#Fantasy Rape Watch

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Chapter 35

Glass Shards

Warnings: Lady whump, restrained, gagged, forced to watch, attempted rape, crude/explicit language, emeto (not overly descriptive but sure related to:), suffocation, broken ribs (implied), beating, blood, so much blood, a cut throat, impalement and burns, like, severe life ending burns to the face, which brings us to the next part, death death death (yes that’s 3 deaths)

So, uh. I think (outside the two nightmares) this has by far the most warnings for any Glass Shards chapter. I don’t think any of those are a surprise after the last one, though :’)

If you are concerned about the sexual assault, there’s a slightly edited version of this chapter here, where it has been mostly cut out.

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“Leave her… alone.”

Damien’s voice was weak, trembling. The barely concealed terror in it made Merridy’s own fear all the more real. 

The bandit leader dropped her head and stood up. “Or what?” When he didn’t get a reply, he laughed, reaching for Merridy’s bound feet. “Don’t worry, you can watch.” 

He dragged her along, closer to the tree Damien was tied to. The rope around her wrists got caught on something, almost tearing her arms from their joints as she was dragged on. This time, she was sure it was blood she could feel running down her fingers.

The moment the man let go of her feet, she kicked him. Without enough room to move, she barely grazed his knee. He didn’t even waver. Instead, he kicked her in return, and her world shattered in pain. It felt like a lance of fire was tearing her apart. Her chest refused to expand, no matter how desperately her lungs were begging for air. Writhing on the ground, trying to escape the pain, she could only focus on getting small gasps of air past the gag. 

Shouting, muffled at the edge of her consciousness. She knew that voice. The shouts turned into screams, sending a shiver down her spine. 

Damien.

She forced her eyes to open, blinking until her vision cleared and she could see him. Blood dripped off his chin, and his eyes gleamed purple with murderous rage. But she knew him. She could see the terror lurking behind. She had seen it so often, every time he awoke screaming, every time he lashed out in fear. 

The rope around his neck had started to turn red, the skin beneath it rubbed raw and bleeding. It wouldn't take long for bruises to form, just like the area around his left eye was already swelling. It wasn’t only his nightmares she was reminded of. 

Don’t hurt him.

Her jaw felt like it was breaking apart. She rubbed her cheek over the ground, hoping to dislodge the cloth, but it was bound too tightly.

“Gods, I can’t wait to cut your fucking throat,” the man said, kicking Damien in the stomach. “But first, you can watch me fuck your woman. I’m gonna show her what a real man is.”

He drew a dagger, and all color left Damien’s face. Merridy swallowed. The way he pressed himself against the tree broke her heart. For a moment, she remembered every single scar on his body. She was almost glad as the man turned away from Damien and crouched down in front of her. She was less glad about the gleeful grin on his lips as he grabbed her feet and cut the rope apart. He wasn’t careful about it, slicing the skin on her ankle as well.

The moment her legs were free, she kicked him again. She had aimed for his head, but only managed to hit his chest, earning her a disgruntled groan—and a fist to the face. It was the second hit that made her heart stutter, as her attempt to draw breath fell short on a bubbling feeling in her nose. When she tried harder, blood started to burn in her airways, running slowly down her throat.

Merridy threw her head from side to side, trying to shake off the blood, hoping, praying that he hadn’t broken her nose. The man hit her a few times more, but the pain faded against the panic that had taken over her mind. The world turned dark around the edges, wadded in cotton.

A voice. Begging. Pleading. Crying. 

Damien.

With her cheek pressed against the ground, she managed to suck in just enough air to stay conscious. A veil of blood and tears tinted her vision pink. It turned Damien’s tear-streaked face all blurry as she finally found him again.

She kept her gaze fixed on him as the man pulled down her pants and pushed a hand under her shirt. The touch of his fingers on her stomach didn’t feel real. The way he grabbed and squeezed her breast didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real. It felt like her mind and body were breaking apart. Like Damien was the only thing stopping her from giving up, from losing herself.

When the man shoved two fingers inside her, she closed her eyes. She didn’t want Damien to watch this. She didn’t want to see him watching this.

She knew she should fight, but she had no more strength left. Her body was shaking against her will, a bone deep chill creeping into her limbs. The man’s taunting words were lost on her, more so than on Damien. Somewhere, far away, she could still hear him cry in response. It made her cry as well.

The fingers vanished. Nothing happened. Seconds passed, every single one dragging on like an eternity, and still, nothing happened.

A strange, guttural noise finally made Merridy open her eyes, terrified of what new horrors she would find. The man knelt between her legs, one hand wrapped around his erect penis, a look of absolute horror on his face. He made another noise, this one sounding almost pitiful.

“What the fuck, Marek?” one of the other men called over from the fire. “We know your puny dick is a terrible sight, but you should be used to it by now.” 

The two men laughed. Then they started to scream.

“No no no no no no no!” Panicked movement near the campfire. Jumping, flailing. “Fuck! Ah, fuck.”

Merridy couldn’t help but look, finding one of the men doing a grotesque dance next to the fire, while the other was scrambling back from it on all fours. Her own terror was almost forgotten, the gag the only thing that stopped a hysterical laugh from leaving her lips. What was—

The realization hit her like lightning. She whipped her head around, to see Damien staring grimly at the scene, his eyes glowing purple, a look of utter concentration on his face. 

She should use the opportunity he gave her, but she couldn’t move. Her limbs had lost all strength, and she couldn’t form a clear thought. She was still shaking uncontrollably, and the more she tried to suppress it, the worse it got.

The man in front of her scrambled away from her. When he came too close to the fire, he yelped, looking around in a panic. He looked from his hand to his crotch and back to his hand, sobs shaking him as he felt for his face.

She knew it was an illusion Damien was weaving. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what the man saw.

“It’s not real.” 

The voice from behind the fire grabbed her attention, making her turn her head.

“It’s a fucking— ah fuck, ow! It’s not real. Listen to me. Listen, for fucks… ow.” The only man who was left standing bent down to pick up a sword. Despite the pained expression on his face, his eyes were hard and cold. “Kill him, then it’ll stop.”

No!

Merridy jerked around, trying to move between Damien and the man. She had to stop him. Helpless as Damien was, he would just kill him. The terror of losing him was stronger than the pain, stronger than the need for air, at least for a moment.

She wasn’t fast enough. The man sidestepped her easily, lifting his upper lip in a sneer as she sank down, a sob getting lost in the gag. The need to breathe caught up with her, and she couldn’t fulfill it quickly enough. Her chest was fluttering, her vision fading. She turned her head, unable to stop crying. If these were going to be their last moments, she had to see him.

But Damien was gone.

Merridy was still staring at the empty ropes hanging off the tree when a wet gurgle sounded. Where a moment before the man had been mid-stride, he was now frozen on the spot, a look of disbelief on his face. The sword clattered to the ground as he reached for his throat, blood bubbling between his fingers.

Damien stood behind him, the bloody dagger in his hand matching the blood on his skin. He kicked the man in the back of his knees, so he would collapse faster, then bent down to pick up the sword. It was his own. He weighed it in his hand. The look on his face could only be described as murderous rage.

“You… fucking.” The man at the fire—the bandit leader, who a moment ago had tried to rape her—was scrambling to his feet. “I’ll gut you like a fucking pig.” 

Perhaps the dead one’s warning words had reached him, or Damien’s concentration was fading. It was obvious that the man wasn’t able to fully shake off the illusion, but it was enough for him to draw his dagger.

Damien took a step towards him, to face him. With the sword, his reach was longer, but he was obviously in pain and unsteady on his legs. The bandit leader easily dodged his attempted strikes, each new one clumsier than the last.

Merridy looked around, searching frantically for anything that might help her. Her gaze fell onto the dead bandit. The dagger Damien had used to cut his throat was lying in the puddle of blood that had spread under him. If she could reach it, she might be able to free herself. Determined, she started to shuffle towards it, only for her muscles to lock up as a fresh wave of pain tore through her chest. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. Instead of using her shoulders, she tried to drag herself forwards with her legs. She had to move. To free herself. To help. 

A gloating cry made her whip her head around. Damien had taken too big of a swing. The man evaded his blow, moving to his right side, where he tore the dagger across his ribs. Damien sank to one knee. He held onto the sword for one more moment, then the man kicked him in the chest, and Damien crumpled. With a triumphant howl, the man ripped the sword out of his hand.

“Mhmhm!” Merridy tried to shout, but no word made it out. She could only watch in horror as Damien clutched his bleeding side, seemingly unaware of how the man raised the blade. Move, move, please, move. She sobbed into the gag, knowing that there was no way he’d be quick enough.

The sword came down, and Damien vanished.

Carried by the momentum, the man stumbled a step towards the fire before he managed to catch himself. Damien, suddenly kneeling behind him, rammed his shoulder into the man’s thighs. It was enough to make him lose balance, a terrified scream on his lips as he fell headfirst into the fire. 

He instantly tried to get up, away from the flames, but Damien followed, throwing himself onto the man’s legs. He shoved him back down, getting his knees under him so could use his hand to push down on the man’s back. Damien’s arm was trembling, his face so close to the fire, some of his hair started to crinkle in the heat. 

Agonized screams turned into choked wheezes as the man’s frantic movements slowly stilled. Damien held him down until he stopped struggling, and then a few seconds longer. When he eventually let go, sitting back on his heels and rolling the man out of the embers, the bandit was all but dead. His hair was gone. Where once his face had been, there was only melted, charred skin. His body still twitched in mindless panic, but even if his lungs weren’t already burned as well, no air made it past what was left of his mouth and nose.

Merridy had barely started to comprehend what she was seeing when the smell hit her. She turned her head away, staring up to the canopy, trying desperately to fight back the rising bile. If she threw up now, it was over. She would die, just when it looked like they had a chance to get out of this alive.

The moment she thought she had the nausea under control, she turned her head to watch Damien. Half of his shirt was already drenched in blood as he picked up the sword one last time. He walked over to the third man, who hadn’t joined the fight at all. Cowering on the ground, a tree at his back, he had wrapped his arms around himself, mumbling mindless fragments of words. Damien stopped in front of him and, without hesitation, rammed the sword into his stomach.

Merridy winced as the blade got stuck in the wood, staying upright, even as Damien let go of the handle. When the man tried to reach for the sword, Damien kicked his hand aside, then stomped on his fingers. Without giving him a chance to try again, Damien repeated the procedure with the man’s other hand.

With her heart hammering up to her throat, Merridy watched as the bandit convulsed around the blade, blood foaming at his mouth. She should feel something about it. Pity, perhaps, or at least disgust. She couldn’t.

Damien turned towards her, his face so terribly pale, his eyes dull. His steps were unsteady as he started to walk, as if he could crumple at any moment. The tattered shirt at his side fluttered, revealing crimson blood and pale white where a deep cut had split the skin.

