#tw non-con

[creepling]

that boy is a monster - j. slaughter / 2.6k

in contribution with THE HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompts: sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

summary: everyone comes and goes from the slaughter residence, either as survivors or stacks of meat. but as you escape and run further into the woods, johnny won't let you go that easy.

tags: DEAD DOVE - read at your own risk. smut. MINORS DNI. fem!reader. non-con. hunter/prey. knife/blood-play. descriptive injury. narcissistic johnny. fem penetration. blood hunger. choking. roughplay. slapping. kidnapped ending.

It would help to know the surroundings. Sprint the track to get to the finish line. But you’re bleeding. Your legs ache, and the tree branches are tearing at your skin. The calls of the Slaughter family echo in the distance.

Running for your life is supposed to be the escape. You’re out of the house, but your heroic end is not at a close. You have to keep running. You have to survive. And one person, in particular, will not give you up so easily.

“You’re the reason this is happening. You brought them damn kids here. You go get ‘er!” Drayton told off Johnny, waving his bloody stick towards the exit you stumbled out of.

Johnny was cool in his stance. He is cleaning his knife, sharpening its blade. He admires the glint of it in the moonlight, a sly smirk winking back at him in its reflection.

“Keep yer panties on, old man. I’ll get her,” He brushes off the Cook, swaggering towards the gate.

With his family seeing him off, Nubbie chuckles and cheers him on. Sissy claps and howls. “Bring her back fresh now, ye hear!”

Johnny was not going to share. He wants to play with his food and keep you all to himself. Once he finds you, you’re going to scream. He will have your insides, grip your flesh and suck your blood. His family will not have a nip of you. You’re all his.

The beginning of the hunt sent Johnny’s instincts into overdrive. Your shadow mystifies into the forest, and he picks up the pace to dive into the belly of the beast. He grunts as he sprints, inhaling the air. He was only human, but everything in his attitude was animalistic. A coyote in a man’s body, wanting to catch your scent, embarks on the trail you left behind and chases you until your soft flesh is between his teeth.

Deep within the sun-dried trees, Johnny halts his speed and listens to the silence. He peered his hearing for the snap of a twig, the ruffle of a leaf, anything to assume you were close by. He crouches to the earth and calculates the ground. His eye caught an indent, your shoe print heavy in the dry dirt, the heel dragged out, exposing your struggle. Johnny was mesmerised for a moment, then he advanced, tailing the track of your footprints to the direction of your hiding spot. He arrives at a dead end, cursing under his breath. He catches a look above, checking the trees, but both the trees and you are too fragile to hold weight. His eyes scan the horizon, wondering how far you have gone.

“I’m gonna find ya soon enough, sweetheart. Why don’t you come out, and we can get this over with?” Johnny called into the night, his skin tingling at the thought of you nearby.

He was closer than you thought. Tugged low in the dip of the earth, you bite the inside of your cheeks and muffle any sound of panic that threatens to burst. You may be bleeding, tired, and traumatised, but you will not give up. If he wants you to meet the same faint as your friends, he will have to come and get you.

At the deafening silence, Johnny sighs. It was long and drawn, but it soon shifted into a chuckle, and he gripped the handle of his knife tighter. “Fine, I like the challenge.”

Johnny advances, his footsteps descending to whisper when you decide to leave your hiding spot. You drag your limping body in the opposite direction, clenching your side as a cramp takes over. You look around with alert eyes, hoping to find an opening or another hiding spot if he is close. Your hope dwindles at the same scenery repeating: trees, branches, dirt. Over and over. No sounds alert you, making your eyelids droop and blur your vision. You look down at your body, your clothes drenched in blood, giving sense to your lightheadedness. The blood loss and dehydration were slowly creeping up and taking over you. Legs wobbling, making you fall.

“Come on,” You whispered, “You can do this.”

Johnny had his eyes on you. He watches you struggle, crouching within the dry branches. Your pain and fatigue amuse him, reassuring him that mortality can be handy for this line of passion. He loved a prey’s fear, how it ignites them with the endurance to keep living. Yet, the thing that is chasing them will always catch them. It can only get them so far. It lets them die with a fight still in them. People call that honour, but to Johnny, it is the thrill of the game.

It has been long enough. Johnny watches you collapse, grunting at the pain taking over, your knees buckling as you try to crawl your way further. Johnny cracks his neck and readies his blade, his heavy steps approaching you.

“I gotta hand it to ya. You got some fight in ya,” Johnny mused, towering over your struggling state.

The widening of your eyes made Johnny chuckle, tuts leaving his mouth as you began to sob.

“Come on now, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Not yet, anyway,” Johnny grips the back of your hair, yanking your head from the ground and crouching down on top of you. His legs saddle your sides, squeezing in to hold you in place. You catch the glint of his knife hovering over your throat, threatening to slice if you struggle.

“Ma mama always got at me for playing with my food as a kid. I never grew out of it. Y’know why?” Johnny presses his lips to your ear. You could now hear the husk in his voice.

“Because I fuckin’ love it,”

Your hands grip the earth, and a scream bellows from your strained throat, sirening through the trees, making birds take flight. Johnny shoves your head to the ground to silence you, pressing his blade tighter to the skin of your throat.

“You shout one more time, and I’ll cut you,” He spat, causing you to dwindle your struggle into small whimpers.

“Just kill me, please,” You plead, Johnny on top of you, detecting that you would rather be dead than be at his mercy.

Johnny enjoys having the upper hand far too much, grazing his gloved hand down your spine, lingering on the skin exposed from your summer blouse. He glances at the cuts littering your exposed arms, blood dripping from a knick on your shoulder. Johnny licks his lips in anticipation, locking his lips on your wound. You gasp, cringing at the suction from his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cut and soaking his mouth with your blood.

As if energy surged through him, Johnny groans at your taste, licking his lips dry. Your taste is sweetly metallic. He has never tasted something so pure—the blood of a lamb or a calf, laced with innocence and avoidant of bitterness. Johnny’s eyes wander down at you like the discovery of the Holy Grail. “You taste amazing.”

Johnny grips your arm and manhandles you to lie on your back, your arms feeble in your struggle. Johnny scans your body for more wounds, grunting in annoyance as most were muddy grazes. His legs add pressure to your sides, his hand nipping at the hem of your blouse.

“Keep still,” Johnny orders sternly, moving his knife to your shirt and cutting the thin fabric with the blade. You whine in defiance, but your top is torn off completely and tossed to one side. Johnny stares at the curvature of your bra, tucking his knife under the band and slicing it swiftly. Your breasts graze with goosebumps at your exposure. You squeeze your eyes shut from the humility. Johnny runs his knife down your left breast, the blunt end teasing your hardening nipple.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” He breathes out, removing his glove with the pinch of his teeth. His bare, rough hand grips your breast, making you squirm. You glance up at Johnny, the maddening of his eyes, the flex of his muscles as he holds you in place. Sweat glistens on his face. You feel warmth between your legs as Johnny’s bulge presses against your stomach.

Without warning, Johnny slices a small incision on your soft breast, making you gasp from the shot of pain. Johnny immediately locks his lips on the fresh slice, his tongue collecting your new blood, letting a groan vibrate against you. He sucks your breast as he would with your nipple, except his infatuation is solely on your blood. Your fingers lace through his hair, and you attempt to yank him away, but he points his blade quickly to your throat.

“Move your hand, or I’ll cut you open,” Johnny threatens, pressing the blade hard, alerting panic within you.

“I can’t- I can’t do this, please,” You beg, “I want to go home,”

“Is this not want you want, darlin’?” Johnny teased, “Your cunt says otherwise.”

