#neither safe nor sane nor consensual

[3-2-whump]

(Re)Living a Nightmare, part 2

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You're still here? Okay, it's not gonna get any better for our poor boy. Do read and heed the tags/CW.

Basic Summary if You Decide to Skip

Also please skim this chapter and this chapter if you haven't already, because they will be referenced heavily in the story coming up

TW/CW: rape/noncon, bound and gagged and blindfolded whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, knife play, neither safe nor sane nor consensual, blood (lots of blood), victim blaming, internalized victim blaming, whumpee and whumper unknowingly triggering each other, blunt force trauma to the head (face), panic

NOTE: The inner thoughts and opinions expressed within do not align with those of the author, who themself has never and would never condone such thoughts and opinions in real life. Reader Discretion is advised.

All Thomas asked of him was to change into clothes he wouldn’t mind replacing, which usually meant that whatever Khaled wore would be torn/burned/ stained so irreparably that it’d just be thrown away after. Already based on that request, Khaled could guess he was in for a rough night. He had no idea how much worse it could get until he was blindfolded, bound, gagged, and carried out the apartment and down to the cold garage, where the hard foot-well of the back seat waited for him. The car revved to life, and his restrained body lurched forward as Thomas pulled out of the garage and drove them to fuck knows where.

Eventually they came to a stop, Thomas exchanged some words with the night-shift guard at the old house, and then they kept going until they parked. Khaled slowly started to put the pieces together. They were back at the old house, which probably meant Thomas wanted to take him downstairs, which meant whatever he wanted to do to him would be too messy or too specialized to do back at the apartment. What is he planning? Khaled wondered. He’s asked me to wear my most expendable clothes, he’s tied me up like I used to be when I was recaptured, he’s thrown me into the back like when I was recaptured-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening. He blindly tilted his head toward the chill of the night and the distant sound of frogs singing. A pair of calloused hands hauled him up from the foot-well of the back seat and slung him over a broad shoulder. “Thought you could escape me this time, did you?” his master’s voice purred in his ear.

A pit of dread competed with the chill of the early spring night in his bones as Khaled realized what all this preparation had meant. Master wants to roleplay my escape attempts. He began shivering, though not just because of the cold. A warm hand rested on his buttocks to steady him as he felt himself being carried inside, through the hallway, and to the front of a very familiar door. Reliving his failed escape attempts but with an added sexual element was one of Khaled’s recurring nightmares. What cruel irony was this, that he had begged so enthusiastically no more than half an hour ago for this man to make his nightmare come true?

The familiar creak of a door opening preceded the dusty, dried-blood smell coming from the stairs leading down into the cellar. Khaled pleaded through the rag stuffed in his mouth and the tape sealed over his lips as they descended the stairs step by concrete step. He tugged at the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles, but all that did was dig the hard plastic further into his flesh.

The cellar in the basement was the only room in Luciano Antonio Costa’s old house that didn’t get renovated when they converted the rest of it into an office space. Mainly because its purpose as a room for torture and interrogation never went obsolete. Khaled didn’t have to see it; he’d been down in the T&I cellar enough times to have the layout committed to memory. Dusty, red bricked walls arched into a curved ceiling where two overhead lamps hung by thick chains, illuminating the large expanse below. A fireplace and all its accompanying iron tools sat to the left, and a rack lined with various instruments of torture was positioned to the right. In the middle was one large table with scratch marks furrowed into its edges, and many other types of equipment were either shoved in a corner or hanging from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains and hooks like morbid chandeliers. Partitioning a back portion of the room was a large iron gate leading to a small offshoot of the basement, much like a door to a prison cell. Not much lay beyond the iron gate besides a hard-worn bench and several opaque plastic storage tubs full of mysterious items.

Khaled squirmed as he was lowered onto his stomach on top of the familiar table. “What were you thinking,” scolded the nightmare looming above him. A faint swish of a pocket knife and cold steel next to his skin made Khaled pause his struggles as his master cut away the zip ties. “Escaping in this cold weather without so much as a scrap of clothing on you –did you even have a plan?” he taunted. “I don’t know what your plan was, or even if you had a plan, but was it really worth freezing yourself to death?”

Khaled enjoyed the freedom of his unbound limbs for only a moment until his wrists were snatched into a tight grip and gathered in front of him. A coarse and scratchy material –rope, most likely –began entangling around and in between his wrists as his master continued talking. “We have a tracking chip installed inside of you, remember? You can never escape me; I will always find you.” With a forceful tug, Khaled’s hands were pulled in front of him, then he couldn’t move his hands at all. The other end of the rope must have been tied off to the ring attachment at the edge of the table.

His ankles remained free, if only to make it easier to take his pants off.

There were some light shuffling noises before the wooden table groaned under a newfound weight. Khaled felt the body heat of another person leaning over him. The cologne Thomas wore quickly overpowered his senses as the man hovered close. Khaled could feel his master’s breath on his ear and something hard and stiff against his backside. “The last time you tried to run away, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons,” Thomas sultrily whispered.

Oh god no. By now, Khaled knew which escape attempt they were reenacting, and, coincidentally, it was the one he had nightmares about the most.

“I don’t want to permanently cripple you though,” Thomas sighed, “mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

He could already hear the hiss of the iron.

His panicked cries took on a new pitch of desperation. Without warning, his master’s fingers pinched at the edge of the duct tape on Khaled’s mouth and pulled, making him scream in pain. The rag was quickly removed, only for his tormentor to shove his index and middle fingers past the boy’s teeth to depress his tongue. “Suck,” he growled, “because this is the only lube you’re going to get.”

“Please, no, not this one, please, please no, not this, not this,” Khaled begged around the fingers in his mouth.

The fingers quickly withdrew before Khaled’s head was yanked back by the hair and then smashed onto the table. Stars danced across his blindfold, and a faint trickle of something warm and wet escaped from his nose.

“Let’s try this again.” Thomas shoved his fingers back into the boy’s mouth, burying them to the knuckle and making the boy gag. “Suck.”

Khaled shakily worked his head up and down the length of the fingers as his tongue lapped at each digit. He started to cry. As soon as the fingers withdrew, his pleas picked up again in earnest. “Please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me-”

“Would you relax?! I’m not going to burn you!” Thomas shouted above him. “What about any of this looks like I’m gonna burn you?!” Khaled heard a frustrated huff above him as his master yanked down his pants and underwear, exposing his bare ass and legs to the cold. The shed clothing was discarded, landing with a soft whump somewhere behind them. The two digits that were in his mouth forcefully entered him below, all pretense of play forgotten as they began roughly working him open. “Besides which, weren’t you the one who wanted to do this? You asked for this, you wanted this! You said you would be good for me!”

And he was right, he did say he wanted this. He asked for this to happen. So, with a defeated sniffle, Khaled went quiet and limp.

“So, are you going to be good for me now?”

Khaled’s bruised forehead scraped against the table as he nodded.

“Thank fuck,” Thomas grumbled.

I asked for this, Khaled told himself. The darkness around his eyes became damp as the blindfold caught his tears. I asked for this, I wanted this. He repeated it like a mantra as the man on top of him replaced his fingers with his cock and steadily screwed him against the table. I asked for this, I wanted this. Something tore down there as an unmistakable thin, warm, and sticky fluid trickled past the cock pummeling his hole. I wanted this. I wanted this…

I didn’t want this.

I never wanted this. Any of this.

I don’t want this. Slowly, the new mantra gained strength, and he let the words slip between his lips with every shuddering breath. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this-”

“Tough shit,” his master grunted.

Khaled pulled against the rope restraining his hands as he struggled against the body pressing into his. “I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I-” Again, Khaled’s face was smashed against the table. He heard a faint crunch as a new river of blood flowed out of his nose.

“You can scream all you want, nobody’s going to hear you,” Thomas growled, “but for fucks sakes, can you please scream something less annoying?!”

Khaled kept repeating it between every sniffle, like a sad broken record. “I don’t want this,” he sobbed. “I don’t want this… I don’t want this…”

His begging finally outwore Thomas’ need to finish. “Fuck,” his master huffed, unsticking his sweaty torso from Khaled’s clothed back as he pulled out of him. Khaled collected his heaving breaths. It would be too naïve of him to believe his bitchy whining finally got through, but he would appreciate this moment while he could.

