#tw noncon mention

[lady-phasma]

You can't ignore it

Part 2 of 2 (cross posted from AO3) - part 1

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; from my AO3 - "Bucky's metal arm kink"; mostly p n v sex, fluff, canon typical discussion of Bucky's past and violence, implied/referenced past noncon, discussion of ptsd.

Summary a/n: (copied straight from my AO3 because I am chaotic) I changed to 3rd person pov for this one because I needed more Bucky. Also, my OC has a name now! Hang in there, this is a long one. What is wrong with me? No beta. 4.5k words

I'm totally normal about his arm

His body twitched and jerked. He mumbled Russian words. His hands clenched into fists. Victoria sat up and reached for him, thought better of it, and dropped her hand to her thigh. She never knew how to wake him from a nightmare. Or if she should.

“Bucky,” she whispered. More Russian in response. Louder, “James.”

No reply. Dammit. He was in deep. This was a bad one. They had plenty of nights without these, plenty of restful, peaceful nights. There were some not-great dreams that weren’t as bad as nightmares. Then there were the nightmares. More like sleeping flashbacks. His body remembered and almost acted out the memory.

Bucky’s arm caught some ambient light and looked slick like oil. She was never afraid of him, that he would hurt her, but that arm… that arm was made from the most indestructible substance on the planet. It was intimidating. She wanted to comfort him, soothe him, stroke his forehead and tell him he was safe. That could so easily backfire. They had even discussed how dangerous it could be if she tried. They hadn’t come up with a plan, not exactly. In fact, he didn’t like staying over at night because he didn’t want to hurt her. Sometimes he fell asleep holding her but if he didn’t, if she fell asleep first, Victoria would wake up to find him sleeping on the floor.

She could see the shadows of pain on his face, the grimace and strain from some terrible thing she would never know or understand. She heard him groan. It was unbearable. That sound hurt. She slid closer to him on the bed, kept her eyes on his arm, and moved to lay behind him. As she cautiously placed her hand on his temple, caressed his brow, she whispered: “Otlichnaya, soldát, otlichnaya.” Well done, soldier, well done.

Bucky froze. He let out a breath and his body relaxed. Vic kissed the back of his neck. She didn’t like using those words. But he had told her that it was safe, safe to stop the nightmares that way. She had wanted the words to be a last resort but he had explained that the part of him that was so deeply the Winter Soldier would respond only to them.

“James?” she asked as she removed her hand, careful not to touch him anywhere else. “James, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” But her words weren’t heard. He was calm at least. She slowly moved to get out of bed. She felt a hand on hers as she sat up and let out a small gasp. The vibranium never felt like one expected it to feel.

“Vic,” he muttered. “Don’t go.”

She turned. He looked away, avoiding eye contact. His bare chest glistened with sweat. He released her hand. She sat curled up on the bed behind him, anxiously adjusting the bedsheets tangled around them. She was cold and her nipples were hard and obvious in her tank top. She crossed her arms to cover her chest. He gradually rolled onto his back and slid up the bed to prop himself against the headboard. Wearing only his boxer-briefs he looked very… vulnerable. Not powerful like he often did, muscles rippling and arm gleaming, but young and frightened.

In that moment she saw him as he might have been when HYDRA first captured him. Before the years of missions and horrors had written their histories on him, in pain and scars. She wanted badly to comfort him. She had no idea how. She moved next to him, placed her hand on his arm. He looked up at her. That look broke her heart. Without thinking she leaned back on the head of the bed and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. She coaxed him into her arms. His vibranium arm curled against her stomach as he lay on his side. She ran one hand over his hair, down his shoulder, and rested against his back. She laced the fingers of her other hand into his metal ones and kissed the top of his head.

------

The mechanisms whirred and clicked as he removed his arm. It was more than a little disconcerting. Even in motion and moving as a part of him it was odd, now it was lifeless. Nothing like it on earth. This wasn’t a prosthesis. His arm was a weapon but, also, not. Lying there it was passive and non-threatening. But knowing him, knowing his past, it wasn’t benign. It held immense potential under its shiny surface.

He rubbed his chest where the shoulder was grafted on. It must hurt sometimes.

“What’s up?” Vic asked, standing in the door to the bedroom.

“Nothing really,” he replied. “Feeling kinda old today maybe. Tired.” He sighed and looked up from the incongruous arm on the bed. His eyes swept over her and up to her face. “After nightmares like last night it feels…. heavy.”

“Do you go without it often?”

“No,” he said, hesitantly. “I enjoy the freedom of having both arms but, occasionally.” He randomly fingered his dog tags then dropped them to his chest and ran his hand through his hair.

“Come over here, Vic?” he gestured toward her. She walked to the bed and sat on the edge. The edge that put his legs between her and his disembodied arm.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m okay,” he looked directly into her eyes. “In fact, maybe we make a standard procedure. If I’m going to be sleeping over here often. I don’t like that anyone has to see me like that but my therapist says I have to ‘nurture relationships’.” He rolled his eyes then winked at her. He slid his right hand into hers.

“Maybe we just figure out what’s most comfortable with you, safest.”

“Right,” she said. “I don’t want to make things worse but it worked. Whatever you were dreaming, remembering, those words stopped it. I’m not scared of you, you know. I just care about you.” She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek.

“Look, I’m going to make some coffee. Come join me? We can talk more when I have caffeine, kay?” He nodded as she stood up.

Bucky looked at it, immobile on the bed. So odd and so yet completely natural for him. He got off the bed and went to the bathroom. Almost always grateful that he was right handed; it made tasks like this much easier. When he returned to the bedroom he looked at yesterday’s clothes piled in the floor and decided he wasn’t ready for that. Somehow, putting on clothes meant putting on the arm. He let out a shaky breath. Coffee, he thought, yeah, okay something normal.

Victoria set the coffee up to brew and grabbed a few mugs. She set them on the bar with half and half and some sugar substitutes. She wasn’t sure how he liked his coffee. She heard footsteps behind her and then felt his arm around her waist. He kissed her shoulders and back, then the top of her head.

“That smells nice,” he said. “Thank you.”

She turned to face him. She stood on the balls of her feet just a bit and kissed him. He was only just tall enough that she had to reach if she didn’t have shoes on. Vic took a small step back and turned to pour the coffee. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of his boxer briefs stretched tight over his thighs and, well, not just his thighs. She grinned at the coffee pot. Maybe he was a gentleman, old fashioned still, but he hadn’t rubbed up against her like most men who spent the night. Not that there had been any since she met James.

She handed him a mug and deliberately walked too close to him on her way through the kitchen. She held her coffee in both hands using the steam and mug to hide her smile as she gently brushed her hip against his erection. He inhaled audibly.

She slipped onto the bar stool and gestured for him to come sit next to her. After adding her cream and sweetener she noticed he was drinking his black. Military thing? she wondered. He was sitting on her left and after placing his mug on the bar, swiveled just a bit to put his hand on her thigh. Her panties were barely any fabric at all and her tank was basically see-through, she felt suddenly naked. Vic took a sip of her coffee to try to hide her vulnerability. She didn’t meet his eyes and stared fixedly at his dog tags. She was trying to avoid his stare and not get caught glancing at his crotch. Jesus, she thought. Then: oh, right, Super Soldier.

She felt his fingertips touch her chin. He coaxed her to look at him and he leaned in to kiss her as she lifted her head.

“Victoria, does it make you uncomfortable if I don’t wear it?” he asked, continuing their earlier conversation.

“Not really, no,” she paused. “I think I could get used to it but it’s not something I’m accustomed to. Plus, well it’s not who you are but it’s so much a part of what you look like. Unless you’re in long sleeves.”

“I went for years without one at all. In Wakanda.”

“Right,” she said. “Yeah, I knew that. And you told me you had long hair too.” She ran her fingers over his ear at his hairline. He took a sip of his coffee and his eyes half closed, soothed.

He placed his mug on the counter. His scowl was back on his brow when he turned to face her. He moved his hand back to her thigh.

“Come with me,” he said and stood up.

She followed him. They headed back to the bedroom. His ass was high and tight in his underwear. She could follow that anywhere. He continued through the bedroom into the attached bathroom. She watched him make himself at home. He moved with a silent grace and never fumbled with using just one hand. He got towels out of the cabinet, started the shower, and turned to her. By now his erection straining against the fabric looked almost painful. She watched, breathing heavily, as he deftly slid his underwear off his hips and stepped out of them. He stepped toward her and lifted her flimsy tank. She raised her arms and let him undress her. He dropped the shirt on the floor. Before taking off her panties he grazed the back of his hand over her hard nipples and down her belly.

Victoria had no idea why she wasn’t self conscious with him. She let him touch her stomach without flinching or cringing. She let herself enjoy the feeling of his hand sliding into her panties, slowly pulling them off her. She closed the distance between them when she tossed them aside with her foot. His eyes moved up her legs and body to her breasts. He leaned in and kissed one, sucked a nipple between his lips, licked it. She stifled a moan.

Bucky slid his hand around her and pressed their bodies together. His kiss was hard, impatient. She kissed him back and instinctively reached up to grab his biceps. The empty air on his left startled her and she opened her eyes. He kissed her forehead, maybe knowing what she had just thought, and led her by the hand into the shower.

Without words he directed her movement. She let herself be guided by him. Once her hair was wet and she reached for the soap he swapped places with her and stood under the water. She watched him closely as he closed his eyes and leaned back under the shower. The water ran down his face, pooling and spilling over as he moved. His dog tags caused rivulets to form on his chest and she let her eyes follow these to his stomach and that lovely spot, that “V”, where his perfect torso met his hips.

She wasn’t really using the soap as much as she was just holding it. His erection was taunting her. He was acting like it didn’t exist. She stared a moment too long and felt eyes on her. She blushed.

“Yes?” Bucky grinned.

“Uh, yeah, huh?” she mumbled.