His head motions down and between your legs, sliding his fingers along the denim fabric of your shorts. Your throat hitches, and your legs tense, locking eyes with the darkening stare from Johnny.

“You want this, I know you want this,” Johnny mutters against his lips, “Let me make you feel good. I need this, darlin’, you gotta give yourself to me.”

His lips lock roughly with yours, his kiss hard - possibly laced with a lingering passion. You taste your blood on his tongue. You moan unexpectedly.

“See? You taste so good. Let me taste you more,” Johnny said as if he were asking, but you know you have no choice.

The sound of panic bubbles in your throat as you feel Johnny’s hands unbutton your shorts, yelping as he tugs the tight fabric down your legs. He crawls his fingers under your pants, catching your slick cunt with the tip of his fingers, collecting your wetness. Johnny groans, reaching his fingers to his lips and licking your juices. Just as sweet as your blood, warm and intoxicating.

Johnny grinds his hips down onto you before unbuckling his jeans, tossing his belt to your eye level. Your eyes trail to the sky, your mind dissociating at the sound of his jeans undone. Johnny preys your legs wider apart with his thighs, the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me, darlin’. Still sure you don’t want this?” Johnny’s pride swells at your defeat, pupils dilated at the sight of yours glazed and lost.

“I would rather be dead,” You said airily, almost inaudible. Johnny narrows his eyes, power swelling in his muscles. He wants you to beg for his cock or mercy; it does not matter.

Without warning, Johnny thrusts his cock inside, and pain shoots up your spine. He was big, more significant than you have ever taken, and he was stretching you out. You squeeze your eyes shut, and the tears trapped in your waterline pour down your cheeks. You silence the yelps filled with pain to adjust to the horrible feeling. But your cunt was wet, wet enough for Johnny to thrust deeper inside you and hold his length firmly inside you.

“Fuuuck,” Johnny groaned. Your walls clenched around his cock, and his hands grip the sides of your waist. “Sucha tight little pussy,” Johnny chuckled.

You shift your body back and forth to adjust to the pain, but it paralysed you, and Johnny drilled you deeper into the ground with the weight of his body. The cool earth stings your wounds and gathers in the grooves of your skin. It is disgusting. It is revolting. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Fuck you,” You spit at Johnny, manifesting your cunt to grow teeth and bite his cock clean.

Johnny furrowed his brows at your revolt, burning a glare to your core. “The fuck you say to me?” Johnny smacked your face, stunning you, but you force eye contact.

“I said fuck you, you fucking-“ Your rage stopped short at the shuddering pain shooting through you. Johnny digs his knife into your side, toying with an open wound. You squirm, scream, try to pry him off you, but his other hand pins your wrists above your head, and his cock is stuffed deeper inside you.

“You really think talking to me like that is a good idea?” Johnny scoffs, watching the pain in your expression with perverted fascination. “Such a stupid ‘lil brat. I need to teach you a lesson.”

The pain melted into numbness. Your eyes drift further away from reality, and Johnny amps his stamina. It seemed neverending, his cock pumping into your cunt, the depth of his thrusts consistent. Johnny’s body towers over you, his knife tossed to the side. It proved useless as your body grew limp, the strength of Johnny’s arms pinning you in place enough to restrict your escape. No more were you retaliating to Johnny’s dominance.

“That’s it, good girl. Take it,” Johnny grunted, but he was not satisfied with your reaction. Lying there as you get fucked dumb, staring into space. He needs you to be compliant, to be grateful. Johnny tugs your hair and forces your gaze onto him, bathing in your bewildered stare.

“C’mon girl, I know you want this. Say how much you want it,” Johnny demands, continuing to rut into your pulsing cunt.

“I-” It was hard to string words together, but you had nowhere to look except deep in Johnny’s hunter eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Say it, fucking say it,” Johnny grew impatient, smacking his fingers over your cheeks, hoping that knocked sense into you.

“I want you, Johnny,” You sobbed, mesmerised by his insanity.

“Yeah, you fucking do. Start thanking me for fucking you so good,” Johnny enfolds his cock deep inside, holding it in place until you speak what he wants to hear.

“Thank you,” You swallow the lump in your throat, “You’re so good at fucking me. I want you to keep fucking me.”

Swelling with pride, Johnny exhales a deep groan and continues to drill into you, picking up the pace. He felt his climax ascending from his core, gazing at the bounce of your tits, your plump skin covered in the blood he poured from you. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“I’m so close, darlin’. Fuuuck,” Johnny wraps his callous hand around your throat, suppressing your air flow until you see stars.

Johnny rutted his cock to ride his high. You feel the strips of warmth melt from your slit as he pulls out, his pants hot and misty against your neck. Your eyes trail over to Johnny, buckling his jeans and quickly putting on your underwear and shorts.

“Sorry about your blouse,” He mutters, removing his tank top and putting it on you. There is no point in convincing yourself he did it out of the kindness of his heart, as it is to carry you back to the place you tried to escape from and not make the rest of the family suspicious.

Johnny lifts you and tosses your body over his shoulder, your mind and body too exhausted and petrified to wiggle from his grasp. “Let’s take you back home,” He says.

Home. That place was not your home. But to Johnny, he is making it your home. There goes the days of elaborate escapes, deception and retribution. He will have you wrapped around his figure. He shall convince you that no one else cares for you. Only he will protect you, care for you, and love you. 

Welcome to the family. 

#johnny slaughter x reader #johnny sawyer x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm game #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter #creepling.brainrot #tw non-con #tcm fanfic #hauntedhoedown

[envy-of-the-apple]

Yandere!Mahito x reader

sorry for the long wait! I cant write smut and i kept rewriting parts cuz id be like ‘wait he’s being too nice, fuck i forgot he’s a terrible person’ and just delete like five paragraphs. 

I’m def missing a few warnings. let me know what i gotta add

(Warning: General existence of Mahito, tw rape/noncon, unsafe sex, dark content, overstimulation, a tad too much licking ) 

word count 2.9k~

Part one is here

Look Pt2 

18+ content below

You often wondered what was better: to live in ignorant bliss or know the cruel truth? 

You asked your friend this question once. She told you that she’d prefer to live with the truth, that living a lie would be absolutely mind-crushing. 

You instantly knew she couldn’t see them either. 

A snap of fingers brings you back. Mahito’s grinning, tilting his head as he observes you. He looks amused. 

“Pretending not to see me won’t work again. Nice try though, it’s kind of adorable how stupid you are,” He leans forward, roughly pinching your cheek. 

It hurts. You try not to wince. 

“I-I wasn’t,” You weakly argue, “I swear.” 

You weren’t lying. There was really no use in pretending anymore. There was no use in fighting back either. He’d won. 

No, it was more like you had lost from the start. 

Mahito hummed. His fingers started playing with the end of your shirt. 

Oh, right. 

You weren’t surprised. Mahito had heavily hinted how deep his obsession with you went. The looks, the sensual touches. You expected something like this. 

Expectation didn’t make it any less nerve-wrecking. 

Your hesitance seemed to excite Mahito further. You’d barely touched your shirt before hands were gripping the hem to pull. Rebellion was instinctive. You jerked your shirt back, then you felt something sharp.

A claw, much bigger than Mahito’s other four fingers, was nestled beside your stomach. You could barely understand how he could change his body like that, how that could even be possible, when he pushed. He gently tapped on skin, not enough to draw blood, just a silent warning. Behave. 

You immediately stilled. 

“Good.” Mahito tugs your shirt off. “Much better.”