He suppressed his sobs and tilted his head to follow the footsteps and shuffling sounds Thomas was making as he tried to guess what would happen to him next. Khaled heard the faint schwing of a different knife being unsheathed. It cut through the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt as his master finally completely undressed him, tearing away the scraps of cotton the knife didn’t excise from his body. “You said you would be good for me, but you have been anything but!” A twisted strip of cloth was wedged between his teeth and hastily tied off at the back of his head. His master’s hand pinned him down by the back of the neck, crushing him against the table with the weight behind it. “You said you missed me, but you’ve only fought against me this whole time!” Khaled screamed into the gag as the tip of the knife sank in between his shoulder blades. Its blade dragged tortuously and deliberately through his skin as his tormentor continued griping above him. “You’re a fucking liar, you know that?” The knife mercifully lifted from the trough it had carved, only to be plunged into a new area of Khaled’s back. “Do you know what I do to liars, boy? I make them pay!” The raw wounds on his back wept with blood as the knife kept slicing, spilling over his sides and pooling underneath his stomach and the table below. It was hard to cry with a gag in his mouth and a broken nose full of blood. He gasped for breaths between sobs, never quite getting a satisfying breath before the pain of the knife would make him scream again. His tears slipped past the saturated blindfold and tracked down his cheeks to join the pinkish smear of saliva, snot, and blood he could feel covering the lower half of his face. “This is for Callahan!” The knife drove down and sliced another line through his skin for each name the monster dropped. “This is for Trémeaux! And Robinson, and Martinez, and Kruger, and Kościelsky, and this-” The knife dug deeper this time. Khaled bit into the gag as his nerves screamed in agony, the steel scraping something hard as it dragged against his back. “-this is for my brother; he is never coming back! Tony is never coming back, and it’s all because of you!” the monster above him roared.

It was in that moment, between the terror and the pain, that Khaled realized with a fascinated horror that his master was reliving a nightmare, too. I need to snap him out of it if I’m getting out of this cellar alive, he realized. So, he set his own trauma and pain aside and began doing what got him into this mess in the first place. The twisted cloth had loosened just enough. He pushed it out of his mouth with his tongue and started begging as if his life depended on it, because this time, it really did.

“I didn’t kill him!” he cried.  “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him!” Khaled screamed well past the point his throat hurt. “Master, please, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill any of them! I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him, Master, I didn’t kill him…” If the knife had stopped cutting into him and the rope around his wrists had been untied, Khaled was too far gone in his panic induced catatonia to notice. “I didn’t kill him… I didn’t kill him…” he rasped through a throat torn raw from screaming.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood

[myrsinemezzo]

Haladriel Bad Boss AU now being posted. Brat taming and every kink I could throw in a bucket and shake around 😅 Mind those tags, friends.

[tortoisesshells]

the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams (extremely soft M, D.ark Shadows, Roger Collins/Victoria Winters/Burke Devlin, ~2700 words, AU post Laura Collins/The Phoenix arc)

Roger makes his unwillingness to sit quietly a pressing problem for Burke & Vicki on the drive back from Bar Harbor,

or,

“Pull over, Devlin,” Roger was saying, irritably. Drowsy as she was, Vicki was aware of his hands on the seat behind her, the noise of skin on leather. “If you’re going to be sick –” “I’m sick of sitting back here, like a naughty child.” Her husband played dumb. “Well, sure. The road’s not that busy, but you’ll find another way home. You know how to thumb a ride, don’t you?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” Vicki glanced up, the moonlight playing across Burke’s face. He had a face for it – moonlight. His jaw worked for a moment. “You’re not driving my car, Roger.”

Read the Rest on AO3!

[nightmarecountry]

"How come you always have to lead?" / from roman

It laughs at him. It's almost an involuntary sound, but not quite: in this place, the Corinthian is a master of control. Roman has never seen it falter, never seen it make a move that wasn't carefully calculated in advance. It takes his jaw in both hands, holding his head still to kiss him longer and deeper than the limits of human lungs should allow, so Roman doesn't have to (can't) do anything but pant into his mouth and squirm when it feels like he needs air.

They part. The Corinthian's teeth gleam wet in a smile.

"Because you don't know how," it tells him, running cool fingertips down Roman's cheek. Watching his eyes, doe-brown. The way they dart over the Corinthian's face, eager and afraid at once.

They'll be his, tonight--but not yet. He likes to draw this part out. See how long it takes for Roman to remember that this isn't real, that the beautiful thing kissing him and letting him pretend he's normal isn't here to help him, it's here to hurt him.

"And," the Corinthian says, almost as an afterthought when it kisses Roman again with far more bite than anything else, "because you like that I do."

[charliemwrites]

Okay so the poll results were for an OC captain, though it was close enough that I still hesitate to name him in the canon of the fic.

I’m also going to be taking my time fleshing out his character because it’s been a while since I made an OC. So please be patient while I add tidbits here and there to build his character.

Content: safe/sane/consensual sex, descriptions of scars, mentions of past torture

Nikto beats you and Nova twice out of three rounds — but that’s no surprise. The man moves like a machine. Even against two opponents he controls the battlefield like a chess master. Neither you nor Nova take it to heart, especially since he always gives you both advice at the end, helping you to improve.

He’s a great partner, a great teammate; you’re sure to show him your appreciation after sparring with a kiss to his nose-plate. His hands spasm on yours as he helps you unwind your wraps, gloved thumb sweeping over your bare palm.

“You did good today,” he says, voice rough and accent thick. He must be pissed about earlier still, when Ghost and Soap threw your matches with them.

“So did you,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asks.

You damn near melt. Nikto has an open invitation to your room, but his is a sacred place, only for him unless otherwise specified. That he’s asking you to come to his tonight…

“Absolutely,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I just need to see the captain first. Okay?”

He grunts in understanding, eyes flicking to the door the 141 left through earlier. He mutters something in Russian — some insult about goats and mothers you think.

“Yeah, exactly,” you reply, voice dropping with simmering irritation.

A good spar with him and Nova has helped ground you a bit, but it hasn’t helped the anger. You don’t spar any of your team with anger; they don’t deserve.

Luckily, you and your captain worked something out a while ago when you’re feeling a bit… aggressive.

“Cap?” You call, still holding Nikto’s hand. “Could I stop by for a nightcap later?”

His eyes flash, a sinful twist to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, babygirl. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Over his shoulder, you see Nova arch her eyebrows and Keegan grin wicked into his water bottle. Gossip fiends.

“Showers. Now,” the cap says, slapping them both on the ass. “Double time. I need to have a word with Price still.”

—

Long after the sun has gone down, you’re standing outside your captain’s door. Take a breath. Remind yourself of your mantra. He wants you, always will, and he’s going to take care of you.

Then loosen your shoulders, unboxing all the frustration and aggression you set aside earlier. Feel it burn through you, make your hands twitch in and out of fists.

One more inhale, and then you shove the door open.

“There you are,” he rumbles. “C’mere.”

You flash your teeth, “No.”

He tilts head back and forth, cracking his neck. “Alright then.”

There’s no real fight. You’re not looking to get away or actually hurt him. And he’s not looking to actually make you submit. That’s not the point of this game.

He strides across the room and shoves you back, pins your shoulder to the wall. You grip at his forearm, nails scraping, and squirming as the hot, hard length of his body squishes you flat.

“Settle,” he orders.

“Fuck you,” you snarl back, nipping his lip.

He growls, tangling a hand in your hair and tipping your head back. Leaves a searing trail of kisses down your throat, bites a bruise into your collarbone. You wriggle and fuss all the while, safely held still and supported by his hands and body.

“Brat,” he rasps in your ear.

“I’m not,” you snap.

“Oh, yes you are, babygirl,” he replies, a mean smirk on his flushed face. “But that’s alright, I like you bad.”

He pulls you from the wall, bullies you onto the bed. You try to grab at him, get him under you. He doesn’t indulge like he normally would. Pins you on your back so that you can keep fighting, yanking at your wrists in his firm grip, pushing your hips up to grind into his as if trying to flip you both.

He slots his hips between your thighs, positions just his knees under your ass so that your back is arched, shoulders on the mattress. Limits your mobility, but that doesn’t stop you from kicking at air, making half-angry, half-desperate noises in the back of your throat.

“Gonna say please like a good girl?” He teases.

“No,” you hiss back.

He has the audacity to chuckle, which just riles you up more. (It’s supposed to). You curse as he works a hand beneath your shirt, palms at your bare breasts and pinches your nipples until they ache. You gasp like a pornstar, surprised and turned on.

“Pretty noise,” he coos. “Do it again.”

When he twists, you mewl, face immediately burning up as you renew your “efforts” to get away. All it does is make the treatment rougher than if you just laid still and took it, but that’s what you want, what feels good. A little edge to the pleasure as adrenaline and energy electrify you from head to toe.

He grinds against you, cotton of your loose shorts sticking against your soaked cunt. Christ you were turned on before you even barged in. Now you’re fucking throbbing for it.

“Gimme,” you grit out, rocking against him. Gears successfully shifted from physically taking control to just ordering him around.

“Give you what, brat?” He goads, slapping your pussy. The thin fabric muffles the sting, but it sends a white-hot ache through you that makes your eyes roll. “My cock? You think you deserve it?”

Another slap. You cry out, notice the sly look on his face when he notices that you’ve soaked through your shorts.

“Yes,” you reply, all confidence and reckless arrogance.

He yanks his underwear down to mid thigh, thick cock springing up to smack lewdly against his toned stomach. Precum smears over the pale scars there, sticks in the trail of groomed hair there.

“Yeah?” He growls. “Alright then.”