“Funny enough, that’s not what I wanted to show you. Here,” he reached out for her hand holding the soap. She stepped closer to him, almost under the water with him. He nodded at the soap, so she lathered a bit in her hands. Then he took the soap and set it on the ledge. He guided her hand. She swallowed, gulped almost. Her mouth had gone dry with anticipation, a bit of fear, and a good deal of anxiety. He gently laid her palm on his ribs, on his left side, and slid both of their hands up to the seam between flesh and metal. Her eyes darted from their hands to his face and back. He was watching her face. But he kept moving their hands, using her hand the way he would his own, washing the vibranium shoulder prosthesis. His muscles rippled and stretched as he moved their hands over and behind him. She had to step closer and onto the balls of her feet to reach. He let go of her hand to steady her, placing his hand on her waist. She almost didn’t notice, like she almost didn’t notice that his incredibly hard dick was now pressed against her stomach.

She was entranced by this intimacy. Taken aback that he was so vulnerable with her but simultaneously beyond what the word “flattered” could convey. She slid her hand back to his ribs, technically his armpit, and looked up at him. He was smiling. That flat, kind, Bucky smile. No one she ever knew smiled like that but she also didn’t know many 106 year old men with a metal arm.

“Vic, I want you to be comfortable, okay?”he said. “I have had decades to get use to this and you haven’t. I don’t want it to be a ‘thing’ as they say now.”

She blushed again and leaned into him. She pressed him back into the running water and kissed him. While they were kissing, tongues slipping against each other, she used her hand to rinse the soap from his shoulder. He smiled and she felt his teeth against her lips momentarily. He laughed a little. She pulled back, unsure of herself, but he didn’t let her go far. Bucky leaned down and kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. And he didn’t stop.

His fingers dug into her hip, using her for balance, as he knelt. Kissing her body through the entire movement. He kissed the hollow of her hips. Gently kissed the bare skin above her pussy.

“Back in my day, grooming wasn’t so…” he trailed off. “Complete?” She blushed harder than she thought she ever had in her life when he looked up at her. Eye contact with Bucky while his lips were on her shaved skin made her feel a wave of faint panic. All of the blood seemed to have run out of her head and straight to his mouth. She closed her eyes, put a hand on the shower wall, and felt his laugh vibrate through her.

Then his tongue. His tongue dipped further down and she was immensely grateful that he had a firm grip on her. She had barely noticed that she had begun to part her legs for him and that she was leaning precariously into his hand. Trust. So much trust that she wouldn’t collapse and die in the shower. No, trust that he wouldn’t let her fall. But these thoughts, if they were even concrete enough to be called that, were forced out of her mind when his tongue went inside her. She groaned. He pulled back and licked the length of her, back to her clit, and toyed with it. Sucked it in gently between his lips then passed his teeth lightly over it. Her hand found the back of his head and clutched at his short hair. He laughed a bit and the vibration was intense. Her pressure on his head increased slightly. He took this as his queue that playtime was over.

Bucky sucked and licked her clit but took his time. Slowly, firmly, tasting her, exploring. He pushed his tongue as far into her as he could. He pulled out and licked everywhere, anywhere. Then, guiding her with his hand so he could find a better angle, he placed the tip of his tongue in the wetness just before her ass. The sensation sent an impulse through her and she pressed on the back of his head. He quickly, gently, licked her ass then in one movement licked back to her clit.

“Oh fuck James!” she yelled. “Just. God. Damn.” She panted. He sucked harder on her clit, barely breathing, rolling his tongue over it. He squeezed her hip tight so she would know he had her. He pressed his face hard against her and sucked and traced circles on her clit with his tongue. He felt her orgasm start as a faint shake in her hips.

She leaned against the shower wall, overwhelmed by the sensations: the water from the shower, Bucky’s mouth, the strain of holding herself up, his goddamn tongue. Then she started to shake. She came in waves. She almost screamed his name but bit it back, cursed, then let herself go. She yelled a string of expletives. The last rush of her orgasm passed through her and she let go of his head. He inhaled deeply. She looked down at him and laughed.

The towel was fluffy and soft. Through her drowsiness she followed Bucky to the bed. He sat, hair dripping water onto his back and shoulders. His towel was around his waist but didn’t do much to hide his… anticipation. She giggled to herself. She thought about how uncomfortable he must be by now. But at almost the exact moment the thought entered her head it was pushed out by what she was seeing. Yup, Bucky had picked up his vibranium arm and laid it on the bed next to where he sat, purposefully, where she couldn’t avoid it.

She wasn’t afraid or turned off, had no negative feelings about it. What was bothering her, the roadblock she kept running into, was whether or not it was appropriate. She bit her bottom lip and looked at him as she sat down.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“Um…” she swallowed hard. “I think I don’t want you to judge me and I don’t want to offend you. No, that’s not the word, I know it isn’t but I don’t know. I…” She let the sentence end before it had begun.

“Go ahead,” he said. “It’s okay. Do you honestly think I would lie and tell you it was okay if it wasn’t?” That Bucky smile again.

She looked from his beautiful face to the beautiful black metal and back again. He nodded. It was laying palm-down on the bed, slightly bent at the elbow. She gingerly traced a finger over the back of his hand, up the forearm, following the gold seams around the vibranium plates. From the corner of her eye she saw Bucky move his hips, adjust a little. She pressed her palm onto the warm metal of his bicep, caressed the muscle and slid her hand back down to his wrist. She flattened her hand on the back of his, right on top of left, and because that looked odd somehow because that was the only odd part of this she slid her hand underneath, palm to palm. It was somehow light and heavy at the same time. She could have lifted it but the weight of his and on hers felt natural.

When Bucky moved she jumped the tiniest bit but didn’t pull her hand back. He reached under her arm and picked up the prothesis, not separating their hands completely. The clicking sounds were jarring but the actual process was fascinating. Complicated parts opened, moved, adjusted and then accepted the arm seamlessly. Nearly instantly she felt him gently squeeze her hand and she jumped. Se let out a nervous giggle then stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. His muscles flexed and moved like flesh.

Vic leaned over to kiss him and he met her halfway. She placed her hand on his chest, gently pushing him back on the bed. She let her towel drop as she straddled him. She loved the feeling of his erection between them. His hips moved to accomidate her. She let out a sigh. Moving slowly she put their clasped hands above his head, grabbed his other wrist and pinned him to the bed. His chest heaved and she felt his heartbeat race. Bucky let her hold both his hands above his head while she kissed his vibranium arm. Wrist, forearm, bicep, shoulder, even nuzzling under his arm. She breathed hot against his chest before licking his nipple.

He moaned and pushed his hips up. She bit him playfully and smilled when she felt him twitch between her legs. She let go of his hands so she could slide down and continue kissing and teasing. Moving with purpose to her goal. She ran her fingertips gently over the tip of his dick and felt his precum slick beneath them. She looked at him as she licked it off her fingers. His eyes closed and he groaned.

“Damn,” he breathed.

She adjusted to get a better, easier position and wrapped a hand around his dick. He was so hard and sensitive. She kissed the tip and lapped up the new drops of precum. She squeezed a bit tighter as she slid his foreskin down. The noises he was making and the slow movement of his hips encouraged her. She licked the length of his dick, wetting her palm with her tongue. Then she slid him into her mouth. Her lips were tight around him. He tangled his fingers in her hair and tried not to push into her. She felt the head of his dick against the back of her throat and stopped just before that annoying spot, swallowed, felt him respond, and picked up the pace. She ran her free hand up his inner thigh, making him shiver and grip her hair tighter. She lightly scooped his balls into her hand and squeezed and released as she sucked and licked. It took all of her focus to coordinate her movements but it was worth it. He squirmed and moaned. His other hand went to the back of her head as well. She ran her finger along the smooth skin behind his balls and he broke. She stopped sucking and let her jaw relax as his hands held her head. He fucked her mouth. Muttering her name, obscenities, and then suddenly stopping. She looked up at him as he dropped his hands to his sides.

“I can’t, I don’t want to, well,” he stammered as she slid her lips off him one last time. “I want to, you know.”

“You are so eloquent,” she laughed, still massaging his balls. “They have a lot of words for ‘cumming while you fuck me’ in the 1940s, huh?”

He half-grunted a laugh and let his head fall heavy onto the mattress.

“Okay then,” she said. “Fuck me until you cum.”

She pressed her body into his as she moved up to kiss him. When their lips met he kissed her back with ferocity. With his inhanced strength he flipped her onto her back and spread her legs with his thighs. Her head spun. She wrapped her legs around his hips. He kissed her neck, her chest, her nipples. She pushed her hips against him. Her wetness on him made him kiss and lick more fervently. Her hands went to his biceps like always. She arched her back when she gripped the slick metal.

“Oh god, Bucky,” she moaned through gritted teeth. “Fuck me please.”

He reached a hand between them and guided himself into her. She was so tight and hot and wet. He shut his eyes and dropped his head next to hers, breathing heavily into her ear as he slid all the way in. Her muscles tightened around his almost too thick dick as he moved, slowly at first. His hips made slow, grinding circles. He propped himself up on his elbows, grabbing onto her neck and shoulders for leverage. He pulled her hard onto him, going even deeper.

Victoria gasped but met his force with her own. She pushed against him with her hips and grabbed his ass with both hands. This was all the encouragement he needed. His thrusts became longer but quicker. Nearly pulling out of her each time. His hand reflexively tightened and released on the back of her neck each time. She knew they couldn’t keep this up long. She was going to cum soon and thought that would probably send him over the edge with her. She seized this moment of clarity.

“James,” she whispered. She moved her hand from his ass and lightly touched his left shoulder. She trailed her fingers down his tricep. He didn’t pause, didn’t miss a beat. He continued sliding in and out of her wet heat but lifted his head to look at her. She increased the pressure of her fingertips on his arm and smiled softly at him.

He moved his weight to his right arm. He looked straight into her eyes while he slid his vibranium fingers around her fragile throat. She moaned and pushed down on his thrust into her. He started to squeeze. She exhaled and closed her eyes. He pressed his fingers harder into her flesh watching her face. He felt her contract around him, he squeezed harder. She let out a small gasp and her eyes opened. Her orgasm rocked through her and she arched and pushed against him. He tightened his hold on her. Then he felt the heat pour out of him. He growled and buried his face in her hair. His cum filled up the space between them, hot and sticky. With his last spasm he released her neck.