It isn’t cold, but you still shiver. The stinging in your eyes was back. You hunch over, covering your chest with your hands. 

You’re not looking at Mahito anymore-you can’t- preferring to keep your eyes shut. He doesn’t seem to mind, at least he doesn’t seem to voice any complaints. Instead, he leans closer and you could feel something wet caress your bare shoulder. 

A hot wet tongue tails over your clavicle, leaving a line of drool on your skin. You feel disgusted, dull sparks explode from where he touched you. He gripped your waist as his mouth found your neck and he bites. 

You manage to suppress your shriek. It hurts. It was like Mahito was planning on actually eating you. He wanted to rip you apart, you were sure of it, leaving only bones behind. 

He pulls away and, through slitted eyes, you can see his mouth is stained with blood-your blood. He’s panting, barely restrained fingers are running over your chest. They’re trailing down the strap of your bra. His hands are feverish, greedy. He looked like he needed more. 

And you couldn’t stop him. 

Mahito isn’t asking you anymore, more interested in just ripping your clothes off himself. He doesn’t bother trying to figure out the bra clasps, not when he can just slice the front, barely missing your flesh. You don’t have time to react before he’s meeting sensitive skin. 

His hands are cold, it’s all what you can think as they travel to your tits, traversing your burning flesh. His fingers are too firm, pressing into your skin, hands of the inexperienced, but it’s sending shivers of something up your shoulders. And then you’re barely thinking because his face nuzzles into the crook of your neck again and bites again.

You aren’t ready for it, not with his touches being an already huge distraction. You aren’t ready and something small and needy pushes through your throat. A sigh. 

You stiffen and Mahito’s pausing. His hands retract a bit, as if suddenly unsure and he’s pulling away, looking up. He tilts his head and you feel heat flood your cheeks. The taste of shame is fresh on your tongue.

He grins. 

“Hey,” He whispers breathily, “Think you can do that again?” 

It’s anger, you know it’s anger, and you’re about to scream before Mahito’s ducking back down, fingers clamping over your tits to squeeze. 

He’s touching you everywhere, not giving a moment of reprieve. To him, you respond beautifully, reluctantly arching your back, giving him gasps and moans that seem to grow louder the more insistent he gets. He’s rough and you’re sure there’ll be marks tomorrow, constant reminders of what you’ve done today. 

It’s so much and you’re barely noticing his hands trail down, past your stomach leaving cold trails in his wake. You don’t notice until you feel a tugging on your skirt and your eyes fly open as you realize far too late. 

“Wait,” You start, trying to shift away. He doesn’t let you, “Wait, just wait please-” 

You’re forgetting his threats, squirming and the beginnings of a rebel taking shape. Mahito’s quick to suppress, fluidly reaching over to pin you against the soft cushions. One hand on your hip, the other around your neck. He’s not squeezing. There’s just the tiniest hint of pressure, waiting. 

His eyes are wide, giddy, as he scans your face, the redness in your eyes, your tear streaked face. You try to sink into the pillows as he leans closer, his tongue darting out to lick your cheek. Your tears, you faintly realize. You wondered if he could taste what he did to you, if he could distinguish the feelings of anguish, dread, fear, all nestled in salty water. 

“Please.” You say again. A whisper. A beg. 

His smile widens, but he doesn’t answer. He loves this. You know he does. After weeks of being unresponsive, Mahito can finally see you look at him, tremble, fear him, hate him. 

He wants you to hate him even more. 

You know you’re giving him exactly what he wants, but as he slides down your skirt, the fear in your heart palpitates again and you can’t help it. You can feel your heartbeat quicken on Mahito’s thumb. He’s feeling it too.  

The skirt pools on the floor, the only thing you’re in is the ripped up bra and your panties. He shifts again, the hand leaves your neck as he sinks to the floor, right between your thighs. He leans his head against your thighs and you can feel his gray hair swish against your legs. It’s oddly soft. Almost human-like. 

Everything about him is almost human-like.

“You’re oddly protective of this area,” He hums, eyes flicking up to engulf your looks of panic. 

You don’t respond, but he isn’t really looking for an answer. Mahito instead focused on your rising heat, fingers just barely caressing the soft skin of your thigh. His hands suddenly clamp down in a squeeze. You jerk. He laughs. It’s cruel. 

You think you could handle it when Mahito’s finger starts moving closer, just barely skimming your panties. You expected it. Predicated it. There was no way to get out of this. There’s still this feeling of dread that comes when he places a forefinger on your clothed slit, just barely moving up and down. There’s something else too. Something that you’re trying to push away. It’s strong, an urge, and you’re praying you’re stronger. 

But his actions are growing bolder and the shame gives away to a dull spark of pleasure. You flinch. Mahito notices. It’s all the motivation he needs because he’s humming, head moving closer to latch onto your clothed pussy. You squeak, hips jerking as you try to shift away from the sudden heat. His hands keep you in place, as well as a sharp glance up. 

His mouth is dripping with hot saliva. It completely soaks your panties as his tongue lurks out to press against the cloth. The heat and pressure engulfs your pussy and a gasp threatens to break from your mouth. You’re sucking in cold air, hoping it's enough to cool your body. 

It isn’t. 

He’s not quiet either. Mahito lets out a loud moan, pressing further into your clit. It sounds so dirty, and something warm swirls in your stomach again. 

He leans back, and you think he’s finally done with tormenting you but the demon is just pulling out your panties. He lets the cloth fall to your ankles. 

Mahito grins, clearly enjoying what he’s seeing. The satisfied look on his face makes something in you jolt. 

“Is this what you were hiding?” Mahito reaches to push into your folds, “You’re dripping.” 

Humiliation is suffocating. For once, you are glad these horrid sights are for you only. 

He’s ducking down, this time paying close attention to your clit. It’s so much worse now. Your hands are reaching down, grabbing fistfuls of his hair to tug. He doesn’t even seem to care, humming in delight. 

He didn't know what he was doing. His moments are too fast, then too slow, there’s no rhythm for you to hold on to. It’s mindless. Inexperience. 

But it doesn’t matter because it’s working. It’s working and you’re sinking into the cushions, gasping as his tongue swirls circles around your clit. He’s slow, taking his time, building something up from scraps of you. Your hands no longer try to push him away but just hold on as your hips start to move on their own, reacting to his messy rhythm. 

Unconsciously, you pull him closer.

He’s voicing his appreciation, actual words muffled by skin. You can feel his tongue raking up and down your slit, crudely taking it all in. His teeth carelessly bump against your clit. You hiss at that. He doesn’t bother apologizing. 

Despite his attention diverting, he doesn’t let himself get too distracted. When your hand comes up to muffle your pathetic sounds, thick fingers wrap themselves around your wrists, yanking the appendage down to your hip. His groan of disapproval reverberates through you, and you suppress as shudder.  

You barely get a hint, there’s just the slightest tease of a breath, the smallest lick, before his mouth is enveloping your clit to suck and you’re gone. 

There’s an implosion, a sagging wave of pleasure and relief. You throw your head back, not even bothering to clamp down the scream as something good washes over your body. You are barely remembering to breathe. It’s too much and you feel yourself falling back to earth but you can’t you just can’t because Mahito’s picking up the pace, going faster and faster and- 

Oh. 

“You’re not stopping,” You gasp, “Why-why aren’t you stopping-?” The question is cut off by a dull moan, pulled out of you by Mahito’s feverish tongue. 

He doesn’t answer, more intent on pressing harsher, pushing deeper, and you’re dizzyingly wondering if he’s trying to kill you, if this is how you’re going to go, trapped by unyielding pleasure. Too strong. Too much. 