He yanks the crotch of your shorts aside (you hear stitches pop) and then he’s plunging into you. It’s too much all at once and you cry as much, knees squeezing around his tattooed ribs.

“Fuck.” His voice is shredded, so rough and low you feel it more than hear it. He lets your wrists go to grip at your ass, grinding deeper. Can feel the fat head of his cock bullying at your cervix, his favorite passtime while you adjust to the thick base of him.

“How does that feel, babygirl?” He murmurs in your ear. “You needed daddy’s cock, huh? Needed it to set you right again?”

You whimper out a curse at him, gripping at his biceps. He croons mockingly, thumb slipping between your bodies to press at your clit. Not rubbing or grinding, but just pressing. Just the right amount to make you sweat and pant, start trying to squirm to get any friction at all.

He lets you — could stop you if he wanted, or pull away entirely — but he likes winding you up like this. Likes seeing all that vicious energy turned to seeking pleasure from him.

“Fucking move,” you try to snarl, but your voice breaks midway through and comes out more pleading than you’d like.

“What was that, babydoll? Are you talking to me?” He teases, rolling his hips.

Your mouth falls open, a moan ripping from your chest, deep and needy.

“Daddy, move,” you cry, voice going up in pitch.

“There’s my brat.”

He pushes one of your knees up against your chest and slams into you. You scream and he doesn’t even try to cover your mouth, whispering filth as he tilts your hips for the best angle with his other hand. Fucks into you deep and rough, grinning at the obscenely wet noises every time he plunges into you.

Can practically feel him fucking your cervix open to get just that little bit deeper. Licks his lips when he sees the little bump in your stomach. You give as good as you get, squeezing down tight, bouncing to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back and shoulders.

“Gonna ask daddy to make you cum?” He goads.

“Earn it,” you reply.

He laughs and pulls out, flips you onto your stomach while you’re still dizzy with emptiness. Hikes your hips up and sinks into you like coming home. Your knees almost give out but that’s fine by him, he’s plenty strong enough to hold you up all on his own, using you like a noisy little toy for his own benefit.

“Fuuuuck,” you whine, feeling overwhelmed, pleasured tears gathering in your eyes. Then, in a whisper, “Daddy…”

“Feel like being good yet?” He asks. A large, rough hand circles that back of your neck and pins you face down to the mattress.

“N-no,” you whine, fight gone out of you now that you’re getting exactly what you want.

Fuck it feels so, so good. Every inch bullying you wide open and loose, so wet you’re dripping down your own thighs, wetting his ball as they slap against you. You feel split open and pinned, unable to do anything but take it, tortured stupid on ecstasy. He licks a stripe up your back before pressing you down prone, ankles locked around yours to keep you open and accessible.

“S’alright, doll, don’t need to be good to be mine.”

He’s barely pulling out halfway before ramming home now. You can barely get a breath in, the weight of him pressing whatever resistance was left right out of you.

“Daddy, daddy,” you sob. “Fuck, I wan’ it.”

“Want it, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, pressing your face into your arms. Cant your hips just that little bit to get him abusing that bundle of nerves.

“Oh, right there, huh?” He coos. “Did daddy find your little sweet spot?”

A series of short, ruthless thrusts right there, making incoherent, desperate noises fall from your mouth. Before you realize it, he’s wedged a hand beneath your hips and has two fingers toying with your poor, neglected clit.

“‘M gonna… f-fuck, fuck,” you whine, writhing (or at least trying to) against him. Not sure if you’re trying to urge him on or get away. Doesn’t matter, he’s in charge, has been since the beginning. “Daddy, I wanna…”

“Whenever you want, babygirl,” he replies, voice going all warm and gooey. Your chest hitches. “Squeeze around me nice and tight. Let me feel you cum on my cock.”

Didn’t realize that was what you needed, but you fucking scream as you clench down around him, stars bursting behind your closed eyes. He fucks you through it, tapping against your g-spot again and again until you dissolve into a weak, wet whimpers.

“Daddyyyy,” you whine.

And that sets him off, flooding you with heat. He loses control for a second as his hips jerk, pounding brutally into your oversensitive, swollen pussy. Makes a few tears finally slip down, soaking into the sheets along with your drool. The sound of him groaning as he cums makes you spasm around him again, a little aftershock that milks the last of his release.

“That’s it, easy,” he groans, brushing kisses over your trembling shoulders. “Easy, doll.”

He lies over you for a few minutes, letting you feel him there. Right there with you. Breathing and recovering, holding you through the endorphin rush. When you squirm a bit, he eases off you, cock slipping out. You shiver at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you, glassy eyes fluttering.

“C’mere,” he soothes, tugging you in. Lying on his side, he hitches one of your thighs up over his hip, tucks your arms between your chests and rests his stubbly chin on your temple. You splay your fingers over his peck, over the bold, dark symbol for SpecGru. Feel his heart settling back into rhythm and sigh, snuggling in.

The hormone drop is a monster on your emotions, often leaves you shivery and lonely, a little sick in your own body. First time you did this with him ended in tears, expecting him to get up and leave. He didn’t, never has, but you both learned that as much physical contact as possible in the aftermath eases the comedown away from a total crash.

“You did so well, babygirl,” he whispers, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach without dislodging you. “Such a good girl. Even if you think you’re being bad.”

You flush, hide your face against his neck. He chuckles, honeybalm on your soul. Can feel his hand start to move, then pause as he remembers that you can’t handle that stimulation right after sex. So he just squeezes, slow and gentle, helps get you back in your body.

“I still want you,” he assures, echoing your mantra back at you. “Always will. You’re mine.”

You outline a heart shape onto his forearm, not quite able to speak yet. He recognize the feeling though and gently guides your face up to place a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Love you, too, babygirl. Ready to clean up?”

You nod. He eases you up, lets you cling onto his hand as he walks you to the en suite. Fills you a glass of cool water to sip on while he gets the shower running. Turns his back while you use the restroom and wash your hands, then guides you into the hot water.

You lean into him, near boneless, as he washes you, calloused palms with soap instead of a cloth. Then sits still, hands on your hips, while you return the favor. This part is one of the most important for you, getting to freely return touch.

(Simon hardly ever let you touch, especially in the aftermath. Sure, you could scratch and grip at him during sex, but during foreplay it was all part of his dom persona that you couldn’t just touch at will. And afterwards… well. It’s not like he didn’t do aftercare. He did! But the almost formulaic warm cloth wipe down, glass of water, doze for a bit before he left was not… not ideal. Not like this.)

Your captain hums, eyes half-lidded but trained on you, while you smooth your palms over the firms planes of his muscles. Fingers tracing over tattoos and scars. Squishing and patting at the healthy layer of tissue over his stomach and thighs. Lets you nuzzle and kiss his soft cock, even though it makes his fingers twitch with oversensitivity.

Squeezes when you lace fingers together to stretch his arm out, inspecting the lines your nails carved into him.

“M’okay, baby,” he says before you can ask. “Feels good.”

You similarly assure him over the bruises on your wrists and hips, smiling and leaning up to kiss his jaw.

When the shower is over, he dries you off, playfully ruffling your hair just to kiss the pout off your lips. He dresses you in one of his shirts and a spare pair of your own joggers, found in his duffel.

You sit with him for a while longer still, enjoying how he lets himself relax once he knows you’re taken care of. He lies with his head on your chest, your fingers fluffing his hair, while the two of you watch an episode of some stupid show Keegan got the rest of the team into.

Only when it’s over does he ask if you’re ready to go to Nikto’s. If you wanted to stay, you could. Nikto would understand. But you’re looking forward to a night with your quiet Russian while the other three have a little movie night.

At the door, you kiss your captain goodnight. Hug and kiss Keegan and Nova as you pass them in the hall headed to his room. Nova makes a point of kissing one of the bruises on your wrist, while Keegan whispers that he loves you.

You pad to the first door in the hall, where Nikto has stationed himself as the team guard dog. You tap gently at the door, a pre-determined pattern to let him know who it is.

The door cracks open, one startling blue eye peering from the darkness.

“Evening, Nik,” you coo.

A hand reaches out and gently yanks you inside. And then next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in thick arms devoid of any usual covering. You feel smothered, in a good way.

“Love,” he rasps in Russian into your hair.

You hum in return. Place your palms flat on his abdomen. The muscles clench, you pause as you realize his abs, impressive as they are, feel too defined. He needs water. Taking mental note, you draw your hands carefully around, feeling the raised bumps of wicked scars. Make sure he can track exactly where and how you’re touching until your arms are wrapped around him in a return hug.

“Smell good,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” You giggle. “Showered just for you.”

He snorts, then scoops you up. You make a delighted noise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you across the room. Of course his navigation is impeccable, even in pitch black. He lays you down on the bed, but before he can crawl up with you, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re dehydrated.”

He makes an annoyed noise, sounds like he’s about to protest. You shush him with a quick peck to his chest.

“Get a glass please? I could use some water myself.”

