to grab soap’s collar. his fingers rest on the release for the buckle.

“would you like to warm ‘im up?”

you violently shake your head and shuffle uselessly, wet socks slipping on the floor as you try to escape his grip. “please no, no thank you. i didn’t mean to–“

simon ducks his head, nosing your temple. his breath reeks of meat and beer. “bit late for tha’ pet. you stuck your nose in where it don’t belong. you’re a dumb pup yourself, aren’t ya.”

soap makes a low sound in the back of his throat and retracts his hands. his elbows bend, and his hands curl into fists at his chest. he pants behind the bit, big blue eyes fixed on simon. begging and shivering.

the fabric of your shirt strains as you struggle, your head still dumbly shaking as words fail. “i’m not, i’m not–”

“you are, pet. practically a bitch in ‘eat. tossing my dog scraps, cooin’ at ‘im. you want soap to ‘ump your leg that bad?”

you don’t know who’s begging harder—you or soap. if he were a real dog, you think he’d be foaming at the mouth by now. you burst into tears.

“oh, puppy.” simon chuckles into your hair and plants a wet kiss by your ear. he quiets, dropping back into that unaffected tenor from when he answered your knocking, and shushes you. “can’t fault you for being soft, can i? no, i can’t…”

you sniffle and choke back a sob, eyes glued to soap, watching his expression fall. you’re unsure if simon’s talking to you or at you, but you nod hesitantly just in case. whatever gets you out of his place and on the phone with the police faster.

simon’s fingers twitch on the buckle, and your mouth dries.

“‘course. soap’s been a good boy. didn’t break once. and good boys deserve rewards.”

the buckle clicks, the collar falls open, and soap doesn’t give you a chance to scream.

in the morning, crushed between them, you smell wet dog.

[splataii]

kuroo x reader x bokuto

cw: top dom characters, sub bottom male reader, minor voyeurism, praise kink, degradation, double penetration, stomach bulge, use of words "boy pussy" and "boycunt"

sharing is caring hehe.. or maybe teamwork makes the dreamwork? idk lol

imagine frat boy bokuto and kuroo double stuffing their pretty roommate.

they had been arguing like schoolboys earlier over which one of em got to fuck you first.

it's ridiculous really, but in the end, it’s bokuto that gets first dibs on stuffing ur cute ass w his cock.

he promises kuroo a turn later (and he really did mean it), but omfg he just gets too caught up in how fucking good you feel. the way your hole looks as it sucks his dick back in with every thrust, the way you hold your soft thighs open for him, begging for more, the way your nails rake down his strong back when he fucks another load of cum in you.

he absolutely loses any rational, his own whines and moans drowning even yours as he continues rutting into you like a animal in a rut, his only coherent thought to fuck another load in ya till ur stuffed full

and poor lil kuroo’s left to listen to the sound of the headboard banging against the wall with each powerful thrust, jerking his neglected cock for the nth time to the sound of you guys moans, wishing it was him in there splitting you on his cock instead. it's not fair, and he gets real sick of it real quick.

when he finally barges in, you look completely fucked out, and bokuto is still mindlessly fucking his fat dick in you, bruises littering your hips with how hard his strong hands hold you down against the mattress.

damn you iust looked so perfect all fucked out like that, skin glistening with sweat as you laid spread out underneath bokuto. kuroo has a still dazed bokuto lift you off the bed, your hands clinging to his back as the two of em guide your body through it all.

kuroo presses a hand on the small of your back, making you arch for him while bokuto holds your shaky thighs apart.

your eyes widen when you finally realize what's goin on, feeling kuroo’s tip catching on ur already abused hole

“woah.. is it really gonna fit?” you hear bokuto mumbling against your neck as he spreads your ass.

