Kink Bingo - Praise Kink
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 1, 765
Tags: Dead dove, WHUMP?, Hydra Trash Party, Mentioned rape, Dub-con, confused WS murder meow meow, hydra!handler!reader, praise kink, touch starved Buck, hand jobs, He’s Just Super Sensitive Blame The Serum, crying what’s new, she loves him in the worst way possible
A/N: I haven’t really written something dark like this in awhile so WARNING! The one Russian translation is thanks commander. Poor Bucky but he gets petted and praised by an insane Soviet for a little bit. Subtle Steeb reference at the end. Listened to gimme danger the entire time.
You leaned back in the stiff leather chair, waiting for your delivery. Strike team was bringing the asset to your office at some point. Your mouth pinched at the thought— they played too rough with the poor thing. Soldat was the fist of Hydra, not a common whore. You didn’t like the Americans very much, but Karpov had sent you along with the asset to get adjusted to being under Alexander Pierce’s control.
So you handled your precious boy until the Americans grew tired of you. They’d already beaten the little life the asset had left into a pulp. He was even more quiet and confused than in Siberia. You’d give him some peace before being discarded, hopefully by the greatest creation of Hydra.
The door opened, the young agent Rumlow shoving the asset inside with an irritated noise. You raised a brow at Soldat’s state— bloodied and bruised moreso than the average mission. Rumlow barked, “He didn’t listen, stupid fuck needs to get wiped again. Got punished, so stop looking at me like that Komandir.”
“Fuck off,” you hissed.
Rumlow slammed the door with a scoff. Your precious soldat stumbled forward dazedly. He knew the drill even between countless wipes, come report to the handler after a mission. Soldat limped forward and kneeled between your legs, wide blues looking up blankly. His nose was bruised, one of his eyes bloodshot and blackened.
You frowned and carded a gentle hand through his thick brown locks, sighing softly. His jaw twitched, throat bobbed. You stated, “Status report.”
His robotic reply came quickly, “Fractured left orbital, nasal fracture, broken anterior ribs nine and ten. Palatal Petechiae, anal fissure.”
You almost hissed at the last part. The strike team was a bunch of mongrel deviants, using the asset to sate their primal urges. With a coo you placed both hands on his cheeks, carefully thumbing over his black eye.
“Baby, poor baby,” you simpered. His wide eyes searched your face, glassing over with tears. You lied, “Those strike team boys are dogs. You’re just so pretty they can’t help themselves.” Soldat whined sadly through his swollen nose, guilty gaze flicking to the ground.
“I didn’t listen- I- I need maintenance,” he said.
He thought he deserved it. He probably didn’t, they just searched for ways to inflict torture. Nasty American pigs. You would make soldat feel better in the meantime. He loved praise and petting, baby was so touch starved. Vasily had taught you that about the asset. Said it makes him more obedient in close quarters because he gets so overstimulated and needy.
“Soldier,” you sweetly said, “You’ll get your maintenance soon. Let your handler take care of her precious star.”
You moved your hands to gently scratch at his scalp, frowning at the pieces that were obviously ripped out using force. You murmured, “How did they use you?” Soldat had to open his hazy eyes, almost purring at your ministrations.
“They used my anus and throat. Multiple members of Strike team Alpha,” he rasped oh-so-quiet. You bit back another hiss, focusing on untangling his dark locks.
You liked the way his English sounded. Your accent was thick and guttural. The asset’s English was soft-spoken, lilting, pretty. You knew it was his native tongue long ago. Pierce told you to stop speaking Russian with Soldat, who currently leaned into your touch, quivering muscles settling down. His injuries would be slowly knitting up— the bruises would be a couple of days, the broken bones a couple more.
Soldat was perfect like that. You ordered, “Just relax precious, if you can.” He nodded obediently, stable hands clasped behind. You worked on the multiple buckles and zips caging in his finely tuned body. Soldat’s titanium arm clicked and clacked in the quiet room, the only noise besides the hum of the A/C.
You peeled off the tight leather from his torso, sucking in a breath at the bruising. You sighed again, “My poor baby, they did a number hm?” He nodded slowly, lips trembling. You rubbed at the knots in his thick shoulders, the asset moaning softly. He never got very loud, but the cries and sniffles when he came were divine.
“Such a pretty angel baby, I know you did great, you always do.”