Which has him instantly moving. You politely turn away as the bathroom light flicks on, the water runs. Can hear him chug two entire glasses before he fills it one final time. The light turns off again. The bed dips as he returns, presses the cool edge gently to your cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmur, sipping about a quarter of it to appease him before he sets aside for you on a bedside table.

And then he gets what he really wants, stripping you down and tucking you in like a nesting bird. Practically on top of you while you’re still reeling from how much skin you can feel. Even during intimacy, he tends to stay clothed or mostly clothed. But right now all you can feel is a pair of underwear against your bare ass. Everywhere else it’s miles of warm skin, uncovered muscle and texture of scars.

“This is nice,” you coo. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

You wiggle around until you’re chest to chest. Start with his hands. Kiss each smooth fingertip, prints flayed off. Then his palms, the divots from nails driving through. Flip them over to kiss his scarred knuckles, smile at the way he twitches, flexing them outward like he’s trying not to close his hand.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Yes.”

You kiss his wrists, his forearms, to his collarbone. You’ve peeked a blue-black tattoo there before. Stars and the start of something that might be religious. Spend a little extra time there, tongue peeking out. He shifts; you take it as a sign of discomfort and move on.

“Here next,” he says when you dip to go to his chest.

He guides your face up his neck, where you press long (but chaste) kisses until you bump his jaw. And realize that’s all skin too.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Can I…?”

“Yes.”

You feather your lips along his fresh-shaved jaw, the nicked scars on his chin. Then up, ignoring the wicked scar along his cheek. Breathe against his temple, feeling dizzy with the trust he’s showing you.

“I love you,” you whisper, continuing along to his nose, twice broken and poorly set each time. A line over one nostril where a piercing was ripped out. He makes a noise in his throat, think he might be having trouble speaking again. Don’t mind.

He lets you get down to his mouth, where a particularly twisted scar warps part of his upper lip away from his teeth. You think that if you saw it in the light, his canine would be visible. His lower lip is uneven too, like a misaligned seam.

You don’t pay any special attention to any of it, focused more on reacquainting yourself with how your mouth fits with his. He doesn’t lead, doesn’t rush or pull or press. But there’s tension all along his body, everywhere you touch. You don’t ask for more than a chaste kiss, and when you pull away, you tilt your forehead gently against his.

“Still okay?” You ask.

“Still okay.”

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Masterlist

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Lovers That Went Wrong

Pairing: psycho!Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings: soft!yandere, kidnapping, threats, non-consensual confinement, manipulation, allusion to noncon, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2.4k

Summary: You flinch involuntarily as you watch him open the door to your room and take a cautious step inside as if he's keeping a dangerous animal as a pet, not a whole other human being. His eyes light up at the sight of you immediately when he sees you at the very same spot where he left you in the morning, still chained, no signs of misbehaving like throwing things around and destroying the furniture. You're not the type.

P.S. Our reader is safe and sound, no physical harm whatsoever.

P.P.S. It's not me, it's those yandere ASMRs on Youtube!

_________

He's here.

You've heard the key turning in the lock. Then, one more key in one more lock. Finally, the third lock has been opened, and then he goes to unlatch the second door before you hear him step inside, carrying something.

Is he going to kill you today?

Trying not to move, you take a shaky breath, eyes on the door. He's going to come in any second, and you don't know how to act to keep him happy. Is there a way to keep someone like him content at all? He's... not normal, that's for sure. Even if you smile and pretend to be fine, chained to his bed with so little room to move left you can't even reach the door, you think he'll see right through it and become angry at you for lying.

Not that ignoring or, god, getting angry at him gonna work either. If anything, making him mad at you is probably the most stupid option you can choose. So you don't. Albeit you wouldn't have the courage for that even if it did change anything for the better.

"I'm home."

You flinch involuntarily as you watch him open the door to your room and take a cautious step inside as if he's keeping a dangerous animal as a pet, not a whole other human being. His eyes light up at the sight of you immediately when he sees you at the very same spot where he left you in the morning, still chained, no signs of misbehaving like throwing things around and destroying the furniture. You're not the type. You're the type to sit and shake in the corner and cry till you feel like your head will explode.

"Hello," you murmur quietly, showing neither anger nor happiness at his return. Keeping the most neutral expression at times when you feel like a rabbit in front of a snake is torture, but better this than having him turn psychotic again.

He smiles at you, exhaling loudly like he was worried you'd start messing things up in his absence. "I see you've been good. That's nice. Thank you."

Nodding, you make yourself eat your words about all anxiety and fear you've had to endure today just to stay sane and stop crying. Being good, huh? Does he have any idea what it feels like to be locked in an apartment of someone who threatened to kill your classmates if you didn't go with him? What it felt like when he had pulled out a knife out of his backpack with a manic gleam right in front of your face and said he needed you to come with him if you didn't want anyone hurt?

You still don't understand how everything happened out of the blue. Aemond... never seemed unstable. He was quiet, sure, and he didn't hang out with other classmates much, but neither did you. He often sat at the back of the classroom, listening to professors with a blank look on his face, and seemed to slack off, then somehow miraculously pass the exams. You've never seen him doing anything special like playing sports or taking part in any university activity. He was just a quiet loner who didn't seem to enjoy studying. At one point, you thought he would drop out or change his major, but he didn't. After more than 3 years, he was still there, at the back of the classroom, sitting with a blank expression as the professors preached about the importance of the thesis for your successfull graduation and future work life.

Then, one day, he just walked up to you after the last lesson had finished while you were gathering your stuff and asked you to stay behind for a short talk. He said he needed to tell you something important. Considering you had spoken maybe five words to him throughout the whole year, you had no clue what he wanted to say, but maybe he needed help or something? You have always been good at studying, so, perhaps, he just needed your advice on his thesis.

He didn't.

Instead, he confessed he liked you and that he was concerned you were going to date someone else from your class - he gave you names of several students you had never even hanged out with - and then he pulled a huge, sharp knife out of his backpack. When you panicked, he grabbed your hand and whispered with that crazed look on his face that he would go and stab your classmates hanging out in the hallway if you didn't go with him.

So you did. You let him take you away, shaking at the thought that he put a knife in the large sewn-in picket inside his heavy bomber, ready to take it the moment you went back on your promise. He was going to stab someone, wasn't he? Given his height and strength, he might have even murdered someone. All because you refused to go with him.

When you think of it now, you wonder what would have happened if you attracted the attention of someone's on the way. Would Aemond really stab them with a knife, given the psychotic state he was in? Would he put a knife through your stomach? Or was it just bluff, and he'd drop the knife and run away, never to bother you again?

You'll never know now. You were so concerned about someone getting hurt you ended up in the apartment of a psychopath with your leg chained to his bed. It seems surreal, like it's all one big prank that's been going for far too long.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," he says, placing a plastic bag with what smells like pasta or lasagna on a little table next to the door. "Work has been hectic, but I'm cutting down my hours to spend more time with you, so you don't have to worry."

You nod, trying not to tremble like a leaf. Spending more time with you? Great. He will kill you soon once he has enough. Don't this kind of guys always do that? They catch their prey, have fun, and then finish them off only to fixate on somebody else again.

That's what's going to happen to you.

"I'll go take a shower real quick, alright?" He asks as if your opinion actually matters, walking by the bed as you instantly move further away on the floor, your back bumping against the bed.

He pauses, turning to you fully as you bite down on your tongue not to let out a sound.

"What is it, baby?" He coos, getting down to you while you stare at your knees, afraid to lift your head and see him staring you in the face. "What happened?"

You flinch as he stretches his hand to you, and he has to pause for a second again before his palm gently lands on the top of your head. He doesn't beat you. Or, well, not yet. Despite him not hurting you within the two days you've been here, you expect him to get violent at one point. Psychos always are, right?

You mumble, worried you'll make him upset, "I'm sorry. It's nothing."

He sighs, to your horror, sitting down right in front of you. He smells like coffee and French fries, and you bite down on your lower lip, remembering he works at some café. Like other people, he has a life outside of this stuffy and yet nearly empty apartment, and in this moment, it seems so strange. That someone like him smells like another human being.

"Are you scared?" He asks in a hushed voice, careful and calm like some sort of therapist. "Is that it?"

Despite all your attempts, you feel like you will cry if he touches you again. Your throat is tight, and you can't speak, so you just nod again, head bowed so you can't see his face.

He sighs again, and you hear him shifting, crawling closer to you like a spider as you squeeze your eyes shut. Will he hit you? Rape you? Do something worse? It's only logical to suppose that. In the end, that's what they do in the movies, don't they? Since Aemond is clearly insane, that's what he'll do to you.

But then, when he sits next to you with his back pressed against the bed's leg, you feel his hands on your shoulder nudging you tenderly towards him, and you don't fight him when he makes you put your head on his chest. Today he wears a long, soft black hoodie that smells like fries, too. It's nice to the touch.

"It's alright," he whispers, making you lean onto him until you are nearly on top of him while he caresses your head. "I know it's sudden for you. You probably don't even know who I am, and then I just come and confess to you like that. It's unfair, I know. I'm sorry I couldn't wait a bit longer."