“i’ll make it fit”

you desperately shake your head, squirming in bokuto's arms, but it's like you weigh nothing to him as he keeps you up against his chest, and reassures you not to worry, “shh, you're doing so good for us pretty boy, we’ll take care a you, promise,”

kuroo’s too busy w how good your ass feels around his cock, your boypussy too stretched to even properly clench down around him. he’s basically rambling as he presses kisses to your neck, licking the stray tears off your cheek, “almost there. attaboy, that's it. take that cock, go on n take it f’me,”

they're just soo fucking big, and they love it. how helpless you look in their arms.

you feel like you’ll break in two when you finally feel him fully sheath his cock inside your messy boycunt, bulge protruding from ur cute tummy. they both tease you bout it, pressing their hands against it and jerking their hips up so they can listen to how fucking desperate you get, begging them to finally start moving as they watch their dicks thrust in and outta you.

all you can really do is mindlessly babble as your eyes roll back, drool pooling at your lips as you cum all over your tummy from the feeling of just being filled by them both.

but that doesn't even compare to when they finally start movin and overstimulate your stretched hole, holding you up as they rock you back and forth on their dicks

don't worry, they'll talk you through it<3

bokuto in one ear moaning breathlessly about what a good fucking boy you are, taking their cocks like a champ

and kuroo in the other grunting about how greedy your little fuckhole is. he shoulda known one cock isn’t enough for your slutty ass.

[bumblesimagines]