“Goddamn, Vic” he sighed. He pushed into her, filling her up one last time. She panted and clutched at him. She welcomed his weight as he almost collapsed onto her. Neither wanted to move but he slowly withdrew and rolled onto his side. She felt his cum drip out after him. She stretched and sighed and smiled at him. He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. While she had his full attention she slipped her hand between her thighs and felt his cum. His eyes widened just a little. Then she brought her fingers to her mouth, his eyes following her hand. She licked them clean. He smiled that Bucky smile. He wrapped both of his arms around her, pulling her closing and kissing her. She kissed him back and crushed herself against him.

[inkblot22]

(PS I don’t actually know the source material for idia I just stumbled upon one of your fics while looking at FFXIV Yandere fics so sorry if this sounds OOC)

I’m not super creative but what do you think might actually be Idia’ routine with his darling? Does he fall into any routine, does it change a lot?

Have a wonderful day (and happy late bunny day!) 🫶

I actually am of the opinion that this is a very creative thought! You should give yourself more credit. I like to idealize the day to day life, but it never occurred to me that writing it down might be a good idea. On that sentiment, I think maybe Vil or even Leona would have a better day to day routine. Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Also, wow, what a pipeline, FFXIV to twst?? You've got good taste lmao welcome to my blog.

I'll put this under the cut, and I'm also not promising that this will be very good. I use the 24 hour clock. I am constantly getting told irl that American people don't do that, but I'm evil, so I'm putting the times in 24 hour clock format.

TW for mentions of noncon, coercion, captivity, someone keeping someone else awake, a hint of Idia being an asshole

+ Idia doesn't really seem like he has much of a set schedule, but Ortho absolutely does and Ortho is lowkey kind of bossy, so...

+ Yeah uh, Idia's partner is absolutely out of luck. Idia likes night gaming a lot, and he gets loud, so good luck sleeping. Idia himself goes to bed late and wakes up whenever the heck he wakes up. He could go to bed at 0300 in the morning and wake up again at 0700.

+ As his kept partner, the schedule is a little more normal, like I said. Ortho doesn't really need to sleep from what I understand, (I haven't read all of book 6, no spoilers or else I WILL temporarily block you) but it's silly to imagine that he doesn't wake up or attempt to wake up everyone else around him as early as 0600.

+ After waking up, Idia will eat breakfast. I think it'd be delivered usually since Idia and his partner are basement dwellers, one by nature and the other by force. After breakfast begins work...

+ Or procrastination. Idia flip flops between extreme focus on what he should be doing and what he should not be doing. He manages to get his schoolwork done, but more often than not, he's asking his partner to cuddle up and watch a movie, drama, or his fingers flying across the keyboard. Idia will not ask them to cuddle if he is doing schoolwork or virtually attending classes.

+ I like to think that he smells smoky, on account of the flaming hair, and he runs hot, so prepare to SWEAT. In the case his partner doesn't really want to hang out with him, he will usually sulk and only occasionally get upset to the point of doing something about it.

+ I don't think he showers every day. I think he's an every other day type of showerer, based solely on him not being particularly active. This means that his partner doesn't have to run on his showering schedule and gets extra hot water on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

+ By the way, in the case that Idia's darling ever gets peckish, Idia has a snack stash that he proudly pulled out and showed them as soon as they were allowed to wander a bit. I figure they get hungry some time around 1400, especially if Idia is also eating at that time.

+ I think his metabolism is fast, but also a bit odd. He is a young person, and therefore he strikes me as the type to get randomly hungry. If asked very nicely (and with the promise of physical affection in some form) he'd be incredibly willing to make his partner something to munch on when he makes his own.

+ Despite Idia's partner being literally held captive in his room, with all his suspicious items and, worst of all, himself, Idia is about as respectful as a kidnapper can be about demanding sex. He doesn't like to be physically forceful about it, and he often will just jerk off in the bathroom.

+ The reason for this is very simple: If Ortho ever saw Idia having sex with ANYONE, Idia would spontaneously combust. Well, obviously he doesn't know that for certain, but it's a theory that he is not willing to test. He won't even talk about his preferences around his little brother.

+ As far as I'm aware, most people in captive situations do not tend to ask their kidnapper to fuck them unless they're being threatened in some way, but Idia's partner isn't typically being threatened (ignore the shock collar,) so they never ask Idia to have sex.

+ This does not stop Idia from being a whiny bitch about not having sex enough as soon as Ortho is gone for a few hours. The close quarters and sudden advent of a human being who he doesn't mind touching him is a big thing for Idia.

+ Ortho goes on "walks" in a sort of unusual schedule. That is to say that he doesn't have a schedule. If something needs to be picked up, he's tired of Idia not listening to him, he has his own stuff to do, or he just feels like it, Ortho will go out, sharing his location with Idia. From there, Idia will typically calculate how long it'd take Ortho to get back paired with whatever Ortho said he was going to do before he left, and see if he can squeeze in some coerced touching.

+ So. Good luck, Idia's partner. Idia will make a big stink until he gets bored or his partner gives in. His partner usually gives in, based on fear of what he might do alone.

+ Bedtime is somewhat randomized. If Ortho was out, when he comes back and it's any time after 2000, he will very subtly try to get Idia and his partner to start winding down. If both or one ignores him, he'll start getting upset.

+ Like I said, Ortho is kinda bossy. He will nag someone, and the worst part is that he's usually got their best interest in mind.

+On the off chance that Idia decides to go to bed at a decent time, he curls up behind his partner. He runs hot and smells smoky, and at some times it's not the worst thing. Some times.

+ By the way, a lot of this flies out the window in the event that Idia decides to attend classes in person. This is rare, so don't expect it to happen often, but it's not as good as it could be. Ortho goes with him and he locks up any way to reach the outside world, so all his partner has to entertain themselves is his manga collection, or the fun pastime of destruction of property. (This is a very bad idea, and I can expand on punishments later.)

+ In Idia's partner's case, every day is much of the same but just a little different, which makes it hard to keep track of time. The fact that Idia prefers low lighting and no natural light doesn't help this whatsoever.

[justproshiprants]

What is with antis repeatedly claiming proshippers go out of their way to expose minors to "proship content"??? Proshippers existing in a fandom that also appeals to minors isn't them going out of their way to show "proship content" to kids.

Minors that are proshippers aren't helpless babies who need antis to patronize them, especially since if that proshipper says they don't need help they will still get sent death and rape threats because that's totally a perfectly normal thing to send to a minor and doesn't automatically make you the worse person in this scenario. (/s)

Tag your shit appropriately but that's pretty much it. If a minor looks straight at a fic of mine that's clearly tagged with a tag like rape/non-con and reads it anyway that's not on me. They should've been taught in the first place to not go out of their way to look at 18+ content. The internet isn't and has no obligation to be a child friendly space, especially when we have warnings to tell minors to stay away from certain types of content.

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

The easy way

masterlist

tw: manipulation, noncon drugging, implied threat of noncon, a little manhandlig, intimate whumper

"How many reminders do you need to get it through your pretty head, huh?" In all honesty Alyssa didn't need any. She wished she did so she wouldn't be stuck paralysed in his grip, fully aware of the lack of choice she has in the matter.

"Easy way or the hard?" he asked again, pushing her further so she was flush between him and the door. Easy? What was so easy about doing what she was about to on her own volition? Taking all the drugs she was offered, just so he doesn't jam a syringe in her neck while she's fighting him off. She should not be letting it happen. Fighting should be the better option, because if she fights she might be able to hold onto some scraps of her dignity. If she fought she could've proved to herself that she's not compliant. Not broken. And most importantly that she still hates him.

"The easy way then" she looked down, face turning red with shame. She was just so tired. She desperately needed those few seconds of quiet, over her dignity. The latter didn't hold much weight in this place any way.

"Good girl" Luke praised and opened the door they were standing at. She would've fell on her back into the room if he hadn't held onto her.

He motioned her to sit on the edge of the bed. She sat, timidly, unable to even mimick being relaxed.

He pulled a tray of chocolates from the bedside cabinet and offered it to her.

"Take one then!" She looked at the tray confused. Where are the pills? Will she have to pass the time eating chocolates before someone else comes in?

"What's in it?" she asked cautiously.

"Chocolate, of course" he laughed "And something else I can't wait for you to try" so the drug was inside the sweets. Sickeningly enticing array of delicious chocolates she hadn't had one in so long, and now it was offered on a silver platter. She slowly reached for one and took it out of thw box. It melted right where her fingers touched it, and she just stared.

"What are you waiting for? Eat it" he commanded and Aly obeyed. The chocolate didn't taste weird. She hoped it would just so she can feel a semblance of the pain that comes with being forced into this. The stupid thing tasted just like regular chocolate "Good girl" he praised again, she wanted to crawl out of her skin. She wasn't good. She wasn't anything, nothing she did matter because he would get whatever he wanted anyway.

He stood in front of her and slowly pushed her down into the pillows. Climbing on top of her effectively mobilising her.

"You make everything so hard on yourself all the time. Isn't this nicer?" It's not. This meant she gave in. She just nodded in acknowledgement "Come on now, I know when you're lying to me" he raked through her hair gently before grabbing it. He didn't pull on it yet.

"We can chat before it kicks in" he nudged.

"I- I don't, I can't- I don't want to choose the easy way"

"But you did" he pointed out "So many times before you chose it. Why?"

"Because it hurts less" she whispered averting her gaze "But I think about it more and it hurts that I- I took part in it" he cocked his head to the side studying her.

"But you know once you stop trying to go against me in everything it won't hurt at all? I won't hurt you then." he carressed her cheeks and wiped away the tears that started flowing with his free hand "I get what I want either way" he shrugged.

"And what do you want with me now?"

"You don't have to worry about that"

"Why do you need me to be drugged then?"

"Because it's fun. And I do what I want"

...

She didn't immediately open her eyes when she came to. She felt his hands draped around her waist huggung her from behind. She felt she had clothes on that was a good sign.

Her head was spinning a bit when she tried to move slowly inching away from him, but he pulled her back into his chest with a sleepy grunt as one would a teddy bear. It hurt her hip where he held onto, there was a few days old bruise, but it wasn't anything she couldm't handle. There was no other form of pain other than the dull headache she was sure would turn splitting later.

She tried to be conscious of her body to figure out what happened the night before. She felt nothing. No soreness, no weird sensations.

"Good morning, princess" he greeted her groggily.

"What did you do to me?"

"No 'good morning' to me?" he kissed into the crook of her neck "That's rude"

"Did you- did we sleep together?"