Yeah, as if it's the problem.

But you don't say anything, eyes closed, as you freeze against his hoodie.

"But, you know, it got so much better. Today a customer splashed me with coffee and sad some really hurtful things, and I didn't even care," you can nearly sense him greening before he drops a quick kiss to the top of your head. "Because I was thinking of you. Waiting for me home, sleeping in my bed, wearing my clothes. I don't remember when anyone last waited me home, you know? And now there's you."

You feel his breath on your skin before he leaves a chaste kiss on your brow, and you curl into yourself even more.

"Thank you for being here with me. I know it wasn't easy for you to trust me, but you still did." He exhales slowly, probably tired after the day in the university and at work, his other hand resting on your back, caressing you through the thick tissue of his dark green sweatshirt he gave you this morning. "Thank you."

You're glad he can't see your face because you are ready to cry any second now. You are scared, and your legs hurt from staying in this position for too long, but Aemond's touch is still comforting, and you yearn someone's body warmth just to ground yourself in this moment to keep you sane.

You are so, so tired. You don't want to die. You want to believe the things he said, the promises he made to you, but he's mad, and so are you if you really want to trust him.

Minutes fly by. You have no idea how much time you spend in his arms, but Aemond seems content, arms still wrapped around you. What is he thinking now? What does he want to do to you? He didn't force himself on you yesterday, but he can tonight. It's just a matter of time, really. And when he finds it's enough, what's gonna happen then?

"Please, don't kill me," you mutter quietly in his chest, eyes squeezed shut.

Your voice startles him awake. Apparently, he was almost lulled to sleep, and now he bends his head towards you again, taking your face in his palms to make you look at him. "What was that? Baby?"

It's torture to open your eyes when his face is inches away from yours, but you do, and then you cry. "Please, don't kill me."

The next second, he opens his pretty blue eyes wide as if you've just slapped him, discomfort clear on his pretty face. What? Is he unhappy you ruined his idyllic evening? Why does he look at you so distressed?

He puts some distance between you two, hands on your shoulders while he looks at you as you're sniffing, tears running down your face. You can't stand it. How long do you have to play his sweetheart before he cuts you in pieces and puts your remains in black plastic bags to dump somewhere deserted? Will he kill you quickly? Will he taunt you and mock you for not even looking at him at university? Will he try to prolong your suffering with drugs?

He shakes when he starts to speak, "I've never wanted to kill you. Never. Why would you think that?"

You let out a laugh at that, hands grasping his black hoodie you like so much. Why would you think a guy who threatened to kill your classmates wouldn't cut you in pieces, too? You have been chained to his bed for two days. It's nice to still be able to go to the bathroom, but that's about it. You have only a couple of books he brought for you to keep you company when he's gone, and god knows how long it's all going to last.

His grip on you gets tighter. "I swear I've never wanted to hurt you. Why did you think that? It's the knife thing yesterday, right? You got scared because I said I'm gonna cut Josh and Matteo." He gets more frantic, and you feel like you're struggling to breathe. "But I wouldn't do that to you. No! I swear. I've never wanted to make you feel bad. And the chain... I-I'm sorry about the chain and everything, but I wasn't going to keep you like this forever! It's... it's just for a couple of months, you know? So you get to know me better. I'm never going to hurt you! You're not my pet to discipline you or something. You're... "

He realizes the state he's in and makes himself stop, lips pressed tightly as he waits, regaining his composure as he's awkwardly trying to wipe away your tears with his sleeve.

Making some small soft noises, he sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck before he's ready to speak. God, why do you want to believe him so badly? Why would anything he say make any sense at all? Why are you hoping he really won't do anything when you have just been kidnapped and imprisoned in his home?

When he speaks again, his soothing voice makes you want to hide your face in his hoodie despite all the things he's done. "I really, really like you, baby. I know it's not much, but it's true. You never have to worry about getting hurt again as long as you're with me. It's a promise."

He coos at you, craddling you in his lap, and you have no strength left to do anything but lean closer to him and hide your face in his soft hoodie.

__________

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

[playfully-sadistic]

(just dabbled back into temperature play, so I thought, I'd share some quick, short wisdom for the baby doms and baby subs)

Curious about wax play? Here's some nice little pointers, if you don't know where to start.

How to choose a candle that is suitable? First off, beeswax? Nuh-uh (for beginners). It burns hot enough to leave second degree burns if you don't know what you're doing. For starters, use natural (white), non-scented wax. It has a fairly low melting temperature - afterwards, feel free to explore with colored wax, if you're looking for aesthetic values.

What to do before the scene? Obviously, negotations... always. Make sure to evaluate your sub's pain limit beforehand (are they a big masochist or not?). Arguably The most important step: Test the impact of the hot wax on your own skin. That way, you can get a feeling for the pain (how it stings and how much it stings), and feel more confident and safe afflicting it onto your sub. For easy removal after playtime, make sure to prepare your sub's skin with either vaseline or baby oil - you'll thank me later, I promise. Adding onto that, use towels to avoid spillings.

What to do during the scene? Make sure to light your playtime candle approximately 10-15 minutes before you begin your scene. That way, a puddle of wax can melt - although, anticipation and tension are your two big best friends with wax play. For extra points, you can blindfold your sub and/or tie them up. That way, they can neither see your next move nor flinch away from the heated (hehe) impact of the wax. Keep in mind that the distance between candle and your sub's body determine the wax' temperature when it is dropped onto their skin. The higher you hold the candle, the less the impact will sting - the closer the candle is, the hotter the wax will remain; additionally to the heat radiating from the candle's flame itself (but let's not dive into that now). As with all impact play, start light. Build your sub's pain tolerance slowly, take your time, so the both of you can enjoy the, again, anticipation. For added stimulation (if you're feeling more confident), try using both hot wax and ice cubes on your sub's body, switching them up in between. A great time, Lace's guarantee :D But frankly, there's endless variations of adding wax play to your scenes.

What to do after the scene? Clean-up is very easy if you applied baby oil or vaseline before the scene - just take a towel and carefully wipe everything of. Make sure to apply soothing balms or lotions on the affected skin afterwards, disinfect them beforehand if they seem very irritated. Absolutely, ab-solute-ly, check in with your sub's condition the next day or two and look for serious burns.

That's it for the beginning. Stay safe, sane and consensual, and most importantly, enjoy yourselves :)

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

Can you do jealous Voxval headcanons?

So, Vox is the jealous one. If it were up to him, he would lock Valentino in a golden cage, which is incredibly inconvenient given that Val is a total slut who would never entertain the idea of monogamy. Whenever Val goes out without him, Vox obsessively watches him through cameras, even though he knows it makes things worse. This surveillance spikes his aggression and brings out his worst sadistic tendencies. It’s best to avoid him when he's in this mood because he goes full Homelander mode and can kill someone for simply breathing the wrong way. If he hooks up with someone to avoid feeling cuckolded, it can get really nasty since he can't directly punish Val. Toward Val, he's rather passive-aggressive, always clenching his jaw and enduring without making a scene because Val would just say, "Oh, you don't accept me the way I am? Fine, I'll go to someone else." Valentino actually enjoys that Vox kills people out of jealousy and feels good about being the object of such intense feelings. However, if Vox tries to confront him about his behavior instead of committing atrocities, Val responds with, "Oh yeah, maybe try to be enough for me instead of giving me shit."

Valentino is not jealous of Vox sleeping with other people, but he's very jealous of Vox's attention and emotions. His biggest rival is Vox's work, to which he's deeply committed. In this situation, Val has two options: make Vox even more jealous so he comes out of his TV cave or demand Vox's attention. But this isn't a fun, seductive thing he does out of boredom. No, he's angry, and in these moments, he wishes he could really hurt Vox. But Vox isn't a scared babygirl; he would ditch Val's ass if he crossed the line. So, what happens to Vox later is mostly consensual but neither safe nor sane. Much worse things happen to the people Vox sleeps with if Val suspects any emotional involvement.

[facelessoldgargoyle]

Crash (1996) is like, what if your kink was neither safe, nor sane, nor consensual

[amaranthsynthesis]

A Sacrament to be Taken Kneeling // durgetash cockwarming

A Sacrament to be Taken Kneeling // durgetash // E // 6.8 k // chapter 1/1 Pre-Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, Cock Warming, Oral Sex, Dom/sub, Subspace, Humiliation, Degradation, Failed Forced Orgasm, Extremely Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, neither safe nor sane and to be honest the consensual is REALLY pushing it, they were husbands and they were horrible your honor, brief references to untagged for kink

They’ve entertained themselves at great length already, and the story is easy to read in the objects sprawled about. There’s a tray of fruit and cream at the foot of the bed, half picked over from breakfast, the half-eaten honey comb oozing and glinting like gold in the sunlight. A second bottle still remains of the light and sparkling wine they had taken alongside it, cork wedged halfway in and cradled with more hope than precision in the pillows. Open and discarded around them are a scattering of books; a tome of medical diagrams, a Netherese history, a blacksmiths logbook, and a single slim volume of Drowish poetry. They’ve eaten, they’ve drank, they’ve regaled one another with conversation and debate and art. And Enver has had, for the last half a candlemark at least, his cock buried in the Bhaalspawn’s throat. - Enver Gortash and the Dark Urge enjoy a rare, lazy morning in bed.