Our Gentle Sin

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After being left orphaned and adopted by his grandmother, Arvin finds solace in his new sister and discovers a partner in crime in the neighbor down the road.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Mentions of parents dying, implied/mentioned abusive parents, mentions of religion , mentions of homophobia, mentions of pet/animal death

~~~

Arvin remembered the days after his parents' deaths pretty vividly, even at the young age he'd lost them. He remembered the funeral for his mother and the deathly silent ride back home where he stewed in his anger and grief; unable to brush away the fact all his father's insistent praying and the slaughter of his poor dog had been for nothing. No amount of praying or sacrifices had taken his mother's illness from him, no amount of tears shed brought his best friend back to life.

By the time he led the officer to his father's corpse by the cross out in the woods, his body and heart had grown numb.

The ride to his grandmother and uncle's home had been silent, too. He supposed there was nothing good to say to a boy who'd lost his parents back-to-back. The numbness dulled a little after reuniting with his family and his new sister; Lenora, she was called, presumably an orphan like him. Her mother had dropped her off at his grandmother's home to spend the day out with her husband and his cousin, only to never be seen alive again while her husband and the cousin virtually disappeared. Her sweet smile and glittering eyes won him over soon enough and he vowed to always protect her. 

A couple months after settling into life at his grandmother's house, she had his uncle drive them down the road and across the street to a neighbor's house where one of Lenora's friends lived for a playdate. His grandmother told him about the boy his age who she hoped he'd befriend and coaxed him into giving the boy a try while she caught up with his quiet and timid mother.

Back in Knockemstiff, Arvin had little to no friends since most of the boys always gave him a hard time for being an outsider. In Coal Creek, his grandmother assured him, things would be different. 

While his grandmother and Lenora entered the house, Arvin lingered outside, unsure of what to do with himself as he stared at the boy. (Y/N), he was called. (Y/N) stared back at him, his fingers toying with the laces of his worn shoes and chin propped up on his knee. "You're Arvin?" He finally spoke, lifting his head and squinting through the sunrays. Arvin gave a nod. "Come meet Summer." 

Arvin barely had time to question him on who exactly 'Summer' was before (Y/N) took him by the wrist and led him around the house to the open backyard. His eyes automatically locked on the shabby wooden doghouse, his heart skipping a beat and then filling with longing when a sweet-looking dog poked its head out of the doghouse at the sound of their shoes crunching the leaves scattered around. Summer trotted toward them, her tail wagging and nose pressing so hard into (Y/N)'s shirt that it left a wet imprint behind. 

"Why is she outside?" Arvin asked, his lips threatening to quiver when he pressed his hand into her soft pretty fur. He thought of his Jack and how sweet he'd been, always trailing after him like the good boy he'd been. He remembered the cold night he realized what his father had done and the hatred that'd bubbled up in him. 

"Dad says animals are dirty, and dirty things gotta be kept outside. He doesn't like her very much, I think." (Y/N) explained, rubbing his palm into Summer's head and grinning when she lapped at his chin, her tail wagging quicker than before. 

Arvin decided then and there that he disliked (Y/N)'s father, and as he later learned, the man was a drunk son of a bitch worthy of no respect. 

Time flew by quicker than Arvin expected now that he had Lenora and (Y/N) to keep him company. They were as thick as thieves, vowing to protect and defend each other no matter what. It led to many fights when other boys at school tried picking on them, and they oft' sat at the dinner table while his grandmother scolded them and Lenora tended to their injuries, but it only made them closer. Trouble makers, some called them, but it never mattered. Arvin only grew to realize his feelings had changed when he heard his grandmother teasingly say she could see Lenora and (Y/N) marrying when they got older. 

Arvin had been unable to get her words out of his head since that evening, been unable to decipher why it annoyed him as much as it did. It made sense, in a way. Two kids from the same town growing up together and eventually marrying after high school was a tale as old as time. He wondered if it was simply the idea of his little sister getting hitched or someone stealing away his only companion but only the latter bothered him more than the former. 

"You ever think of the future?" Arvin asked, leaning back against the hood of his car and staring up at the twinkling stars. The car shook lightly when (Y/N) shut the door, leaves crunching under his boots as he made his way around to stand beside him. He clamped his teeth around the cap of a beer bottle in hand, peeling it off and spitting it out onto the ground. 

"The future?" (Y/N) repeated, offering the bottle before taking the cap off his own. "You thinkin' of the future now, Arv?" 

"Grandma was fixin' up dinner with Lenora and, I dunno, she said some things that got me thinkin', I guess," Arvin explained and took a swing of his beer, craning his neck when it began to ache and gazing at his best friend. (Y/N) pressed the rim of the bottle against his bottom lip in thought, eyes staring off into the darkness of the forest around them. Arvin liked watching him. He learned all his quirks and habits that way. 

(Y/N)'s brows fixed. "What'd she say? She mention she wants you out of the house or somethin'? I bet she wants you to get yourself a real pretty wife." (Y/N) laughed, his voice teasing and light-hearted. 