You’re forgetting the position you're in, your reluctant willingness, and you move to pull away, just for some relief. A harsh bite on your thigh makes you yelp. 

Mahito’s still smiling. But there’s a warning in his eyes. A dull sort of annoyance. 

“I’m not done yet,” He frowns, “So stay still.” 

Warmth meets your oversensitive pussy again and it’s finally finally clicking in your messy mind. He’s experimenting. Exploring. He wants to know every inch of you. Every single step to make you crack. Every human weakness. 

One down, a thousand more to go. 

It’s after your second orgasm when he finally pulls away. The lower half of his face is covered in remnants of you. He’s greedily licking it up, not letting a single drop go to waste. You don’t have the mental capacity to be disgusted, breathlessly watching as he lifts himself off his knees, eagerly crawling over your exhausted body. 

He’s not done with you, he’s not kind enough for that. Hands cage you on the couch, not leaving much room to escape. Lowering himself on top of you, Mahito’s quick to resume his earlier ministrations, glazing his tongue across your bare shoulder. Your skin is hot under his mouth. You jerk, arching your back, hoping to get away from his touch. All it does is give better access to your neck, which Mahito quickly indulges himself in. 

“Fuck,” He pulls away, “I really can’t get enough of you.” 

You peer up at him. Much to your dismay, he fiddles with his pants, impatiently jerking the fabric down. You try not to look but, much like a car crash that’s too horrific to not gawk at, you’re staring at the bulge in pants, flinching when something hot and blunt rests against your thigh.

“I haven’t really found a use for this,” He breathes lowly in your ear, “Well, I guess until now.” 

He’s not patient, then again you never pegged him as someone who waits. He’s quick to angle himself with your wet hole, before thrusting his entire length in one single movement.

It hurts. You’re squeezing your eyes shut, a few stray tears falling down your cheeks. His hands move to settle on your hips, but other than that he doesn’t move. When the pain subsides, you peer up to look at him. Mismatched eyes stare back. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

Without warning, he gives an experimental jerk. You wince, and your walls clench around his cock. He grins. 

“That’s it,” He coos, starting a messy tempo, “Just like that.” 

He doesn’t start off slow, why would he? It’s not like he’s your lover, overwhelming you with complete adoration, hoping you like this just as much as he does. He doesn’t care about your comfort, your likes, your preferences. Mahito just wants you to lay like that, underneath him, twitching and moaning and pliant. He wants to use you like a sex doll and you just have to take it. 

Your mind is screaming all this to you, but your traitorous body is humming, slowly becoming more and more aroused by his movements. Your walls continue to betray you, letting his movements become less jerky, more fluid. Out of curiosity, he angles his hips a little forward, coincidentally hitting that spot inside you. You mewl. 

“So loud,” He breathes, “I think you might like me.” 

Not coherent enough to form words, you just glare. Offended, he continues to press on that spot, giving a lecherous grin when your eyes widen and you throw your head back in a silent scream. 

He wasn’t watching before, but he certainly is now. You can feel his gaze raking over your face, drinking in every expression, every tremble, every gasp. Unlike you, he seems barely affected by what he’s doing. He’s far more interested in what he’s doing to you. His eyes are crinkled in a leering stare, and there’s a wide grin on his face. Disturbing. Unsettling. 

He’s a fucking creep. 

But you don’t have the luxury to cuss him out, do anything to really make him know it, because he’s picking up the pace, going faster than what should be humanly possible. When he starts to lean dangerously forward, your hands shoot out to grab his shoulders, pushing him as far away from you as you can. His fingers run across your body, tweaking your tits. Another moan spills out of your throat, reluctant pleasure overwhelms you. 

He catches your mouth before you can shut it, jamming two fingers past your lips, depressing your tongue. Your eyes widen and it’s instinct to bite, lurch. He doesn’t let you get far, forcing your head back into the soft cushions. 

You feel him spread his fingers on your tongue, pressing against the inside of your cheeks. He approves of what he sees because he laughs, rolling his hips in a way that has you keening. His fingers act like a gag, making you unable to anything but hum pathetically in his hold. 

“Oh,” Mahito suddenly coos, “You’re drooling.” 

Of course you are. Mahito doesn’t look the slightest bit disgusted, if anything, he looks eager. 

You can’t do anything but shiver as he invades your space once again, removing his fingers to replace it with his mouth. It isn’t a kiss, it barely even resembles one. There’s too much teeth, too much pressure. It’s too greedy, too domineering, too much. 

But you’re starting to see him be affected by this. Blood is rushing to his face; he looks drunk. Mahito’s grinning in pure euphoria, watching as you writhe and squirm underneath him. You think he gets off to this. How helpless you are beneath him. 

He’s barely touched you, but it takes little time to finally fall. It’s sudden, this time. There’s no build up or slow wash of relief. It’s almost blinding. You see white as something something something barrels through your body. You seize, squeezing his cock tighter as you mindlessly ride your orgasm against him. 

Mahito’s not far behind. He gives a short groan, humming into your mouth, before he gives a final shaky push. You feel something warm disperse into your pussy. You can’t even think to scream before he’s stilling above you, just moments away from feeling the pangs of overstimulation. 

You two stay like that for a while. He doesn’t move, still deep inside you. He allows you to catch your breathing, barely even moving, content to just listen to your harsh breaths, your mind still fuzzy to truly understand what happened. At some point, your hands had moved, now lazily wrapped around his shoulders in and effort to stabilize you. 

You’re breaking out of the haze when Mahito starts laughing. It’s giddy, slightly breathless. He breaks away from your lips, moving to bury himself in your sensitive neck. You can feel his hair again, soft on your skin. 

“See?” He says, nuzzling your neck. 

“I told you it’d be fun.” 

#yandere mahito x reader #mahito #yandere jjk x reader #tw non-con #tw overstimulation #jjk #yandere #dark content #i feel like i should add more tags #but idk what #non con kissing #non con touching #Smut

[serickswrites]

To Hurt and To End V

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Warnings: captivity, noncon, restraints, gags, yandere, knife, blood, cuts

Supervillain was very satisfied with Hero. Hero was everything Supervillain had dreamed of. Their soft moans around the gag. The hatred in their eyes as Supervillain touched them. And the quiet rage that kept them from responding to Supervillain. 

“Oh, my sweet, it will be lovely, you just have to let yourself enjoy it. I am a kind, and generous lover,” Supervillain cooed as they continued to work Hero in one hand and caress Hero’s chest with their other. 

Hero glared up at Supervillain, unable to move away due to the cuffs and unable to speak due to the gag. All they could do was glare. And wait. Eventually Supervillain would stop and they could make their move. 

Hero was wrong. 

As Supervillain took their time with Hero over the next few days, Hero realized that Supervillain simply willed them to sleep each time they finished. It was only after Supervillain began to speak about the passage of time that Hero realized it. 

“We’ve had such a good few days, Hero. I’ve been enjoying my time with you. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. But I’m ready to commence the next phase of our relationship.”

“MMMMphrrr,” Hero growled around the gag as Supervillain pulled out a long, sharp knife. Hero tried to pull away as Supervillain climbed on top of them. 

“Hero, you are mine to hold,” Supervillain cupped Hero’s cheek. “Mine to do as I wish with,” their fingers tranced down Hero’s jaw and to their nipple. Supervillain gave a quick squeeze before speaking again. “Mine to hurt,” they slashed along Hero’s collar bone. 

Hero screamed around the gag as they felt their skin split and hot blood leak from the shallow cut. Supervillain made two more slashes. Hero’s heart was thudding in their chest as they felt the blood begin to coat their skin. This was not good. 