Extraordinarily self-indulgent hedonism. This is the softest I've ever written these two, which is adorable and concerning.

Read it here!

[finnofamerica]

Insatiable - Dwalin X Reader X Thorin | Smut

Summary: In an effort to break up the monotony of your and Dwalin's sex life, the two of you agree to bring in a third for a night. Who is better than Dwalin's best friend?

Word Count: 1,976

Date Posted: 05.28.2023

TW: AFAB Language used, threesome, double penetration, mentions of somnophilia, anal, spitroast, oral, bondage (cuffs), Blindfolds.

Note: This is a D/s fic. Remember that kink is customizable, and there is no right way to do it as long as you’re keeping safe. We play here by Safe, Sane, and Consensual, but there is also Risk Aware Consensual Kink and Personal Responsibility, Informed Consensual Kink. Don’t yuck anyone’s yum; I am willing to answer any questions that I can.

🔞MINORS DO NOT INTERACT🔞

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You were sure that everyone in Erebor knew of your husband’s appetite. His hunger was rivaled only by Bombur, though Dwalin worked it off in his battle training with the Kingsguard. When you were making the rounds with your deliveries, you loved to sit and watch all the handsome dwarves train. Your eyes always find their way back to your handsome husband. Though your absolute favorite days what Thorin and Dwalin’s “private” trainings, spectators including Thorin’s nephews and yourself. While you harbored no feelings for Thorin beyond the fondness of a good friend, you’d have to be blind not to be attracted to him. The two of them were often shirtless during their training sessions, and you had the opportunity to ogle the muscles on them both.  

You knew your husband bragged about you to his friends. You’d have to be deaf not to hear it because the man was neither subtle nor discreet. You knew he’d brag about having a woman who bakes because “The sweeter she eats, the sweeter she tastes.” You didn’t mind this, though it caused women to look at you with envy and most of the men to do the same with Dwalin. His bragging had turned your cunt into some mystical rumor that you were sure would be passed down through the ages until the rumor became legend. 

“Dwalin,” You rubbed the man’s shoulders after a long day of training. It was almost an act of worship the way that you knew he protected you. “I would like to try something different.” 

“Different, how?”

“Well, husband, it’s not that I’m disappointed with our lovemaking, it’s just that I’ve come to know what to expect, and we keep repeating the same patterns. I just think it would be nice to switch it up every now and again.” 

“Like adding another? I’ve seen the way that you eye Thorin during our training. I don’t think he’s enjoyed the love of a woman in many years, long before Smaug.” Dwalin suggested. 

“You know I don’t feel for Thorin.” 

“All the better. I won’t have to worry about his kingly ass stealing you from me. Would you like to invite Thorin in some time?”

From then on, Dwalin had his lips sealed. None of your efforts to coax the information out of him worked. He refused to tell you when Thorin would be joining your bedroom affairs. Nearly a full season had passed since the night you suggested bringing it up, and you worried that Dwalin had forgotten. 

The chill of winter soaked deep into the mountain that hardly even the forge furnaces could fight. The well-crafted living quarters were nice and toasty, and their fireplaces were well-stocked with wood from Tranduil’s domain. The fires burnt with the smell of nutmeg and allspice, hailing in the holidays when families gathered and feasted on slow-roasted boar. 

You dressed in one of your favorite outfits, heading down to the bakery where you worked alongside dwarven masters. They were initially unsure of a hobbit in their kitchens, but after a heaping batch of your lemon poppyseed scones, they changed their minds and welcomed you heartily. Given the holiday season, the kitchens were plenty busy preparing for the King’s Yuleblot ball. The bakers, the tailors, and all the chefs were quite busy preparing all the orders as Balin and Fili ran around making sure their shipments from across middle earth were in order. 

When Bunty, the head baker, came in with a cupcake just for you, you realized it was your birthday. You’d been so busy that you’d forgotten. Dwalin had forgotten. He’d never forgotten your birthday in all the years you’d been together. Normally he’d wake you up with his tongue; this morning, you’d woken up alone.

Dejected and beaten by a long day of baking, you’d managed to drag yourself back to your and Dwalin’s shared living space. You swung the heavy door open; Dwalin stood there naked as the day he was born. His impressive cock hung heavy between his thighs. 

“Dwalin!” You squealed, covering your eyes as your face heated. “Oh, stop this shying. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Dwalin spun you around, landing a swift slap to your ass.  He leaned down, relaxing you with his lips against your neck, kissing and biting along the way. “Strip and lay on the bed.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice to obey your husband’s direction. It was your honor to serve him as long as he continued to spoil you with his loving caress. He treated you like you were his goddess, regularly bringing you gifts and telling anyone and every one of your beauty. Dwalin kissed every inch of your naked body as he locked you in cuffs expertly crafted just for you. A gift for your anniversary.

You’d always heard of dwarves’ insatiable appetite. You hadn’t expected their sexual appetite to be just as insatiable. You could almost swear that you’d been in this room for days, locked in these special dwarven cuffs lined with fur. Dwalin spent his sweet time driving your anticipation through the roof, teasing you relentlessly with all the tools in his arsenal.

You whined, arching your back as a warm tongue and cool breath licked along your pussy. The light grazes of his beard scratching delightfully against your thighs. One wide calloused palm pushed against your lower stomach, increasing the sensation of the fingers stroking inside of you. Your lover knew every inch of your body but still took his time exploring every nook and cranny. 

A hand gently caressed your cheek, turning your face to the edge of the bed. 

“Come on, Darling, open up,” Dwalin coaxed you, making it abundantly clear that it was not your husband eating you out. You let your mouth fall open with a light moan. The fact that Dawlin was sharing you was even hotter than when he’d mentioned wanting to try it one day.  

The tip of his thick cock touched your lips, glossing salty precum over them. Slowly he fucked your mouth, warming you up as he edged closer and closer to the back of your throat. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Dwalin moaned, making whoever was between your legs chuckle. The vibration around your clit made you whine, arching further against his lips, hoping to increase your pleasure. 

“And tastes good, too,” The dwarf between your legs remarked, sounding pleased. His voice was so familiar, yet you couldn’t place it. You were too overcome with pleasure to care right now. You moaned around Dwalin’s cock; the overwhelming urge to please both men filled you. 

“Indeed,” Dwalin grunted, “Always happy to be used for her husband’s pleasure.” 

They were talking about you like you weren’t in the room, and you could practically feel yourself drip around the mystery dwarf’s fingers. 

“Such a greedy little cunt. May I fuck her, Dwalin?” 

“Aye, though you may never want any other pussy after.” 

The man between your legs slowly removed his fingers, noisily slurping up your juices. You heard the rustling of clothing being removed and thick, calloused hands adjusting your chained-up legs, so he could fit himself between them. His thick cock stretched you out as he slowly slid himself inside, making you gasp around the cock burying itself in your throat. 

Once the mystery man was fully seated inside you, he slowly pulled out until just his tip was still inside you, only to slam himself back into you. You squealed at the ferocity of it. He was fucking you like a man starved of this affection. Every stroke hits your G-spot, creating that familiar tightening sensation in your core. 

“That’s it, Amralimé,” Dwalin removed his saliva-coated cock from your mouth, allowing you to moan freely, volume increasing threefold. Lips attached themselves to your nipple, both the mystery man and Dwalin focusing their attention on your pleasure. “Are you gonna cum on his cock?” 

“Yes,” You whined, back arching, trying everything you could to increase your pleasure. “Please, may I?” 

“You may cum for your King.” 

Thorin?! It was clear to you now who the voice belonged to, and you wondered why you hadn’t placed it sooner. There was no one that Dwalin would trust with his wife other than his best friend. Your pussy quivered before releasing an explosion of pleasure through you. 

“That’s a good girl,” Thorin cooed in your ear as you clenched around him, hips twitching. You panted, collapsing back against the bed. 

“Oh, we’re not done with you yet,” Dwalin threatened you with a good time, the clinking of the cuffs being released from around your ankles. The two men gently flipped you over so you were on all fours. 

“You were right,” Thorin remarked, “I think this lady has ruined a world of pussy for me.” 

“Take her ass, Thorin. You’ll never know anything tighter.” 

Dwalin settled himself beneath you, easily supporting your weight as Thorin eased himself into your tight ass. It hurt, at first, a lot. Your tears were being absorbed by your silken blindfold. The whole time Dwalin comforted you through the pain, telling you what a good job you were doing and how good a girl you were being. 

