#rape apologism cw

[thesmokinpossum]

just saw roman polanski’s wife claiming that her husband didn’t “had” to rape anyone “because all the women wanted him, even young ones” and I know I’m supposed to support other women and all of that but I’m gonna be honest, I hope this one die a slow and painful death tbh

#she apologized for it and i 200% deny her apologies btw #'je pense qu'il n'avait besoin de violer personne' so you do belive that some people *need* to rape? and we're supposed to listen to you? #also this dumbass scum of the earth at the audacity to try to act like her husband raping a 13 years old girl was not such a big deal #because the child was already sexually active and did some recreational drugs #which apparently means that it was a little hoe not worthy of love and protection and not...you know.. #that we as adult should probably be concerned about a 12 or 13 yo girl engaging in such behaviors #seriously tho i really hope emmanuelle seigner die in the worst way humanly possible #rape mention #rape apologism cw

[needle-noggins]

Ah yes, the Fifth Moon Prequel, aka Lost July, in Vol. 5. I cried for a solid ten minutes reading this scene and I'm probably going to cry again while writing this post, but who cares, I have a duty to perform as the unofficial book club analyst of Vash's assault trauma. Also, ouch for Knives to say how much he hates Rem before assaulting Vash. Insult to injury. ANYWAY:

First off, I really like how I could understand this scene just based on my understanding of Knives' power/the twins' link in Stampede - Knives is able to pull Vash into this weird mindscape, or Vash is just remembering, but either way - it's cool how you can tell what's in the past based on the plain black background. And Knives' stupid little beverage... I hope he chokes on it.

Uh, hey guys? Hey, boys? What are your seeds that contain this power, why are you asking Vash to resonate with you, why does it feel hot, and why does it end in an amazing feeling of release?

Where's the rape/non-con tag when you need it?

This needs no explanation.

Sorry I thought the baby angel arm was cute.

The thing about July that is so different from Fifth Moon, though, is that while Vash was experimented on first (oh yeah, more loss of body autonomy: forced medical procedures/experimentation!) and his angel arm was triggered by Knives, he had more control over the endgame situation this time - barely. Knives makes the mistake of taking Vash's face and pushing him to the ground face-up, and Vash uses that opportunity to point the angel arm at Knives. He's so angry and afraid that he shoots. Not going to go into detail as there's another amazing post floating around about Vash shooting Knives but oof, does that backfire on our poor boy. Meanwhile, in Juenora Rock, Knives purposefully goes behind Vash to get better control and stay out of the firing range. Both instances involve some unwanted changes to Vash's body and loss of control, both instances involve the two in, uh, compromising positions.

Knives is more than capable of destroying towns himself, but that wouldn't be as fun for him, I guess, as desperately trying to show his brother that he's a monster who should be hated by humans. His logic is so Fucked Up and that's that on overwhelming fear and perpetuating cycles of trauma.

#trigunbookclub #hey i didn't cry! probs because making these posts scares me #cw sa mention #cw assault #cw rape #sorry folks ive done it again #also aside: people who ship plantcest: what the actual fuck is wrong with you. i'll just say it #yes the assault is there but why would you.... enjoy this #you can recognize a thing as true to an extent without. ya know. actively shipping it and enjoying it. #and that is something i wont apologize for saying

[miharuhebinata]

hey remember when everybody on here reblogged that post that was like "lesbians and gay men used to fuck each other alllll the time before radfem exclusionists decided it wasn't cool >:(" only for it to be revealed that it was obviously made by a dude with a corrective rape fetish. 😐

#maybe it's because i went on a blocking spree but the fact that i never saw a single apology from ANYBODY that reblogged it uncritically. #probably because they all agreed with the *message* just not with who actually *wrote* it 🙃 #and yet the fact is you cannot separate the message from the author. because the idea of lesbians sleeping with men (& enjoying it) #is ALWAYS corrective rape rhetoric. so. yeah i hope you disgusting fucking lesbophobes don't know a single day of peace <3 #lesbophobia cw #corrective rape cw #send tweet

[colorisbyshe]

i’m awake again and i must say… people are blaming jj abrams for reylo and there are like… a lot of things you can blame jj for but that man compared kylo to a nazi and called what he did to reylo “mind rape” which wasn’t the most appropriate word choice (was actually horrible) but makes clear he viewed kylo as abusive towards rey

reylo was 100% rian johnson’s choice and it got so big disney made it happen in tros

and maybe it’s because i was obsessively in the spoilers/leak sub but i watched the reylo kiss get forced into the film in real time… like it did not exist until much later cuts even then. for months we knew kylo died and then like… a month before the film came out, maybe even less, the kiss was thrown in

like again i have a lot of complaints about jj, going back to fuck star trek, not even star wars

but going from TFA and cast statements about what JJ told them,!it’s clear he didn’t want reylo and very much wanted co-lead, jedi Finn with a much more present Poe

and he got railroaded by Rian “Subversive” “Both Sides Are Bad” “Black, Ex-Enslaved Characters Need to Have Slavery=Bad Explained to Them By Women We Have Assault Them as a Gag” Johnson and Disney

again some shit JJ did was rancid and all his own fault but like we are nooooot rewriting history so people can like Rian Johnson’s work without shame

#rape cw #nazi cw #see i don’t need to do jj apologism to like AOS #i’m built different

[blindmagdalena]

Does your verse include ryan? Its such a weird line bc on one hand, ryan as a character isnt bad (hes neat) but to include him you’d have to either rewrite the.. conception.. or keep as is 😭 i truly dont mean this in a judgy way or as a gotcha since its sort of a lose-lose all around, i just wondered if he might make a cameo in any future works (esp since my beloved dadlander has been the hot topic lately)

well, I don't have a continuity so to speak. I mostly write one-off drabbles on here. I like writing homelander fluff, but I've also never shied away from the fact he's pretty awful, and that includes the fact he's canonically a rapist. I'm totally happy to include ryan, I also like his character and what he means for/to homelander. I would not rewrite ryan's conception in order to include him in any verses or fics. I would love to write big brother ryan!! c:

#i just haven't really gotten any asks about ryan other than meta thoughts #ask and you shall receive #darling anon #i actually make vague mention to this in an upcoming chapter of eat your ego #and will tag it appropriately #but yeah i think it would be kind of cheap to do that in order to just make him more... idk... palatable? #i'm not here to excuse or apologize for homelander's behaviors i will eat him whole #rape mention cw #homelander

[ghoul-haunted]

it's 3am and there's a 'no reblog' feature, I get to post supernatural thoughts now, literally I cannot stand people who think that late seasons spn was a fun found family type of show and that sam was somehow more enjoyable as a character after becoming non confrontational, like dean didn't assault sam in s9 in a way that had been narratively comparable to rape in an earlier season, and sam is just supposed to live with that, and the audience is supposed to side with dean on this, like 'found family in the bunker :)' what on earth are you watching that let you arrive to that experience

#supernatural for ts #assault cw #rape cw #iirc dean tries to make sam apologize for this too like good fucking god man #i said it before and i'll say it again: if anyone treated my baby sister the way dean treats sam i would fucking kill them #specifically late seasons dean. s1-5 dean is a character. post s5 is whatever bullshit goes on in jackles head #if you think late seasons spn was a funky queer family comedy with dean and cas: first fix your comprehension skills #second: sam was actually queer coded with INTENTION in earlier seasons #and to top it off: gender subversion? sam gets coded with more women-in-horror tropes than you can shake a stick at #and dean is not punished for performing masculinity: a core aspect of his character is that he LIKES it #he's punished for not being a carbon copy of his FATHER it is not the same #no not. hang on. dean is punished for not being a Better Version of his father. john pushes onto dean what he himself cannot do. #SAM is the one who is persistently punished for failing to perform masculinity like oh my god

[obsessivevoidkitten]

P.E. Class

Male Alpha Yandere x Gender Neutral Omega Reader CW: Noncon, public fucking, breeding, knotting, mention of musk, wrestling, mention of bullying, general yandere behavior Word Count: 360 (Super short drabble, please enjoy!)

Imagine you're an omega in college. The college in this realm requires physical education classes for all students no matter their major.

One day the class makes students pair off and wrestle one another. Complete with singlets.

You get paired with the biggest alpha brute, one who often teases and lightly bullies you.

The match is over in an instant, with him pinning you down on your belly. Your skin is touching and his musk is overpowering.

You feel his hot breath on your neck.

Then, in front of everyone, he begins to grind into you. Your body does what biology demands and you produce slick. It seeps through both of your singlets coating his cock.