He vaguely nodded, a half-assed jerk of his pretty jaw. The soldier whimpered, “C-commander please.” His swollen red lips still pouted and shook, sobs threatening to rip out of his sore throat. You purred, “Do you want a reward soldier? Sweet baby.”
“Mhm,” he croaked.
You eyed his peaked nipples and straining bulge in his cargo pants. He had a pretty cock, flushed and thick, just huge, like the rest of him. You unbuckled his belt easily, sliding the pants down strong thighs. They even quivered under your attentions. You couldn’t help the quirk of your lips at soldat gasping when his swollen cock slapped his toned stomach.
You pressed soft kisses to his neck and jaw, wandering hands paying mind to the broken parts of his body. Awkwardly you ushered the naked asset up, leading him forward to sit on your desk. His thighs tantalizingly spread out when he sat down with a wince. You apologized, “So sorry sweet boy, I’ll make it better then you’ll get some rest.”
“спасибо командир,” he murmured.
You chided, lips ghosting over his own, “No Russian, remember baby? I know the Americans are confusing.”
His lips puckered eagerly, waiting for a kiss. You closed the distance, winding a hand into his long locks. You rubbed soothing circles while sharing his lips in slowed smacks. The asset liked everything slow, you figured it kept him relaxed. Nothing like the jackhammering cocks of the disgusting strike team.
He whined happily into your mouth, arching into your body. You smiled, sweet thing wanted his tits touched but wouldn’t dare to ask. So you did it for him, “You want me to play with your tits baby? My needy star.” He nodded frantically, chasing your lips to crash back against his.
You slid the hand from his hair and hip to rub wide circles on his built pecs.
Then you ran your thumbs in tight motions on his dusky nubs, so fucking gentle like your super-soldier pet would break. You knew he would if he could. The asset shivered, a thin whine of ‘commandeeerrr’ elicited instead. You clenched your thighs to dull the ache. You never fucked the asset. Just played with him until he got his sweet release.
You weren’t like the thugs here taking and taking. Soldat needed you like the oxygen in the air. He needed some sort of twisted love in his lonely life. You sucked on his tongue to abate the pang in your chest from the thought of abandoning your sweet boy.
Soldat’s arm shifted and whined in random intervals— signals just as overwhelmed as the rest of him. You kept up the assault on his nipples, the poor thing’s drool making your kiss grow sloppier and wetter. He mewled into the lazy movements, hands trembling. You murmured, “You can touch baby boy.”
You almost squeaked at the feeling of his big hands groping your ass. He tried to be gentle but soldat rarely knew his own strength. You’d cherish the usual mottling of your skin afterward. He brokenly panted, “Commander, feels…s’good. Thank you.” His dark lashes fluttered when you pinched his now swollen peaks, full lips hanging wide open in ecstasy.
“No need to thank me precious, I know my perfect boy needs it. Do you want me to play with your pretty cock?”
He let out a mournful noise— huge arms pulling you even closer. Soldat would probably latch onto you like a puppy if he didn’t have orders. He pled, “Will you, pl-please please.” The asset flushed and winced, expecting a slap for asking questions. You pressed your lips to his slick mouth and hummed, “I’ve got you, my star has such manners.”
You pulled back, his brows furrowing in distress at the absence of your mouth. You let your collected drool drip into your palm and wrapped it around engorged flesh. He cried out and bit down to stop the noise.
“Don’t hide your sweet sounds from me, I want to hear my precious boy.”
A choppy exhale of breath was your answer. He squirmed and sniffled as you methodically fucked your fist on his cock. Slow, slow, a rough twist on the head and your prize was trembling like a virgin. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, puffing hot breath on the thin cloth of your top. The asset babbled random words in different languages interspersed with the most breathtaking little sobs.
You slid your thumb around the extra sensitive frenulum, the sweet thing sniffling and wetting your shoulder with tears. He tried to speak, “K-Ko- hah, haaah, mmh, fuck!” Your other hand— once tight in his perfect hair slid down to cup his overfull sac. You squeezed at the heated flesh. Soldat muffled his wail, hands scrabbling at your body.
His back was painfully arched, you ordering him to relax some. He did with a pitiful mewl, soaking more tears into your turtleneck. You grinned at the tell-tale little sobs. He’d get so pitchy you felt bad for your simple little weapon, his throat probably hurt even more from the high sounds. You husked in his ear, “That’s it my good boy, singing so pretty for your commander, you needed it baby.”