After a beat, the pain eased as your tight ass got used to being stretched out around such a thick cock. Thorin slowly began to thrust his cock in and out of your ass as Dwalin lined himself up with the entrance of your pussy, using Thorin’s tempo to ease himself inside. The feeling of two cocks inside you was damn near overwhelming. It was otherwordly. It had you flying so high into blissful pleasure that you never wanted to come down. 

“Fuck, she’s tight,” Thorin groaned, thrusts growing uneven. Each of their mismatched thrusts made you moan and squeal. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, accompanied by whimpering moans and grunts. “And I might’ve thought you were wrong for marrying a hobbit.” 

“I told you she felt better than any dwarven lass you’d find.” Dwalin had been bragging about his wife from the moment he’d met you. He knew that you were the one for him, and your sweet pussy was just a bonus. 

The playful ribbing was lost on your ears. You could swear that you ascended to the next world. The two made fine use of your holes, surely reaching ascension themselves.

“Fuck, I’m gonna breed her sweet ass,” Thorin grunted, trying his best to maintain a steady pace. He didn’t want to blow his load too soon. Besides, he knew better than to breed another man’s woman without permission. 

“Aye, have her ass. She’ll not be pregnant by you either way.” 

Thorin’s hips stuttered as he gripped yours, burying himself deep within your ass. You could feel his cock twitch as he spilled his load. Dwalin followed suit, moaning your name as he filled you with his seed. It was any wonder how he’d not gotten you pregnant by now. 

They both slowly eased themselves out of you, and unable to support yourself any longer, you collapsed on your husband’s chest. He pulled down your blindfold, allowing you to gaze upon his gruff, handsome face. Dwalin unlocked your cuffs, kissing both of your wrists and holding you tightly, while Thorin when to warm a wet rag and clean up the semen that was dripping out of you. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you chose Thorin.” You remarked sleepily, exhaustion now seeping through your over-expended body. Thorin gently pressed the rag to your pussy, then your anus, the heat easing the dull ache the men had left behind. 

“Well, someone needed to get him laid,” Dwalin chuckled heartily. 

“Happy birthday, Miss Y/n.” Thorin finished dressing, leaving Dwalin to tend to you for the rest of the night. 

“Happy Birthday, Amralimé”

Tags: OPEN

[askflightybroad]

in ur opinion whats the best type of monster to woo? like theres the classic vampires, werewolves, and rogue AI, but perhaps youre more of a disney’s flubber kinda gal?

I have a great fondness for strange and esoteric creatures, especially of the feminine variety. The Gryla, also stylized as Gríla, the antithesis of Santa Claus and mother of the Yule Lads; or the Kumiho, who would undoubtedly respond to your propositioning if only to devour your liver; and any of the sirens for the aforementioned reasons.

Regarding your suggestions, however, it is of my personal purview that vampires in a romantic context are vastly overdone. The genre of vampiric literature has never quite progressed past John Polidori's The Vampyre, neither in terms of literary prowess nor quality of subtle eroticism — if one desires to be bitten so badly, might I suggest they look into recreational blood letting? So long as it's done safe, sane, and consensually, the damage to the world done in the aftermath would be far more palatable than yet another mediocre Young Adult slash about being kidnapped, mind-controlled through freakishly intense eyes, and/or falling in love with their so-called silver tongue. If I were to debase myself by writing such tales, I would make the entire "blood-sucking" feature completely transactional. But that is a conversation to be had approximately never.

[violet-1atte]

Kinktober Day Twenty-Five: Edgeplay - Seungmin/Felix

Tags: EDGEPLAY not edging, sex on a rooftop, slight exhibitionism, fear play, neither safe nor sane but it is consensual, dom!Seungmin, sub!Felix

AO3 Link

The building’s edge was cold and rough and the ground was no better. That was the first thought Seungmin had as he pushed Felix up against the cement railing. The second thought he had was, Holy shit. We’re a few feet away from death . And somehow that thought only made the arousal that had been pooling in his stomach on the entire ride there more intense. 

In front of him, Felix was shaking. His head was tilted back over the edge and all he would have to do was look to the side slightly and he would be looking down a straight drop. When Seungmin placed his hands on his hips, he practically vibrated in his touch. “It’s–it’s so far down,” Felix breathed. His voice sounded far-off, like the cars driving down below.

“I know. You definitely wouldn’t want to fall,” Seungmin said with a hum. “So make sure you stay put.” 

“I will, I will,” Felix said. He was still shaking like a leaf. 

Seungmin ran a soothing hand up and down his arm a couple of times. “If you’re really scared we don’t have to do this,” he said, his tone of voice softening. This had been a fantasy of theirs for a long time but he would throw it all away for Felix’s comfort. But Felix shook his head vehemently. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” he responded shakily. “It’s scary, but I like it. And I know you won’t let me fall.” Seungmin grinned and his gentle touches suddenly turned rougher. He pushed his body against Felix, trapping him against the rail so that his back arched over it slightly. Felix gasped and his hands shot out to cling to Seungmin’s wrists. 

“Seungmin!” he exclaimed, his eyes blown wide. Seungmin chuckled softly. 

“I thought you liked being scared?” he said with a teasing smirk. “Why don’t you look down, Lixie?” 

Felix gulped audibly and slowly turned his head to the side to look down. His breath caught in his throat and he felt Felix’s dick harden against him. “That turning you on? Knowing how dangerous it is for me to touch you like this here?” 

Felix bit his lip and his small hands tightened their grip on his wrists. “Y-yeah,” he muttered, just shy of a whisper. “Fuck, this is terrifying.” 

Seungmin nodded, a pleasant thrill going down his spine. “It really is,” he agreed. He shook Felix’s hands off him so that he could roam over his sides. “How do you want it?” he asked. “Should I fuck you like this? Push you up against the rail and push you a little further back with each thrust? Or should I have you turn around so you can look at the nice view?”

Felix shivered as he thought over his options. As he tried to decide, Seungmin took the opportunity to touch him. He began kissing his neck, switching between soft, chaste kisses, and open mouthed kisses with teeth and tongue that were sure to leave marks. Felix wiggled in his arms and he grinned as he slipped his hands under his shirt to feel his skin. Despite the cool air of the rooftop, Felix’s skin was hot. Seungmin traced over his waist and his abdomen with his fingertips and goosebumps erupted across his skin. “Come on, tell me what you want. Or I’ll decide for you,” he said, punctuating his words by sucking on the sensitive skin of Felix’s collarbone. 

“I-I’m trying ,” he whined in frustration. “But you’re distracting me.” 

“Am I?” Seungmin slid his hand up to Felix’s chest and brushed his thumb over his nipple. 

“ Hnng , yes!” Felix huffed and licked his lips. “I want you to…to fuck me from behind. I’m scared to look but I wanna brace myself and I–I wanna see how high up we are.” 

Seungmin smiled and pressed a kiss to Felix’s Adam's apple. “That sounds perfect to me, Lix.” He slid his hands down his chest to his waist again. “Turn around for me then, and arch your back,” he instructed. Felix nodded and swallowed thickly. Seungmin loosed his grip on him and he spun around, bracing himself against the wall on his forearms. He arched his back and pushed his ass outwards so that it pressed right against Seungmin’s crotch. 

A gust of wind whipped over the building and blew Felix’s blond hair around his face and ruffled his clothes. Another shiver wracked his body and Seungmin took that moment to tug his pants underneath his ass. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, so all it took was a single tug to have him completely bare. “ Oh ,” Felix sighed as Seungmin grabbed his cheeks and spread them apart. A small gem from the plug in his hole sparkled in the late afternoon light. Seungmin pulled it out a little Felix inhaled sharply. 

“Aaahh , Seungmin, don’t tease,” Felix pleaded. A car horn honked in the distance below them and the wind picked up even more. 

“Sorry, hyung, you’re just too cute not to tease,” Seungmin said sweetly. He pushed the plug back inside of him just to watch him squirm but then pulled it all the way out. He tossed it somewhere off to the side–they would probably not be using that again–and licked his lips as he watched the lube drip from Felix’s hole. “You’re so fucking pretty. Even your hole is pretty.” 

“ Seungmin ,” Felix groaned. 

“Shh, you’re gonna be fine,” Seungmin soothed. He knew he couldn’t drag this out for too much longer though because he didn’t want someone to come up and find them or for someone from down below to see them. 

He pressed a couple fingers into Felix’s hole just to see if he was truly stretched enough. Felix’s rim was loose around him but he still writhed at the intrusion. “Please. Want you to fuck me over the edge already, Minnie. Take care of me.” 

Seungmin gritted his teeth and pulled his fingers out. “I love it when you get so needy, hyung. Your voice always gets so high.” He unzipped his pants and pulled them down as quickly as he could so that he could free his cock. He was aching and leaking, probably harder than he had been in a long time. And Felix looked so pretty, pressed up against the edge of the building, still shaking from need and from the prospect of the danger they were putting themselves in. 