After all that had happened, after all she had seen, it was this that drove her over the edge. Seeing Damien’s ribs made a new wave of nausea wash over her, one she was powerless against. Bile burned in her throat and in her airways, while the lack of air set her lungs on fire. Weakly, she shook her head, as if that motion could succeed in dislodging the fabric, when nothing else had. Vaguely, she was aware of a shadow falling over her, her vision already fading.

Help me. Help me help me help me.

Damien fell to his knees next to her and grabbed the piece of fabric holding the gag in place. In his haste to rip it off, his fingernails scratched her cheek and he tore out some of her hair that had been caught in the knot. With trembling fingers, he pulled out the gag as well, wasting no time with being careful. The moment her mouth was free, he grabbed her shoulder, to turn her to her side. Coughing and spitting, Merridy curled up, sobs alternating with desperate gasps for air.

For a moment, Damien kept his hand on her shoulder, holding her steady and keeping her from collapsing into the spit beneath her face. Only when she had calmed down a little did he let go. She watched as he picked up the dagger from the puddle of blood, then closed her eyes as he cut the ropes that bound her wrists.

It was over. It was over.

When she opened her eyes again, her gaze fell on his bloodstained shirt, and on the blood dripping off the hem. It wasn’t over yet.

Damien, she wanted to say. Her voice failed her. “Da… en,” she tried again, as brokenly as if she had screamed all this time, not merely tried to.

Merridy propped herself up on one arm, ignoring the pain in her shoulder and the trembling of her hand. She reached for his arm, and her touch finally made him look up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His face was basically white.

“You’re. Bleeding.” Moving hurt, but she managed to sit up, even if she was still so out of breath, she couldn’t go five seconds without another coughing fit. “Damien?” With her hand on his arm, she tried to catch his gaze. It went straight through her. 

“Damien.” Her voice became shrill as despair gripped her heart. “Damien!”

He didn’t react. Instead, he collapsed into her arms.

[ID: The top image is a banner covered in colorful glass shards. Across it is written the title of the story, glass shards, in a white to bright cyan gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a broad paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

It’s fine. It’s just a little several inches long cut that goes to the bone :)

Also, if I was still doing my BTHB, which I am absolutely not, this would be the fill for “Burns” :)

#Glass Shards #whump #fantasy whump #lady whump #burns tw #attempted rape tw #gagged tw #forced to watch #blood tw #suffocation tw #my writing

[navree]

again: maybe the asoiaf fandom would be less dead if some of you cunts didn’t go to the blog of someone who is just answering a question that was asked of them by a third party and immediately harass them over a literal television show and also start spouting weird shit that you’d never dare say to my face, especially when you have no idea who the fuck i am

#personal #house of the dragon #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #i don't know what makes you think saying deranged nonsense about rape to me is remotely acceptable #or why you're this pressed about fictional people who aren't even alive within the main story's narrative #but maybe people would engage with y'all more if you weren't like this #cuz as a casual hotd fan who just watches it on sundays and then goes about my day like a normal fucking person #it is really turning me off of engaging with any section of the fandom at all #targ people are being weird stark people are being weird stansas/jonsas have always been weird #i am actively writing a fantasy series right now and if it ever gets published (doubtful) i hope and pray that if it had a fandom #it would be less fucking psychotic

[telumendils]

one somewhat frustrating thing about disliking any GoT properties is that some people who do like it will assume you dislike it because it’s popular and not because of all the excessive rape and misogyny. 

#bee.txt #i'm literally over ''realism'' in fantasy #it's FANTASY #there are DRAGONS #and you're telling me the most fantastical thing they could think of was a preexisting oppressive social structure??? boring. #and i USED TO WATCH GOT TOO LMAO #like it just literally #reached the point where the story wasn't worth watching all the violence against bodies like mine #my discomfort outweighed my interest in finding out what happened next #i WISH i could watch and enjoy it w/out having to see bodies like mine getting brutalized regularly for the sake of gritty realism #or whatever #but i can't so #it's not for me #and i don't even fault people who do watch/enjoy it #i just wish some of them didn't assume i have no real reasons for disliking the property #because i absolutely do #and they're absolutely valid #it crosses a media boundary for me that it doesn't for them and that's FINE #rape mention cw //

[bowtiestash]

dawg im so sick of weirdos on the internet defending really problematic shit and saying "it's fiction" cause like, while i do get where they're coming from, shutting down an argument with it sucks. sure, fiction can be used to explore problematic things, its just that i have an overall issue with how these people expect it to be consumed without any thought at all??

it also doesnt even address the nuance when it comes to this kinda shit (which is why i dont like the pro/anti labels bc wtf do those labels even fucking mean. i hate it)

#i dont wanna go full rant on the post so ill put the rest of my thoughts here #basically i dont care about what you consume in fiction. but i also want you to be critical of whatever youre consuming #for example i recently watched a vid about isekai harems and ppl were talkin about how it was escapist fantasy for lonely men in japan #but it just makes me feel a bit icked out bc i feel like this kinda media CAN affect how men view women #the same applies to shit like. rape fantasy and stuff #im not sayin that EVERY person who enjoys this would do this irl #but its problematic anime like this that makes me lowkey worried about how men view women yknow?? #and the same applies to loli/shota stuff #these guys act like bc theyre fiction it doesnt reflect on their actions irl and i do agree to an extent #but i feel like it only applies to some select individuals #some of them can draw a hard line with fiction when it comes to this shit. but there are others who look at problematic anime and go #'oh well bc the guy in this anime does this it MUST be ok!!' #obvs tho im not sayin problematic shit shouldnt be in media. a lot of ppl also lack media literacy #and that shit annoys me too #overpolicing of what people should enjoy is annoying #ive rambled a lot but my conclusion is this: if you enjoy smth problematic just keep in mind if it affects the way you think towards others #also goes without saying but keep your space away from minors as well #and if someone expresses they dont like the thing you like then just respect that??? #skypeaks

[justxangelxthings]

I have this fantasy where a group of men that I trust a lot (friends, coworkers, etc) get me a little tipsy at an otherwise boring party or gathering and convince me to play the "Who is touching you?" game, except they neglect to tell me the rest of the rules until I'm already blindfolded with my hands tied around my back. The rules being, each man will take turns "touching" (kissing, groping, stripping...as far as they want to go), and I must guess who it is while blindfolded. If I guess correctly, they must stop immediately, and pass me to the next person. If I guess incorrectly, they get to continue until they cum, however they want to use me to get off. I am then passed to the next person and they will rejoin the que to go again.

Between the sting of betrayal of abused trust and humiliation of what is happening to me I would have to quickly guess whose turn it was to prevent myself from being raped and abused, but after a wrong guess here that leads to a violent blowjob until I'm choking on cock and sobs and a wrong guess there that has my nipples dripping in cum after a forced tit-fuck, it's so hard to focus and concentrate and answer quickly before things go too far that I make another mistake and there's nothing I can do to stop the mystery predator from putting himself inside me and shoving me full, moving my body up and down with his thrusts as the party watches, finishing his turn deep in my womb before passing me on to the next, woozy and mortified and trembled and in no shape to make any more correct guesses. . .

#things I think about at 8am on a Tuesday 🙈 #rough cnc #soft cnc #corruption kink #r4p3b4it #cnc kidnapping #cnc somno #cnc free use #tw free use kink #tw ccnc #mine

[houseofanticipation]

After six months of leaving your window unlocked, someone finally took the bait.

You frequent some dark corners of the internet. When tumblr wasn't enough to get you wet anymore you turned to reddit, and when that stopped working you moved to 4chan. These days the sites you cum to don't even have names, their URLs are just strings of random letters and numbers. It was in one of these places that you saw the symbol.

The only identifying feature of the original poster was an off-putting avatar image of Sonic the Hedgehog's gaping asshole. The post was a single photo of the symbol, written in thick marker on a scrap of looseleaf paper. Below it, the text read: place this symbol in your window to let passersby know it's unlocked, and you're ready to be taken advantage of.

You came when you saw that symbol. (You had been touching yourself for hours at that point, but still, the symbol is what pushed you over the edge.) You saved a screenshot of the symbol, and in the nights that followed you touched yourself to it again and again, daring yourself to do it, imagining the things strangers could do to you in your sleep. When your better judgement finally caved to that insatiable need, you touched yourself again. You sat there for an hour, edging and watching that symbol in the window, until your mind felt slow and stupid with fantasies.

You did that a few more times in the following nights. But the after a week the fantasies alone weren't doing it for you anymore, and you were increasingly realizing something that probably should have been obvious from the beginning: most people aren't into the same disgusting shit you're into. The people in those ugly little corners of the web lived all over the world. What were the odds one of them would just walk past your first-floor apartment one day?

So you forgot about it. Mostly. You left it there, of course, but the more time went by the less you believed anything would ever come of it. You turned to other places to make you cum. Lately you've been getting off on posting pictures of yourself, letting strangers describe the ways they'd like to use and abuse you.

And then this morning you found three polaroid pictures placed neatly on your kitchen table.

All three pictures are of you, naked and asleep in bed. You started sleeping naked ages ago, at the advice of a tumblr post detailing how to be more of a slut. You're glad you did now, because the feeling you get looking at these pictures is like nothing you've ever felt before. It's electric, a vibration in your brain and the pit of your stomach that makes your legs wobble and your knees press together. The first picture is of your body, undisturbed, sleeping on your stomach with your ass in the air. The second is a view from the foot of your bed, your pussy pressed against the sheets and your legs open. The third is of your face, an unfamiliar hand brushing back your hair and an unfamiliar cock resting on your cheek.

Before you can even think you're falling to your knees, masturbating desperately and furiously to those pictures. When you cum it's labored, almost painful, your breath catching in your chest, your moans short and agonized. You manage to stand long enough to take the pictures to your bed, where you're able to scrape together the self-control to edge for about five minutes before you cum for a second time.

The one you can't tear yourself away from his that cock on your face. The knowledge that someone was that close to you without your knowing. Touching you. Pleasuring himself to you. When you cum for the third time, it's to the thought that he didn't rape you, as far as you can tell. That means he intends to come back.

That night you feel like a kid waiting for Santa Clause to come. You toss and turn, too excited to sleep, but terrified that he won't follow through with it if he can tell you're awake. You close your eyes and stay as still as possible. If you can't be asleep, the best you can do is appear asleep.

You wake to sunlight streaming through your window, a little surprised to realize you fell asleep at all. You can feel immediately that something is different; you've been violated, you can feel it in your clit and in your cunt. You hurry to the kitchen and find three new polaroids. The first is a close up of your pussy, already swollen and wet. The second is taken from the same angle, but this time there's a hand in frame, three fingers pushed inside you, stretching you out. The third sends a thrill up your spine. In this picture, a man with a Halloween mask pulled up to his forehead has his head buried between your legs. His face isn't visible from this angle, but it's clear he's eating you out. What really excites you, though, is the out-of-focus smudge in the corner of the shot: you're certain it's the edge of someone's finger. There was a second person in the room with you last night, holding the camera. You wonder if he was there the night before too. You wonder if anyone else has been in your room without you knowing.