"Yes" he murmured "and we'd still be, if you haven't woken me up"

"I hate you"

"No, you don't" he smiled still not letting go of her "If you hated me we wouldn't be here like this"

"I truly do you drugged me for no reason!"

"You hate uncertainity not me. And you hate that I didn't fuck you last night"

"You're disgusting" Aly tried to wriggle away again earning a hand on her throat to keep her in place.

"Oh come on, you are you lying to here" he laughed squeezing her thoat "You're a little scared of me, and a lot more angry, but you like being this close, just enjoy it"

"No, I seriously fucking hate you, Luke" this time his hand closed around her throat.

"Let's get something straight here" he started "You don't call me that. And you certainly should think about when you decide to hate me" he suddenly let go "This is the thanks for a fucking nap? How can I reward you with anything bigger if you can't even appreciate this?"

[absolute-flaming-trash]

I love your blog because at this point finding Mahito fans on tumblr is becoming more impossible than breathing in water

I swear his hashtag is pretty much just hate and I even saw someone saying that he was "rapey". It's genuinely becoming a bit unbearable, as someone that likes the guy

Yeah I saw that too, and I just want to make a little cautionary note before continuing to answer this.

Gentle reminder this is a yandere/DC blog. One of the main things I write is noncon. I happily welcome any and all Mahito lovers who want to spend time here, and you don't have to read that kind of thing if it is not your fancy, but I'm just giving full disclosure there.

Moving on, however, I shall namedrop a few fellow Mahito lovers for you and those who are looking and want to enjoy in whatever degree they feel comfortable (if you do not know about these lovely people already).

@after-witch - Fellow DC creator, adore them with all my heart, and one hell of a writer.

@meefy - Most of their work on AO3, but also so so so wonderful. Eating their fics with a spoon. Love them to death.

@redcallisto - When I tell you this artist has my soul...

[honeyed-latte]

Appropriately tag your art

Appropriately tag your art

Appropriately tag your art

Appropriately tag your art

Appropriately tag your art

Appropriately tag your art!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just saw the most repulsive noncon art ever and I want to maul them like a silverback gorilla because WHY DIDN'T YOU TAG THAT WHY DIDN'T YOU TAG THAT WHY DIDN'T YOU TAG THAT WHY DIDN'T YOU TAG THAT WHY DIDN'T YOU TAG THAT WHY DIDN'T YOU TAG THAT WHY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I dont care if you like that or create that or enjoy that- hey I even do sometimes! But when im not in the headspace for that, I get put right into a panic attack, and guess what!!!! That could have been avoided had you just TAGGED IT LIKE YOU SHOULD HAVE BUT YOU DIDN'T THANKS FOR NOTHING YOU USELESS HOMUNCULUS

[unrecognized-planet]

TW!!! PLEASE Read tags.

The author of Flowey Is Not A Good Life Coach made a Fontc*st fic.

[lady-phasma]

Зимний Солдат (Zimniy Soldát)

Part 1 of 2 (cross posted from AO3)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; from my AO3 - "Bucky's metal arm kink"; mostly p n v sex, fluff, canon typical discussion of Bucky's past and violence, implied/referenced past noncon. Written in first person fem!reader.

Summary a/n: Some feels but mostly reader and Bucky are simmering at this point. (This is how old this fic is: Events take place after F&WS Episode 5 - I want to add some plot and character details but there are only 6 episodes so I’m waiting until we find out what episode 6 brings us.) No beta. 3k words.

“Like dancing, it’s been a while,” he smirked as he looked down at his gloved hands. A pained smirk. He ran his thumb across the knuckles of his left fist.

“I’m sure it has,” I said. I reached up and brushed my fingers along his jaw, coaxing him to look at me. “Dancing has changed a lot in 78 years, this hasn’t.” I smiled and his face softened. His shoulders relaxed a little.

Without speaking I took his hands in mine and started to slowly remove each glove. First his right hand, grazing his palm with my fingers, then his left. The vibranium was warm to the touch. He flexed his fingers as if taking off the glove reminded him that his arm was metal. I held my hand out, palm up, offering it to him. The warm metal folded around my hand.

“How much can you feel?” I asked him.

“Everything,” he said and made small circles with his thumb in my palm.

I stood up from the couch and let his hand fall to his lap. He looked up at me as I slid my hand into his jacket. I slowly started to remove it but he got the hint and shrugged out of it. I straddled him and surprised him by sitting on his lap. I gently pressed on his shoulders, getting him to lean back on the couch, relax a little. His chest heaved with a sigh. My hands rested lightly on his t-shirt clad shoulders. “Well maybe it has changed a little,” I grinned as I teased him.

“Yeah, I don’t remember it quite like this,” he smiled and winked at me.

“I hope that not all changes are bad,” I whispered as I leaned in to kiss him. My hair fell by my face and he reached up to tuck it behind my ear. He placed his palm on my cheek and kissed me back. I wanted to pace myself, not rush anything, but it was proving difficult. I wanted to feel his tongue, to part his lips with my own tongue, but I was really enjoying this 1940s kissing as well. I pulled back a little so I could look at him. His eyes were closed. I pressed my cheek into his hand.

He opened his eyes, seeming to wonder why we stopped kissing. When our eyes met I turned and kissed the palm of his hand. His hips twitched slightly underneath me. I put my hand on top of his and pressed my lips harder against the metal. I began to make my way down his palm and wrist to his forearm, weaving my fingers between his. I glanced up at him as he leaned his head back on the couch. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as I kissed his arm. I slid my free hand up his bicep to his shoulder, fingering the ridge at the connection of metal and skin briefly before resting it on his chest. His heart wasn’t racing but I could feel it beating. I closed my eyes, sighed warm breath against his vibranium, and kissed the inside of his elbow. I released his hand as I kissed his bicep and he placed his hand on the back of my neck.

“Damn,” he sighed. “Definitely not how it was in 1943.” He raised his head and smiled, blue eyes sparkling. He gently pulled me toward him and kissed me. His hand moved into my hair and pushed me harder against his lips. His tongue slipped past my lips and I opened up to let him in. I pressed my chest against his and breathed deeply into our kiss. Bucky moved his hips as if he were uncomfortable so I spread my legs a bit wider. I moaned, deep and quiet, when I felt him hard against me. I shifted my weight in his lap and he inhaled sharply and grabbed my ass with both hands. He raised up to kiss me and lift me off his lap in one motion. Before I knew what was happening I was sitting on the couch and we were no longer kissing.

“What? Is everything-““Yeah, yes,” he cut me off. “It’s… fine. I just need a breather. You know… just don’t want to end this too early.” He looked down at his hands.

“Okay,” I said. “Do you want to talk?”

“Sure.”

“I have wanted to ask you something for a while now,” I stammered as I looked at my own hands. “It’s strange but I was curious if you really had never, you know, in all those years…”

“Is that a question?” he asked but didn’t wait for me to answer. His voice got lower and his tone was immediately serious. “Um, yeah, a few times I guess. I remember every mission, every encounter, every command. So, consenting? Not in almost eight decades. As him at least a handful of times.” “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “God that sounds so lame when I say it out loud, but I am very sorry.” I reached out for his hand. His skin felt cool when he took my hand in his. I slid closer to him so that our legs touched. I placed my hand on his thigh.

“Well, I’m only in a little bit of a hurry,” I winked. He smiled and leaned in to kiss me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed a little. I immediately noticed how much more intense that touch was. Not more forceful but there was no give, no softness, in that hand. I moaned a little into our kiss. He pulled back and looked at me. I couldn’t meet his eyes so I smoothed my hair behind my ear. I intertwined our fingers and pressed my shoulder into his other palm. I encouraged him in a feline manner, pushing against his hand. He understood. His hand slid down my arm, onto my breast. When he paused I inhaled deeply and forced my chest out. His hand tensed and relaxed. He started to make small circles over my nipple with his thumb. Feelings like electricity shot from where he touched me to my crotch, making me jump a little. I finally met his gaze and languidly smiled at him.

He untangled his hand from mine and placed it on the small of my back, guiding me with the slightest pressure. I followed and moved back into his lap, straddling him again. So many sensations all at once: his hand pressing harder against my breast, his dick hard against me, his hand sliding up my back under my shirt.

“Bucky,” I moaned. I leaned into him, breathing near his ear, pinning his arm between us. I ran my hands through his hair, down the back of his neck, and over his biceps. I nibbled at his ear and kissed his jaw. Slowly, his hand slid away from my breast, toward the top of my jeans. “Yes, please,” I encouraged.

He cursed under his breath a bit as he got closer and fumbled with my buttons. I straightened up long enough to help him then pushed my body against his. His vibranium was smooth and warm against my belly. His fingers brushed against me not teasing but taking his time. I wanted so badly to speed things up but I didn’t want to pressure him. This was on his time but my hips twitched involuntarily and he inhaled sharply. He seemed to hold his breath as he slipped one finger over my clit.

“You are so… wet,” he mumbled.

“I know,” I replied. “I want you that much.”

Almost timidly, he slid his finger further down, then inside me. I rocked my hips on his lap and kissed him, hard. He slipped a second finger in. I moved slowly with him inside me, watching him. I held his face in my hands. He seemed so relaxed, so peaceful. For the first time I saw the scowl fade away from his brow. He closed his eyes. His fingers curled slightly inside me while his other hand travelled down my back and onto my bare ass. My jeans needed to come off but I didn’t want to stop him. I groaned and ground my hips into his hand. The vibranium seemed to match my body temperature and where I expected to feel metal I felt only him. I kissed his forehead, his cheek, his neck, his shoulder and then… I was back there, my lips on his arm. The metal worked and flexed as he moved with me.

I couldn’t take it anymore and began to move to take off his shirt. He looked at me and picked up on the hint. Neither of us wanted him to move but both of us wanted more. More skin, more contact. I lifted his t-shirt up and he moved his hands out of my pants. Oddly, I noticed his his left armpit was also metal. The crazy things we think in these moments, my brain said to me I bet he saves money on deodorant. I felt myself smile. I dropped the shirt on the floor, ran a hand down his bare chest, around a nipple, and over his stomach. Wow. Super soldier indeed. I think he blushed at my touch. I gently lifted his dog tags and then let them clank back onto his chest.