You try to squirm but he grows and bears down on you with more force until you whimper and go limp.

He moves your singlet so that your hole is exposed and does the same to free his cock.

He plunges it right into you with one smooth motion, his cock squelching lewdly into your depths.

Then he breeds you hard and fast in full view of everyone. Some masturbate openly, others film your predicament, and a few blush and look away. But none helped. It wasn't all that odd for an omega to be taken suddenly.

You couldn't help but cry at the humiliation of being fucked in public. The helplessness of being raped so suddenly. And the embarrassment that came with it feeling so good that you were moaning and moving into his thrusts unwillingly.

After what feels like an eternity the both of you cum and he bites your neck and claims you as his prize. He licks your neck and nuzzles you while you cry on the gym mat, his knot still in you.

When his knot goes down he apologizes that he did that so suddenly, he explains that he had been planning to breed you eventually but the sweat and positioning from wrestling just triggered something primal in him and he could wait no longer…

Then he hushes your protests and carries you, cum still dripping down your legs, to his dorm for rounds 2, 3, 4, and 5.

#yandere #yandere omegaverse #yandere a/b/o #male yandere x gn reader #yandere x reader #alpha yandere #omegaverse #omega reader #gender neutral omega #yandere imagine #yandere situation #yandere scenario #yandere scenarios #My OCs #Unnamed OC

[chthonicdivinebard]

CW: mention of sexual assault and rape, discourse on pagan tumblr

“Responding to work in literary theory, new historical criticism, cultural criticism, critical theory, and the like, many ancient historians and scholars of ancient religion have become deeply skeptical about the use of ancient texts, narrative or otherwise, for historical reconstruction and theorizing. Far from corresponding easily and usefully to women’s experiences and lives, ancient sources are presently seen to deploy ancient ideas about gender, mapped onto female characters, to explore a range of issues of concern to their largely elite, male authors and initial audiences.” (Unreliable Witnesses: Religion, Gender, and History in the Greco-Roman Mediterranean by Ross Shepard Kraemer, p6)

Kraemer wrote this in the introduction to Unreliable Witnesses, in the larger context of their academic work which was inspired by ancient descriptions of Maenadism. They very specifically call out how Maenadism was not described accurately by any historical author, INCLUDING EURIPIDES IN THE BACCHAE, because of misogyny. Maenads were women because being a maenad required a lack of self-control, a trait traditionally applied to women in Classical Greco-Roman culture. All authors write with their own biases and prejudices. I have read multiple critiques of Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days bringing into question the usability of his works as theological texts given his clear dismissal of various contemporary religious belief and practices. These critiques aren’t coming from a sense of social justice “wokeness” (which would not necessarily be a bad thing.) They come from close readings of Hesiod, comparison with other contemporary texts, and the archaeological record.

I’ve been really upset recently with the preponderance of posts decrying certain Gods for being rapists and abusers. And I always find that these posts cite certain texts without any actual understanding of what those texts are saying and the beliefs of the people who wrote them. Instead, the “myths” are being taken far too literally and out of context. Often, Orphic hymns are being thrown in with Athenian plays and all bow before Homer’s hymns and epics. (Which, I will say for the umpteenth time, the Iliad and Odyssey are NOT theological texts. STOP SAYING APHRODITE LITERALLY DID X, Y, AND Z IN THE TROJAN WAR OR APOLLO IS BAD BECAUSE LOOK AT CASSANDRA. I WILL SPRAY WATER ON YOU.) But even the choice of sources shows the original posters’ biases- deference is always shown to Homer because his name is most recognizable. But Homer’s hymns were not held in esteem in every place or time Ancient Greek deities were worshipped in antiquity, and placing them alongside Orphic hymns requires a lot of nuance most posters don’t seem capable of navigating.

This isn’t to say we can’t use any historical text ever. Hesiod, Homer, and Orpheus (among the many, many others) have a lot to offer us. But we can’t use their work blindly, and we can’t take their work or the myths literally. We know Zeus did not literally split four-armed, four-legged people in two to make humans as we recognize them now. We know Hades did not literally rape Persephone. And we know Poseidon did not literally battle Athena for sponsorship of Athens. Many of us, on and off tumblr, are trying to take our faiths and beliefs seriously. Let fiction writers and webcomic artists take the myths at face value. We need to dig a little deeper, think a little more critically, and treat our deities with a little more reverence. As I’ve mentioned in previous rants, assuming the Goddesses are weaker than Gods and can be thrown around like sacks of grain is not the feminist flex you think it is. It’s not a nuanced, or more historically accurate, interpretation of the myths (which would not have been considered mythos to ancient theologians). I think it’s time we gave Hera, Persephone, Demeter, Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon the respect they deserve. And that’s all of it. Equally.

And if you want to talk about what the rape myths actually mean, I’m happy to share what my research has shown. Obviously, I don’t know everything from every perspective, but I do my best to be as well-researched as possible. That’s my worship. And as an ordained priest of Hekate, I hope that’s enough.

#hellenismos #this is very ranty i apologize #cw: rape

[firein-thesky]

Why is it that dc such as r@pe, sa, and incest is totally okay to write about and romanticize but y’all draw the line at racism, fat phobia, and homophobia *talking about the writings creators make, not personal beliefs*? Whats the difference between these things? All of them are hurtful and affect people in real life, so why is everybody on here choosing and picking one and not the other? Do writers on here think that they are not comparable or that one is okay to romanticize and the other is going way too far?

Im just genuinely curious as I have seen this topic be brought up again and again, which has made me realize this and Id like to see it from someone else's pov.

hi! there is a lot to answer and unpack here and i have every intention of doing so underneath the cut. forgive me if this gets long, but you’ve asked me 4 very massive questions that i think warrant detail, nuance, and thought. there is a lot i’d like to say here.

that being said, mind the content warnings and protect yourself.

cw: mentions of rape, incest, racism, homophobia, fat phobia, discourse in general

firstly, i am going to choose to give you the benefit of the doubt in assuming you are actually curious in hearing another side and you are not simply looking to stir a pot or pick a fight with beliefs you have no intention of changing or having an open discussion on. your accusatory tone in the first half indicates otherwise and kindly, i am not an idiot. but i want to earnestly talk to you about this and again, will think better of you than you perhaps have indicated you think of me.

secondly, you do not have to censor words like rape in my inbox. that sort of censorship has become wildly popular because of tik tok and other money-hungry social media that also desperately want to silence people. do you know why you have to censor words like that on tik tok? or words like genocide? suicide? racism? 1. so that they can make money and market and push their squeaky clean algorithms but 2. and perhaps worse, so they can silence victims. if social media platforms and capitalism and the systems of powers had it their way, you would never utter these words again—whether to call someone out for justice or to have an open discussion like this one. i encourage you greatly to think critically about this and how you choose to use censorship and why.

now, to your questions.

to preface, i am interpreting this ask as being anti-dark content in fiction as you state that ALL these subjects harm people in real life. or at least, you are being critical of all dark content in fiction and the way writers engage with them, effectively ‘picking and choosing’ which are deemed acceptable and which aren’t, when they are all hurtful. i apologize if that wasn’t your intention/what you believe, but regardless, i’ll endeavor to answer you.

i personally have drawn no lines about dark content nor spoken about any of these topics specifically really, which indicates to me you have a different narrative and/or are coming from more inflammatory arguments that are always circling fandom lately. in the post i most recently reblogged, i spoke mostly of violence. which, of course, all of those things can be. but i didn’t name one of those topics in particular.

regardless, i don’t believe in the censorship of any dark content in art, but rather advocate strongly for critical analysis on a case-by-case basis. in general, i encourage thinking critically about every aspect of the world around you.

i do not believe that rape, incest, and sa are okay to write about or create art about but racism, homophobia, and fat phobia are not. i believe all of those topics are ones that can, should, and will be explored in the safety of art. all to varying degrees of success, earnestness, impact, and intent. you’re right that these are real things, that can hurt people, and the fictional work about them can have impact on our society that is tangible but the actual art or fiction created is not real. and again, this is all to varying degrees on a case-by-case basis.

art and fiction also historically and massively do discuss these dark content topics and have actively swayed the public’s opinion on matters, whether for better or for worse. throwing away all dark content in art and fiction because it is ‘harmful’ is deeply, deeply dangerous and reductive. a lot of art that engages with dark content actually makes very succinct points about it—i think of vladimir nabokov’s lolita or octavia butler’s bloodchild or speak by laurie halse anderson.

this is where we must exorcise critical thinking. some pieces of work will handle dark content poorly—white saviors making art on racism. men making art about a woman’s experiences that (as you are so interested in) romanticize her pain. etc. etc. and some art will handle it’s dark content incredibly and be transformative, perhaps even revolutionary in how we talk, perceive, or acknowledge systems of oppression, violence, and dark content in this world. some dark content in fiction will have damaging beliefs and effects on society, some will not—we must also look at scope for this, at the writer perhaps, the historical moment, their audience etc.