When you've cum twice, you're able to think clearly enough to wonder how you managed to sleep through all this. This isn't a cock brushing your face; this is penetration, stretching, clitoral stimulation. That isn't the kind of stuff you sleep through, is it? You get off for a while imagining you really are just that much of a whore, that you can have three fingers inside you and barely notice a thing, but then you spot the cylinder in the corner of the third picture. It's a metal canister, like an oxygen tank, connected at the top to the kind of plastic mask designed to cover your mouth and nose. They drugged you. That's why you didn't wake up. They put you into a deeper sleep so they could do what they wanted with you. Your clit is getting sore at this point, but when you come to this realization you can't help but cum one more time.

In your dreams that night someone is holding you down, kissing you, shoving his tongue down your throat. You're afraid and excited and wet, and you want to scream for help but you can't remember how to speak. Someone is saying something, but the words don't mean anything to you, and the relentless sucking on your clit is making it hard to focus on anything else. You want to moan, to arch your back, to press your legs shut, but your body isn't your own. Maybe you cum. Maybe you don't. It's hard to tell.

You come to slowly, blearily. You become aware of your surroundings one thing at a time, and out of order; first you notice the wetness, then the soreness, then the sunlight behind your closed eyelids. You stretch and rub the sleep out of your eyes, but your hands come away with more than the usual eye grit on them. With a jolt you realize your face is painted with cum, and looking down you can tell that it isn't just your face. There's cum on your tits, on your stomach, even your thighs and feet, and a hand between your legs confirms its inside you too. Hands shaking, you scoop it off your thighs and stomach, trying to get as much as you can into your pussy, fingering it deeper and deeper. You must have really taken a pounding last night, because your pussy is sore and your groin feels bruised, but the feeling of that cum inside you is worth every ounce of pain. You put a few pillows under your ass, trying to keep your hips elevated, keep it from spilling out for as long as possible. You imagine it taking root in your womb, changing your body, making your breasts and belly swell with motherhood. You imagine men you've never seen coming into you home while you're asleep and hungrily drinking your milk, squeezing and sucking so you wake up with your nipples sore. You wish one of them was here to fuck the cum deeper inside you, but you make do with your fingers. This time when you cum it's different. It isn't like the first orgasm of the day. It feels like maybe the fifth time you've cum in the last few hours; barely pleasure at all, just spine-tingling, mind-numbing sensation. Is it possible to cum in your sleep? It feels like it shouldn't be allowed, but you're having trouble thinking straight...

You need to stop touching yourself. You're sore and trembly and weirdly exhausted for someone who just woke up, but you can't stop thinking about those strangers in your bedroom, the cocks that must have been in your cunt and your asshole and your mouth. Your clit throbs, begging your fingers for just one more release. You make a compromise with yourself. You put on some panties to keep too much cum from leaking out, and you go to the kitchen to look at the pictures. But there are no polaroids on the kitchen table. Just a cheap plastic USB drive with your name in permanent marker on the side.

It shouldn't be a surprise that they know your name. They've been in your house, they can obviously find your name on your mail or your computer or your driver's license. But seeing it there in unfamiliar handwriting, one more tiny violation of privacy, makes your clit throb again, as if to remind you of its presence.

The voice of your elementary school librarian echoes in your head as you retrieve your laptop and return to bed. It is profoundly stupid, she reminds you, to plug an unfamiliar drive into your computer. There's no telling what kind of malware it could contain, and that kind of access could allow hackers to take complete control of your computer. But you've already done the most profoundly stupid thing. You've done it repeatedly, in fact, and you're in deep enough now that there may not be any going back. The drive contains a single folder, also with your name on it. The folder is full of pictures and videos, hundreds of them, from different cameras and different perspectives, every angle you could possibly want from the events of last night. Men in rubber masks, too many to count, taking turns raping your lifeless body. Stuffing their cocks down your throat and laughing as you choke reflexively. Squeezing your tits, pinching and biting your nipples. Playing with your pussy, intermittently fucking it and trying to shove ever-larger objects inside it. There's a closeup video of your face as one of the men ejaculates onto it. Another of your pussy as a cock pulls out, allowing a fat glob of cum to collect just at the entrance of your unresponsive hole. The last file in the folder is a .txt file, containing a single line of text: a string of numbers and letters that you recognize.

Right there on the first page of your favorite site is a picture of you, asleep and drenched in cum. Below it is your home address, and a short note:

Found this tasty slut by accident at the above address, just noticed the rapeme in her window and figured I'd come back that night. Good pussy, and she must like what we did to her because she hasn't taken it down yet. Stop by if you're in town; we like a limp body, but I bet she'd put up a nice fight if you'd rather forgo sedatives. Just make sure to gag her lol. don't want the neighbors complaining and ruining our fun. and remember to leave her a souvenir! She especially likes polaroids ; )

By the time you've finished reading you're in a daze. Your eyes can't seem to focus on anything. Your mind can't form a coherent thought. Your clit is no longer asking for your attention; it now demands it. As you begin to pull the panties back down, you notice something: the light next to your laptop camera is on.

You place the laptop on the bed between your legs, and begin stuffing the panties into your cunt.

#cnc drugging #cnc free use #cnc cumdump #rapekink #r@pe fantasy #r@pe kink #cnc somno

[gh0vtzb1og]

My girl. Kidnapper au / KONIG X FEM READER

Notes ; kidnapping, non con!!!, blindfolds, bondage, knife and gun play (I have this my all), rape threats, gags, threatening to inflict pain or death. Age gap (23-49), height gap bc my man is 6’11😭

This post was made for the beloved @konigsblog I’d definitely check out their stuff if your interested in dead dove. Their writing is spectacular and their very sweet :)

Konig loved you, he loved the way you slept in your bed naked, the way you’d always be so unaware of who was by you. He’s passed you so many times and you never did bat an eye at him. You never suspected he put cameras in your room, or that he jerked off to your panties, holding them right up to his face and stroking his big girthy cock.

He knew what he was doing, he knew he was gonna take you and use you how your intended to be used. He wanted to Breed you so bad, he couldn’t help but be a damn nerd over you, he knew what panties and bras you liked, he knew what porn you rubbed yourself best to, he knew everything about you.

He loved watching you in your home, he couldn’t wait for your ankles and wrists to be bound, your skin around it a reddish purple from trying to get away, each and every spot is rough and sore. It hurts like hell. Konig was so excited to see you sob and beg for mercy, beg for help and salvation. It would make him go feral, just seeing you with tears already gave him a massive boner.

Konig was standing outside your bedroom window, waiting for you to go to bed. Tonight was the night you’d disappear forever, he couldn’t contain his excitement, the Austrian bit his thumb, rolling his eyes back and groaning into his hand. Why couldn’t he contain himself? You were all he wanted and more, he was gonna breed your cunt tonight, like it or not.

You were laying in your bed, starting to doze off, not an ounce of paranoia filling you. You were in the safety of your own home, you shouldn’t feel endangered when you were all alone in your home! Konig peered through the window, his mask covering his face, just two eye holes to peer through. Konig lifted your window up, just enough to slip through.

His feet softly landed onto the floor of your room, his heels pivoting on the floor and moving next to your bed. This was it.. he was gonna take you and fufill his fantasy. He chewed on his lip, lifting you out of your bed and holding you close to his body.

Konig was gonna tie you up in his basement and rape you, so damn far away from anyone who’d help, maybe he’d bring over some friends aswell.

-

A ball gag was resting between your parted lips, your jaw was held open, saliva running down your mouth and onto your neck. Your eyes opened, trying to adjust to the dark damp basement. The ground was cold and it scraped you whenever you moved, ropes bound your ankles and wrists, the scratchy rope rubbing into your skin every time you struggled. Your body was bare and exposed, the room was so damn cold. Your boobs were hard mounds, perking with arousal whether you liked it or not.

Your cunt was freezing cold from being sopping wet, the floor below you was covered in some of your cum, wait why was there cum? Where were you even.

“Finally awake eh?” A thick German voice called out from a dark corner, you stare at him and let out a confused but scared cry. A cry for help even? Maybe this man would help you, he’d save you from this scary place.

The masked man emerged from the darkness, he had a pistol in his holster, a knife being toyed around in his hand. Your face got visibly pale, your eyes filled with fear. He liked that, it made his cock swell up.

“You seem awful scared? Why’s that honey, hm? Maybe I’ll just slit your pretty throat and watch your blood spill onto the floor?” He watched as you grew more mortified. You were such a sweet girl. Working in a coffee shop, taking some of your hot beverages to the homeless, you’d always help volunteer at the library, organizing books and cleaning shelves.

You were so so so sweet, but that’s what konig preyed upon, someone he could tear apart and break, something that would scream and cry when he touched them. He didn’t wanna fuck drugged up girls or sex dolls anymore. He wanted the real deal, his own little rape doll that’s gonna remember each and every time he uses her.

“einfache kleine Puppe. Ich werde dir nicht weh tun, es sei denn, du zwingst mich dazu.” He practically beamed mumbling those words, his accent slipping into one ear and running out the other. His words were putting you into a false sense of security. You didn’t know what they meant, you didnt know this man was gonna rape you once you got him worked up enough.

“My own deer in headlights..” he tsk’d. Grabbing your face and tilting it up to look at him, he pulled you out of a curled up position. Now your tits and cunt were on display, the cruel man’s eyes went immediately to your glistening cunt. You looked so desperate and deprived, in his eyes atleast. In his eyes you were begging for his cock, you were so pure, and so damn young, your body made him throb against his jeans.

Konig pulled out his pistol, shoving it against your head and undoing his pants. He was gonna finally touch you! He’s wanted so long to do this, so long to rub his thick meaty cock along your pussy. To feel your clit against his tip, to spread you apart and shove his cock deep inside you, he wanted to breed you so bad. He’s been itching to see you knocked up with his babies. Sure their daddy would be a deranged freak who keeps mommy locked away but it’s just what he has to do!

He’ll make mommy fall in love, he’ll fuck her so dumb she develops stockholm syndrome! She’ll melt and drool over his cock, never satisfied without it. He was such a nerd, practically bouncing in his spot while watching her, hopefully she’ll be bouncing too.

Konig spread your legs excitedly. His throbbing cock was so excited to be inside your gummy pussy! His cock looked like it was gonna spear your virgin walls open, he wanted to shove it inside you and never pull out, you’d look too good on his cock.

“Please stop sir please stop I don’t want this,” you cry out pathetically. Not able to convince him to not take advantage of your body here, he wasn’t gonna be gentle. He’d be gentle later when you were sobbing for him to love you, after all you wouldn’t be a virgin anymore. He’d convince you men don’t like whores, and he’d use you until you were one.