“You still have dog tags, Sergeant?” I teased.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he mumbled, looking down at them. “Steve gave them to me. I guess, after HYDRA got me, these got stashed somewhere. He never said where he found them but they’re mine from the war.” My eyes widened at the thought of what these tags had been through over 70 years. I ran my fingers over them, the chain, and up to his neck, barely touching as if they, and he, were fragile.

I slowly reached down to unbutton his jeans but he grabbed my hands and gently began to push me back. I stood up. Before he could start I slipped my shirt off and stood in my bra and jeans. He kissed me just above my belly button. Smoothed his hands up my back to unhook my bra. I shrugged it off. He pulled me to him. His face was hot against my nipples. The cool air in the room and feeling him on me made them hard. He kissed one then the other. With his face still close to me he pushed both hands into my jeans and panties and slid them down until I could step out of them.

I was normally too shy to be this naked, this vulnerable, standing in front of a man but James made me feel enough. I didn’t rush to hide my stretch marks or try to distract him from looking at me. I let him look. His eyes followed the curve of my hip as he trailed his hand down my thigh. His vibranium hand slid to my ass and squeezed. He smiled and pulled me closer, covering me with kisses. I sighed deeply and ran my hands through his hair. I wanted him so badly. Why was he still wearing pants?!

I bent down slowly and ran my hands down his sides. His smooth skin taught over strong muscles. I got my fingers just in the waistband of his jeans when he understood and leaned back. He unbuttoned them and raised his hips to let me pull them off. Taking both underwear and jeans off at once required some awkward movements but then there he was. Just as vulnerable as I was. The scars at his shoulder stood out in contrast against his lightly-tanned chest. I reached out and touched the edge of the vibranium just where it met his skin. He shivered.

I moved toward him but he shook his head. He gently guided me to lay down on the couch instead of sitting. I smiled. He slid to half-kneel between my legs and pulled my hips close to him. My small giggle surprised even me. He ran his hands down my thighs, placing my legs so I could wrap them around him. Then he leaned forward. His biceps quivered as he propped himself up on his hands, one on either side of my head. The black and gold vibranium catching the light in the room, his dog tags swaying between us. I could feel him watch me looking at his arm. He kissed my neck. The movement resembled a push-up and I couldn’t take my eyes off the flexing of his arm. He kissed my collarbone, my shoulder, my breasts, each kiss accompanied by that flex and release. I ran my hand along the vibranium tricep, feeling it move under my touch.

“Bucky,” I started.

“Mmmm?” was his reply.

“Do you, well, I don’t know how to ask really… Does it bother you?”

“Not at all,��� he looked into my eyes. “It turns me on actually. I like that you like it. Instead of it being this weird, shiny elephant in the room. Hell, you could be disgusted by it I suppose. But, no, not bothered in the way you mean.” He grinned that half-grin and raised an eyebrow. “Plus, it’s not going anywhere.”

“Good, that you aren’t bothered, I mean” I looked away. “One more question… are you sure you want this, now I mean? It’s not too fast?” He replied with a deep kiss. He slid his hand under me, to the small of my back, leaving his vibranium arm by my head. Then, for the first time, I felt him hard against my naked skin. I groaned and bit my lip. He slid his dick over my clit and between my lips before tentatively sliding inside me. His face was a little scrunched with concentration and his eyes were closed. I took that as a cue not to move or take things beyond his pace. So I kissed his forearm. I moved a hand to his back and then to the curve of the top of his ass. I didn’t pull but pressed my fingertips enough to let him know he could keep going if he was ready.

I felt every inch of him move into me, so slowly I thought I would lose my mind. I was so used to fast fucking, little intimacy, and not near-virgin sex. I reminded myself that he wasn’t a virgin and I let out a deep breath. He opened his eyes and kissed me as he began to move, began to pull out and return, a steady pace. His hand on the small of my back moved to grip my hip and pull me toward him. Harder. I moaned. I lightly grazed my fingernails over his back. He shivered.

I squeezed him tighter between my thighs and felt him deep inside me. Tiny drops of sweat were starting to bead up on his forehead. He was concentrating so hard. I buried my face in his neck; kissed and nibbled my way to his shoulder. I wanted to try something but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. I tried to think of a way I could ask. It was selfish, of course it was, but I was going to cum soon. If I were going to ask it needed to be while I could still make a coherent sentence. His hips rocked between us and the feeling of his entire body against mine was the incentive I needed.

“James?” I whispered close to his ear. I moved my face directly in front of his and placed my hand on his cheek.

“Hmm?” He slowed and looked into my eyes.

“Um… would it… would you like me to say it? To call you that?” I didn’t take my eyes from his. I didn’t know of a better way to ask without just being direct.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second when he understood. He blushed. He stared at me and nodded. Then he tucked my hair behind my ear with his vibranium hand and leaned down to kiss me. As he did, I arched my back to meet him, our bodies pressed firmly together. We kissed for a long moment.

He pulled back, took his hand from behind me, and propped himself on both hands again. I loved this safe space, this intimate place between his arms. I could barely see anything but him. I caressed his back and shoulders and kissed his vibranium. He increased his pace every time I did that. I felt my muscles start to tense and the heat build from our connection. I couldn’t catch my breath. As I came I put my lips near his ear, moaned as the orgasm rushed over me, and said:

“Zimniy Soldát”

He drove hard into me and his breath became shallow. I put my hands on his neck and the back of his head, making soothing noises in his ear.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “You are safe. I want you to cum because you want to. I want to feel you do that. I want you, Zimniy Soldát, all of you.”

He let out a sound, somewhere between a cry and a moan, and bit his bottom lip. He dropped his face into the crook of my neck and fucked me as the waves of pleasure shook his scared, beautiful body. He dropped to his elbows and pulled me into a fierce hug, fucking me deeper. I groaned so loud neighbors could have heard me. Something warm was on my shoulder and I wondered if he had shed a few tears. Before I could even think to turn his face toward me to sooth him, he moaned and froze. He whispered my name. All of his muscles seemed to tense at once and I felt him twitch inside me, the last of his cum spilling into me. I didn’t want to move, to make him feel like he should move yet. I turned my head slightly and kissed his jaw. His vibranium hand slid up my back and he curled his fingers in my hair, tugged just a bit.

He raised up and kissed my neck, my jaw, and then looked down at me. He brushed his lips against mine. I tensed around him and he groaned into our kiss. Our breaths mingled together. He slowly pulled out of me. It was my turn to groan. I moved my legs so he could sit up. Instead, he moved one of them and laid down behind me on the couch. He pulled me to him, the full length of our bodies pressed together. He ran his hand down my side, my hip, up my belly, and over my breasts. I listened to the slight mechanical whirring with every movement. He tucked my hair behind my ear, then gently kissed my neck.

Part 2

[hadeantaiga]

"Stop telling people to encourage the cop inside their head...you do not need to be careful" "I can write tentacle noncon of my favorite character all day long" Ahh. It's always about finding ways to justify rape, isn't it? Fantasizing about rape absolutely makes you a bad person, and definitely tells a lot about your character. If you can masturbate to it, you're definitely okay with it to some degree. Studies show men exposed to rape porn are more likely to believe women enjoy rape and that it's not that big of a crime, especially if the victim shows a positive reaction to it. Fictional acting doesn't change the fact that your orgasm is real. These things DO affect real life. So pathetic.

"Fantasizing about rape absolutely makes you a bad person."

No it doesn't. Thoughtcrime is not real. I just imagined a random person getting stabbed right now, just to do it. Didn't make me a bad person.

I see you quote studies about cis men watching rape fantasy porn. But did you know that the women in those videos aren't actually being raped? They are actresses. They are playing a role. I notice you also don't cite any studies about cis women who enjoy rape fantasies. Do the studies show that these women also think real-life rape victims secretly enjoy being raped? And how do those numbers change when you involve trans people, including binary and nonbinary trans people?

I'm sorry but statistics about a single demographic of humans just isn't very convincing to me, especially when that demographic is cis men. Y'all always act like they are the only demographic that matters when it comes to sexual fantasy, and that's super weird to me.

And I'd argue that the idea that real-life women secretly like being raped is not caused by porn, but that the trope itself is a symptom of the patriarchy. That said, I don't think rape fantasies would disappear if the patriarchy disappeared. Because again, "this woman secretly enjoyed being raped and ravaged" is not exclusive to porn catered towards cis men. It's literally an entire romance novel genre written by and catered towards women. In this case, the reader is placing herself not in the position of the offender, but that of the victim. One could argue that these novels, because they reveal the inner thoughts of the character and how much she's actually enjoying the rape, are even more harmful than porn movies, since at least in the movie, we aren't 100% sure if the character the porn actress is playing is actually enjoying it, since we're not privy to the character's thoughts.

Hey - do you like horror movies? Do you think the writers, directors, crew, and actors are trying to justify violence? Do you think the people who made Friday the 13th all want to murder teenagers at campgrounds? Do you think the fans who watch these movies and delight in the violence and laugh at it are all secretly serial killers? Because I don't know if you're aware of this, but horror movies are very fun, and audience members do typically enjoy the murders.

What about the hit TV show Hannibal? Do you think the people who made it think cannibalism is ok? The show really glorifies cannibalism, rolls it up in a mixture of horror, eroticism and elegance. The main character Will is an incredibly unreliable narrator with regards to Hannibal, because he's partly in love with Hannibal, partly terrified of him, and literally suffering from a brain fever half of one of the seasons. But you're supposed to root for them anyway, you're supposed to be so swept up in their fucked up romance that when Will "betrays" Hannibal, you're supposed to feel heartbreak, and when they finally murder someone together and then plunge off a cliff in blood-soaked ecstasy, that's supposed to be a moment of elated victory.

What about Oldboy? You must HATE this movie - it depicts alcoholism, kidnapping, mind control, and torture. Oh yeah and incest. Is Oldboy trying to justify incest? The ending is kinda vague on what happens to the two main characters, after all.

What about action movies where the hero kills dozens or maybe hundreds of nameless characters on his way to kill the main villain? Are those movies trying to justify violence? They're definitely glorifying the violence.

And me? My noncon fanfic? I'm afab. I still identify as female. I've been into noncon since long before I came out as transmasc. I was finding things like men being tied up fascinating even in my teens, before I ever learned what bondage was.