Supervillain gave a wicked grin. “Yes, sweet Hero. Remember, you are mine to hurt.” They slashed once more. “And eventually, you’ll be mine to end.” And they stabbed the knife to the hilt through Hero’s hand.

Tags: @daemonvatis@hopefullywritingahit@whoelseuprebloging@terriblywhumpy @coffin-comforts @madmadder @kyoukatsuki @pebbles-pile @crapimintoeverything @ccieatchildren @

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw non-con #tw restraints #tw gags #tw yandere #tw knife #tw blood #tw cuts #hero #supervillain #hero x supervillain #hero x villain community #queue

[wastemanjohn]

Title: this be the verse

Link: AO3

Bingo Square Filled: First Kiss

Ship: Dean Winchester/Mary Winchester, Dean Winchester/John Winchester

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence; Rape/Non-Con

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Incest, Anger Issues, Trauma, Violence, Mommy Issues, Daddy Issues, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape/non-con elements, Bunker Era, Nightmares, Dream Sequence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Word Count: 6,827

Summary: There are a lot of things that Dean doesn’t tell Mary about her husband. It’s best that John stays 27 in her head forever, like Hendrix or something, young and beautiful and fucked up in a pretty unremarkable way.

#fic #my writing #biting my fucking nails over this one lmao #risky shit #On all levels #deanmary #johndean #tw non-con #tw past sa

[thorniest-rose]

Headcannon that Steve takes sleeping pills a lot for nightmares/insomnia, he got into the habit as his mom is a bit of a prescription addition so it's become part of his nightly routine, stalker!Eddie finds this out when he climbs into Steve's window late at night only to find him floaty and pliant, unfocused eyes blinking up at him, going in and out of sweet unconsciousness. Eddie can do anything to him, cuddle up to him, touch him, talk to him, and the only thing Steve is left with is blurry memories that he dismisses as a weird dream from the pills and the scent of strong tobacco that he can never seem to air out of his room

Oh this is so hot omg??? Love the idea of Steve being all sleepy and pliant from taking his mom's sleeping pills and it giving Eddie the perfect way to break in and do whatever he wants to him. And the next morning Steve will just think it's a dream, as Eddie is careful not to leave marks, even though he spent all night holding Steve and kissing him, maybe undressing him so he can see him naked and touch him. And Steve just drifts in and out, never fully conscious, but knowing he feels good and that he's being taken care of. Not feeling unnerved until the next morning, when he wakes up and feels like someone's been in his room and sees that his window's been left alone even though he knows he closed it before going to sleep.

#asks #steddie #stalker eddie #tw non-con

[danpuff-ao3]

Hypocritic Oath

by Amanuensis. Rated: E. Words: 3,231. Harry/Severus. Harry/others. Prostitution. Memory loss. Dark.

Harry's not well. Neither is Snape.

Hits the Ground

by atrata. Rated: M. Words: 3,271. Underage. Student/teacher.

Snape comes back from a Death Eater meeting, and his Issues manifest in a decidedly ugly way.

No Bounds

by atrata. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 3,311. Underage. Bondage. Detention. Past James/Severus.

Harry has a plan. Snape has a grudge.

Incubus

by Belladonna1185. Rated: E. Words: 10,769. Harry/Severus. Harry/Ginny. Harry/Severus/Voldemort. AU. Dub-con. Ambiguous morality.

“I give in to incubus who softly calls my name each night/ Once more and I will become the insomniac who dreams of you while waking.” —Lauren Ashley

Dark Dreams

by blackwhitelight. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Word: 3,567. Underage. Student/teacher. Painful sex. Forced orgasm. Dark Snape. Dark fic. Mind fuck.

Harry wakes tied to a bed.

His Mother's Eyes

by blackwhitelight. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 6,713. Voldemort Wins AU. Forced femeninization. Vaginal sex. Forced orgasm. Corruption. Voyeurism. Captivity. Dark Snape.

Harry always has a cunt when Snape fucks him.

Coils of Gold

by Crymsyn. Rated: E. Words: Many. Harry/Severus. Non-con. Dom/sub. Mpreg. Background Draco/Ron.

The death of one Dark Lord brings about the rise of another.

In My Veins (In My Blood)

by danpuff. Rated: E. Words: 7,042. Harry/Severus. Harry/Death Eaters. Gang rape. Possessive behavior. Angst & porn. Het & slash. Background Alecto/Bellatrix. Voldemort wins AU. Partner betrayal. Victim blaming. Emotional manipulation. Hurt no comfort. Whump. Dark. Intense.

Voldemort wins the war and rewards the Death Eaters with a prize: Harry Potter. What he doesn't know is that Harry already belongs to one of them.

Ashes of Armageddon

by emilywaters1967. Rated: E. Words: 140,804. Harry/Severus. Severus/others. BDSM. OOC. Dark Harry. Angst. Tragedy. Hurt/comfort. Mystery. Suspense.

Dark!Harry, slave!Snape. DarkFic. (and I really do mean, dark!) Post-DH, ignores epilogue.  Book One:What if Harry never had the King's Cross experience? Severus Snape survives Nagini's bite, and wakes up from a coma five years later, only to become enslaved by a very angry, vindictive, and extremely powerful Harry Potter. Book Two: The war is truly over now, and both Harry and Severus Snape have survived the ordeal. But the consequences of the two months spent at Godric's Hollow are still with them.

But Not Forgotten

by Hijja. Rated: E. Words: 2,660. Underage. Drama.

Harry finally masters Legilimency, and ends up wishing he hadn’t.

Fic: What Price Help

by iamisaac. Rated: E. Words: 3,419. Humiliation. Student/teacher. Forced relationship.

Harry needs to learn how to cope with anything that might happen to him. Snape is the obvious choice to help him - but will Snape be prepared to help Harry? And at what cost?

War Makes Strange Bedfellows

by iamisaac. Rated: E. Words: 2,834. Bottom Snape. Bonding. Angst. Ambiguous/open ending.

Request: Harry/Snape. Hogwarts era (between book 5 and 6), forced bonding with non-con and nasty stuff. Would love it if the needs to be kept secret, but its effect on Harry is clear to his friends so they get suspicious etc. No fluffy endings, but some hope at the end would be cool. Darkfic please! No bottom!Harry

Paid in Full

by lesyeuxverts. Rated: M. Words: 731. Harry/Severus. Forced bonding. Dub-con.

Severus's revenge was sweeter for the delay, and this was only his rightful reward.

Revenge is for Tomorrow

by lysanatt. Rated: E. Words: 2,469. Humiliation. Watersports. Slavery. Violence. Extreme dub-con.

Snape has planned for this, his redemption, for years, living like Harry Potter's property. The chance finally comes...

A Thing of Guile

by Perfica. Rated: E. Words: 7,598. Harry/Severus. Rape (Harry/others, Snape/others.) First time. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Ambiguous ending.

It was good to know that things hadn't changed too much since his imprisonment.

Absolution

by Rushlight. Rated: E. Words: 25,476. Hurt/comfort.

Snape is forced to make a difficult decision when Harry is captured by Death Eaters, and they both have to find a way to deal with the aftermath.

Nights of Gethsemane

by starcrossed. Rated: E. Words: 363,198. Harry/Severus. Minor Harry/Ginny. Imprisonment. Rape. Torture. Dark.

Other links: NoG on LJ, Invictus (companion piece) on LJ, Release of Sisyphus (incomplete sequel) on LJ.