He grabbed a condom out of his pocket and rolled it over his length before he lined himself up. He carefully pushed the tip past his rim and clenched his jaw as his tight heat enveloped him. Felix dropped his head and moaned softly. Seungmin grabbed his hips to make pushing into him easier, and before long, he was pressed all the way to the hilt. Felix’s chest heaved as he took a deep breath and he licked his lips before looking back. “M-move, Seungmin.” 

Seungmin wasn’t one to take orders, but who could deny Felix when he looked like that? He certainly couldn’t. So he pulled out until just the tip of his cock was left inside Felix and then shoved back inside. The first thrust punched an airy moan out of Felix and that seemed to open the floodgates to an endless stream of sounds as Seungmin began to thrust into him for real, quickly picking up his pace. 

His thrusts were hard enough that Felix was pushed forward and forced to grab onto the wall as his chest slid over the top. He had a perfect view of the high drop, and even Seungmin could see it from this point. Cars speeding by on the city street down below, tiny figures of people walking along the sidewalk, looking more like ants than human beings. All blissfully unaware of the fact that Felix was getting stuffed full by Seungmin’s cock and fucked senseless. 

“Oh fuck,” Felix gasped as his hands slipped a little and he fell forward. Seungmin still had his hands planted firmly on his hips and his feet were on the ground so he didn’t really have much of a risk of actually falling, but the slip up still made Seungmin’s heart leap into his throat and he could feel Felix beginning to shake again. 

“You–you okay?” he asked and Felix nodded. 

“Yes, I’m good, ‘s good, keep going. I like it, I– ahhh –I love it,” he moaned, clenching around Seungmin. “Scare me–make me feel like I’m gonna fall. You’ll catch me right?” 

A groan rumbled in Seungmin’s throat and he leaned forward, wrapping his arm around Felix’s waist. He pressed his chest up against Felix’s back and began snapping his hips relentlessly. Felix moaned loudly and went limp in his hold. The wind whipped around them and Seungmin felt chills go down his spine as he pressed Felix to the railing and got a chance to look over. They were so high up. The adrenaline rushing through Seungmin’s blood turned to pleasure in his stomach and buried his face against Felix’s neck. 

“I’m gonna come soon,” he mumbled against him and Felix moaned. 

“M-me too,” he stuttered. “I’m so close, fuck me, fuck me harder.” 

Seungmin easily complied, putting all his energy into fucking Felix as hard as he could.  They would both be sore and stiff from the wind on top of the building and from the exertion but it would be worth it. 

When Felix practically sobbed, Seungmin knew he had started to hit his prostate. And Felix didn’t even need to touch himself this time to come. The rush of being so close to such a dangerous, deadly drop, and Seungmin fucking him so well made the arousal in his stomach unravel and after only a few hits against his prostate, he came with a shout. If the wind hadn’t been so loud, anyone could have heard them. His grip on the wall slipped as he orgasmed and he went limp, half of his chest hanging over the edge. Seungmin held him tight but didn’t pull him back as he finished off himself, spilling into the condom with a low groan soon after Felix came. 

Felix was still shaking even as Seungmin pulled out and turned him around so he could hold him closer. He ran a hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Are you okay? Was that good?” he asked gently. 

Felix hummed softly and nodded. “Yes, it was perfect. So, so scary but I loved it. I’m glad we finally got to do it. Another item crossed off the bucket list.” He giggled and Seungmin huffed out a laugh. 

“You’re right. What’s next?” 

Felix tapped his chin. “Hm…fucking a tentacle monster on the beach.” 

Seungmin cringed. “That’s not even possible though.” 

“You never know,” Felix said with a shrug. “I’ve heard some tales of pirates in the past…Ever heard the story of the Stray Compass ?” 

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Maybe you’ll get your tentacle sex on the beach.” He went over and picked up the plug he’d tossed early with a grimace. “I’ll drive you back to your place?” 

Felix nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll see you at the club on Friday?”

Seungmin nodded with a soft smile. “Yep, you know where I’ll be.” 

Felix hummed and wrapped his arm around Seungmin as they walked toward the elevator to head down to his car. “You know, you really are the best dom I could ask for.” 

Seungmin felt himself blushed but schooled his expression. “Thanks I–I’m glad you think so. I’m definitely a lucky dom.” Felix smiled brightly up at him. It was so, so bright. 

“That you are. But I’m the luckiest sub.”

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Mark of Darkness, Spark of Hope

Author: seidenapfel

Artist: Ephemera

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Length: 40000

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 10, Mpreg, Pregnancy with a Nephil Baby, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demon/MOC Dean, Wing Kink, Castiel Possessing Dean Winchester (consensual), Angel True Forms

Posting Date: November 2, 2023

Summary: All it takes is one night in an abandoned warehouse—violent, rough, and perfect. A fallen angel, running low on his stolen Grace and a demon, turned by the Mark that distorts his soul. It’s a night to remember that one forgets and the other can’t as a spark lights up deep within him. None of it should be possible, and yet, it’s there. Even though he tries to ignore its presence, the spark is slowly growing and burning through the darkness of Dean’s soul. Everything changes with the cure that Sam forces on Dean. Reunited with Cas, and suddenly human again, there is no way for either of them to deny the truth any longer. Doomed by the fate that awaits the human mothers of the Nephilim and cursed by the Mark of Cain etched on his soul, Dean’s future looks bleak. But then again, Dean is neither precisely a mother nor fully human, and Castiel is intent on saving him. After all, they have months during which Dean carries the growing life inside him to term—an impossible child and a miracle of love between Heaven and Hell. If only the Mark’s influence wouldn’t increase with the size of Dean’s bump.

Excerpt: Whenever Dean tried to remember what happened after—after that—his mind stayed blank. He still could see Cas’ stolen Grace burning in his eyes, feel the nasty softness of his stupid wings against his, and taste the poisonous sweet tang of upstairs on the tip of his tongue, yet after the big blow— Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything gone as if those moments never happened. As if none of it ever happened. Still— While that night had sated so much inside him, it had created a hunger, another starving sensation that haunted Dean with every step. Two marks on his distorted soul competed inside him. Piles of dead demons didn’t suffice. Hands and lips on his skin merely scratched an itch, nothing but a band-aid on a gaping wound. He urged for release. Each time he went rampant, the First Blade in his hand, something calmed the beast for a moment, but the spark within him lit a fire that only worsened his mood. Sometimes, though, the spark lulled the beast and Dean felt. Felt as guilt rushed through him, the impact of his actions gnawing at him until the spark soothed him. It felt like Cas’ Grace—his actual Grace and not the pitiful stolen substitute—folding around him like a blanket, keeping him sane and making sure he was safe. Whenever it happened, in moments he was alone, Dean closed his eyes. Tears pricked him, and more human than in a long time, he let it happen. They streamed down his face until there was nothing left. A feeling of belonging settled inside him as hope spread through his body, warm and bright, like sunlight after a long dark winter. In a twisted way, he knew—had known from the very first moment, even though nothing of it made sense. Yet, being who he was, he chose to ignore it and repressed the knowledge until it was once again nothing but a glowing spark buried deep within him.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[bougiebutchbitch]

Feast, my pretties.

CHEW ON THAT, part 2

Buggy really, really doesn't want to go back in the bag. (During his stint with the Arlong pirates, Buggy barters for survival using only his wit, his wiles, and his tongue.)

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Shanks/Buggy, Arlong/Buggy, Straw Hats & Buggy Characters: Buggy, Arlong, Shanks, Luffy Warnings: As before, the Shuggy is consensual BDSM, with a safe word and (presumably) some off-screen establishment of hard boundaries, etc. The Arlong/Buggy stuff…….. Well, Buggy enjoys himself! But it's neither safe, sane, nor (wholly) consensual. Be warned. Tags: Double penetration, fisting, and oh-so-much-more.

[magically-with-magic]

🍄 (givenson)❄️🦋🪲

I put off answering this for almost two weeks because I didn't have the energy to work on any of my WIPs 🙃

ANYWAY.

🍄 share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Fully convinced that Tim goes fully non-verbal when he's low on the mental health, as demonstrated at the end of s4 after he shot Colt. Luckily he's got daddy dom Raylan there to look after him when he's that deep in his head 😌

❄️ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

A lot of the things I want to read in fics are ones that have already been done, but not necessarily in the way I want to read.

I crave a canon divergent AU with a very specific flavor of dom Raylan and sub Tim where they start making consensual but neither safe nor sane bad choices together immediately post s4, only to catch feelings and be idiots about it for a while.

🦋 share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

Struggling a lot with some wicked imposter syndrome, that's been fun.

🪲 add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

Have 50 words of Tim dealing with a nightmare. The only additional context you get is that the rest of the fic heavily features soft dom Raylan of a similar variety to what you got in we can laugh about it when we're dead and done.

It’s the worst kind. Paranoia claws at the back of his throat, every shadow in the room turned sinister and dangerous. He lays there, still and tense, until his breathing steadies and his heart stops pounding a violent rhythm against his chest. Then, cautiously, he untangles himself from Raylan’s hold and beelines for the living room.