(for example, there is a significant difference in a main stream male writer, writing of a woman’s experience with rape in a published book in a way that makes it sound romanticized, sold to thousands and thousands of general public vs. a woman using fanfic to explore rape, take control of it, or whatever in a fanfic for a small online community where there are warnings on it. indicating she is aware of its potential damage in a way her male counterpart is not…)

but i still believe in dark contents’ existence in art. of course there is differences between all of these topics you brought up, but i don’t think their differences matter in this answer. i believe in their right to be explored in art. i am talking broadly of media/art here, which i think is the more relevant conversation, but i think you are actually more interested in a much smaller scale of people. ie. fandom. ie. mostly marginalized people in small communities online writing and creating dark content.

people will choose and pick which ones they’d like to create art over and which ones they don’t, which ones they read and which ones they don’t. there’s no ‘hard line’ drawn anywhere. and i can’t control it and neither can you. perhaps you think violence is okay to be explored in fanfic, but racism isn’t. someone else will have different preferences. i do not believe in its censorship.

now, let’s move onto your interest in romanticization and what i think you are more pointing to, which is fandom. you are specifically referring to people in fandom who write about rape, incest, etc. and ‘romanticize’ it—ie. they write about it in a way that is a fantasy. it is perhaps supposed to be horny or sexy. so let’s talk about it.

i must remind you that these topics you’ve brought up (rape, incest, sa) being written are fiction and it is (most often) done by someone marginalized who has either experienced this or is in threat of experiencing this under a patriarchy. i assure you, they are aware of its harm. hence the copious warnings in fandom spaces.

if i can be candid, sometimes i think that people forget how systems of oppression work when discussing fandom and whether dark content being created should be allowed or not.

for example, i sometimes think people who are anti-dark content in fandom believe that a woman or afab person writing a fictional fanfic about rape or sexual violence then influences people to go out and rape people or that women actually like it. when the reality, in fandom spaces, is that rape and sexual violence happen frequently under the patriarchy and then these women in fandom write fictional fanfic in response to cope, explore, take control of, etc. etc.

to insinuate that women or afab people (which fandom mostly is) exploring dark content safely in fiction then causes their own oppression and harm or trauma is rather victim-blame-y to me. fandom exploring dark content does not cause these things to happen in our society….these actions (rape, incest, sa) happen in our society or systems of power and fandom reacts to them in their art by exploring it in dark content. do you understand what i’m trying to say?

it’s not a matter of what is ‘okay’ to romanticize and what isn’t. i do not think the romanticization that fandom does with dark content (ie. my kidnapper actually loves me! or this sexual act that i did not consent to…maybe feels good) is not actually romanticizing but coping because of the systems of power that i described above. and this can be coping with anything—shame of sexuality, shame of fantasies, trauma, fear, etc. etc.

as i said in my tags in that post i reblogged and as plato said, dark content in art is a safe place to explore what would otherwise be harmful and dangerous in real life. it is cathartic. potentially even, a purging.

and even if it isn’t all that—maybe it just is trashy fantasy. it is still playing pretend. it is still fiction and in fandom spaces, it is still most likely being created by a marginalized person. and again, even if it isn’t, we don’t get to censor it. we can be critical of it or wary or whatever, but to censor it, is a slippery, slippery slope. do deem some topics as “acceptable” and others as “unacceptable” is dangerous.

just like kids play pretend where they ‘fight’ or ‘kill’ or ‘kidnap’ or ‘shoot’ each other in games of cops and robbers or heroes and villains, they are safely exploring adventure, dark content, fantasy, tragedy, and higher emotions. adults can do the same in fiction and with adult topics like sex.

and at the end of the day, we don’t get to demand the credentials to do so either. we don’t get to censor them or control them and nor should we be allowed to. i cannot stress enough that i encourage you to be critical of censorship or the absolute disgust in dark content and at those (again—often marginalized people) who engage with it in fandom. i believe it is deeply puritanical, conservative, and dangerous.

you don’t have to like dark content or consume it at all and fandom makes it easy not to with all the warnings and tags, but you cannot control others or police them. nor should you want to.

and at the end of the day, i have some questions for you. you don’t have to respond to this, perhaps they’re just things to think about. what is the end goal here? what is the point in harassing, shaming, attacking, criticizing, or interrogating people in fandom spaces who create or support dark content? do you believe that if it is purged from fandom, it will be purged from our society? if you want it purged from society—shouldn’t you start there rather than in the inbox of marginalized writers in fandom? people in fandom did not create rape, incest, and sa nor do they in their exploration of fiction…they are merely reacting to a world that did create it.

i hope at no point i came off as rude to you, as was not my intention. i intended to stand up for myself and respectfully state my opinions and thoughts on this matter. i’m sorry it got long, but also i don’t believe in being brief on such complex matters. i am a writer who engages critically with the world around me and sometimes, things cannot be made into short, snappy answers. sometimes, we must unpack.

genuinely wishing you well.

#i cannot guarantee that i’ll have the time patience or energy to answer every ask like the one above in such detail #going forward #but i do support open discussions and i wanted to be kind to this anon #these are just my 2 cents on all of this #cw: rape #cw: incest #cw: racism #cw: fat phobia #cw: homophobia #discourse

[colorisbyshe]

the "attack on platonic marriage" idea feels incidental to the law like to me it reads as basically an attempt to make martial r-pe harder to punish? like thinking practically about what it would look like if the law were enacted, maybe there would be some people witch hunting for sexless marriages but if both members of a married couple are content not having sex, the idea of that lack of sex becoming known to people outside of the marriage seems pretty unlikely. the only time it would really come up in a legal setting would be if both members of the relationship are not on the same page about sex. like if one of them doesn't want it, and the other does. and I mean conservatives don't care about any collateral damage so if ace people do wind up targeted they're perfectly fine with that too but it really, really comes off as primarily wanting to make marital r-pe harder to do anything about

I don't think the intended effect is to make it harder to prosecute marital rape, though I think it wouldn't be minded.

The point is what every weird marriage campaign is--to reaffirm that marriage is for reproducing white babies. If marriage is about sex and having kids, that makes gay marriage or marriage with a trans partner "selfish" and "not what marriage is for." It is an attack on women who want to focus on careers or just... enjoying llife instead of popping out children.

People framing this latest news as an attack on aces are missing WHY the news is happening. The fundamentalist groups are SPECIFICALLY speaking out against hte "Respect for Marriage Act."

What is the respect for marriage act? Oh, it's the proposed (and therefore NOT yet passed bill) protecting gay marriage... and interracial marriage.

It is "pertaining to a marriage between 2 individuals, on the basis of the sex, race, ethnicity, or national origin of those individuals."

The reason why this topic came up NOW is because RFMA as revised to SPECIFICALLY include protects for interracial marriage after roe v wade was knocked down and the privacy laws that protected "sodomy" (gay and trans fucking and sucking) and your right to marry any consenting person you love were put into question. The letter decrying platonic marriage came out in July in DIRECT response to this revision.

It isn't about sex. It is about "protecting the white race" and "protecting the sanctity of marriage" from gay people. It is implying that people of color and LGBT people aren't marriageable or aren't marrying for "unselfish" reasons.

The sex stuff is just the framework they are using to justify these attacks. This is just saying "I want a 'traditional' family between one white woman and one white man where they shit out christianity-indocrinated babies." It's about the nuclear family.

Anyone making this about ace people REALLY needs to read what the right is saying about RFMA.

Like actually READ the statements being made.

#rape cw #no more asks #anon sent anothr asks apologizing for this one #so they get a pass #everyone else die if you wannt send an ask

[slutforsnow]

As an apology for being dead as hell, i would like to provide this one-shot/oc fic of Billy the Kid from the TV drama series.