Harry is a prisoner of the Dark Lord and Snape, his prison guard. Completely cut off from the outside world, Harry struggles to hold himself intact as he is forced to rely on Snape for everything. Yet Snape may not be all that he appears....

More Fools They

by steph7of7. Rated: E. Words: 139,068. Harry/Severus. Harry/others. Stockholm syndrome. Rape porn. Inspired by atrata's A Fool Too Late.

Harry makes an offer he doesn't understand. Snape accepts an offer he can't possibly comprehend. More fools they.

Vulture

by wintergreen825. Rated: E. Words: 748. Harry/Severus. Brothel AU. Childhood sexual abuse. Violence. Obsession.

Harry reflects on one of his most frequent patrons: the one who was his first patron, in fact.

#danpuff recs #dead dove diaries #tw non-con #tw rape #snarry

[cordycepspog]

Tbh I think there are entire scholarly essays to be written about the concept of the zombie and consent, and one of the things that’s pivotal to that whole lens is the fact that what makes zombies scary, on top of the concept of the undead and cannibalism of course, is that there is no consent. Like. Zombies are going to bite, whether you like it or not. They are going to put their mouth on their victim and take a chunk out. They’re going to eat their victims. You’ve never seen a zombie attack someone, stop, and ask, “hey, mind if I munch on your arm? Only if you’re into it, of course.” (I would love to see that actually, so if anyone knows if something like that out there actually exists please send it my way lol).

The other glaringly obvious thing that makes zombies scary is the undead aspect. It’s what made the walking dead so popular because the makeup was horrifying, and watching a literal rotting corpse sit up with the animalistic desire to eat you is scary as fuck. On top of all that, you can’t tell a walking corpse that wants to eat you “no.” And that, at least for me, makes it waaay scarier because it unlocks the hindbrain fear that tells you “you should get the fuck away from that right now.” I’m sure there’s a lot more psychology involved, but I hope you get what I’m trying to say.

And then there are the infected from the last of us. The concept for these zombies comes from a real life parasitic fungus called Ophiocordyceps that effects insects, and the story takes that terrifying concept and asks, “what if that happened to people?” In my opinion, the concept of the parasite makes this version of the zombie even more terrifying, because it’s a living thing that’s gets inside and then uses the victim’s body for it’s own purposes. There’s absolutely no consent involved in that. That’s like, the benchmark for a violation of consent.

But the infected in tlou aren’t dead, at least not like a typical zombie. There’s a process that the infected undergo as the cordyceps takes root. It’s what makes freshly infected runners sound so terrible, particularly in the beginning of the game when you’re not used to it, because they sound like people in pain. And it’s a wonderful tool for a horror story, because it begs the question: when do the infected stop being people, and start being monsters? But then, conversely, other questions arise, like, is the cordyceps fungus monstrous at all? Or is it just another living thing that’s adapted to survive?

I’d add more thoughts but I haven’t eaten dinner yet. If you have any thoughts you’d like to add on feel free! Just be nice, please.

#putting this under a read more so I don’t clutter up the dash #I have thoughts and I wrote them down. that’s all #tlou #tlou meta #the walking dead #zombies #zombie meta #i guess #tw body horror #horror analysis #tlou hbo #tw non-con #it’s not at all graphic i’m just talking about it generally #tagging ​just in case is all

[belovedqueer]

"I want a yandewe wh♡ wiww tweat me like a perz♡n" "I want my yandewe to wezpect my b♡undawiez" laaaaaame~~~~~,,,,,, I want a yandewe that'll pw♡mize t♡ lizten t♡ the safew♡wd and then ♡nly getz w♡ughew when I d♡ uze it~~~~~....... Lie t♡ me ab♡ut wezpecting my b♡undawiez while actively making me zuffer~~~~~.......

-----

"I want a yandere who will treat me like a person" "I want my yandere to respect my boundaries" laaaaaame~. I want a yandere that'll promise to listen to the safeword and then gets rougher when I do use it~. Lie to me about respecting my boundaries while actively making me suffer~

#this is /hj #wanting to be respected by your yandere is valid #I just don't cause i feel like the full yandere experience™ includes disrespecting my boundaries <3 #hitoka.txt #dark desirse.txt #lovers.exe #tw non-con #tw suggestive #tw yandere #ask to tag. #radqueer yandere #yandere radqueer

[aparticularbandit]

21 of the angst ask got me thinking about Agnes and Agatha. (Curious what you could with pairing one and two tho)

well, i mean, i can also do the other one. (and by can i mean plan on it just. will post it separately.)

also idk why it decided to double small the stuff i copy-pasted from word. alas.

dialogue prompts - angst edition

21) “You made me miserable and I still loved you.”

tw: discussion of rape/non-con

“I was…I was you.”

Agnes says the words, but she doesn’t understand them, can’t comprehend being the lived in prison for a woman as wonderful as Agatha is, refuses to believe that the memories she has of her parents – her siblings – are an entire false construct, that if she tries to call her mother, no one will answer.

That is, unfortunately, what prompted the entire conversation.  She has no mother to call for the holidays, no large family with whom to share Thanksgiving now that she and Ralph aren’t together anymore and he doesn’t insist on keeping these sorts of things to themselves, no children who are happily spending their holidays with their families, which should feel better because it means they aren’t actively ignoring her for years at a time, but doesn’t because it means she has no children and no grandchildren, even though she can very clearly remember each of them and each of their names.  There was—

She flinches, and something like static flicks through her brain, and almost immediately she senses a need to change the subject of conversation, except she’s her own person now – apparently she wasn’t before, apparently she hasn’t always been – and she can remember the subject and she doesn’t want to change it, she wants to remember her sons’ names, only there’s an absence where those names should be—

Agnes bites her lower lip.  She turns away from Agatha.  She crosses one arm about herself and raises the other hand so that she can chew on her fingernails.  It’s a bad habit.  Her mother used to paint her nails so that she would stop chewing on them – the fingernail polish tasted horrible and kept getting stuck in her teeth – except…except if Agatha is right, none of that really happened either.

“I can’t…I can’t have been you, hon,” Agnes says, trying to convince herself more than Agatha.  “I would have felt you, crawling about in there.”

Agatha sighs – and Agnes can’t see it, turned away as she is, but somehow she knows that Agatha is pinching the bridge of her nose – before saying, “The day after Wanda disappeared from Westview, your husband Ralph came home drunk on tequila, told you that if you wanted to save your marriage then you would suck his cock, and then proceeded to choke you while fucking you up the ass because he couldn’t handle how much you told him it hurt.”  Her eyes narrow as Agnes turns to face her again, but the hatred Agnes feels wafting off of the other woman has nothing to do with her, she’s sure of it.  (At least, she hopes.)  “For two weeks afterwards, you wore turtlenecks and scarves to hide the bruises, which was perfectly acceptable, given how cold it was outside.  In the third week, the bruises finally faded, but dear old Ralph came back late, even more drunk than usual, his eyes so bloodshot red that they terrified you, and this time you didn’t complain, not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t breathe—”

”Stop.”  Agnes wraps her arms so tight around herself that it feels like the morning after again, sitting naked in her bed with Ralph long gone, sore in places she’d never wanted to be sore, trying to breathe around sobs that wracked a throat that felt like it had been crushed under her husband’s hands.  “Ralph wasn’t so bad, you know,” she whispers, more to comfort herself than to defend her ex-husband to Agatha.  “He brought home flowers every day for a week after that.  Violets.  Daisies.  My favorites.  If you were there, then you would remember how he tucked one of them into my hair and told me that they made my eyes pop.”