Konig pushed his tip into your tiny hole, a loud groan leaving his lips as he gaped your pussy. Feeling it stretching and trying it’s hardest to not tear. Your cunt held his tip tightly inside, konig let out a very pleased groan. Meanwhile you were in the middle of moanish screams. Your body was shaking from the fact konig was shoving deeper into you. You weren’t prepped for this, it was so unfair to loose your virginity in a damp dark basement like this.

You wanted better than what he was gonna do to you.

-

Possibly part 2 coming soon🙏🙏🙏

#konig cod #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x you #yandere konig #konig modern warfare #konig headcanons #konig smut #konig x y/n #cod mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty #gh0vtzb1ogz #call of duty smut #cod smut #smut writing #writers on tumblr #writing

[theoddest1]

Hey, isn't it so..."Great" that Viv is out here liking posts that clearly find moments where Angel is being sexual with his rapist "Hot" How much more telling can this all get, right? We really sit here, having to explain how fucked up it is to take SA, try to tackle it "seriously" but then proceed to not even do it for that reason. Only for it to be for angst and goon material. How do you expect me to SIT HERE and take whatever Viv has to offer seriously? The number of people I have seen trying to justify this gross behavior is abysmal. If you have this kink or whatever, fine not like I can stop you, be into that shit somewhere else, but DO NOT try and TACKLE IT only for it to be not even seen as serious or as a way for you to get off to your sick fantasies.

Why the hell would you like this? "Angel with his abusive rapist boss😝, so hot guys! Can'tstop thinking about it!"

What good reason would Viv have in liking this post? Why do over 4k people find a post like this neat? "Oh they're fictional, it's gucci, stop bitching" wouldn't need to bitch if people didn't outright sexualize moments meant to tackle an irl fucking problem.

By the way, this person ships Angel and Valentino together. Their pinned tweet is legit sexual Val and Angel art. I wouldn't recommend attacking them regardless if you disagree with their ships and what they deem...ugh "hot."

Fair warning to I WILL be showing some of their arts and reblogs as evidence, so if you are not into that sort of thing (anything NSFW), I highly recommend scrolling past my post or past this section of it.

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I'm pretty sure Viv actively searches for this sort of thing on Twitter, like it's PAINFULLY obvious that she does. How you just so happen to like a post clear af lusting for this abusive relationship YOU CLAIMED to take seriously that ALSO happens to be from an account that ships the abuser with the victim? Gtfo with your two-faced shit, just say your find this hot instead of lying your absolute ass off. The audacity for some fans to go after one group of people for liking questionable stuff only to let other questionable things slide. Like homie, you can let rape slide, but draw the line for any other questionable thing? How's about you have that energy for EVERYTHING with your hypocritical asses. Ion wanna hear y'all stank ass make callouts if you're okay with a rapist being shipped with someone he actively harms in various ways.

And Viv

You say this entire sequence is meant to be uncomfortable, meant to not sugar-coat how awful this situation is, and supposedly have people who are victims/survivors themselves, yet here you are liking posts from people who do anything but take it seriously and even sexualize it. That's absolutely insane to me. And reminds me how you were drooling over some pins that glamorize the abuse Angel and supposedly Husk goes through, you know, the same character that COMPARED his abuse with Angel's.

Ah yes, let's downplay how horrible Angel's situation is further, shall we? Let's especially do it after adamantly arguing with other SA survivors who "haven't seen the episode yet" and need to shut up or don't watch 😃. Let's ignore the fact that Husk and Angel's situations STILL aren't comparable but it's still very odd to have pins on TWO situations taken seriously in the show. So do you actually view the situations seriously or not Viv???

God she's....actually fucking stupid and horrid.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #anti spindlehorse #anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin critical #hazbin fandom critical #hazbin hotel #hazbin valentino #hazbin angel dust

[moocowmeg34]

Fantasy:

I want to be stalked and kidnapped. You keep me in a cage, locked up, naked and a collar and leash and two dog bowls for food and water. I have no idea what is going on.

You eventually appear and tell me you've been stalking me for months, after finding me and tell me we had been talking on Tumblr.

I'm shocked and horrified but you tell me I should've known better than to whore myself out to the internet. What did I think was going to happen?

You take me out of the cage, not letting me walk, forcing me to crawl to a room with a tv. On the television is my missing persons report.

You tell me your going to rape me and before I can panic, you pull me onto your lap as your sitting on a chair and fuck me as I struggle.

You laugh, pulling on the leash as I struggle to try and get away but I'm not strong enough. I'm forced to watch my missing persons report on full blast, hearing the pleas of my family to bring me home as you rape me.

"This is your own fault, you fat, slutty cow. Didn't your mother teach you not to talk to strangers? I'm gonna fuck you till your screaming and then I'm gonna rape a baby into you."

This is not how I wanted to get pregnant but I don't have a choice. You continue to rape me as I sob.

"You are my fuck toy. My cow. My pig. My slut. I own you. You are gonna be raped every day. And once I rape a baby into you, you will be forced to carry your rapist's baby."

This is my fate.

This is my life.

I have nothing.

I am nothing.

Just a toy.

Just some holes to be used and abused.

For your pleasure. And entertainment.

Every day you rape me. Always in front of my missing persons report. You recorded it too. Play it over and over again.

I've given up all hope of ever being found.

I'm yours forever.

One day, you come to me. I'm swollen and pregnant with your baby. Still in a cage. Why would me being pregnant get me special treatment?

I have breast pumps attached, pumping away while I'm fucking myself on a dildo and have a vibrator in my ass.

"There's my Cow" you say.

"Moo" I respond and you just laugh.

I don't have a name.

Not anymore.

I only respond to Cow.

Moo.

#cnc kidnapping #rap3toy #free use toy #cnc rough #r4p3b4it #r@pe fantasy #rap3 fantasy #huccow #fat hucow #huc0w #degrading k1nk #fr33use #cnc free use #free use cnc #free use slvt #submisive and breedable #breeding pet #breeding toy #cnc stalking #free use kink #br33d1ng #br33dable #hucow fantasy #mind conditioning #mind corruption #r4p3 m3 #r@pe k1nk #rough cnc #consensual noncon #patriarchy kink

[thelesbianpoirot]

The thing about BDSM/stripping/pornography/prostitution that I critique is not about what the sub/victim/penetrated wants. I don't care to shame the person with the abuse and rape fantasy. People from oppressed groups who hate themselves will seek out means of self destruction and humiliation. They are taught to. It is what society trained them to do. It is not surprising that many young women (and young gay men) run towards violent sex, plastic surgery, extreme piercing, extreme tattooing, prostitution and exploitation. What other group is taught to hate themselves more? What other group is more death seeking? I am not shocked the groups with the highest rates suicide attempts, eating disorder, lowest record self esteem, poor body image, mocked the most in media, have high murder and sexual assault rates hate themselves and seek lifestyles that reflect or perpetuate their own destruction. "Choke me daddy," the 14yr old writes on her social media page, and gets likes of people thinking she cool, hot and progressive. She knows there are people who want to do horrible things to her, and if she lets them, and "enjoys" it, that is the closest she will get to love, attention, and praise. She reads and masturbates to rape fantasies in fanfiction/dark romance books because she is aware of the place society wants her in and was a victim of their concerted efforts to normalize and even eroticize her submission and degradation. She is not a product of free choice and individualism. She is a good student of society's bigotry and hatred. Proof of free choice would be her having the highest standards, self preservation and dignity. That is what would make her stand out amongst her peers. That is what would buck tradition. I have grown up around poor black people my entirely life, and watched many people destroy their lives with drugs, gangs, getting pregnant by multiple men, and many other social ills. Many of these things were avoidable, I avoided them, a few of my friends did, I wondered why they hadn't. And it's after I grew up that I realize many of those people didn't think they were capable of doing anything else, or were deserving of any other kind of life. When the world hates you, makes a systematic effort to destroy you every day, you listen and begin destroying yourself too. In a way to pretend you have total control over your life at all times.

I will not argue with a sub/pornstar/stripper/prostitute that she should be ashamed of herself. She already is. She wouldn't be doing this if she were raised to care for and respect herself by a loving just society. I will argue that her abusive dom, the sex buyer, rapist, and director (person in power exploiting them) needs to be tried for crimes and put down like an animal.

#thelesbianpoirot

[l1tw1ck]

Picking Up a Stray

bottom!ftm Miguel x top!male reader

🕷️ Word Count: 863 🕷️

[Part Two] | AFAB Language Used

i just woke up from a very very very long sleep and wrote this within an hour, i proofread it but there's probably a few mistakes 😭

CW: Non-Con to Con, Vibrator, Public Sex, Squirting, Virginity Loss, Blood, Creampie, miguel has a rape kink

Miguel’s doing errands with a vibrator lodged in his cunt and he's trying so hard to pretend like it doesn't feel good. Like he doesn't want to fall to the floor and let it do its thing, make him come and moan like the slut he is. He takes a shortcut to the last store on his list, determined to get this done. Lyla warns him that he won't make it but he doesn't listen. He turns the wrong way despite Lyla giving him directions, he’s distracted by the rapid buzzing in his pussy and mindlessly walks into a dead end. Nobody seems to come this way. He could rest here for a moment and no one would see him. Lyla tells him not to, she has the directions for the closest bathroom and urges him to hold out a bit longer. He can't. He falls to the ground along with his bags and gives in to the vibrator, even stroking his erect t-dick through his pants to expedite the process. He had no reason to though, as he squirts only moments later.

Lyla tells him he's no longer alone and his eyes shoot towards the exit. Fuck. He’s screwed (literally). You walk towards him and look down at him. "Today must be my lucky day." You whistle, grabbing his shirt and lifting him up. Miguel considers himself a pretty heavy guy, the fact that you can pick him up is terrifying.

"Leave me alone." He growls. He can’t feel Lyla anymore. He doesn't know what happened to her but he’s all alone now.

"Don’t act like you don't want this, kitty." You pull down his pants and then his panties, his slick is hesitant to part with the fabric, sticking to it almost like a spider web.

"I don't!" He yells. He tries to move around and fight you but to no avail. You’re determined to fuck him. You shove your fingers inside him, making him moan, and pull out the vibrator. You bring it to your face, taking in the smell before licking up all the slick it's collected. You drop it on the ground and free your hard cock with just one hand.

Miguel's breath hitches when he sees your length. It’s thick, veiny, and long. Screw what he said before. He wants this. He’s always had a fantasy like this, where he gets raped by some rando with a big dick. He never thought he'd actually want it. But maybe part of him did, maybe that's why he decided to use a vibrator today. He wanted the thrill, the possibility of getting caught and having to take responsibility for it.