A Pretty Girl Playin' With The Big Boys

Inspired by Diva and Beautiful Liar

CW//saloon fight, western time period, poker, mild sa (like almost touches but nothing more), implied sh00ting threat, Billy is his own warning for being so hot, mentions of abusive ex, rape mention

She smiled to herself as she watched her brother Jesse play poker as she took a shot of whiskey sittin' in her chair like the cowboys so one caught sight of a woman planning to get in on the next game. What she didn't notice was that a man, around 2 years older than her, was watching her as he played. His gaze seemed predatory and observant as he played-like he didn't really feel like focusing on the game.

He took a shot of his whiskey as he showed his cards, and Jesse slowly set his down. He lost, and he looked pretty pissed about it. He frowned, clenching his jaw. He half-expected it but had some hope that'd bring home somethin' to his ma and Joe since Henry was injured. As Billy got up from his seat and place his hat on his head again, he noticed an oddly small cowboy take the seat that his opponent, Jesse, had been sittin' in as Jesse gathered his winnins.

"She's gonna get herself found out," Jesse murmured laughin' to himself. Billy snapped his head to Jesse, his brows furrowed in confusion.

'She? She who?' The brunette thought before turning his gaze to the mysterious she at the poker table. She had put a rather large sum of money on the table, causing Jesse to raise his brows, surprised. "She never bets that much."

'She's a regular poker player?'

As the game proceeded, the mysterious she kept quiet, only making noise to clear her throat or move away from one of her opponents that seemed off and tried to lay hands on her more private areas.

Billy kept a frown on his lips as he watched her discomfort, but every moment he went to go shove a man off her, she'd shoot him a glare as if to say 'if you expose me, I'll shoot you.'

As the game came to a close, she smirked, gathering her winnings as she won more than Jesse. The other men bet more in this game than the last one and were surprised to lose a quite hefty amount. The men were genuinely shocked, thinking they lost to a 15 - or 16 year old boy. One man, however, looked pissed and as the mystery girl began to stand after pocketing her winnings, he grabbed her arm pulling her down to the table, knocking her hat off and letting her lustrous curls unfurl from her messy bun that was tucked neatly under her hat. The curls fell around her face, and one strand fell in front of her face. Smiling awkwardly, she stayed still.

'Well shit,' She thought, freezing as the man froze. The gambler lost to a woman, and he was furious. A WOMAN beat his ass in poker, a men's game.

The saloon was dead silent as the sound of her hat hit the ground seemingly echoed.

"Now, sir, there's no need to violent its just poker," She said, trying to wiggle her arm free, only for the man to tighten his hold. 'Okay, maybe I'll need Jesse for this,' She thought, glancing to her brother and his friend.

"You beat me in my game. No one ever beats me," the gambler growled, grabbing his gun and bringing it to her temple. The man's words sent Billy's mind to the night Carlos was shot for winning and for being Mexican. He wasn't having a repeat of that. Before he could think, Billy spun his gun out of the holster, shooting the hole through a broken window, hitting an old crate which exploded due to the force of the bullet hitting such a delicate and old thing.

The sound grabbed everyone's attention, even the gambler who dropped his gun in surprise. The saloon was still in silence, watching Billy's next move.

"Let her go," He said, moving his gun and aiming it at the man's head. The mystery woman smirked in approval of Billy, liking how he was handling it. "I don't wanna have to kill you, so just let her go."

Out of pure fear, the man dropped his gun and let go of her, causing her to fall onto the floor with a hard thud.

Standing up, she brushed the dirt off her jeans and grabbed her hat, swiping the dust off.

"Gentleman," She commented after a moment of silence and bowing, exiting the saloon with Jesse behind her and Billy behind both of them.

As the three walked in awkward silence, she put her hat on, ignoring the stares from other women at her boyish appearance, aside from her cerulean eyes and ginger locks that had been pulled into a braid down her back.

"I suppose I should thank you," She uttered, smiling towards Billy and turning to walk backward, now following Jesse based on the sound of his footsteps.

"'S nothin'," Billy told her, shrugging as he walked behind her, but noticing her bruised arm as she pulled her over shirt off to check on the bruise. "You gonna be okay?"

"Oh I'll be fine," She answered, shrugging off his concern. "This ain't nothin' compared to my last man."

"Last man?" He repeated, staring at her puzzled. "What happened to him?"

"Jesse ran him out of town for trying to marry me while I was seventeen. Stopped him from rapin' me too," She commented. "Ex was awful."

Billy stared at her, surprised at how she could be so calm about it. Then he thought of something; she was so calm about it as if it was nothin' more than picking flowers by a river. It reminded him of how calm and unbothered he is to murdering, at least small animals and people who truly deserved it. He smirked a little before extending his hand to her to shake.

"Billy Antrim."

"Violet Evans."

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[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Hello! I'm back with another chapter of my Feyd-Rautha/Reader arranged marriage series.

AO3 link here for full fic: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 5 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

Side post that has some of my headcanons for how I interpret Feyd-Rautha's own relationship to his sexuality: Hello, Friend - So I've been working on a Feyd-Rautha/Reader... (tumblr.com)

This fic and this chapter are 18+ up only. Tags, content warning, and full chapter below the cut

Tags/CW list: rape/noncon; graphic depictions of violence; dubious consent; arranged marriage; forced pregnancy; nature versus nurture; implied/referenced child abuse; implied/referenced sexual assault; implied/referenced incest; first time; rough sex; oral sex; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; blood kink; pain kink; sadomasochism; period sex; problematic smut; inappropriate misuse of BDSM; slow burn emotionally but the exact opposite of a slow burn phyiscally

CHAPTER FOUR: A BLOODY GASH

You're fertile.  You’ve never had any reason to believe otherwise.  This union is contingent on giving him children–at least one son, and as many attempts as necessary to get there ( and you desperately hope that you’ll only need that first one.  You don’t want to raise a daughter in this place, amongst these people .)

So you’re horrified when you wake up the following morning to blood smeared between your legs, staining your chemise that rode up to your hips when you were sleeping, and leaving a smear on the sheets below when you move.

No.  No.  You pull up the hem of your chemise and stare at your inner thighs as if just looking will change the outcome.  Feyd-Rautha came inside of you four times in two days for nothing .  He’ll be furious.  He’ll question your very biology.  He’ll have you examined as thoroughly and cruelly as possible.

You scramble, trying to cover yourself, wondering what you can even do next when Idrisa comes in with fresh water and coffee.

To her credit, she doesn't drop the tray when her eye line goes directly to your bleeding crotch for the few seconds it’s still visible.

“I knew my time for it was coming up, I just didn't think it would,” you say to yourself as much as her and come to meet her gaze.

She glances back down out of respect, but the awkward tension hangs between the two of you for a moment.

“Do you…” you start, embarrassment flushing your face and neck, “do you have anything for it?”  You have no idea how menstrual care even works on Geidi Prime.  You’d just assumed that it wouldn’t be an issue for another ten months.

She composes herself again immediately.  “Why yes, of course, Na-Baroness.  I apologize for my negligence.”  Before you can tell her there's nothing to apologize for, she adds, “I'll help you get cleaned up first.”

“That’s alright, I can do it,” you tell her as you wonder for a moment who she served before that she’d assume you want her to clean between your legs when you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

She inclines her head further.  “Thank you, Na-Baroness.  I’ll be back in just a moment.”  

As soon as she’s out the door you’re up and walking briskly to the bathroom. 

You’ll need to have the sheets changed.

It’s only been two days, you think, washing between your legs.  This doesn’t mean anything bad .  When he asks for you, you can just explain the situation and try again in a few days.  Until then…until then…   For a moment you draw a blank, before remembering a conversation you had a few years ago with a slightly older friend when you asked her if husbands still desired their wives when their wives were bleeding.

“ They honestly just want something warm, soft, and wet to bury themselves in, ” she’d told you matter-of-factly.  “ So most men just use their wife’s mouths .”

“ What do you mean? ” you’d asked, fairly certain you had an idea what she was talking about but still more willing to briefly embarrass yourself by asking than remain ignorant.

“ You know what goes on between a man’s legs, right? ” she’d asked in turn.

“ Of course ,” you’d said, a little offended that she’d think you so naive. 

“ When you’re bleeding and he still wants you to please him, put your mouth there instead, ” she’d told you.  “ Like he’s burying himself inside your mouth instead of your canal.  You can’t make babies that way, of course, but they often don’t care about that .   You can’t really make babies during your monthly courses anyway. ”

You wonder how she reacted when she found out who you’d be marrying.  You never got the chance to ask and assume, like many young women and their parents, that she was relieved that she wasn’t the one hand-picked for him. 