It was true, he supposed. The times his grandmother would talk about his parents, she always ensured to remind him that he needed to 'find himself a good, God-fearing Christian wife who loves him as his mother loved his father.' He'd heard the romantic tale time after time; his father drove through Meade and stopped to get himself a coffee only to end up head over heels for the pretty, generous waitress. His father ignored his grandmother's desire to get him to wed another woman and ultimately won his mother over. In the end, his love for her led to his own demise. 

"She thinks you oughta marry Lenora." 

"Lenora?" (Y/N) repeated, aghast and wide-eyed. "Oh, come on, Arv. I'd never marry Lenora! She's like a sister to me, you know that." He shoved his elbow into Arvin's side and scoffed quietly, filling his mouth with beer and making the car shift when he sat back on the hood. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Arvin chuckled, thumb rubbing into the wet glass of his bottle. He caught (Y/N) leaning back to lay on the hood and clicked his tongue, twisting around to warn him about denting the hood only to notice the way (Y/N)'s shirt rode up and exposed the happy trail dipping beneath his jeans. The words died in his throat and he clamped his mouth shut but before he could turn away and take a swing of his beer, the moonlight shone above them and exposed the blossoming bruise peeking out from under his shirt. 

Without thinking twice, Arvin's fingers grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward, ignoring the noise of complaint that escaped (Y/N) when the cold nipped at his newly exposed skin. A hefty bruise just over his rib cage, big and purple and enough to send a wave of fury over Arvin. (Y/N) shoved his hand away and sat up, pushing his shirt back down and stepping away from the car. 

"(Y/N)-"

"I don't wanna hear it." 

"I'm gonna kill him, I swear." Arvin spat, fully meaning his words. He had the means to now that his uncle had recently gifted him a gun that once belonged to his father for his birthday but he never did anything without (Y/N)'s knowledge. (Y/N) chugged the rest of the beer, regret briefly settling in when his features scrunched up before he tossed the bottle aside blindly to be forgotten in the woods. "I could, you know. Unc' got me that gun I showed ya the other day."

"It was a fight, Arv. I got some good punches in, too." (Y/N) sighed. "He was drunk and being a real piece of work over Summer. Said he wanted to sell her n' stuff like that now that she's too old to do anythin' other than sleep." 

"It'd be real easy to get rid of him." Arvin would never admit it aloud, especially around others, but he'd thought about it plenty of times before. A drunk hated by virtually everyone? No one would bat an eye. He doubted the church would even say any prayers for him. "I could do it." 

"Not worth it, Arv."

"Not worth it?" Arvin bristled, his hold on his bottle tightening and his body peeling itself away from the car. (Y/N) barely batted an eye when Arvin grabbed a fistful of his collar, and the blatant trust despite his home life made Arvin's anger simmer down a smidge. "I ain't goin' to sit around a second longer watchin' him be a piece of shit to you and your family." 

"Our sisters are graduatin' soon, remember? By the time graduation comes around mine will be hitched by that little boyfriend of hers and out the house quicker than a fish in water. Ma's never leavin' him, you and I both know that, but I will someday. You and I will do some work, get some money, and make somethin' of ourselves. I'll need you out of prison for that to work, Arv." (Y/N) pursed his lips. "You keep gettin' yourself worked up over nothin'-"

"It ain't nothin' and you know it." Arvin huffed and released his tight hold on (Y/N)'s collar, taking a quick swing of his beer in hopes it'd help calm his racing heart and heated nerves. He inhaled deeply and forced his shoulders to sag when he exhaled, his eyes darting around the darkness until he calmed down and met (Y/N)'s stare. 

"You make a better guard dog than Summer." (Y/N) teased, his smile as calming and pretty as always. 

Being raised the way he was, Arvin heard plenty of religious talk. He'd believed in God once, back when his father imprinted it in his skull that he had to pray otherwise his mother would never heal from her sickness, but any belief died with his parents. He attended church on occasion and kept his mouth mostly shut when his grandmother and sister spoke of the bible and prayer but the belief never rose to full devotion and love like the others. He'd heard plenty of what was sin and what was not; man laying with man being spoken of as if it were the worst sin of all. Arvin could care less if someone loved another of the same sex but he knew little of how (Y/N) felt on the topic. 

"Yeah," He managed out weakly, his eyes snapping upward when he realized he'd been staring. His ears warmed with embarrassment and he drank again, finishing the bottle quicker than expected. "A guard dog bites, though. You never take the damn muzzle off." 

"You ain't got no muzzle, Arv. I got you on a leash, maybe." (Y/N) laughed lightly and Arvin wondered if his mind conjured up the flirtatious tone. "I take good care of you, don't I? Here makin' sure you don't get taken away by animal control." 

"It'd be for good reason-"

"Arv," (Y/N) groaned, lightly shoving his shoulder and lolling his head to the side. "You know I'd never let 'em take you unless I'm comin' too." 

Arvin hummed softly, chewing on the inside of his cheek 'cause despite his desire to get rid of such a filthy stain, where else would he find loyalty as strong as his if he lost him? Apart from his family, he had no one else, and he'd rather die than let anything happen to their friendship. Even if his thoughts plagued him with thoughts about how close they were or how easy it'd be to close the distance.

(Y/N) stared at him silently before exhaling heavily through his nose. "Arv," He said quietly and Arvin hummed again. "Will you keep a secret for me?" 

"'Course."