Agatha steps forward, reaches out, and cups Agnes’s face with her warm hand, fingers just stretching into her hair.  “Your eyes are like the ocean,” she says, mimicking Ralph.  “I feel like I’m drowning in them.”

Agnes shivers and steps back out of Agatha’s touch.  “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, hon; I’m trying to—”

“Read my mind and learn all about my past and the thing you use to make me believe you is that.”  Agnes can’t spit the words out because that would be harsh, aggressive, and she still doesn’t know how to be either of those.  Anger may not be a four letter word, but rage is, and that’s close enough.  She knows what it is to be upset and frustrated and hurt, but she’s never once used those emotions to lash out at someone, and she certainly isn’t going to start doing it now.  Still, she can’t meet Agatha’s eyes, can’t stop her own shivering, can’t stop the tears she knows are rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m not reading your mind, hon; I’m—”  Agatha cuts herself off.  She hesitates and then tries again, voice much softer.  “After Wanda left, your back started killing you,” she says, gentle as anything.  “You went to the doctor – to a lot of doctors – but none of them could ever tell you what was wrong.  Your back was just fine.  You were completely healthy.  But whenever you leaned up against it just wrong, you felt a sharp stabbing of pain, and whenever Ralph pressed his fingers against—”

“Please don’t mention Ralph, dear,” Agnes interrupts.  “I think you’ve said enough about him.”

Agatha nods, accepting this.  She turns away from Agnes and then slowly lifts up her shirt until her back is exposed.  “Look.”

Despite her instinct to turn away from Agatha, to give her the privacy she must need, Agnes obeys, and what she sees makes her eyes widen in shock.  She steps forward, one hand outstretched, and then stops herself.  “May I?”

Agatha glances over her shoulder and gives a little nod.  As Agnes runs her hand along the thin white scars etched into Agatha’s back, feeling each tensing of her muscles as she does, Agatha explains, “They don’t cause me pain the way they once did; Wanda fixed all of that, but when she made you, she didn’t know they were there.  She made your back look normal, but she couldn’t just take away scars she didn’t know I had.”  She flinches again.  “Your hands are cold, hon.”

“I’m sorry, hon, I—”  Agnes steps back, swallowing.  “You’re saying my back hurt because it was your back because I was…I was a curse for you.  Wanda cursed you to be me.”

“Yes.”  Agatha pulls her shirt down, straightens it.  “That’s why your mother isn’t answering your calls.  She’s not—”

“You must have been miserable,” Agnes says, slumping down onto the edge of their mattress, hands on either side of her.  “That’s…that’s horrible.  Everything Ralph did to me—”

Agatha turns to her.  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about him, dear.”

“—he did to you, too.”  Agnes’s voice grows even quieter as she says this.  She starts to shudder, her entire body shaking in a way she cannot stop and cannot control.  “You weren’t…you didn’t….  I….  But you—”

“Shhhh.”  Agatha stepped towards Agnes as she spoke, and now she sits on the mattress next to her, taking one of Agnes’s hands in her own.  “Don’t yourself by thinking too hard, darling.  It won’t do you any good.”

Agnes presses her lips together so hard that her teeth draw blood from her soft flesh.  “You never would have let him—”

“That was part of the punishment, dear.  Part of the curse.”  Agatha rubs her thumb gently against the back of Agnes’s hand.  “You had to give in, dear, and he had to hurt you.  I needed to live through hell.  That was hell.”

Agnes glances up, stares at Agatha curiously, and can’t help but ask, “If you hated being me so much, dear, then why are you still here?  Don’t I just….”  She looks down, unable to keep her head up.  “Don’t I just remind you of all of that?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Agatha admits.  “I hated you at first, you know.  I wanted to kill you as much as Ralph did.  But the longer I spent stuck in you, seeing how hard you tried, seeing how much you wanted, seeing how good you were….”  Her voice trails off, but her thumb continues to stroke the back of Agnes’s hand.  “You made me miserable,” she says, voice soft, “and I still loved you.”

Her words send a spike through Agnes’s heart.  She ponders them, echoes slow, refusing to believe, barely glancing up, “You love me?”

Agatha meets her eyes, and a sad smile creases her lips.  “I suppose I do, dear.  I suppose I do.”  She reaches up, tentative, and then slowly wipes away Agnes’s tears.  “You deserve so much better, sweetheart.  So much better.”

It’s instinctive, the way Agnes curves easily into Agatha’s touch, how she places her hand over Agatha’s and holds it there, against her cheek.  She’s never been very active in these sorts of situations – although, given what Agatha has just told her, that’s less her and more a construct made of false memories that Wanda had given her, a personality that she holds to that doesn’t truly have to be hers (although, if she’s honest with herself, she isn’t sure how much she would change, isn’t sure that she can change that much) – but she can change this in this moment—

Agnes crosses the – admittedly small – distance between them and meets Agatha’s lips with her own.  She thinks on how, really, they’re the same person and kisses Agatha the way she would want to be kissed – gentle, at first, delighting in the feel of Agatha’s warm, soft lips plush against her own, before parting them just enough to let her hot breath mingle with Agatha’s in the softest of invitations, only moving her hand from Agatha’s when she accepts the invitation, when her tongue slips gentle across her lips.  Agatha’s had moves through her hair, cups – cradles – the back of her head, holding her so, so gently, and on instinct, Agnes nips the tip of Agatha’s tongue.  Her heart races with fear, but Agatha purrs, “Oh, Agnes, hon,” with such pleasured longing before kissing her back that Agnes is sure her instincts are correct.

The heat rises in more than just Agnes’s cheeks as Agatha’s free hand moves to her waist at the same time that Agnes’s moves to hers.  But Agnes doesn’t feel the same hesitation, the same care that Agatha does, and so her hand moves beneath the edge of Agatha’s shirt, fingers searching for sensitive spots she knows on her own body, waiting for the gasp of pleasure as she traces one fingertip, slow, across Agatha’s skin.

“You won’t hurt me, will you, dear?” Agnes asks, voice quiet and afraid, pausing just long enough to meet Agatha’s eyes, to search the pupils already grown wide.

Agatha doesn’t flinch away.  “Never.  I would never hurt you, angel.”  She doesn’t drop her gaze, only asks, “Is this what you want?”

“You don’t have to ask—” Agnes starts to say, but then remembers you deserve better, and instead, she nods, says near breathless, “Yes.  You’re the only person in the world maybe who has ever loved me, so please.”  She hesitates, searches for the right words, and then says, “Take care of me.”

At her words, Agatha slowly begins to lean Agnes back along the bed, and although Agnes’s heart races, she does not stop her.  “I will take such good care of you, pet.”  Instead of letting her fingers slip beneath Agnes’s shirt, they begin to trace the inside of Agnes’s thighs.

Agnes takes in a sharp breath.  “Be gentle with me.”

Agatha brushes her nose gentle against hers, breath hot on her lips as she says, “Always.”  Then she covers Agnes’s mouth with her own, swallowing the soft moan into her mouth as her fingers move beneath Agnes’s skirt, a moan that only grows louder as one runs along the pad of her underwear.  But it doesn’t stay there; Agatha cups her ass and squeezes, slowly moving her thigh between Agnes’s legs until Agnes whimpers.  She stops, searches Agnes’s eyes, waits for a nod to continue but doesn’t get one, only gets Agnes grinding against her leg, eyes wide and hungry.