You also haven’t done that to him yet, nor any other man, for that matter, and you’re sure your lack of skill will show.  How are you meant to take the entire thing in your mouth when you can barely fit it where it’s meant to go?  What are you supposed to do with your teeth?  It also just seems somehow more daunting and personal than just having inside of you in the traditional manner.  

He’ll be aggressive with it, like he is in everything else. 

You can’t stop thinking about it as you brush your teeth and hair and try to ignore the discomfort in your lower belly before you hear a click and the door to your quarters opening.

Idrisa’s back with a basket made of some kind of black synthetic material; it’s covered to protect its contents from passing view.  You could kiss her for that, you think, and she starts unpacking.

She pulls out what look like thick handkerchiefs, going to your bathroom to stack them neatly on the countertop.  She also hands you a canister that you open to find a handful of circular tablets.

“They’re not as strong as what I left for your wedding night,” she says, “and they won’t put you to sleep, but they should suffice if you need them.”

You’d chalked up your cramps to nerves but now that you have your answer the symptoms couldn’t have been more obvious.  “Thank you, I think I will,” you tell her as you think about how you’ll likely be expected to join your new family, if one could call them that, for breakfast again.  The thought makes you want to crawl back under the covers.

“Can you also please tell Feyd-Rautha that I apologize for missing breakfast but that I'm feeling unwell this morning and wouldn't want to be poor company in my condition?” you ask.

Idrisa hesitates, nervous.  You realize that she's thinking, You know that your husband finds me far more disposable than he finds you, right?  He could easily kill and replace me and no one would care.  You also realize that she can’t and won’t say no to you.  But just that look reminds you that as frightening as this fortress is to you, it’s much worse for her.  You haven’t seen Feyd-Rautha kill outside of the arena yet, but you also barely know him; killing people who displease him over minor inconveniences, especially if they’re low-born and low-ranking, could be a common occurrence for him.  The Harkonnens didn’t earn their reputation for nothing.

“Unless you think they won't notice if I’m even there,” you add, thinking.  The Baron couldn't care less if he never has a conversation with you again, and outside of the marriage bed, Feyd-Rautha doesn't appear to have any real plans for you.  “I could just…stay here and if Feyd-Rautha has any questions he can ask them.”

Idrisa’s shoulders had been locked and tense but appear to relax just a little at your words.  “I can make a plate for you and bring it back here,” she says, already knowing your preference.  Given Geidi Prime’s incredible wealth and lack of natural resources other than fuels and metals there are imported fruits that you’d never had before coming here that you’re certain you’ll never get sick of.

“Sounds perfect, thank you,” you tell her, and take advantage of the new medication when she leaves.

When she returns with another tray for you, she’s accompanied by two other girls holding a fresh arrangement of sheets; the hems and necklines of their garb are cut a little different from hers and they look younger, perhaps the same age as your little sister.  You wonder if the difference in the way they’re dressed suggests rank?  They keep their heads down and don’t acknowledge you other than a silent curtsy before stripping your old sheets and setting down a new spread.  You look at them for a moment, wondering if it’s at the Baron’s insistence that no staff ever look a Harkonnen royal in the eye or if this rule’s been going on for generations when Idrisa snaps you out of your thoughts.

“I have a tea prepared for you as well, Na-Baroness,” she says, gesturing towards the tray that she’s set on your end-table and removing the cloche covering your plate.  “It’s not medicine strictly speaking but it has soothing properties.”

You turn and look at her.  She doesn’t look much older than you, but the same can be said of most of the female slaves.  Are they banished to where they won’t be easily seen when they reach a certain age?  What’s the life expectancy?  It feels more than a little insensitive to ask right now, so you just let them work as you take a seat at your end-table and take a sip of your tea.

After breakfast is over and you’ve found a comfortable position sitting up in bed, propped up by the pillows and headboards, you read a bit more on the Harkonnen lineage.  The more you read, the more you understand why Father always insisted that Geidi Prime is no place for a woman.  Women in high places, you find, have in history been assassinated more often than the men, or kidnapped to use as collateral and tortured.  You wonder if that’s why you saw so few at the wedding and reception, why they seemed so hidden out of view even while accompanying their high-ranking husbands.

You’re reasonably certain that your new husband’s concerned enough with his image as heir to the Harkonnen throne not to tarnish the alliance your marriage has created, that even if he doesn’t really know you and may never love you–you’re reasonably certain that he’s incapable of feeling such an emotion–he’ll still make sure to protect what he sees as his.  His uncle will likely be another story.  

The door opens unannounced and you look up, expecting Idrisa only to find Feyd-Rautha letting himself in without a word and closing the door behind him.  He doesn’t speak at first, but everything in his demeanor tells you that he did in fact notice your absence and wants an explanation.

You compose yourself.  There’s no need to panic.  “Good afternoon, husband.  To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask, tone as light and cool as the weather would be on your home planet right now. 

He leans against the door as he folds his arms across his chest and looks you over.  “I missed you at breakfast,” he says.

“Yes, my apologies.  I’m not feeling well,” you tell him.  

He clearly doesn’t believe you.  You don’t seem feverish , he seems to think with his unimpressed gaze.  You seem fine .  “Still getting adjusted to the atmosphere on Geidi Prime?” he asks, and for a foolish moment you hope that he’s giving you an excuse.  Maybe he thinks you’re avoiding him because of last night, and you’re content to let him think that.

“Yes, husband,” you tell him.  

“That’s a shame,” he says, crossing over to your bed and sitting at the edge of it.  “It occurred to me last night that whoever taught you close-range maneuvers didn’t do their job right.  You should’ve been able to evade me.”

You wrinkle your brow and don’t have it in you to hide your insulted glare; your House’s military is considered a force to be reckoned with and a slight against your training is a slight against your House and your father himself.  “Did you want me to evade you?” you ask.

He seems amused by your sudden sharpness, and you realize that he’d wanted to hit a nerve.  He knew what he was implying and got the precise reaction he’d been hoping for.  “That’s not the point, wife.  You said yourself that you were out of practice and as soon as you’re feeling better I intend to rectify that.  Your cute little boot-dagger won’t serve you any good if you can’t correctly use it.”  

He places his hand on your leg, trailing it along your thigh and stopping just shy of your apex, his thumb brushing against it through the fabric of your skirt.  You give a sharp inhale that makes him smile.  You start to close your legs but his hand, now cupping your inner thigh, holds one open enough for him to continue to fondle as he pleases.

His hand stays there for a moment, stays over the light material of your skirt even as you're sure the soft flesh of your inner thigh heats his palm, as flushed as you feel under his touch.  He leans in, inhales as he leans over you and sniffs your hair.  It’s not even the first time he’s done it.  You wonder if he finds your hair to be a sort of forbidden fruit; something he can’t say he likes because to do so would disrespect Harkonnen hairlessness, but still something he finds fascinating or even enviable.  You’re not sure yet whether his lack of it is down to genetics or grooming but you assume the former, if it affects everyone including those who wouldn’t have such prime access to constant shaving.

But then he fully brings his hand between your legs, fingertips rubbing up against you and you flinch.  

Now?  Is he going to try and fuck me right here and now?   You shift, trying to hide what you’re sure is a look of panic on your face, trying to scramble for an excuse as Feyd-Rautha rubs a whimper out of you.

In the moments he does and you freeze, he watches your face a moment longer and then something shifts in his eyes, and he pulls back.

“I’ll call on you soon,” he says.  There’s something satisfied, almost smug in his tone.  He doesn’t wait for a response from you before he gets up and leaves, and you wonder what caused his departure.

Idrisa comes in a minute later with more tea for you.  “The Na-Baron seems mollified,” she says.  “He’s taken the news well.”

“I didn’t tell him.”

You catch Idrisa furrowing her brow-line, incredulous even with her head bowed before she can smooth over her expression into one of polite indifference.

“He doesn’t need to know yet,” you tell her.  “He said he’d call on me later.”

“My apologies for speaking boldly, Na-Baroness,” she says, “but the Na-Baron will still take you to bed tonight or whenever he decides is convenient.  Harkonnen men expect their wives to always be available to them, no matter how they’re feeling.”

You suppose you already knew this.  It certainly doesn’t help the gnawing feeling in your stomach even as the medicine Idrisa gave you has soothed the cramps for now.  

“It appears I can hold him off until after dinner, at least,” you finally say.  There’s that; you also appreciate having another meal without the Baron’s presence.