Despite this revelation, he continues to act like he doesn't want it. He pretends to be angry as you push him against the wall and lift him into the air, his legs held up by your strong hands. He looks down and watches you rub your cock along his messy pussy, your precum drips down onto his womb, making him twitch.

"please.." He whimpers. "Please don't." He continues his facade, getting insanely turned on when he sees your reaction.

"Oh, kitty, even if you cry, I won't let you go. It’ll only make me want you more." You bring your tip to his entrance. He gulps. He's going to lose his virginity to a stranger in an alleyway. Why does he love that so much? You shove your length into him, making him throw his head back. He bites his lip, holding back his moans. You let out a curse. "You’re tight. So, so fucking tight.." You dig your nails into his flesh and start pounding into him. Miguel covers his mouth with his hands, tears starting to fall thanks to the pain of losing his virginity. He knows he's bleeding and he loves it. He's unbelievably horny right now.

You look down at where the two of you meet and notice a coat of cum and blood on your shaft. "This is your first time?" You ask, voice shaky. He nods, sniffling. "Shit." You fuck him even rougher, excited to be the one who took his virginity. Miguel can't help but come, squirting hard. "You like this, don't you?" You smirk, licking your lips. "It's okay, kitty, be honest." You pry his hands away.

Miguel whimpers. "I lo- love it~" He moans.

You chuckle. "Of course you do." You bring him into a kiss and despite his inexperience he happily reciprocates it. He feels your thrusts losing their rhythm, does that mean…? His pussy convulses around your length, excited to be filled up with your cum. The feeling of that quickly brings you to your orgasm.

You pull away from the kiss and look at his blissed out expression. "I don't typically take in strays but I'll make an exception for you." You pull out of him and put his clothes back on, forcing him to walk around with your cum inside him. Not that he doesn't want that. He looks at you as you grab his hand, he’s barely aware of what's happening. He lets you take him to your home, leaving his bags in the alleyway.

#top male reader #male reader #dark content #tw noncon #bottom miguel o'hara #miguel smut #miguel o'hara x male reader #ftm character #spiderverse x male reader #spiderverse smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #🕯️miguel o'hara #🕯️spider man #🕯️marvel #wicks🕯works

[writersdrug]

Nectar and Bane - Pt. 1

Pairings: Hunter!König x Witch!Reader

Pt. 2

Summary: König is hired to hunt down a pesky witch by a warlock, who paints you as the most evil thing in the past three centuries. With the promise of finding true love (or, the closest thing the warlock can offer: a brainwashed woman who is forced to dote on the hunter), König sets out on his journey. However, you aren't what he was expecting at all, and he develops a newfound obsession with making you become his.

Warnings: dubcon, mentions of rape, manipulation, kidnapping, sex pollen (kinda? If you squint? not really, but better safe than sorry), corruption kink, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of consuming human organs, unrequited pining, angst at the end, death (not for main characters), cowgirl, missionary, mating press, biting, hair pulling, nipple play, power imbalance, handjob, obsessive thoughts and behaviour (please let me know if I missed any!)

Notes: thought I'd try my hand a fantasy au version of cod, or at least of König. This is really long (over 15000 words) so I split it into two parts. The next part is pretty much done, I'm just exhausted and wanted to at least crank out half. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in pt 2!

ps if anyone has any suggestions or tips on how to make collages or banners for fics, pleeeaseeee lmk

translations at the end

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Watch your every step. From the moment you step foot into those woods, you can’t trust anything you see.

That’s what the sorcerer had drilled into his head before he had begun his journey. He called you dangerous, cunning… “A sneaky, meddling bitch…” he had grumbled over the table in that crowded tavern.

Two small pouches, one of silver, one of gold, sat in between the two patrons on the table. Stains of ale and coffee rings littered the unvarnished wood. The wax of the thick candle had trickled down and formed small, hardened pools at the base – its flame flickered weakly, casting unflattering shadows against the man’s weathered features, and making the portentous hood covering König’s face only that much more ominous.

He'd listened warily as the sorcerer described the witch – you. Tens of centuries old, too much knowledge and too little wisdom to use it sensibly. You take whatever you want by whatever means possible, and your favored method was using your physical assets and the promise of sexual devotion to coerce those within your web to do your bidding. “Sometimes it’s for her personal gain – sometimes, she does it for fun.” The warlock added bitterly. “Akin to a serpent, she winds you into her embrace, and then crushes your bones before she swallows you whole, saving your heart for last.” You’d done it to him, ensnaring him into your alluring trap, before stealing his spellbooks, his potions, his most prized collections… and vanishing into thin air.

An enchantress, König had concluded.

The warlock’s request? “Kill her. And be quick with it. The sooner this earth is rid of that swine, the sooner we can all rest. And, better yet – bring me her eyes! Potent things, witches’ eyes can be – of course, that is if they’re still working. If the bitch has gone blind, don’t waste dulling your dagger. A handful of her hair would do just fine.”

König had killed much worse for much less, and this sounded like it would be on the simpler side of things. A few days’ worth of hunting and a quick, efficient kill – hopefully, one of his easier jobs, although with the way the sorcerer described you, that might not be. He’d dealt with magicians before; up until now, they had been rather boring to hunt – tedious, but nonetheless, boring. Most of the time, they tried to end him with some elaborate incantation in the few seconds remaining of their life after he’d ambushed them. His silver blade would be slicing across their throats before they could utter five syllables. They were always so intent on murdering their victims slowly and in a flashy manner. With König’s preference for a more immediate result, he was usually the one collecting the fingernails, teeth, and tongues.

(Over time, he’d had noticed that it was always sorcerers ordering the assassination of other sorcerers. He wondered why they had so much of an issue amongst themselves, but he didn’t question it. Whatever kept him fed and paid for his room, he would do it.)

The picture the warlock was painting of you, however, made you seem much craftier and more calculated. You couldn’t resist the glamorous ways of murder via magic – it was written in your nature as a witch. But you played the game with your charisma and wit, too; something magic users didn’t typically rely on (half of the time, because they weren’t charismatic, nor witty). You waited until your assailant would fall to your wicked charm, before dissecting him like nothing more than a toad for your cauldron. If not an easy kill, you at least sounded like you would be an exciting one – but König knew he could get something more from this client for killing you.

“What more can you offer me?” he asked.

The warlock chuckled. “The gold is insufficient, is it?” he leaned forward and hunched his shoulders, speaking in a hushed tone. “Tell me, what do you desire? Recognition and respect? Revenge against someone who’s crossed you? To bring back a loved one from the dead? Or, perhaps, to find a love of your own?”

König’s shoulders tensed, and the rest of the warlock’s utterances fell on deaf ears. Could he possibly give him a chance to find himself someone to love? Someone that he and only he can worship? It was true that he would be happier to live alone, in whatever way that would allow him to be independent of society… but the thought of being able to live alone with someone, someone who was devoted to him, someone who could decorate his hut with signs of life and warmth, someone with a kind smile and a sweet voice, someone who he could spend hours upon hours with, memorizing each curve of their body, the taste of their nectar on his tongue…

He called it love. Others would call him insane. He’d heard it all before – how no one would ever love him, given his profession, his awkwardness in carrying a conversation about anything normal other than how sharp his knives are, and how he uses them… that, and the fact that he never shows his face (“He must be hideous under there…” they would speculate). Nonetheless, he still craved the devotion of an obedient, warm body waiting for him in his cabin at the end of the day – once he did get a cabin. Why should he be denied what everyone else wants?

He knew he was a hypocrite; he couldn’t expect someone else to be so willing to leave everything and run away with him. Not with his insane ideations and obsessions – hell, not with who he was as a person. But if he killed enough healthy rabbits to keep her fed, and if he fucked her hard enough that her eyes rolled back into her head and she couldn’t muster enough strength to escape the mattress… would she ever care about what kind of man he was?

The warlock smiled slowly. “Of course… that’s what all of you sick bastards want.” He said, leaning back and folding his arms. “If it will seal our contract, I will give you whichever woman you choose. I’ll make her yours, and only yours, with unconditional love – even for your damned soul.”

A fair deal, König had thought. Which is exactly what had him currently trudging through the dense woods, searching for any traces of a witch – a sack with two loaves of bread and some apples hung over his shoulder, along with his well-worn tashka stuffed with the coin he had earned over time. His sword was strapped to his hip in its sheath, his dagger (a short sword, when it was compared to the average person) stuffed into the lead-lined, deerskin sheath on the side of his boot; and a pelt, heavy and thick, hung around his shoulders. All he had to his name.

König had done a day of research on you – testimonies and sightings of you ghosting the perimeter of the woods at an early age, hoping to lure some poor soul away as your very first victim. “I imagine she was a succubus in her previous life,” the warlock had spoken, “maybe too much of a whore for even the devil to handle.”

He had caught you one night by luring you to his cabin with the scent of a savory meal. Guessing by your inexperience, and the way you avoided using words as you snarled and thrashed in the warlock’s grip, he assumed you had not yet reached one hundred years old. You were still young and fresh-faced, appearing no more than twenty to human eyes. “After a few decent meals, and reintroducing her to the work of her past life – she’d settled in as the perfect student. It almost felt like having a pet.” He added with a smug smile.

König questioned how happy you were with being reintroduced to the work of your past, but he didn’t comment on it.

After living with the warlock as his student and whore for a few centuries, you turned into a strong, young witch. You didn’t care to go into town, preferring to stay at the cabin and watch over the brews whenever he had to make deliveries or run to the shops. The warlock had no complaints about your desire to stay holed up in his home – fewer people to ogle at you, fewer glimpses into a more civilized life that might tempt you to run away. He’d much rather you be a brooding, antisocial bitch, than watch one of his clients stare at you with a yellowed, lustful grin, like you were some harlot in the window of a brothel.

On one particular day, without any indication of what you were planning, he had returned home from his rounds to an empty cabin – not just empty of you, but of his potion stock, his rarest ingredients, and his most prized spellbooks. He’d run into the woods in fury, screeching your name and hurling threats into the trees around him – but you were gone. Not a trace of you could be found within a five mile radius of his home.

It was like you had never been there, save the absence of his personal belongings.

In König’s opinion, you didn’t strike him as an extremely dangerous individual. Sure, the warlock had harped on and on about how cunning and deceiving you were – but all you had done was lie to him. And from the way he had described the conditions you were under, König didn’t exactly blame you for running away. Maybe this job was a waste of his time…

Still, he couldn’t find it in him to complain, despite the nip of the mid-autumn air, and the fact that he was embarking on what might be one of the most treacherous endeavors of his career. He was getting a decent payout for it – that is, if he lived to finish the job. Additionally, the scenery was a comfort to his journey; wiry birch trees stood high and thickly clustered, their brown and black spots like ever-watchful eyes, staring at the gargantuan hunter as he moved. Their golden leaves mimicked the light of the sun, the real thing blocked out by the overcast skies. A whisper of wind flew by his ears, carrying down and blowing the leaves further along his path with a gentle sigh. As if nature herself was telling the world to be quiet, be still, and prepare for winter.