There was a statue of some colonial guy with his hands tied behind his back in a museum. I stared at that statue for a really long time. Another time during this same age, we watched a Zorro movie, and Zorro was standing there very heroically, all tied up, and I found the scene very moving. Then, again in high school, a buddy was playing Metal Gear Solid. At one point in that game, a robot with long tentacle-like robot arms grabs one of the main characters, Raiden, and squeezes him and thrashes him around a bit. This time, the feelings I felt were definitely erotic.

I had never seen porn at that age. I did not know what bondage was. I didn't know BDSM was a thing. But I still, naturally, all on my own, found bondage erotic - and bondage can have elements of noncon to it. It certainly did in the fantasies I was experiencing. That's because these fantasies and kinks are natural human things. It is NORMAL to find this shit erotic.

Now. If you're watching porn that features rape fantasies and you start to believe that real-life people might secretly enjoy actually being raped, then you need to stop watching that kind of porn. But that applies to anything. If you watch a bunch of horror movies and start to think that maybe, murder is actually good, then you should probably stop watching horror movies. I'm not saying media can't affect people. But I AM saying that's not something that happens to everyone, and I am saying that most people are fully capable of consuming media in responsible ways.

Fictional rape is not about real people. I absolutely do want to justify the continuation of fictional depictions of the taboo and the forbidden, because these are perfectly normal fantasies that humans have had probably for our entire existence.

[whumpcereal]

the kennel, part fifteen

part of the kennel (masterlist here). follows this piece directly. not copy edited quite as stringently as normal, but i really wanted to put it up before i went out.

content warnings for: aftermath of noncon, references to filmed whump, breeding, mouth whump, human trafficking, and murder, extreme pet whump, extreme dehumanization, forced nudity, brief suicidal ideation

part fifteen, something like relief

The others see when Doc carries the black-collared mutt out of the pole barn. 

Some watch through glassy eyes, and they don’t think anything of it, because months in Doc’s care have silenced their thoughts completely. They might have cared when they were people, but they aren’t people anymore.

Some see the smears of blood on the boy’s naked legs, and they look away, because they remember when it happened to them. They know he’ll get used to it in time. They did. 

Others notice the ways the boy has changed since Doc brought him here. The way his softness has started to give way to hard sinew and bone. The way he has started to disappear. They look down at bodies that used to feel human, and they turn away from the boy’s dangling limbs because it hurts too much to consider all the ways they’ve changed too. 

And then there are those that watch, unflinching. A big man whose teeth have been taken from him one by one, because, when Doc gets around to it, those teeth will be replaced with filed metal implants, so that the newly christened fighter will have an advantage in the ring. A woman in a pink collar with low-hanging dugs, who’s carrying her fifth pup. They were both black collars once too. Collateral who came with merchandise that Doc wanted more. 

A few months ago, the man’s lover was sold to a businessman in Oman; they will never see each other again. The man bit Doc’s leg after, tried to shred the fucker’s Achilles’ tendon; Doc only smiled and went for the pliers. Complimented the man on his fight. 

Years ago, Doc put the woman’s husband down for trying to protect her; he gave her daughter to a man in a blue and white pick-up truck, told the woman it was one of the highest prices he’d ever gotten, that maybe he knew what to do with her after all. She doesn’t look at the babies when she nurses. It doesn’t matter that they’re taken from her so soon; she knows she isn’t really their mother. 

These two watch the mutt with casual interest. Maybe the boy has just secured his place. Good for him. It is easier to accept what’s coming, when you know what it might be. 

No one thinks of the blonde-haired boy who came in with the mutt. It wasn’t hard to figure out what Doc was going to use that one for, and once they go in the pole barn, they don’t usually come out again. Or, when they do, it’s in an airmail crate.

The rescues watch, but they don’t; they remember, but they don’t; they care, but they don’t. They shiver in the cold and wait to be put back in the cages that they never could have anticipated would become theirs.

Annie watches too, from her place at the edge of the yard. Her chest feels tight when she sees the way Will’s head bobbles backward from the crook of her father’s arm. When she sees Doc stalk back to the pole barn a few minutes later, she decides: she will clear the yard, get everyone inside, make sure they’re fed and warm. And then, she will see about Will. She knows that her father will be busy for a while.

- - -

Will is half-conscious when Annie finds him. He’s been half-conscious for a while, actually, though he still isn’t sure exactly what happened. 

Well, that’s not really true. He knows what happened.

Will thinks of the grapefruit spoons that were in the silverware drawer when his mother still lived with them. The bowl of each spoon was lined with razor sharp teeth, so you could dig into the fruit and peel the bitter flesh from the rind. 

She took the spoons with her when she left. Because the fucking spoons were worth keeping. 

Will feels like his insides have been scraped with one of those grapefruit spoons. His flesh has been peeled from its rind and pulled out of him. His insides burn like citrus juice in a cut, sharp and stinging. And he aches. The most remote parts of him ache with a kind of raw pain he didn’t know a person could feel on the inside, at least not literally. A bruise on top of a bruise on top of a bruise. 

He’s never hurt this way before. And distantly, he knows it could be worse. Because he’s almost certain it was Tommy who—

It was Tommy. Will knows it was. He’s been half-conscious for a while, after all. 

Tommy tried to be gentle. Will knows it. It doesn’t make it better. Nothing will ever make it better. 

When Will hears the door, he opens his eyes. He expects to be spread on the floor of the glass box, Doc leering over him, and Tommy sobbing in the corner. But Will isn’t in the glass box at all. He’s on his back on the wax-papered exam table, and standing over him, a cloth and basin in her arms, is Annie. 

“Hi,” she whispers. He can tell by the look on her face that he is absolute fucking road kill. 

Oh, fucking hell. Will flushes with embarrassment. This is just what he fucking needs. His best friend’s cum on his face and stuck to his thighs, and a beautiful girl right next to him. Fanfuckingtastic. For just a second, he wonders what Jessie would say about him now, but he tries to push the thought away before it can take root. He’ll never see Jessie again. It doesn’t matter what she’d say. 

But Annie’s eyes are heavy on Will’s face, and he wishes they were not. He looks away, trying hard to hide the tears that have crept back into his eyes. It’s only then that he realizes the stupid gag is still in his mouth; a metal piece digs into his cheek when it hits the table. 

That hurts too. His mouth. His jaw. His throat, inside and out. He screamed himself raw, that’s for certain, but the collar–Jesus, he can smell the burnt skin. 

“Will?” Annie’s voice is timid. “I–I’m so sorry.” 

Will doesn’t even pretend he can answer her. He squeezes his eyes shut again, pressing tears out from under his eyelids. They streak down his filthy face. Just one more thing to wipe away. He’s assuming that’s what Annie’s here for. To clean him up and put him back in his cage.

God, Will wouldn’t care if he never leaves the cage again after this. Fucking throw away the key. So long as he never has to do that again. 

There are soft fingers at the clasp of the gag, and even though Will knows they belong to Annie, he jerks away from her touch. He doesn’t mean to–it just happens. He curls onto his side, cradling his mitts to his beating chest. He only just remembers to stifle his whine. He doesn’t want to know what it would feel like to shock the open wounds on his neck. 

Annie pulls away. “I’m sorry! I just–please? Please, let me help you.” 

Will stills, forcing his breath through his nose. He doesn’t move and, for a moment, neither does Annie. Then, she reaches for the buckle at the back of his head, and Will almost sobs when he feels the gag give way. The leather doesn’t fall away–it’s stuck to his skin with Tommy–and Annie gently pries it up. Will doesn’t want to think about what she’s touching, doesn’t want to be touched, but he’s relieved when the pressure on his jaw finally eases. His mouth hangs open, but he isn’t sure he knows how to close it; he’s almost afraid to try. 

“There you go,” Annie murmurs. Her fingertips lightly hover over the shell of Will’s ear, but they do not stay. “Doc’s with your friend. I thought–I thought I’d clean you up. That maybe you’d like it better if I did it than if he did.” 

Like. Will doesn’t like anything about this. And there is no better. There is only just as bad or worse. 

But he supposes she’s right. 

“He’s with your friend now,” Annie says, “so we have time.” 

There’s a stab of panic in Will’s gut. If Doc is with Tommy, then–

Well, they’re even then, aren’t they? 

It’s a horrible thought, because Will is a horrible person. No, not even a person. A mutt. A worthless mutt. If he were a good boy, like Tommy, he wouldn’t think shit like that. He’d know that Tommy didn’t want it to happen, and that Tommy doesn’t deserve to feel the way Will is feeling just now. Tommy is better than he is. Tommy deserves better. 

Will’s the one who’s got no pedigree. He never has. He won’t, now. 

But fuck if it doesn’t seem fair. 

There’s a gentle pitter of water in the basin as Annie wrings out her cloth. When she draws close again, she gasps. 

“Your throat,” she says, her voice trembling. Her touch ghosts just below the collar’s band, and Will hisses through his teeth; it stings like a bitch. “You must have–oh, no. Oh, God.” 

So, it’s not cute, he guesses. 

“We have to get this off.” 

For a second, Will wants to protest. If Annie takes Will’s collar off, Doc will be mad, and he sure as shit isn’t going to punish Annie for that. At least, Will hopes he wouldn’t. He’s not sure why he cares. This girl–she’s part of all of this, isn’t she? 

But she isn’t. Not really. She doesn’t have a choice. Will wouldn’t have chosen the father he got either. And his mother certainly didn’t choose him. Family isn’t a choice at all. 

Annie leaves him, and he stays curled up on the table, because where the fuck else is he going to go? He doesn’t know where she’s gone, but she’s gone for a little while. Will closes his eyes, but still, his eyelids crinkle against the bright overhead light. 

He used to sleep with the light on, after Mom left. Everything was scarier without her, because when she was there, Will wasn’t allowed to be scared. She’d yell at him, tell him he was being a baby, that he was a big boy and he should be braver. So he’d tried. For her. He’d tried to be brave. 

But Will wasn’t brave. He would lie awake in the dark, hot tears squeezing from his eyes as he listened to them fight. Dad would plead, and Mom would scream, and Will would cry, because he wasn’t brave at all. 

When she was gone, Dad never said anything about the light. Dad never said much about anything. 