You wish you had someone you could talk to about this in which it wouldn’t feel weird to ask.  You look over at Idrisa.  She’s the only friend you’ve managed to make so far and while you don’t see that changing anytime soon, you haven’t forgotten that she keeps you company out of obligation.  You can’t be certain as to whether or not she actually likes you, or if she only tolerates you due to her heightened position within the Harkonnen Fortress as your personal attendant.  Still, she’s certainly better than no one to ask.  She takes your old mug and heads for the door.

“Idrisa,” you start.  She turns.  “You’ve…have you been with men before?”

She inclines her head in a polite nod.  “When it’s required of me,” she says.

Your second question dies in your mouth.  Oh.  Right .  Yet again you’re disgusted but can’t say you’re all that surprised.

And instead of asking for advice you’re struck by another thought.  “Has the Na-Baron ever…?” you start and she immediately shakes her head.

“Never, Na-Baroness,” she assures you.  “He has never been known to satiate himself that way with slaves.”

Are you being honest or telling me what I want to hear? you almost ask but spare her the indignity.  You’re reasonably certain that if Feyd-Rautha had taken advantage of her, he’d have gloated to you about it.  “Thank you,” you tell her.  You don’t want to know how men on Geidi Prime have abused her mouth.  “I was just curious.”

“Not at all, Na-Baroness,” she says.

As the hours tick by you wish you'd just told Feyd-Rautha your situation and gotten whatever awkward ensuing conversation over with.

In the evening Idrisa brings you dinner, more tea, and a glass of wine.  “The Na-Baron has given you two hours before expecting you in his bedchambers.”

You sigh.  “Thank you, Idrisa,” you tell her, not quite willing to add, you were right .  You eat, you have your tea, you bathe and clean your hair.  And in the remaining time that you have before you need to leave, you sip your wine. You’d be foolish to assume that it will truly settle your nerves, but it tastes nice. 

“I guess it’s time,” you say finally, looking at the timepiece on your nightstand.  “How angry do you think he’ll be?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says as she opens the door to lead you to your husband.  “He’s never been married nor been instructed to sire an heir before.”

When you get to his bedroom he’s already standing in the middle of it, wearing only black pants with a relaxed fit that suggests leisure, maybe sleep.  And here you hadn’t taken him as the kind of man to own pajamas.

He looks over your shoulder at Idrisa, who seems just as surprised to see him as you are even as she immediately lowers her head in deference.

“Dismissed,” he tells her, and she curtsies and scurries out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving the two of you alone and rather more dressed than you’ve been in this room.

You stand, awkwardly, playing with the sash to your robe as the two of you look at each other in silence.  Or rather, he stares at you and you look down, knowing what you’d rehearsed and still needing to force the words out.

“My apologies, husband, but it’s my time of month,” you finally manage.

“I know,” he says.  “I could smell it on you.  I could feel your rag in between your legs.”

Was that what he was doing?  You look up at his face and find nothing that you can really parse and pause, unsure what you could say to that, before you move on.

“I know it’s not ideal, but we can try again in a few days, and in the meantime,” you try to sound like you’re not as nervous as you are, fully aware that seduction was never something you learned, “I know that there are…other ways to satisfy you.”  A few days and we can resume trying to secure your firstborn .  

He gives a small smirk at the second part of your statement but comments only on the first.  “A few days?” he repeats, as if you’ve just said either the funniest or dumbest thing he’s heard all week.  “What makes you think I care to wait a few days?”

You’re not sure you heard him right.  “The blood,” you say slowly.  “I can’t control it.”

“You think a Harkonnen would be scared of a little blood?” he says.

You’re not sure what to say to that.  In hindsight, you’re not sure why you’d assumed that this man of all men would be too squeamish to fuck a bleeding woman.

“Strip down,” he says, after the seconds of silence that follow.  He sounds so casual as he says it, as if he just told you to have a seat.  You hesitate, still unsure if he’s being serious.

“Did you not understand me?” he prompts when seconds tick by and you haven’t moved.

“I do, husband,” say.  “But still, I have to warn you that it’ll make a mess.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone somehow light.  There’s an element of danger to it.  “You’re not the one who’ll have to clean up afterwards.”

Nor you , you think.  “So you want me in this state.”  You don’t phrase it as a question but he can hear the confusion in your voice.

The smirk never quite left his face but returns in full as he crosses the few steps over to you that leaves you close enough that you can feel his breath.  He takes your wrist and presses your hand to his groin–it’s rapidly filling out.

“What do you think?” he says.

You gasp, almost giving an incredulous laugh as you glance between his face and back down to his groin.  Harkonnen men are built differently, you suppose.  

You pull away enough to unravel your robe and step out of your slippers.  He doesn’t object to your garments being left on his floor instead of neatly tucked on his dresser, so you keep going, pulling your chemise over your shoulders, pulling down your undergarment and letting it slide down your legs, until you’re bared entirely for him.

He looks down at the blood that gathered in the kerchief lining the gusset of your undergarment as it hits the floor and you step out of it, and then he looks back at you.

“Hold your arms out like this, wrists together,” he says, extending his own to demonstrate.

He still doesn’t seem angry, his tone suggesting patience that you know he doesn’t have, but you hesitate before mimicking him.

“Very nice,” he says, and you bristle at his condescension as he half-circles you before heading for his armoire.  You turn around to watch him open it, and your jaw drops when you see what’s inside.

It’s lined with whips, rope, chains, knives, scalpels, collars, and other items you’ve never seen before but if this is in his bedroom then it must serve one particular purpose, either on himself whoever has the misfortune of being with him when he wants to use any of these devices.  

He glances over his shoulder and looks if anything delighted by your stunned reaction, the growing sense of dread.  “I didn’t say you could drop your arms,” he says, and turns back to pick out a length of black rope.

You suppose you ought to be grateful that he didn’t pick out any chains.

You watch as he loops an intricate tie binding your wrists.  He does it with such practiced ease he looks directly into your eyes as he does it.  You manage to hold his gaze in defiance even as your heart hammers in your chest and you’re scared of what’s going to happen next.  You know that, like a true Harkonnen, he likes your fear, but it hasn’t occurred to either of you yet that he also appreciates your fire.

“Get on all fours on the bed, pet,” he says, tone light and playful as much as his gravely timbre can make it.

You try to keep your eyes on him as much as possible, making sure he’s never fully out of your sightline as you get on the bed, squirming but managing to maneuver the position he wants while your wrists are bound.  He knows that you don’t trust him, and if anything that seems to elevate his excitement.  

Good girl, he seems to be thinking.  He looks you over, turning and sauntering so he can take a moment to gaze first at your naked profile, then at your backside.

You have to keep reminding yourself that he won’t do anything that will risk you being able to give him children as he turns away and pads over to his armoire.  For a moment you’re not sure if he’s trying to decide what he’d like to use, or if he’s purposefully biding his time to make you more nervous.  His fingertips seem to dance over the whips, then the chains.  He briefly touches the handle to one of his knives.

Not the scalpel.  Please not the scalpel.

You see it–corded leather.  A black whip with multiple knotted tails.  He takes it down from his display but leaves the armoire doors open–undoubtedly to keep reminding you of what else he could be and very likely will be doing to you in the future.

You think about the Bene Gesserit Litany and try to repeat it in your head as you consider the tool? the weapon? clutched in his fist.  At first glance the whip looks like the cat-of-nine-tails your brother-in-law seems so fond of.  However, when you shut your eyes, take a breath, and think of the words– fear is the mind-killer –you realize when you open your eyes again that what Feyd-Rautha’s holding is a lot smaller than a proper cat-of-nine-tails and the tails thicker.  You have no doubt that this is going to hurt, but it doesn’t look like it will rip you apart.

“What, what is this?  A punishment for bleeding? ” you finally ask, unable to handle the silence anymore and because that’s the only explanation you can imagine.

And yet Feyd-Rautha looks amused that you’d suggest it.  “It’s because I want to use it on you,” he says, as if any further explanation would be silly.  “Ever since I first saw you, I wondered what that pretty ass of yours would look like after I’d taken this to it.”  He holds up the device for emphasis.  “I wondered what noises you’d make.  I wanted to know what you’d look like with your wrists bound, naked and helpless in my bed.  What you’d look like squirming and bleeding.

“ Yesterday was a punishment,” he adds.  “This is just fun.”

For you, perhaps, you think.  It’s no matter; you’ll just have to prove that you can take whatever he dishes out.  You just have to decide whether it’s better or worse that he’s not doing this out of anger. 

“Are you scared, pet?” he asks.

“ No, ” you lie in the most adamant and dignified tone you can muster, and once again he acts like what you’ve said is cute.  He clicks his tongue.