It was times like this where König became unsure of himself. What if he hated having someone else to care for? What if, deep down, he preferred the silence and the solitude? But then, the loneliness would strike him. The longing to be understood (if that was humanely possible), and the desire to have something warm, alive, and sentient to acknowledge him. It consumed him on those sleepless nights, perfectly warm by the hearth of whatever inn he resided at, yet so hollow without having someone to wrap his arms around.

A swaying movement in the branches above pulled him from his thoughts. Hanging down by a twine thread, tied to one of the spindling birch branches, was a tiny, burlap pouch. It reached a few feet above König’s head, and was drenched in a dark, thick liquid that dripped rhythmically onto the forest floor. Looking to where the drops landed, he noticed the matter on the ground was decaying – a steaming pile of rot was all that was left of the leaves that were once there.

He frowned. The trap was clever – for a witch in their first century. König had expected something a bit more dangerous for someone your age. Maybe the last hunter had been too gullible, and you stereotyped them to all be oafs. Or, maybe you were too old and couldn’t craft traps with the same skill and precision as your younger self.

He drew his dagger from his boot and quickly sliced the twine thread. The pouch dropped to the floor with a squelch, landing in the very puddle of death it had created. The liquid beneath it bubbled and hissed, and the bag soon dissolved to reveal its contents: bits of bone – a kind of reptilian foot, from the looks of it – dried pomegranate seeds, and a fuzzy layer of mold, all appearing to be drenched in some kind of blood.

He carefully stepped around the stinking mess, his eyes turning back onto the path to continue his hunt. He both hoped for and against finding more evidence of your existence. He wanted to get back to town as soon as he could, so he could hole himself up in an inn until his money began to run out – all the same, his mind craved a puzzle and a chase. Though, with how old you were, he doubted there would be much of a chase.

More leaking, swaying hex bags hung from branches as he trudged on, pointing him in the right direction. He didn’t bother to quiet the sound of the leaves beneath his footsteps – the rustling of the wind through the foliage was doing the job well enough. He held onto his dagger tightly, his other hand on his longsword, as he carefully toed through the dense forest. He had to be close – the smell of fennel and turmeric settled around his presence, along with the babbling of a nearby stream.

The sound of a distant tune danced through the trees. The voice was soft, yet clear, and whoever it belonged too was much too confident that they were alone in these woods. König wondered if it was actually you, and not some poor soul who had been foraging for the autumn mushrooms and berries – but he was nearly a day’s trek into the forest. No one would dare come out this far, unless they wanted to be alone. And, they were potentially hiding from something; their own past, perhaps.

He cautiously followed the sound of the tune, still disguising the sound of his own steps within the rustling leaves and wind. His heart thrummed with both uncertainty and excitement; he always did get too thrilled at the idea of a struggle and blood covering his hands. He took a deep breath in through his nostrils, focusing his attention on the voice that carried through the trees, pulling him closer and closer… He gripped his dagger tightly as he crept, reminding himself of the warlock’s warning: cunning, sneaky – be on your best wits.

The voice brought him to the edge of a clearing. The birch trees parted and encircled a few meters of earth, and a few bushes huddled along the far edge, dotted with purplish berries and thorned branches. A wicker basket, woven clumsily and rather lopsided, sat on the ground and caught each berry and branch that was tossed into it. A figure knelt in front of the bushes, carefully plucking the berries with thin, delicate fingers, stained purple from the juice of the berries, and nails that might need a trim soon, unless they were intended to be claws.

The cloaked figure confused König. The voice was too melodic, too clear and fresh for an old witch. He had assumed you weren’t much younger than the warlock, but still old. He remained a few yards away from you, shrouded by the trees and dense foliage outside of the clearing.

It was when you turned your head, dropping your handful of berries into the basket, revealing your face, that he realized how wrong he had been in his assumption.

Your skin was soft, he could tell even with the distance between the two of you. Your lips delicately moved as you sang your tune, your eyes sparkled in contrast to the dull autumn colors that surrounded you. Small wisps of your hair danced around your cheeks as the wind caressed it. Your entire body looked soft, warm, and pliable… exactly what he needed. Craved.

It wasn’t hard for him to imagine it: leaves tangling into your hair as he pressed his fingers around your neck, pushing you to the cold ground and watching as you gasped for air. He’d use his knife, but not to kill you. He’d drag it over your hardened nipples, watching them perk up even more at the prickling sensation, before he’d carve his name into your stomach. Smear your pretty blood all over your pretty face, watch as your eyes widen with horror, as you question how someone can be so deranged and cruel, how he can take so much pleasure in something so vile and horrible-

Or maybe, he could convince you that he just wants a fuck. You looked like you could use one – when was the last time you’d had someone’s lips on your breasts, or their cock in your cunt? It had certainly been too long for him… he couldn’t imagine how long you had gone without being thoroughly ravaged, living in these woods all alone. He could take care of that. He could be gentle, for a little while; holding your wrists above your head as he pushed you against a tree, whispering praise and encouragements into your ear, “… so gut, so Schön, genau so…” taking you from behind as your nipples perked up from the rough texture of the bark, listening to you whine and moan in that sweet voice of yours as he lets out months’ worth of pent up frustration by thrusting his cock into your warm pussy, over and over and over until you scream and tighten around his length, milking the cum right out of him as he fucks you deep, maybe sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck-

He growled quietly, palming his rapidly-growing erection as he tried to clear his head. Stay focused. Kill the witch, and then you’ll get what you want.

Remember the warlock’s promise.

Even if he didn’t need you to satisfy his needs, he could still make this interesting. Not like you could outrun him, anyway.

He stepped into the clearing, and as if by some ironic joke, the wind died down immediately. The crunch of his heavy boots was enough to make his presence known to any living thing within a mile radius.

Your singing stopped. You whipped your head in his direction, and immediately a look of fear fell upon your face. For a moment, the two of you were frozen in a staring contest. You reminded him of a doe, staring at the crossbow of the hunter you had noticed, wondering if this being was actually dangerous, or nothing you needed to worry about. He wondered what he must remind you of, and he wished to hear the panicking thoughts flitting through your mind.

Finally, you broke the trance – you gasped, stumbling backwards and awkwardly standing as you ripped a pathetic, little knife from your boot. You faced him and pointed the knife at him – you held it improperly, and if he truly wanted to make this messy, he could easily make you stab yourself in a struggle. He wondered what it would feel like when your nails dug into his rough skin, dragging marks down his forearms (or his back, if he played his cards right).

You pulled the thick cloak tighter around your body – you were tiny. Well, everything was tiny compared to König. But you were unexpectedly small. With the way the sorcerer had described you, he had expected you to reach his shoulders at least. But there you were, craning your neck to look up at him with fearful, owlish eyes.

“State your business!” You demanded, your voice cracking slightly.

König chuckled in response. You really were too pathetic for your own good, weren’t you? He took you in – your lips were pulled into a frown, parted slightly to reveal your perfect teeth, the way the fabric of your cloak quivered where it bunched in your fist… perfectly ordinary things that ordinary people do. But, besides the fact that you were a witch, something about you made it all so captivating.

“Hey!” you shouted, bringing his eyes back to your gaze. Your fear had given way to a judgmental ire. “Gods, have you ever seen a woman before?!”

König scoffed. “Woman? Yes, of course. I’ve seen witches, too. None as young as you, however.”

Your eyes widened in panic once again. You stretched your knife out towards him as he stalked over to where you stood. “S-stay back! I’ll kill you!”

Your meek threat didn’t slow him down. He continued his advance until he had corralled you against a tree, your one hand bracing against the trunk behind you, and the other holding the knife under his ribcage. The only thing between his flesh and your blade was his linen tunic, which wouldn’t do much to protect him should you decide to stab him – but were you capable of that? Your eyes were so filled with fear as they stared at him, your chin to the sky to take all of him in. Your fingers trembled around the handle of your knife as if the prospect of having to nick him made you uneasy.

“Not with magic?” he asked, his eyes flitting to the bush next to you. He plucked one of the berries between his thick, gloved fingers, rolling the onyx sphere between his thumb and middle finger before squashing it.

You pouted (a sight König could never grow tired of). “I’m not a wi-“

He snatched your forearm, and you yelped, dropping the knife to the forest floor. His fingers easily wrapped around you; he wondered how easy it would be to break it.

“Don’t lie, now.” He ordered, his eyes narrowing with a hint of annoyance. “You’re not good at it.”

He released your arms with a shove. You scrambled back with a fearful expression, swiping the blade from the ground. He watched with interest as you stood several yards away from him, pointing your weapon towards him once again.

“Fine.” You said, holding yourself a bit taller. “You’re right. What’s the crime in that?”

For a moment, König was lost. Why weren’t you trying to weaponize your magic? It was almost as if you had forgotten you weren’t a human. For someone who was supposed to be a cunning bitch, as the warlock had put it, you weren’t very smart.

“I’m not here for justice.” He replied, wiping his glove on his shirt. “Just doing my job.”

“Hunter?” you asked.

He extended his arms – gods, he could have crushed a pillar between those arms – as if presenting himself to you. “Was it not obvious?” he asked, and you could hear the smirk in his tone.

You huffed. “Well, you’re not a very good one. Most hunters don’t make conversation with their prey.”

Prey. He liked that you understood your position, that he was the one in charge here. Maybe you were a clever girl…

“I like to listen to the begging.”

“Begging?”

“For your life.” König folded his arms over his chest, inspecting you closely. The only thing you had to protect yourself was your cloak, and that hardly provided a shield against the wind. Even though you were obviously wary of him, it wasn’t wary enough. You had spoken too many words with the hunter, and had it been anyone else, you might have been dead long before now.

You seemed malleable – book-smart and spitfire, yet all too gullible. Easily manipulated. Just what he needed to brainwash you into loving him. Or, at least, being his pet. You’d never truly love him, he had come to learn that from experience. But maybe, if he could somehow convince you that you needed a big, scary man, who could protect you and fuck you nicely, it would be enough to make you stay. After all, you were too naïve to be alone out here, weren’t you?

Could the warlock perhaps make you his prize? It’d kill two birds with one stone, he could convince you to return whatever knickknacks you had stolen, and your presence would never bother anyone ever again – besides him, but of course, it would never be a bother to bed you every night.

Your expression turned sour. “I don’t beg.”

The tone of your voice sent a shiver down his cock. He’d have to pound that little attitude right out of you.

“Who hired you?” You asked indignantly. The knife in your hand had slowly lowered, now pointing at his feet. Your initial fear seemed to have worn off. Were you brave, or just that stupid?

“It doesn’t matter.” König replied.

“It does to me.”

“You don’t know? How many people have you wronged?”