"Good." (Y/N)'s lips quirked up briefly before his warm hands landed on Arvin's cheeks and tugged him closer. 

Arvin immediately stiffened when they kissed, eyes widening with rigid shock that made him freeze up but his hands flew into action when he felt (Y/N) begin to pull away from him. His hands grabbed onto him, fingers hooking in the belt loops of his jeans and pressing him as closely as possible. Arvin closed the small distance with a kiss rougher than the first, too eager to ensure (Y/N) knew he felt the same but (Y/N) only chuckled and returned the affection just as roughly. 

"You ain't ever leavin' me, right, Arv?" (Y/N) asked breathlessly against his lips.

"Never."

[jymwahuwu]

After watching the animation, I felt uncomfortable and had thoughts about handcuffs. just found a reason to be handcuffed and spanked by Wriothesley 🥵🙏💦💦

CW: yandere, forced imprisonment, abuse of power, non-consensual spanking, humiliation

For a whole week… you were uncooperative, stamping your feet in front of Wriothesley's face, arguing with him, or responding with perfunctory- "yes-yes", "got it.", "you're right again anyway". Why? He keeps you in this underwater prison and factory, restricting your freedom. He smiled lightly and gracefully, patting you on the head as if you just weren't mature enough. Like just punched the pillow with his fist, it was completely useless. The anger in your chest burned even brighter.

You were sulking that day, slowly poking at the food with your fork in the cafeteria, thinking about how to escape the Fortress of Meropide. A young and sweet voice sounded next to you. "You look unhappy. Cheer up. Want a milkshake?" "No, thank you." You replied quickly, without even glancing at who the person was. In the corner of your vision, a blue milkshake approaches you, and you turn around irritably.

"I told you no…" Inadvertently, your elbow touched the cup, and the whole cup fell to the ground and broke. You were startled to realize that it was the head nurse, Sigewinne. Guilt builds in you, and you're about to apologize and pick up the pieces, but you hear that annoying voice - Wriothesley's. His boots appear before you. "Wow, what a big scene. Do you mind explaining it?"

Sigewinne waved her hand and raised head to look at Wriothesley. "I'm fine, Your Grace."

Rebellion takes a place in your heart. You swallowed your apology and sneered. "I broke it."

Wriothesley raised his eyebrows. "Really? Well, come to the office with me. Sigewinne, don't pick up the debris. I will ask people to clean it." Sigewinne gave you a worried look and explained. "It's really just an accident, not intentional, Your Grace…"

"Don't worry." He gave a reassuring smile. "Just going to the office to chat."

As soon as you entered the office, you heard the door being locked. Your heart skipped a beat, but you still maintained a stoic look.

Wriothesley walked slowly from the door to you, hugged his arm, and asked in a relaxed tone. "You've been very rude lately. What's wrong?"

You can't believe Wriothesley is actually asking this - "Don't you know you're the reason! When am I going to get out of jail! Why I have no idea how long my sentence will be extended!"

"This is what happens when someone disobeys." Administrator said, taking something out of his pocket. "And now I'm right. You don't look like you're fit to be released from prison."

He quickly lifted the back of your hand, and then with a sound, the handcuff locked your right hand. You suddenly broke into a cold sweat, but your other hand was grabbed and locked in the same way. "W-what do you want to do!" accompanied by a chuckle. "You look better this way, but it's not enough."

Wriothesley sat down leisurely, stretched out his hand, and pulled you onto his lap. As you screamed, a chill ran down your butt, and the covering material was pulled down. But he still felt that it was not enough, and even took off your underwear, not even allowing the underwear to stay on your calves, but threw it on the desk. Before this, you had never known that Wriothesley's strength was so irresistible and powerful. He always allowed you to push him away a little.

A hard slap on your ass. Terrified, you straightened your legs and kicked them, as if that would relieve the pain, but it didn't. "How dare you - how dare you spank me! Wriothesley, I will teach you a lesson once I get out!"

"Ha-I'm waiting." He said, holding back the laughter in his throat. "But now, you're being spanked by me, so watch your words."

The slaps landed on your butt one after another, and his thick arms were waving, showing no mercy, as the loud slapping sound proved. The pain urged your eyes to fill with tears, and you wanted to struggle, but the cold handcuffs reminded you of your position. "Stop this…you have no right to do this…"

"I have. And no one can stop me from doing this." While holding your waist, his big, rough hand slapped your right butt three times in a row. Just when you thought you had adapted… pain. You sobbed quietly, sniffling.

After the slap lasted… you don't know, 2 minutes or 5 minutes later? It seemed like a lifetime, and finally it stopped. "Poor you." The palm touched your heated butt and rubbed it gently, "It's all swollen. If you were obedient, it wouldn't be like this, right?"

"Asshole…" you just struggled to curse in a low voice, "um, let's start again." These few understatement words gave you a huge warning. The slaps started again, even harder than before. Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to stop him. "…wait, wait, I'm sorry!! Don't start over!!"

"Ah, too late," he snickered, not stopping to spank. "Well, I can even hear you scolding me in your heart. Just be good, even a little bit, okay?"

What follows is a long afternoon. Wriothesley didn't spank you continuously, but kept you on his lap. He reviews the documents and signs and adds notes. Occasionally, he thinks of you and waves his arms to educate you. You were like a poor little pet, on his lap, with tears hanging from your eyelashes, your hands locked in handcuffs, and butt is swollen and radiating heat.