“You mustn’t lie to me in bed, pet,” he says, approaching the bed again, his free hand skimming over your ribcage, your side, your hip, as he finally stands beside the bed, and ever-so-slowly draws the corded whip up and down the backs of your thighs.  The tassels brush gently against your skin and it feels perverse, the anticipation he’s building within you.  On his second pass you inhale sharply, shutting your eyes, hips twitching away from the device, and Feyd-Rautha chuckles at that.

“Relax,” he says.

Fuck you.  You know I can’t.  Just do it and get it over with , you want to tell him with your sharp exhale, and one second later he draws his hand back and brings the whip down.

You cry out, rocking forward, your entire body clenching up as much from shock as pain.  Nothing could really prepare you for this; his hand from the first night had been easier, more personal.  The individual cords spread out like a fractal tree, like cracks in a block of ice fanning out. 

The second time is less sharp, more of a thud that reverberates through your body, the impact reverberating in your pulse.  Tears prick up at the corners of your eyes and for a moment you can’t breathe.  It would figure that this man has used this device often enough that he knows how to inflict different flavors of pain depending on whether he’s putting the movement in his wrist or his forearm.  You clench your fists, waiting for the next lash, and then the next.

Your nerves are on fire.  You can barely think, barely focus on anything but the exquisite pain on impact, the sharp sting of the air against your impacted flesh, the sweet moments you adjust, finding your breath, before he comes down again.  You don’t scream, not after the first blow, but the tears forming at the corners of your eyes start trickling down your face and then drop directly onto your forearms the covers below you when you bow your head.  

You don’t know how long he keeps going, don’t keep count.  The pain starts to dull but the intensity becomes overwhelming as he compounds on every lash.  Your ears are ringing.  You taste iron at the back of your throat.  The worst part is that you find, to your horror, your nipples feel stiff.  You start to feel wet.

It has to be a fear response.  This isn’t enjoyable .  It’s intense, it’s painful, and you can’t help but feel shame lance through you that your body would react this way.

Please.  I can’t take any more , you want to tell him, but opt instead to whimper through your clenched teeth.

At that moment the whip comes down and it sends you toppling forward, finally collapsing.  The covers are soft against your tear-stained cheek.  You shut your eyes, panting, waiting for him to haul you back up and continue the process.

But nothing happens.  You don’t try to look behind you and hope that he’s done.  You just take a rattling breath and listen for the sound of the whip and its tendrils slicing through air, and it doesn’t come.  

“You lasted longer than I thought you would,” Feyd-Rautha says, the first time he’s spoken in minutes, and you open your eyes and  turn your head to see him twist the coils of his whip and head over to the armoire.

“Come on,” he says over his shoulder.  “Back into position, pet.”  

You grit your teeth and force yourself back up on your hands and elbows.  “Good,” he adds softly, and it’s embarrassing how one single word of praise makes you flush, sends a pleasant tingle down your spine.  This shouldn’t have the effect on you that it does–maybe it’s because now that it’s over, you feel lighter, almost dazed.  All of your muscles had tightened into coils, but now you feel pliant to the point that your limbs feel rubbery.  You’re exhausted.  You’re hurt.  You don’t know what else he has on the agenda for you tonight but you just hope it doesn’t involve another one of his whips or ropes.

He sets the device back in the armoire and turns to face you.  He looks at your flushed, tear-stained face and smiles, mouth-closed before approaching the bed, his cock hard in his pants, and even though part of you wants nothing more than to melt into the bed and to get some relief for your stinging backside, you know he’s still going to chase his own pleasure.

‘He’ll want your mouth,’ you remember.  

You won’t wait for him to force it or grind your face into his privates.  If that’s what he wants, you’ll get there first, and so you drop your head and fumble as you reach with bound wrists for the fly of his pants.

You’re focused on what’s directly in your eyeline, so you don’t see his brief look of surprise, but you hear his voice, sounding pleased.  “Let me help you with that, pet,” he says, pulling away long enough to pull his pants down, stepping out of them.

It’s even more daunting when it’s this close to your face, but he steps back in, cradling your jaw, and you lean in and lick the tip of him.

For a few seconds that’s all you know to do, to lick around him, feeling the ridges and veins under your tongue.  It’s all the verification he could possibly need that you’ve never done this before, and that spurs him on, cradling your head in one large hand as the other guides himself past your lips and into your mouth.

It confirms what you suspected; he’s too big to take all the way and thankfully, doesn’t try to make you.  

Not yet, a part of you thinks.  You try to breathe, try not to get your teeth on him, try to relax and close your eyes as he controls the pace.  It’s easy enough at first; far from the rutting of the past couple of nights.  It doesn’t occur to you that, by his standards anyway, he’s being gentle with you.  Doesn’t occur to you to wonder why.  You just try to keep up as your backside and the backs of your thighs sting like hell and you hope Idrisa will have some sort of lotion for it when you get back to your quarters.

Feyd-Rautha appears to have yet another reason to like your hair, it seems, as he threads his fingers through it, guiding you onto him in slowly greater increments until he’s suddenly over halfway in and you freeze, nearly gagging, forgetting how to breathe.

He holds you in place for a moment, just long enough for your eyes to widen as you glance up at him and his heavy-lidded eyes and chest heaving with arousal.  He waits until you’re about to struggle and tear away from him before he relinquishes your hair and steps away, pulling out.  You take a deep breath, gulping the air down.  

“Stay right there,” he says, and settles in behind you, stroking your hindquarters like you’re a horse that he’s trying to calm down.  Will he put a saddle on you next?  You exhale hard through your nose, mouth pursing, waiting for what he’ll do next.  Will he mark up the stinging raw skin he’s already flogged with his hand?

Fine.  Fuck you again.  I can take whatever you’ve got.  I can handle it , you want to tell him out of spite.   You sense him shift, dipping his head, and despite your steeled nerves can’t help but gasp and feel something flutter in your core when you feel his breath against your lower back.

What exactly is he–? is all you have time to think before he dives in.

You jolt and wriggle in shock as he licks over one of your growing welts; you can’t quite tell but wouldn’t be surprised if he broke skin.  However, it’s how his tongue glides over your backside before shifting his weight to your folds that sends waves of shock, revulsion, and excitement as you cry out, stunned.

He’s licking my wounds .

You’re trying to wrap your head around how salacious it is that his lips and tongue alternate between licking the impacted skin on your buttocks and the backs of your thighs and dipping his tongue inside of you.  He has your hips firmly in place, which serves him well given that you’re torn between recoiling away from the heat of his mouth and wanting to press back against it.  You can feel him smirk at the sounds of your shocked moans.

He pulls away long enough to turn you on your back and you wince at the impact before you see him slide down along the bed and continue the onslaught.  You can hardly believe it as he grabs your still-stinging buttocks and buries his face against your bleeding pussy.

This is disgusting , part of you thinks.  Another part of you can hardly understand what’s happening.  In all your years you’ve never met a man who didn’t recoil hearing about monthly courses.  You’ve never heard of anyone wanting to taste a…a bloody gash .

Your wrists are still bound, and you grip onto the pillows above your head as he lifts your thighs to rest over his shoulders and dives back in, tongue pressing inside of you.  

It feels incredible.   You’d prefer it if it didn’t.  More than anything else, you don’t want to be enjoying this, wish the continuous whines and moans he’s drawing out of you were insincere, but he can feel as well as you do that you mean every sound.  You, Lady Y/N of the powerful and dignified house of Y/H, are getting your bloody pussy licked by the ruthless barbarian Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and Great Mother and every forgotten old god, you’re enjoying every visceral and shocking moment of it.

He knows it, too, the smug bastard.  He probably feels even more powerful like this, on his belly and with his face between your legs, than he did when he was tanning your hide.

He raises one hand from your hip to your breast, giving one of your nipples a cruel pinch, smirking against your slit as you whimper in protest, and continues.  His nose presses and rubs against your bud in the onslaught and you finally admit to yourself that any last vestiges of resistance you might have had has caved when you squirm, rocking your hips upwards and desperately wishing that your wrists were free so you could press his face closer into you.

He keeps up his pace, bringing you as close to the edge as possible without reaching it until finally, mercifully, he shifts his mouth to your bud, his fingers replacing his tongue inside of you.  Your unrestrained cries fill the room, spurring him on, and then the force of it hits you as he brings you over the precipice for the first time.  It feels like it comes in shockwaves, especially as he keeps going through it all.