Agnes flinches as Agatha’s fingers brush her waist when she removes her shirt, and her muscles tighten as Agatha’s lips find the soft skin of her stomach.  “Agatha, please, dear, I—”  But then Agatha hits that spot – that spot – and Agnes’s hips rise, grinding harder against Agatha’s thigh, and she’s always been so good about her language, but here she can’t be – a gasp followed by “Agatha, fuck, fuck, Agatha, fuck me, fuck me, please, Agatha, please—” – and then Agatha’s hands are on her thighs, spreading her legs, squeezing her skin, and despite it all, Agnes wants – she wants – and when Agatha returns to kiss her lips again, breath hot on her skin, Agnes presses her hands beneath Agatha’s shirt, finds where her bra cups her breasts, and palms them, squeezes them, just as she bends to suck Agatha’s collarbone.

Agatha breathes her name out – “Agnes” – and she sucks harder until she hears it, hears “I love you,” and then she peppers kisses along Agatha’s neck, across her jaw, until she finds her open mouth again, and tugs on her lower lip.

You’ll love me more, Agnes thinks, when I do something other than make you miserable, and this time when her hips raise, she wraps a leg around Agatha’s waist and pulls her down flush against her, grinds not against the thigh she’d been given but against the spot she hopes is just as wet for Agatha as it is for her.  Agatha rocks slow against her.  Much better than an unmoving thigh.  Agnes lifts Agatha’s shirt off, peppers kisses along her exposed skin.

When Agnes takes Agatha’s hand and guides it where she most wants it, Agatha interlaces their fingers and tugs their hands away, murmuring, “Not yet, babe,” amid Agnes’s most desperate whimpers.  She just smiles, kisses her neck, and purrs, “You told me to take care of you, hon.  I’m doing just that.”

And for not the first time in her life, Agnes believes her.

#our blood is our ink #bandit answers questions #tw rape #rape tw #tw non-con #non-con tw #agatha harkness #agnes bohner #agatha harkness x agnes bohner #agnes bohner x agatha harkness #mcu #wandavision #THANK YOU FOR SENDING THE THING BTW #i don't think the other one will be as trigger-y #finding family with wanda and america #multiversal variants with finding family #bandit fic

[awkwardcourage]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: The Boys (TV 2019) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Billy Butcher & Hughie Campbell, Hughie Campbell & The Boys Ensemble, Hughie Campbell/Starlight | Annie January, Hughie Campbell/The Homelander | John, Hughie Campbell & Mother's Milk, Hughie Campbell & The Frenchman, Hughie Campbell & The Female | Kimiko Miyashiro Characters: Hughie Campbell, Billy Butcher, The Frenchman (The Boys), Mother's Milk (The Boys), The Female | Kimiko Miyashiro, Starlight | Annie January, Grace Mallory, Victoria Neuman, The Homelander | John Additional Tags: Rape/Non-con Elements, Rape Aftermath, Hurt/Comfort, the comfort will eventually come i promise, Angst, Self-Worth Issues, Violence, set just after season 2, Drug Abuse, Hughie Campbell Whump, Hughie Campbell Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm Summary:

In an attempt to understand Hughie Campbell, Homelander takes him apart.

Hughie tries to put himself back together, only to deal himself more damage.

The Boys find the pieces and try to put back together what's left of Hughie.

#the boys #the boys fanfic #hughie campbell fic #found family #welp may as well post it here seeing as I don't want it on my main #tw non-con

[thorniest-rose]

hello 🖤 out of curiosity what kind of stuff do you consider dark? because i want to write dark stuff for steddie but don’t want backlash. i wonder if what I consider dark is too much, but to know there was an audience for certain things would really help me to go for it. ( for example i love age gaps and want to do 30-40 year old Eddie with teen Steve: dad/babysitter, rockstar/groupie, motorcycle daddy/runaway, teacher/student [dare i say stepfather/stepson sksksk] etc. but have received crit for like, 2 year difference ) and i wonder if it’s the content itself or how it’s handled? because when people write age difference/incest without highlighting how creepy the older one feels it doesn’t *feel* dark if that makes sense. (your eddie is clearly aware of what he is so there’s dark energy to it) but maybe im wrong. i would genuinely love to hear your thoughts. 🖤🖤

hi there!! oh this is such an interesting question, thank you so much.

So what do I consider dark? It's difficult in a way because everyone has different thresholds and comfort levels when it comes to fic, I have a very high threshold and not many triggers. For me, dark fic that I'm interested in reading and writing includes dysfunctional, destructive relationships where there's obsession, jealousy, codependency and control at play, but where both people like it, and don't want to change or have a healthier dynamic or set firmer boundaries. Sometimes I like reading fic about relationships that are abusive and I enjoy reading and writing fic where there's dubious consent (or even non-con) and BDSM relationships where there isn't good etiquette and where there aren't standard things like safewords. Like I love when the sub belongs to the Dom and the Dom calls all the shots and says they know what their sub needs. It's not how relationships should be irl of course, but it's all fantasy.

I love age difference fics too! I would love to write a fic with teen Steve where Eddie's in his 30s, I think that would be so wrong and hot. Like I love all the things and dynamics you've mentioned in your ask! And I think it's such a shame that people feel too frightened to write dark fic a lot of the time, or that they've been made to feel gross and weird for wanting to explore dark and more complex dynamics. Or even just enjoy things without feeling judged for it. So I'm sorry that you want to write fics like this but feel like you can't because of potential backlash. And I wish I could advise more on what things could cause backlash and what won't, because in the past I've had so much hate and abuse for things I've written but in this fandom I've had hardly any abuse at all, so it's really hard to quantify.

I would say this, completely genuinely, that I think you should write whatever you want because you shouldn't have to censor yourself or repress what you want to write. I can guarantee there will always be an audience for it, and people who will be so excited to read darker fic and dynamics. It might be a smaller audience, but it'll be very enthusiastic, and that'll make it completely worth it. If you want to be cautious too, you could have an ao3 account that's separate to your main account to post dark fic, or you could moderate comments. And if you do get shitty people, ignore them and delete any abuse you get. I've found in the past that it's when I give people air and try to engage with them that they get worse. But when I completely ignore them, they get starved of oxygen and give up. And usually if people say anything, it's just a small group of nasty people too, it'll never be as many people as you fear it could be.

There's also the chance that no one will say anything mean and people will love your fics! And if you feel passionately about your ideas, you should go for it! I'm on the cusp of posting a fic that's pretty dark, where intoxicated Steve is being used by multiple men for sex at a party, and the fic I'm writing with Azriel is probably the darkest fic in this fandom, it explores so many uncomfortable topics and will be so dead dove. And because of that we except it to have a smaller readership than a lot of other fics, but we also know the small group of people who do read it will love it, and that makes it so worth it. Plus it's so freeing to finally write a dark fic without feeling like I have to restrain myself, so you should feel free to do it too.

So please, I hope this has helped and encouraged you, even a little. And if you do write any of these fic ideas, let me know because I'd love to read them!!! <3

#asks #tw abuse #tw non-con

[therealjammy]

One of the more uncomfortable elements about HOTD for me is definitely that scene between Larys and Alicent where she must ‘reward’ him for his spying, which also doubles as an unwilling incentive to gain access to his knowledge, and me being the person I am, of course I’m writing about it in this fic, because for some reason writing about things that make me uneasy makes it much easier to deal with

But god that scene is another one in which Alicent has my complete empathy; I interpret it as SA even though nothing physical happens, but it is still deeply traumatizing and violating to have to barter for someone’s knowledge in that way, and to stay there until the transaction is finished, hoping there won’t be another time but knowing, intrinsically, there will always be another time.

#personal #writing things #hotd thoughts #tw non-con #tagging it as that just to be safe #honestly i hate larys as a character because he's just so seedy but matthew needham plays him so brilliantly that i'm in awe #and he [larys] is i think a well-written villain