He was rutting into your fist with abandon, the left arm going off with buzzing signals. You dug your thumb into his weeping slit, guided a gentle finger holding his balls to that loose skin behind. You pressed up and gasped when Soldat almost crushed you with his arms, shaking and coming apart at the seams. The asset couldn’t catch his breath, aborted tiny cries leaving his swollen throat.
He wept openly now— flushed member shooting rope after rope of white cum. He stained your already ruined top and flooded your fist. You pumped Soldat through the climax until he mewled and shied away. He seized your lips again passionately, pouring singleminded need into the action. You kissed the perfect asset back, pressing your tits against his broad chest. You wanted to steal him away in the moment, leave with the priceless thing and start anew somewhere.
But that wouldn’t happen. He’d realize you’re just as tainted as the rest of Hydra and probably kill you as his brain inevitably cleared up. So you’d enjoy your pliant, perfect toy for now. You mumbled against insistent lips, “Baby did so good, Commander loves you. Precious star.” He teared up again— not sure where he remembered another voice telling the asset that he was loved.
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Mithrun's desire as an SA analogue
TW discussion of SA and detailed breakdown of aesthetics evoking SA. The way I discuss this is vivid in a way that may be triggering, though there is no discussion of actual sexual assault. Just survivor's responses to it.
People relate to Mithrun and see his condition as an analogue for a few different things, like brain injury or depression. And I think all of them are there. But I also see Mithrun's story as an SA analogue, and Ryoko Kui intentionally evokes those aesthetics. I think it's a part of Mithrun's character that a lot of people miss, but I very much consider it text. This is partially inspired by @heird99's post on what makes this scene so disturbing; so check out their post, too :)
So to start off with, the demon invades Mithrun's bed, specifically. There's even a canopy around it, which specifically evokes this idea of personal intrusion; the barrier is being pulled apart without consent or warning. The way the hand reaches towards Mithrun's body from outside of the panel division makes it almost look like the goat stroking over his body. It's an especially creepy visual detail; similarly, the goat's right hand parts into the side of the panel as well. It's literally like it's tearing the page apart; but gently. So gently.
Mithrun is in bed. It is his bed that the demon is intruding on. He's in a position of intimacy. The woman behind him is a facsimile of his "beloved" that he left behind; the woman who, in reality, chose Mithrun's brother. He is in bed with his fantasy lover, who is leaning over him. While this scene isn't explicitly sexual, it is intimate. And it is being invaded. The goat lifts Mithrun gently, who is confused, but not yet struggling.
The erotics of consumption and violence in Ryoko Kui's work(remember that the word 'erotic' can have many different meanings, please) are a... notable part of some of her illustrations. I would say she blurs the lines between all forms of desire: personal, sexual, gustatory and carnal, in her illustrations in order to emphasize the pure desire she wants to work with and evoke to serve her themes. Kui deploys sexual imagery in a lot of places in Dungeon Meshi, and this is one of them.
In this case, horrifically. The goat's assault begins with drooling, licking, and nuzzling. The goat could be enjoying and "playing with" its food. But it can also be interpreted as it "preparing" Mithrun with its tongue as it begins to literally breach Mithrun's body. The goat also invades directly through his clothing; that adds another level of disturbing to me. There's nothing Mithrun can do in this moment of violation. Mithrun is fighting, but he is fighting weakly, trying to grip on and push away when he has no ability or option to. All he can do is beg the goat to stop. And it doesn't care. This all evokes sexual assault.
The sixth panel demonstrates a somewhat sexual position, with Mithrun's thighs spread around the goat's hunched over body. In the next, the goat pulls and holds apart Mithrun's thighs as he nuzzles into him. The way the clothing bunches up looks a bit as if it has been pushed up. It has pinned Mithrun down onto the bed, into Mithrun's soft furs and pillows. It takes a place made to be supernaturally warm and comfortable, and violates it. It's utterly and intimately horrifying. To me, this sequence of positions directly evokes a rape scene. I think Kui did this very explicitly. These references to sexual invasion are part of what makes this scene so disturbing; albeit, to many viewers, subconsciously. It makes my skin crawl.
This is also the moment the goat takes Mithrun's eye. Other than this, the goat seems exceptionally strong, but also... gentle. It holds Mithrun's body tightly, but moves it around slowly. It doesn't need to hurt Mithrun physically. But in that moment, it takes Mithrun's eye. Blood seeps from a wound while an orifice that should not be pierced is penetrated. This moment, the ooze of blood in one place specifically, also evokes rape. That single bit of physical gore is a very powerful bit of imagery to me.