You’re still pulsing and squirming against his tongue when he stops, raising himself up and leaning over you.  Inky, sticky blood coats the lower part of his face, from his chin to his nostrils, and you’re a little surprised at how the sight doesn’t alarm you as much as it probably should, especially since that’s your blood covering his face.

There are far worse ways he could be smeared with your blood .  You gasp, still, at the striking color against the pallor of his face, reminded of seeing him in the arena. 

He presses damp, open-mouthed kisses against your stomach, your ribcage, your breasts and collarbone, as if to mark you with it.  Finally he sits up, bringing your legs over his as he guides himself into you with his bloodied fingers.

He stays upright as he pulls you onto him, and you watch his face as he looks down where you’re joined, his groan like a rumble in his chest as he sees himself pumping in and out of your bleeding pussy.  He won’t last long, you realize.  He’s been holding himself back from fucking you into the mattress since he visited you in your chambers hours ago. 

He curves in then, bracing one hand above your head to grip your still-bound wrists as his other hand grabs your hip to keep you stable.  You realize what he’s about to do a split second before it can happen.

He’s going to kiss you with that bloody mouth .

You tamp down on the revulsion of it and the coppery smell, again refusing to let him shock you or give you anything you can’t take and move in first, leaning up and capturing his mouth in a kiss.  

He groans into it, hips pumping, tongue invading your mouth as he speeds up, going hard, hips snapping into you.  He’s relentless; this would be agonizing if he hadn’t worked you open and pliant with his lips and tongue and even still, it veers on the edge of being overwhelming.  Your whimpers and cries only encourage him.

And then he finally comes, burying his face in the crux of your neck and biting down, not hard enough to draw blood but enough that it will leave a bruise later.

For a moment the two of you stay that way, then he releases your wrists and sinks down onto you, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he pulls out and takes a moment to catch his breath.  After a moment he raises himself back up on his forearms, pauses, and takes in the sight of your face and your lips stained red before reaching for your wrists again and untying the rope; once freed you notice that your skin’s been chafed rosy but still fully intact.  

He gets up, and you watch the lines of his legs, the slope and curve of his buttocks, the taper from his shoulders to his waist as he gets up and sets the rope back in the armoire before finally closing it shut.

Guess he’s done for the night .

But is he going to send me back right away? you wonder, turning to your side to watch the way he moves.  It takes some effort.  You feel as depleted as a rung-out damp rag.

He approaches the bed and wordlessly holds out his hand, and once you take it guides you to your feet and leads you into this bathroom.

Like his bedroom, it’s larger than yours.

He doesn’t let you wash your blood off your body; he wants it to remain on you until it dries and peels off on its own.  Instead he wipes his face, rinses and cleans out his mouth, and gives you a cup of water to do the same.  He wipes off in between his legs and then yours, quiet and strangely peaceful.  He takes another cloth and wets it, and then grabs a small bottle out of a drawer.  “Turn around, hands on the counter,” he says.

Fairly certain you know what he’s about to do, you acquiesce.  “Did you draw blood?” you ask over your shoulder.

He shakes his head.  “Not this time,” he says.  “Wasn’t trying to.”  And then he surprises you by getting down on one knee.

You give a small gasp.  It just seems…lewd?  Subservient?  And tired and sore as you are, you can’t help the twinge you feel in between your legs as he gingerly presses the cloth against your reddened skin.  You grip the countertop tighter as he opens the bottle of what you can only assume is ointment because after a moment his fingertips are smeared in a cool balm that offers such sweet relief you drop your head, trying to hold yourself together when your legs feel like they’re about to give out and you can feel Feyd-Rautha’s breath so close to the sensitive skin of your backside.

He seems to be applying the ointment to the worst of the welts, starting in silence and then adding, “You’re sensitive, but you have a decent pain tolerance.  I like that.”

You huff a laugh.  I bet you say that to all the girls, you almost tell him, and immediately think that that’s probably not true.  If it weren’t for the fact that he’s tending to your wounds you’d assume that he’d never do anything like this.  Something tells you that this small act of kindness isn’t to be taken lightly or for granted.

Once he seems satisfied with his work he gets back up, sneaking a glance of your face in the mirror.

Is he thinking about how much you’ve already changed since you’ve met? Since you’ve married?  When you see your reflection you don’t see the same person you did a week ago.  Of course he didn’t know you a week ago.  He barely knows you now.  Still, when your eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you with something almost close to affection before he leaves the bathroom.

“Stay the night,” he says when you walk over to your abandoned clothes so you can gather them up, get dressed, and return to your chambers.

You look over at him.

“I’ll want to sample you again first thing in the morning,” he explains, “so it’s more convenient if you remain here.”

You huff, torn between incredulity and amusement.  “Taking advantage of the situation while we still can, are we?” you ask.

“I doubt it’ll come again for another ten months,” he says, and then strides, still naked, for the door.  He opens it, and a few words of battle-language later he shuts again.  He sees your confused expression and explains, “Your slave was still waiting for you.  I told her to go.”  He tilts his head in the direction of his bed, and after a moment you follow.  It appears that he doesn’t even want you to pull your undergarment back on.

As soon as you’re under the covers with him he tugs down your end of it to get one last look at your marked chest.  And after he’s looked his fill, he reaches for a switch that turns off the lights and even as the two of you can’t quite see each other, you still find yourselves on your sides facing one another.

“I wake up earlier than you’re probably used to and I’m a light sleeper.  Your slave assured me that you don’t snore,” he says.

“Not that I’m aware of,” you tell him.

“Once you stop bleeding I’m going to start having you train in my Halls,” he adds.  “I was serious earlier.”

“But for the next few days I’m chained to this bed.”

“That could be arranged,” he says.  “In any case you weren’t complaining when I was licking your cunt earlier.”

He won’t see your flush, but he must know that it’s there.  “So… is it safe to assume that none of this is…” you try to find the right words, “typical?  For a man, I mean.” And in quite possibly the biggest understatement you’ve ever made, “You’re not a normal man.”

You’ve adjusted enough to the dark to see his smirk.  “I think you've known that since before we met, Y/N,” he says.  And after a moment he lays his head, settling in and getting comfortable.  He doesn’t say another word to you that night, just closes his eyes and within a couple of minutes his breath slows.

It’s hard to imagine being able to let your guard down enough with this man to sleep beside him, even if he falls asleep first.  Like sleeping beside a wild animal.  

Sleep does come to you, though, after long minutes watching him sleep, waiting for him to wake up and scare you, lunge for you, and it doesn’t happen.

You turn to your other side, facing away from him then, and the only signal you get that he’s not entirely asleep is that as you start to drift off yourself, he reaches one arm to pull you in closer to him.

Tag list: @wo-ming-bai @blazeflays @richardslady121

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#feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha smut #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd x you #dune fanfiction

[konigsblog]

pleaseee more kidnapper!ghost with soap and reader, i'm loving it😵‍💫

tw/cw: forced rape, rape/non-con, kidnapping, punishment, tell me if missed anything! 🩸🔪

kidnapper!ghost kidnapping his two pretties...

he can't get enough of the sight of you together, especially when you're trying so hard to be discreet about fucking eachother out of pure sexual frustration and desperation for your release!! you're not like that -- just friends that care of eachothers needs.

simon will force johnny to take part in your punishments, whether that's forcing him to rape your tight hole on repeat while he records, or having johnny push your head down onto simon's leaking, throbbing cock. regardless, you always forgive johnny. crying for his affection and softness after being all roughened up.

if simon hadn't already shown you his face, he'd keep the mask on. for anonymity and fear purpose. before, you weren't afraid of simon, but now he's no longer simon, a ghost of what he once was.

“c’mere, johnny. don’t think you’re gettin’ off scot-free’.” simon growls, watching as johnny — the man who you knew to be fearless and fierce — meekly and shyly walked up to simon, trembling with agony. “and don’t think you’re not gonna’ be helpin’ me.” he adds, ordering you infront of johnny's bent over figure.

you don't even have to move your head, because each thrust simon makes into johnny forces his length further down your throat. he's humilated when he cums all over your face — and you can tell he's trying so hard to mutter out an apology through tears, but he's so muffled and quiet that you just have to rub his thigh in soothing circles, nodding while jerking him off, tears in your waterline.

#orla speaks #tw: rape #tw: non con #tw: dubcon #cnc kidnapping #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #male yandere #soap x reader x ghost #ghost x reader x soap #ghost headcanon #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod modern warfare #soap call of duty #soap cod #john soap mactavish #ghost mwii #ghost x reader