For just a second, Will wonders what Dad would say about this. But he pushes the thought away just as quickly as it came; he’ll never see his father again, so there’s no point in wondering what he’d think. It’s probably easier if Dad never knows any of this. If he never knows what Will’s been made into. 

Will’s a disappointment, just like his mother.He was never going to be anything else. 

Annie’s steps are so soft when she comes back that Will doesn’t realize she’s there until he feels the cool metal of keys against the back of his neck.

The buckle of his collar opens, and Annie gently pulls the canvas away from Will’s weeping skin. Some of his skin sticks, tearing away with the collar, and out of habit, he grinds his teeth together to keep from crying out.

Well, that’s one way to figure out he can close his mouth.

Annie freezes. “I’m sorry!”

But it doesn’t help. She has to keep going, has to take the collar all the way off, even if his skin comes with it. Who the fuck cares anyway? Just now, Will would shed all his skin if he could. He would let Annie peel it away piece by soiled piece if he thought it would do any good.

But it’s inside him too. The hurt. Tommy. And that, no one can ever strip away. 

“You can cry,” Annie says, and she is crying too. 

But Will doesn’t cry. He forces his tears to stay put, and he doesn’t say a word, even as Annie lays the collar at the end of the table. He won’t give Doc another reason to hurt him. He has to be a good boy. He has to earn his place. 

He has to live, even if he doesn’t want to. He’s not foolish enough to think that Doc would let him die a minute before Doc’s decided he can. No one who traffics in this kind of human suffering is going to be merciful. 

“I didn’t think–” Annie whispers, and even through the blurry pall of his tears, Will can see her hands shaking, “--I didn’t think he would take you out there. The ones in the doghouse, he–well, they’re usually alone. He doesn’t–this isn’t–I don’t–I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

Will doesn’t answer. He wants to believe that she is sorry, but all the same, she knows. She knows what goes on out there, what’s been done to people like Tommy for God knows how long, even if she didn’t know it would happen to Will. She knows, and what’s she done about it? Fucking nothing. Nothing at all. 

But she’s here now, and she’s trying, whatever it’s worth. 

She’s trying for him. 

Will closes his eyes. It isn’t true. He’s just so fucking pathetic that even a girl who’s seen shit like this her whole life pities him. And he’s not stupid. He’s ruined. In the unlikely event he’s ever free again, he’ll never be free of what he is now. There won’t be love. Just fucking pity. 

And who cares if she’s trying? Who cares if anyone ever tries? He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to be touched again. 

But somehow, even that’s not true. He wants Annie to wrap him in her arms and hold him, even though he doesn’t. 

Christ on a bike. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “Will?” 

Will flinches at the sound of his name. He suddenly wishes Annie didn’t know it at all. He can feel her eyes moving over every inch of his marked-up, soiled, fucking wrecked body, and he doesn’t want her to look. He doesn’t want her to look, and at the same time, he’s glad someone knows. That someone cares. 

“I have to clean you up, okay?” Annie’s little fingers push Will’s sweaty hair away from his forehead. He winces, and Annie withdraws, just as quickly as if she’d been burned. “It might–it might hurt a little.” 

Will huffs out a bitter, noiseless laugh. What the fuck does he care if it hurts? Doesn’t everything? Won’t it always? He squeezes his eyes shut again, and his tears mingle with the sticky remnants of Tommy still pasted to his cheeks. 

“Okay,” Annie whispers. 

Will hears the slosh of the rag in the bucket, and then, Annie’s hand slips beneath his head, lifting it in a gentle cradle. 

The rag is warm against his cheek, and Annie’s touch is sure, even if her hands are shaking. She scrubs soft circles over his face, cleaning his cheeks, his lips, his chin. His skin doesn’t feel quite so tight or sticky, even if it doesn’t really feel clean; he’s not sure he’ll ever feel clean again. 

Annie lays his head back down and drops the rag back in the basin, and then her fingers are at the hinge of his aching jaw, circling, massaging, easing the tension left over from the gag. Will groans before he can stop himself, and he braces for the snap of electricity against his throat. It doesn’t come. 

Of course it doesn’t, because Annie took off the fucking collar. Fucking genius. 

“It’s okay,” she says. Her thumb moves gently over his jawbone. “Just–whatever you want to say–please, say it. You’re safe.” 

He isn’t safe. But he can pretend, just for a little while. Before it happens all over again. Because it will. He knows it will. 

“Th-thank you,” he whispers. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s thanking her for, and his voice sounds like his throat is made of fucking swiss cheese, but it’s there. He’s there. There are still small mercies to be grateful for.

Annie bends down and kisses his forehead, quick as a wink. Her cheeks are red when she snaps up again, and she turns back to the basin before Will can say anything else. “You’re welcome.” 

Even as the rag touches his raw throat, Will thinks it might not hurt so bad. Not just now. 

Or at least, he can pretend that it doesn’t. It’s something like relief. 

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @highwaywhump, @squishablesunbeam, @hold-him-down, @whumpsday, @sowhumpful, @termsnconditions-apply, @honey-is-mesi, @irishwhiskeygrl, @deltaxxk, @d-cs, @whumpinggrounds, @canislycaon24, @considerablecolors, @starlit-darkness, @scp-1296, @flowersarefreetherapy, @morning-star-whump, @whumpwhittler, @susiequaz12, @whumptakesthecake, @whump-world, @hiding-in-the-shadows

[angrelysimpping]

this is kinda a odd request but how would rémy and bailey react to finding their s/o was stealing money from them

Contents: Remy (they/them); Bailey (they/them); Reader (you/your); noncon, not explicit; punishments, not that explicit either

Words: ~200 each

The fact that you're their significant is the only thing saving you, really. Anyone else would wake up on the farm or the underground brothel and left to rot. 

Remy

Deeply hurt, but also a little concerned. Why are you stealing their money? Don't they give you everything you need? Is someone blackmailing you? If it’s something like that, they’re more likely to go easy on you. Yes, there’s still a punishment even if you’re being blackmailed. You should have gone to them, after all. If you had just told Remy everything from the start, they wouldn’t have minded giving you money. Sure, there might have been a few teasing remarks about paying them back, but, really, in the grand scheme of things, they wouldn't have minded. 

Stealing from them though? And not even for a ‘good’ reason? You better talk quick before Remy loses their temper and does something they’ll later regret. Won’t send you to the farm if you’ve been a long-term partner, they don’t like the optics of someone close to their standing being reduced to cattle. That won’t stop them from branding you, though. Or locking you in a breeding dummy to take out their frustrations on you. Not likely to publicize your punishment, at least?

Then, after Remy feels you’ve paid them back enough, or, enough for that session at least, they’ll take you up to a room in their manor. Washes any wounds, tucks you into bed. Kisses your forehead goodnight and then starts again in the morning. Rinse and repeat until they feel you’ve truly paid them back and learned your lesson. 

Though, expect to have a few jobs around the farm now, if you didn’t have any before.

Bailey

Good fucking luck. 

It’s immediate violence. A hand around your throat, Bailey snarling and right up in your face as they ask what the fuck you think you’re doing, stealing from them. Your answer won’t get you a lesser punishment, but they need to know. Being blackmailed is just as bad as if you were doing it for kicks. 

They’ll make you pay them back, and you don’t get the luxury of paying them in weekly installments or choosing how you make that money. Bailey’s personally renting you out so you can make the most money as fast as possible. Still, you’re their partner. Even if you were stealing from them like a fucking snake, they’re not letting you go. Really, once you’re Bailey’s partner you’re stuck with the fucker. 

This means they vet the people they sell you to and sit in the corner of the room, sending emails on their phone, while you’re…doing whatever. Getting fucked, working as a maid, whatever the person with enough money and the ability to pass Bailey’s background check wants you to do. 

Never lets you have the ability to betray them like that again. 

[chuuyasdog]

Under 18 dni for this post please.

So I've fallen down a rabbit hole while researching kink and have completely ruined my search history lol. Im probably on some list now. Oh well. (i was researching if you can be asexual and sex repulsed and still have kinks, and i got side tracked)

Anyway, i learnt that a paraphilia is literally just a sexual interest in objects, situations, or individuals that is atypical. It only becomes a paraphilic disorder if the person experiences distress, impairment to functioning, and/or the desire to act on it without consent.

A few that i had heard of and kinda knew what they were but didnt realise were paraphilias include (but aren't limited to):

Autoerotic asphyxiation, Autovampirism/Vampirism, Hematolagnia (drinking or looking at blood), Masochism, Podophilia (feet) , Pictophilia (pictures, basically porn) , Piquerism (basically stabbing), Sadism, Vore.

Basically, most kinks are classed as paraphilias. Chances are that YOU have a paraphilia. Hell, im ace and i probably do, seeing as its not always about actual sex.

As long as everyone involved is a consenting adult, it is completely okay to have paraphilias. Its only if it involves real children, real animals, or not getting consent, that it becomes a problem.

People hate on paraphilias because they associate them with the big three: pedophilia, zoophilia, and necrophilia. And to be fair, when you think of a pedophile, its hard not to get angry about kids being hurt. But the thing is, not everyone with pedophilia or zoophilia or necrophilia actually acts on it. I dont claim to know the percentage, but certainly quite a few are anti contact.

And in my opinion, as long as you aren't hurting or a real life person or animal in anyway, as long as no real person or animal is harmed in any way, as long as everyone involved is consenting (children and animals cant consent at all), you are okay in my book. If you harm even just a hair on a kids head i will fuck you up if i can, i am not afraid of going to prison, but as long as you dont harm anyone (child porn is harmful, as it exploits real children, so dont do that), then i really dont care what your sexual fantasies are.

Uhhh, i cant remember where i was going with this, i got distracted and started ranting lol.

[ravenzeppeli]

Claimed

Chapter 15 - The Incident Pt. 2 |La Squadra x Reader Angst|

Warning: strong language, extreme physical violence, violent threats, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, extremely dark chapter all throughout. MA.

Illusos POV

Illuso was pissed off, holding a bag of ice to his swollen jaw as he waited for Melone and Formaggio in the hospital waiting room, the small area completely empty. He walked around this entire fucking hospital to get privacy, he was so fucking pissed. The beating that he'll give you, it'll be severe. He could see it now, imagine it.