Finally; it is Mithrun's desire that is eaten. After his assault, Mithrun can find no pleasure in things that he once did. He is fully disassociated from his emotions. This is a common response to trauma, especially in the case of SA. It's not uncommon for people to never, or take a long time to, enjoy sex in the same way again; or at all. They might feel like their rapist has robbed them of a desire and pleasure they once had. I think this makes Mithrun's lack of desire a partial analogue for the trauma of sexual assault.
Mithrun's desire for revenge was, supposedly, all that remained. Anger at his assaulter, anger at every being that was like it; though, perhaps not anger. Devotion, in a way. To his cause. I don't know. But the immediate desire to seek revenge is another response to SA. But on to Mithrun's true feelings on the matter.
This is... So incredibly tragic. Mithrun feels used up. Like his best parts have been taken away. Like he's being... tossed aside. This certainly parallels the way assault victims can feel after being left by an abuser. Or the way assault victims feel they might be "ruined" forever for other partners. These are common sentiments for survivors to carry, and need to overcome. In the text, it's almost like Mithrun feels the only being who can desire him is a demon who might "finish devouring" him. That that's his only use. It's worth noting that Mithrun trusted the demon. Mithrun's world was built by the demon, and Mithrun, in that way, was cared for by the demon. I think this reinforces Mithrun's place as a victim.
There's also something to be said about Mithrun as a victim of his own possessive romantic and sexual desire. The mirror shows him his beloved just dining with his brother, and it infuriates him. He doesn't know if the vision is real, nor if she has really chosen his brother as a romantic partner. The goat then creates a whole fantasy world where she loves him. As Mithrun's dungeon deteriorates, she is the only person that continues to exist. Mithrun continues to have control over her. And that is the strongest desire the demon is eating, isn't it? There's something interesting there, but I don't know what to say about it.
In conclusion, I think Mithrun's story is an explicit analogue for sexual assault-- though, certainly, among other things! The way the scene plays out and is composed explicitly references sexual violation and invasion of the body. His condition mirrors common trauma responses to sexual violence. And, at the end, he finally realizes he can recover.
Let's end on a happy Mithrun, after taking the first step on his journey to recovery :) You aren't vegetable scraps Mithrun. But even if you were-- every single thing in this world has value. Even vegetable scraps.
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Stop glorifying the suicide of that US airman.
He grew up in a cult and never really left behind the mindset of that cult, even if his beliefs on the political spectrum shifted. According to a former member of the cult, it was common for members to leave and end up in the military. She described it as "going from one high control group to another" in the WaPo article linked.
In short, he never got help that he clearly needed. And from what I've heard about the military, his time in it may have worsened whatever issues he already had.
His suicide is a bigger reflection of this very strange pattern on the left to glorify self harm since others are suffering. It's one thing to see children in a playground and think about how there are children in refugee camps who don't get to enjoy those freedoms. This is another thing. Bushnell, unlike many other cases of self-immolation (ie the self immolation of Mohamed Bouazizi, the man whose death kickstarted the Arab Spring) was not directly affected by the bombings in Gaza. Yet he chose an extreme route that even those affected by the situation, whether through being related to the Israeli hostages or through having family in Gaza, would not go to. This is a reflection of a larger trend on this website of self punishment and forcing every last gory detail of horrific events on yourself because of a) this feeling of powerlessness over not being able to do much about the situation and b) wanting to show how much of a good leftist you are because you will subject yourself to horrific violence to show how much you care. In reality, it is mental self-destruction. I've seen this behaviour in true crime communities as well.
I think a lot of the leftists on this site grew up in conservative environments where it's all or nothing right wing extremism. Thus, much like Bushnell, their political beliefs have shifted, but not their mindset. That's why so many people on this site are glorifying his suicide.
The reason newspaper headlines aren't mentioning his name is because we already know many school shooters do what they do for infamy. Therefore, by not mentioning their names, the media wants to avoid copycats. It's the same line of thinking here. It's got nothing to do with Zionism, according to some people who probably had no idea what that is before Oct 7 and not now, controlling the media. No, Zionists do not control the news cycle. You're perpetuating antisemitism when you say that.
Inevitably, since people on this site have piss on the poor reading comprehension, I expect this post to go over well. If you're going to tell me to kill myself, just know that you will be blocked and reported. Any dialogue ended the moment you decided that was acceptable.
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