You scoffed. “I haven’t wronged anyone. People just don’t like it when you call them out on their atrocities.”

König hummed. You had a point. “Your teacher – the warlock.”

For a moment, you scrunched your face in disgust. Teacher. Only a fool as mad as the warlock himself could consider he was any such figure in your life, other than a torturous one. Then, you sighed, shoulders slumping defeatedly, the knife now aimed straight at the forest floor. “That old toad can’t even kill me himself…” you muttered. “What payment did he offer you?”

“He promised me anything I desired of your possessions.” König replied, taking note of the change in your presence. He purposely left out the warlock’s promise to find him a “companion.”

“And what would you do with cursed fig seeds, or stag’s blood?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest (which, König noted, framed your breasts perfectly). “I have no gold – not enough to be a reward for the trouble of killing me.”

“He gave me three hundred gold coin, too.”

Your lips turned down into a scowl. “That’s all?! That absolute hypocrite!” You lodged your knife into the tree behind you and placed your hands on your hips. “I took everything from him, save that disgusting old shed he called home, and that’s all he’ll pay to kill me?!”

Your outburst pulled König from his obsessive staring. “You’re… insulted?”

You turned back to him and huffed. “Well, obviously.” You retorted. “I stole all he had to his name, and he treats me like a fly buzzing in his ear. I deserve a bit more recognition than three hundred gold coin.”

“You admit to it, then.” König said, stepping closer. You appeared to be too angry to notice how near the hunter was to you. “You are a thief.”

You laughed – a sound that König did not expect to be so sweet. “I’ve done much worse than thieving, mind you.” You shook your head. “And he’s done even worse to me.” You sighed, pulling the dagger from the tree trunk and sheathing it back into your boot.

Once again, he was reminded of how small you were. Why weren’t you afraid of him? Sure, you had the advantage of magic while he did not, but you weren’t even acting defensively anymore. You treated him like a traveler who had stumbled across your path, starting up conversation and sharing your story.

“What has he done?” he asked, his interest in you growing by the second. An outcast, despised, hated by others. He felt that the two of you were kindred spirits, and he would not risk losing a connection so rare – one he had never felt.

“You mean he didn’t even tell you?” you said, sounding more hurt than anything else.

“He did.” König sheathed his own dagger as a peace offering. “But I’m coming to think he was not entirely truthful.”

You sighed, looking down at your basket, then back at König. “I suppose I could tell you, since he brought you all this way to kill me. Walk with me – but keep your dagger away. And if you try anything, I’ll slit your throat. Understood?”

He suppressed the urge to laugh. Could you even reach his throat? “The warlock said you would lure me away to your hut, and carve out my heart.”

You huffed disappointedly, walking back to the bush near König. Completely calm, like he had only ever come up to you with the intention of finding a friend. “And yet, he’s still alive, after all the chances I had to kill him. We can stay outside of my hut, if it eases your mind. I’ll let you make your own tea, too. But if you aren’t set on killing me right this minute, I really should return to start drying these out.” You held up your basket. “Before too much time passes, and I can no longer use them.”

König had never given his prey more than a few moments to try and beg their way out of his crushing hands. He couldn’t believe he had even given so much lenience to your baseless trust in him – what he should have done was take the opportunity to grab your face and snap your neck. But he was starting to doubt the warlock’s testimony; you were a thief, yes, but had you really committed any crime? Or were you simply just taking the revenge you deserved from your captor – or, as the warlock called himself, your master?

König sighed. He gestured his hand out, signaling for you to lead the way.

You frowned. “First, give me your word.” You demanded.

“I will not harm you.” He said, with a hand over his heart. He didn’t care about forcing you to make the same promise – you were harmless enough. He did, however, make sure to avoid saying that he wouldn’t touch you. Although he was developing a few ounces more of respect for you, who knows? Maybe you would find a reason to drag him into your hut and satisfy both of your needs – and, if he was lucky enough to get that far, maybe you’d offer for him to spend the night in a warm bed, and he could be saved from sleeping on the cold earth for one night.

His word seemed promising enough to you. Threading your arm through the handle of the basket, you began marching through the woods, watching the ground carefully as you stepped over roots and twigs.

König followed by your side, watching you from the corner of his eye. You really were helpless – all it would take is a strong push from him, and you’d be tumbling down, maybe hitting your head on a stone, or rolling down the mountainside until your neck snapped. Even if the fall didn’t kill you, he could easily land one hit to your chest and pierce your lungs with your own ribs. But here you were, worrying more about the uneven forest floor than the lumbering creature by your side.

“What did he tell you?” you asked, pulling him from his fantasies. “About the beginning, when he took me.”

König laughed in pity. “He made it sound like he caught you, not that he took you.”

You sighed. “He didn’t catch me… well, I suppose he did. More like how animals are caught.” You adjusted your grip on the basket, still watching the ground beneath you. “I was the botanist’s assistant before he came along. Stared at me like I was naked. He would come more often than he needed to -  asked me where I was from, who my father was – things I didn’t understand why he needed to know. I still don’t.”

König didn’t understand himself. He continued to listen, the sounds of his footsteps drowning out your quiet ones. He began to wonder just how much of the warlock’s testimony was true.

“He came to the shop one night.” You continued to recount the story. “I was lighting the lanterns in the greenhouse. It was storming, and I didn’t hear him. He bludgeoned me and dragged me into the streets like I was some sort of animal.” You paused, turning your own words over in your head. “I suppose I was, to him.

He brought me back to his cabin – that’s when he started the curse. All I remember when waking up is feeling sick. I tried to stand, but it- everything felt heavy, like I was stuck in mud. I managed to crawl outside, and he was there. Saying my father wouldn’t recognize me, that he had killed the old lady at the botanist, that everyone would think that I had killed her… that I would be burned if I returned to the village. That I would forever be an outcast as long as I lived – as a witch. As what he made me.”

You paused again, for longer this time. König looked down at you, observing how your face twisted in… disgust? Anger? Your eyes were somewhere else, possibly somewhere where you could light the world on fire, drain the life from everyone who had ever done you wrong. König had felt that same hatred before, and he had learned to let it pass. You were still stuck there, wishing you could drive a blade into the warlock’s neck – and more.

“You stayed, then?” König asked, returning his gaze to the trees before him. “Why?”

You scoffed. “It’s not like I could go anywhere, not during the change. For the first fortnight, I couldn’t do anything but crawl on the ground and wail. And he let me – I’d get to the edge of the woods, and he’d be there to drag me back. Drug me into the hut at night and held me, fucked me, saying he was protecting me and similar bullshit. Of course, he was right; at that moment, I was as good as dead if I had ventured out on my own. And once I’d gotten my strength back, I was still a new witch. I’d never be accepted into the village – witches never are, despite the warlocks being the vile ones – and I had no idea how to live as one. So I relied on him for a while, until I knew enough to make it out on my own.”

König hummed in thought. Despite the initial desire to snatch you himself and have his way with you, his fists clenched at the thought of you being dragged around by the warlock. This life wasn’t one you had chosen, and yet the very person who had forced it upon you was killing you for it. It made something within him boil, something deep and buried, that he had thought had been tucked away for good.

You didn’t deserve any of this. He was fighting with himself in that moment, but the desire to show you what you should have been given was consuming him. He wanted to tell you that he knew what it was to be an outcast, he knew what it was like to feel lonely and crave being alone at the same time. To wish that you had the power to hurt anyone you deemed deserving of it, yet to have that someone who would never hurt you.

He would do it. He would be that person for you, he would be the one to kill for you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself – after all, he was hired to kill, you, not fall for you. And he knew it was just another one of his delusional fantasies… but he couldn’t help himself. You were like him, which was something that he had not yet been able to find. Something primal in him told him to sink his teeth in, to hold onto you until you stopped your struggling and realized that this would be good, for the both of you.

He was insane. But did it matter what he was, as long as he could give you what you needed?

“So, yes-“ you continued, bringing König out from the depths of his thoughts. “- I stole from him. Took the books he used to teach me, maybe a few ingredients for potions, a few seeds to start my own garden… but compared to what he took from me, I might as well have taken a loaf of bread.”

You stopped suddenly, and König came to a halt beside you. You nodded your head to the scene before you. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

König looked ahead: the trees parted into another clearing, larger this time. A rickety hut leaned against a wall of rock, made of thin, birch logs and mud slathered on top to keep out the wind. In the center of the clearing was a large stone, positioned near a pile of ash and rocks. A log lay near it, possibly another place for someone to sit. A small garden sat closer to the creek before your hut – it didn’t look to be doing very well, but that was expected as winter approached.

By the creek, there was a large, twisted oak. Its roots hung directly off of the bank and down into the water. Its leaves had fallen to the earth and mingled with the rest of the foliage by now – the entire thing had crimson paths winding around it, hauntingly similar to blood-filled veins. Several pieces of clothing and fabric hung from the branches and swayed in the autumn wind.

As you marched ahead, placing your basket down by the makeshift firepit and disappearing into the hut, König took a few, cautious steps forward. He was both charmed by the simplicity of it, and despondent that you were forced into this lonesome sort of life. He wanted to drag you from this measly hovel and show you something better.

But how? He was no better off than you were. All his earnings were spent on a room at the nearest tavern and a decent amount of ale to help him fall asleep. He never cared about having a home, as long as he had a place to keep out the cold. He didn’t think it would be good enough to drag you back to the village and convince you to spend the night with him in a thin-walled, noisy inn… but, even if he didn’t end up killing you today (something that seemed more and more likely with each passing second), he refused to leave you in this hell. If it was a cozy cabin, built so far away from civilization for the sole purpose of privacy and comfort, he could understand. Maybe even plead his case to you so you would let him stay. But this – this was a last resort. A broken down spot in the woods that you made for your banishment, for hiding. This wouldn’t do.

Call him insane. Call him crazy, hopeless, sick in the head… maybe his desires were founded on the thought that he would give you what he had never received.

You emerged from your hut, the thin, wooden door clanging shut behind you. You looked at him with a puzzled expression. Why was he still standing at the edge? You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and made your way over to him, your hair blowing across your face.

He watched as you stopped in front of him, your brow creased with question. Your head tilted back to look up at him, yet any traces of fear that you had shown earlier were gone. You looked at him like you’d known him for the past hundred years. It made his heart ache within his chest.

How could anyone have painted such a wretched picture of the woman who stood before him?

“Is everything alright?” you asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Like I said before, if you’d rather we stay outside-“

König interrupted you, reaching down and grabbing the sides of your arms firmly. You sucked in a breath warily, but you were still not afraid of him.

“I- you-“ Scheisse, what is he trying to say? He wanted to take you away, he wanted to show you how similar the both of you were to each other, he wanted to show you what (he thought) love was – slow, gentle, possessive, and strong. He wanted to keep you in his pocket, both to keep you safe from the world, and to make sure you couldn’t be taken from him. He wanted you, you, you –

This is insanity. He knew it. But that didn’t stop the fire in his chest, and the questionable throbbing in his trousers.