He was going to strip you naked and tie you to something, then he would whip your entire lower body with the thickest leather belt he had. He would take his time, making sure his hits weren't too severe so that he could beat you for hours. He would shove your underwear in your mouth and put a ball gag over your mouth. He would buy a shock wand and shock your entire body, putting the main focus on your clit.

Killing you.. he would never do that, despite those words coming out of his mouth. You humiliated him, saying he couldn't make you cum and that you would never love him. That shit.. it was personal, and you crossed a line. He was going go give you a good beating, he was going to break and train you, force you to behave. But killing you, oh what a waste that would be. He talks out his ass a lot when it comes to women.

Formaggio walked into the small, empty waiting room, his eye black and cheek bruised. "What the fuck are we gonna do with our girlfriend?" He questioned, tone serious. "She just disrespected us hard. Yeah, we had our fun, we got our dicks sucked, but she could have talked to us privately."

Illuso threw the ice bag on the ground, the ice scattering across the white tile hospital floor. "Let's make her fucking cry, let's make her cry and beg like a little pathetic girl." He looked down at the ground, shaking his head. "That bitch.. I swear on my life I wish she was standing in front of us."

"Do you love her for real, like she said?" He questioned, causing Illuso to shoot him a glare. "What? You know, I don't love her but I really like her. She sits and watches football with me. She even listens to me talk for fucking hours."

"I don't love her, she's just our fucking slut," he snapped back, but Formaggio could tell that he was lying. "So what if I love her? Fucks love gonna do? She clearly don't give a fuck about anyone but Melone. She ain't even here to check on any of us!"

"You really gonna kill her?" He questioned.

"No, I'm just gonna beat her until she cries," Illuso replied, causing Formaggio to shrug. "Fucks her problem? She's lucky that she has seven men fucking her and taking care of her. She has no right to question what the fuck we do."

Formaggio nodded, "Exactly. She needs to learn how to stay in a woman's place. I knew something was wrong with her, I knew that she was a crazy bitch." He sighed, "will we even get to punish her? I doubt she'll approach us, she's not that bold. Women are fucking pussies. That's why they got um."

"We'll just have to drag her," Illuso suddenly stopped, standing up as he walked to the edge of the wait room entrance, his eyes slightly widening in shock. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that you were actually here, that you actually showed up. "Holy shit. Look."

"His name is Illuso! I know you've seen him, yes I am immediate family of him too!" You snapped at the nurse, the nurse seeming scared of you, stepping back as she clutched her papers. "Listen, I need to hurry. I got this boyfriend with blue hair that's about to bust in here and go crazy. I gotta hurry. He's fast!"

Formaggio walked out of the private waiting area, walking over to you, grabbing your hand. "Thank you for helping her, I'll take it from here." He let go of your hand, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. "Point me in the direction of the private storage closet and give me your keys. I'll give you 800 now."

The nurse took the bribe, taking the money and pointing left as she handed Formaggio a key. Illuso stepped out of the office as he saw Formaggio walk with you, his hand suddenly grasping yours.

"Girl, you're in so much trouble," Formaggio whispered, his grip on your hand iron. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He turned left, the hallway empty as Formaggio quickly unlocked the storage closet, pushing you in.

"I wanted to see if you and Melone were okay," you said, a low whine escaping your lips when Formaggios hand suddenly crashed into your ass.

Illuso walked over to you, a smirk appearing on his face when you backed away, your back hitting the wall. The closet was small and dimlit, leaving you no room to run away from him. "Turn around." He began to unbuckle his belt. "Wanna act like a little girl? That's fine by us, I can spank you every single day. I'm glad I wore my thickest best today."

"Guys, I'm really sorry I overreacted," you said softly, not turning around like he said. "Please don't spank me in public. You.. you both did something wrong first! This isn't fair! You cheated on me, having ransom women suck you off! What if I paid men to eat me out!?"

Illuso laughed mockingly, "you wanna pay men to eat you out? Do it. That just means you'll be responsible for me killing those men."

Suddenly, Formaggio grabbed your arm, pulling your arm up to reveal a large white bandage. "What the fuck is this? I was wondering why you were hiding this arm from me. What the fuck is it? Melone mentioned you got injured."

You suddenly grew silent, causing Illuso to freeze, keeping his hands on his unfastened belt, waiting to pull it out, but something about that bandage.. it made him wonder what happened. Melone wouldn't tell him or Formaggio in the car, barely speaking to the two of them. They didn't know what you did, but Illuso assumed you just punched a wall or something.

"Did you try and fucking kill yourself?" Questioned Formaggio, his grip on your wrist growing iron. His eyes.. they flashed danger, a danger that even made Illuso feel slightly uneasy. "I'll fucking ask Prosciutto if you don't tell me."

"I just.. I panicked," you muttered, causing Formaggio to grab your index finger, bending it back instantly, his other hand smashing against your mouth, forcing it shut. He grabbed your middle finger, doing the same. You were trying to break free, his body pressing against yours, blocking Illusos' view.

"You listen to me Y/N," Formaggio spoke, his voice a whisper, "Don't you ever fucking self harm yourself again. If you ever do this again, if you ever try and take your own life, I swear on my mother that I'll break more then just your fingers. How dare you attempt to take your life."

Illuso stepped back slightly, buckling his belt back up. No way in fuck could he beat you with two broken fingers. Fuck.. he felt sick seeing your fingers like that. He wanted to pull Formaggio away from you, but he just stood their, staring at your awkwardly bent fingers.

Formaggio lifted his hand from your mouth, spinning you around yet again, slightly bending you over. "Do what needs to be done, Illuso. We gotta teach her. You said it yourself."

He stiffened up as his eyes kept drifing to your two fingers that were bent back awkwardly and bright red, low sobs escaping your mouth. Your entire body was visibly shaking as Formaggio held you in place, letting go of your hand that now had two broken fingers. The fact that your sobs weren't louder was slightly impressive. Finger breaking was a tactic they used at work, and men have mentally broken down from having their fingers snapped. This wasn't the right thing to do to you.

"Why the fuck are you hesitating? Hurry up and smack her." He went to pull down your pants, Illuso stopping him. "What? We haven't made her cry and beg yet, she needs to learn her lesson now."

"I'm sorry," you muttered, voice weak, the pain in your voice making him start to feel bad. "I.. don't care about you fucking other women, just keep Melone out of it. And don't kiss me. Or go near me without a condom. Ever."

Formaggio smacked you upside the head roughly with his palm, causing you to nearly fall onto the floor, Illuso reaching out to grasp your arm, yanking you back. "Nah, we ain't touching other women anymore. We're only touching you now, princess." His tone was taunting, causing your shaking body to visibly stiffen.

As he went to speak again, your head dropped, you clutching your stomach as you slightly bent over. You threw up all over the ground, coating the white tiles. You leaned against the wall, low sobs escaping your mouth. "I hate you," you whispered. "I fucking hate you."

Formaggio raised his hand again, Illuso pushing him back. "Fuck it.. let's just go. Let's just leave her here and go. We never saw her unless she -" Illuso began, Formaggio quickly interrupting him.

"Run your fucking mouth about us if you want us to teach you a lesson at my house. Where my sex toys are. Where my walls are fucking soundproof," Formaggio warned. "We own you, you're our girl. I hope you learned your fucking lesson." He turned away, opening the storage walking out.

Illuso looked down at you, a strong feeling of guilt washing over him as he looked down at you. He just wanted to smack you around. He didn't want to break your fingers or cause you to throw up all over yourself. This wasn't right. What they just did to you was terrible. Despite all that, he left without saying nothing, turning off the lights and softly closing the door.

Formaggio went to lock you in, but Illuso stopped him, snatching the keys out of his hand. "Yeah, locking her in might be too far."

"I think everything we just did to her was too fucking far," he replied back, shaking his head as he followed Formaggio back to the waiting area. "We might of fucked up pretty bad. That beating was -"

"She slit her wrists, man," Formaggio replied, his tone serious. "She can't do that. She can't try and kill herself, not after we've invested time into her. We didn't beat her. We just disciplined her. You didn't even hit her, I did. Don't worry."

"We left her in that closet, and I turned the light off. She's covered in her own vomit Formaggio." He shook his head, the feeling of guilt suddenly growing deeper. "We gotta go back and get her. We can't leave her hurt. Her fingers are broken." He went to walk back towards the hallway, only to be stopped by Ghiaccio, his face beet red.

"Where is she!? Have you fucking seen Y/N!?" Ghiaccio snapped, frantically looking around the hospital. "Fuck, I called Risotto and he doesn't know! She snuck off and left! She begged me to come up here, she was rambling about having to pay off the doctors or something but I said no! Can you believe she ignored my no!?"

Illuso turned away from Ghiaccio, looking at Formaggio, not knowing what to say. He didn't want the ohers to know what him and Formaggio did to you. "She begged to come up here?"

"Yes! She kept saying she wanted to apologize for hitting Formaggio and that she wanted to check on all three of you! I said no, I said you both may really hurt her, and she told me that Formaggio is someone she trusts and that he would never hurt her," Ghiaccio said, voice frantic. "She kept saying that she overreacted because she felt hurt, that she didn't understand why she couldn't seem to please anyone. She was saying weird shit. She never talks like that. I need to find her."

"We haven't seen her," Formaggio spoke quickly. "But we'll start looking now."

Ghiaccio nodded, too focused on finding you to notice how suspicious Formaggio and him were acting. "I'm going to check outside again," he mutteted, walking out the back door of the hospital. "Y/N! I AM NOT MAD, PLEASE COME OUT! I AM WORRIED!"

"Alright, I think we should go get her and clean her up," Formaggio muttered, shaking his head. "Fuck, she said she trusts me? That she wanted to say sorry? That I would never hurt her? Fuck." He placed his hand over his face. "Now I feel bad. Should we swing by the gift shop? Does she like chocolate?"

Illuso shook his head, heading in the direction of the storage closet. He walked uo to the door, opening it slowly. He flipped the light on and peeked in, seeing a fresh pile of throw up next to the door. Where you sat cowering in the corner was empty, only dried throw up being left behind on the floor. Instant worry shot throughout his body as he stepped back, staring into the empty closet. You were gone, rather you got up and left or someone found you.. he was unsure.