You knew. Your eyes said everything as they softened, as your lips pressed together into a knowing, sad smile. Were you going to turn him down? Would you say that you preferred it this way, that you liked being alone and living like a prisoner on the run? You took his face in his hands, and he had a foreboding sense in his gut that you might tell him to leave.

Quickly but gently, he cupped one hand at the back of your neck and pulled himself down to you, pressing his lips to yours before you could speak. It was only right, he thought, as he held the kiss – you didn’t understand that he could help you, he could build the life you deserved and keep you safe from any other hunters and warlocks. He placed his other hand on your lower back and pulled you in, moving his lips against your own and praying you wouldn’t deny him.

Like an angel answering his prayers, you tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your toes and kissing him back. He tugged his teeth at your bottom lip, and you so graciously allowed his tongue to slip past your teeth, letting him taste you. He whined, flooded with relief that you didn’t try to shove him away and call him deranged.

His cock was quickly growing hard, but he ignored it. Right now, he needed to figure out exactly what he needed to say to make you-

A raven’s call tore through the air, piercing his thoughts. It was much too close than any bird would naturally be.

He tried to turn his head in its direction, but you dug your fingers into his hair, making him stutter and freeze on the spot. He grabbed your hips, about to pry you away-

You pressed your lips firmly to his, and he heard you faintly muttering incoherent words against him. The world around him was suddenly showered with colors: purples like the berries that had stained your fingers, oranges like the leaves that were scattered across the ground, silvers like the thick clouds that blanketed across the sky… The black spots on the birch trees suddenly blinked and flitted across his vision; thousands of them stared at him, and he heard your sweet laughter echoing in the distance as the world spun, spun, spun…

He felt the cold earth press to his cheek, and the last thing he remembered was a sickening ache in his stomach.

He should have heeded the sorcerer’s warning.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"… so gut, so Schön, genau so…”

... so good, so beautiful, just like that...

#konig #konig x reader #konig x you #konig x yn #konig cod #konig fanfiction #fantasy au konig #cod fantasy au #cod x reader #konig x reader smut #konig smut #konig nsfu

[konigsblog]

MORE LOSER KÖNIG PLEASE ORLA IM ON MY KNEES 🙏🏻🙏🏻🥹

more loser-könig thots™️... specifically, loser-könig fawning over someone he cannot have. :(

cw: RAPE/NON-CON, intoxcation & drugging. 18+ dead dove: do not eat. 🪦🕊️

perhaps it's embarrassing for him, but könig will do anything to get his hands on you, even just for a simple kiss. he's humiliated that he's this desperate, but seeing you love and dote on your boyfriend breaks him – that man, who is taking his spot, who is stealing you from him.

it's shameful, but he has to feel you, at least once. könig is aware that you're loyal and trustworthy, you'd never go out of your way to hurt someone, but the pathetic loner in the corner drools over you regardless, and he'll do anything to get you to cheat on that bastard. it's pathetic to see, really – it's the reason he's a social outcast; constantly trying to destroy relationships out of jealousy and spite.

he's never experienced nor felt this type of love for someone before, until you came along – another university student, the one he protectively watches from afar – totally no other reason... people get uncomfortable near könig, as they've seen him rubbing one out whilst watching you closely and protectively, like a wolf hunting it's prey.

although, despite people warning you about könig, you're nothing but sweet and polite to him. you try to make sure he's aware that you're not leading him on, or looking for a relationship, but könig can't differentiate a normal conversation and you flirting with him, leading him to become increasingly more touchy and flirty.

your boyfriend isn't as smart, nor as wealthy as könig. i believe könig may have grown up in a rich family, without getting any attention, causing him to become depraved for anything he can grasp (or maybe, he grew up poor, who knows...) you'd be better off with könig, who'd financially support you and fuck your brains out every night.

könig struggles to accept it, that you're uninterested. he can't fathom how you wouldn't want him, as he's been so kind towards you. to könig, he's doing more than the bare minimum by speaking to you politely, as he will snarl at those for no reason, a judgemental asshole who's hated by most...

he'll just have to take matters into his own hand, when you're drunk, he'll slip something into your drink, drugging you. then, he'll undress you in the bathroom, peeling your clothes off gently, whilst covering your eyes while you giggle your boyfriend's name.

poor thing, you didn't even realise you were getting fucked by that pervert people warned you about ‘til you felt the sheer size of his bulbous, lengthy cock easing further inside, larger than what you remember...

too bad that you're drunk and weakened, unable to stop könig from carrying out his wildest fantasies. ;(

#orla speaks #könig x you #könig x reader #könig x y/n #konig x you #konig x reader #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig headcanons #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #könig call of duty #könig #tw: non con #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: dark content #dark fic #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat

[molchanovix]

I can't keep quiet about this

Tw S/A abuse in general PTSD

So, I finally watched all 4 episodes of Hazbin Hotel and I'm gonna share my opinion on why Husk is NOT an asshole for what he said to Angel.

And you guys WILL listen to my perspective as a man who has been sexually assaulted 3 times and relates to Angel heavily in terms of coping, trauma etc etc.

Let's start with obvious things. Did Husk call Angel a whiny power bottom piss baby? Yeah he did. But most of you are not seeing WHY he said that.

A shit ton of people who have been raped in the past turn to sexualizing themselves as a coping mechanism. They act "slutty", turn to dangerous behaviors and addictions to get back control of their bodies that they were stripped of when they were abused. Which is also what Angel does. He can't act how he feels so he doesn't have to actually accept what happened to him, he hides in his fantasies where he is nothing but a toy, where it was his decision to be used wherever Valentino wants to.

He did, in fact, need something as strong as the words Husk said to break free of trying to be the person he is not. If Husk never approached him, never came to that bar, Angel would get drugged, raped, then he would go back to the hotel and cry himself to sleep, so the cycle would continue. And he would never ever complain, because he chose to just act like he wants it.

He didn't just call Angel a crybaby.

Instead, he showed Angel that it's fine if he sucks - everybody does to some degree. But it's fine if he does. He doesn't have to be perfect, he doesn't have to hide in his little world where nothing bad happens to him. He can be himself, and he also has a community that will support and love him, no matter what happens to him.

And Angel accepts this. He can finally start healing after years upon years of sexual abuse.

This episode is so fucking powerful. As a rape victim, I didn't see Husk shit-talking him for the entire song. I saw that I, like Angel, have a community. That I can be happy even if I don't act sexually. That I can accept and move on. Open your fucking eyes.

#shitpost #txt #txt post #by molchanov #hazbin hotel #vivziepop #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #angelhusk

[analbedo]

📔 gross! ft step bro childe

here’s the prequel to so gross which i’ve been meaning to write (for like a year but who’s counting), hope you all enjoy mwah ♡

𐐪 warning: this fic contains dark content, please read my dark content disclaimer before continuing. minors dni.

🦢 cw: stepcest, somnophilia, noncon, creepy behavior, grossness, video taping, use of the word rape, cervix fucking

° 𐐪 ♡ 𐑂 nsfw below the cut ! 𐐪 ♡ 𐑂 °

childe had a problem. or, at least, what everyone else besides him would consider a problem. he considered it to be a harmless little quirk of his. after all, he’d rationalize, any guy in his position would do the same thing.

he genuinely found nothing wrong with him having a crush on— well, truthfully, an obsession with— his little sister. the fact that he’d steal your used panties from the laundry hamper to smell while he got himself off, pictures from all your social medias pulled up on his pc screen, didn’t ring any alarm bells.

really, how could he not feel the way he did for you? you were hot, but with an innocent aura around you. he’d bet money that you were a virgin, one of his most used fantasies being him taking it from you.

if there was anything that concerned him, it was that you’d catch on to his lecherous ways. childe already suspected you were suspicious of him— you always looked uneasy when he entered the room. it probably had to do with the fact he never wore underwear around the house, so his dick print was visible in his sweatpants, and he’d get half hard just looking at you. he had to admit, though, seeing the brief look of panic on your face when your eyes would flick to his bulge turned him on.

still, he couldn’t have you getting too suspicious. after all, it would ruin his little night escapades into your room. he couldn’t believe his luck when he found out how heavy of a sleeper you were— it made preying on you so much easier.

childe would sneak in at night to jerk off to you sleeping. the way you were so defenseless and unaware made it even hotter. during his earlier visits, he’d bring a pair of your panties to finish in, but, after seeing how you didn’t even stir when he missed one time and his semen landed on your thigh, he opted to just cum on your body instead.

it wasn’t enough to just do that, though. childe wanted to immortalize the moment. after all, you looked so cute with your face covered in his nut. he started video taping him finishing on your face, your thighs, your chest— anywhere he could, honestly. he had at least an hour of footage.

his perversion was escalating— it was only a matter of time before he actually got around to raping you.

it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, your parents would be away on a trip, leaving you and childe alone. he would’ve been stupid to not take the chance. all that day he was brimming with excitement, finally getting the chance to do what he should’ve done the day you met. he could’ve overpowered you at any time, but he opted to wait until you were asleep— he wanted to see the look on your face when you woke up with his dick inside of you.

when the hour finally arrived, he crept into your bedroom like he’d done many nights before. this time, instead of standing at the edge of your bed, he carefully crawled onto it, positioning himself between your legs.

you wore nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear to bed— his favorite. he gently lifted your shirt up to expose your panties, before gingerly placing his finger on your clothed clit. he rubbed in small circles, watching you as a soft moan slipped from your mouth. he could’ve came from just hearing it.

childe couldn’t take it anymore. he didn’t bother removing your panties, simply sliding the fabric to the side with one hand as he pulled out his cock with the other. clear strands of precum dripped from the head onto your bedsheets. he took a deep breath before lining himself up with your hole.

you woke up to a searing pain between your legs, only to find your step brother looming over you. it took a second for you to register what was going on, and the moment you did your stomach churned with disgust.

“get the fuck off me!” you scream, flailing on the bed, trying desperately to scramble away from him.

childe effortlessly grabs your wrists with one hand, the other on your hip.

“aw, you woke up. way to ruin the fun,” he says teasingly. “but,” he begins, before thrusting into you harshly, fully bottoming out. “you still feel so fucking good— even better than i imagined.“

you let out a grown of pain, his thick cock splitting you open while his tip pressed against your cervix.

“ow, fuck— get off me!” you scream, wriggling underneath his grasp. “you’re fucking sick— let me go— i’m telling mom and dad—“

“are you now?” childe says, slowly dragging his cock out of you. “guess i won’t be able to do this again, then, better make it count.”

before you can reply, he pounds into you again, the sharp ache of him ramming your cervix paralyzing you.

you laid still in shock and pain as he continued rutting into you, panting like a rabid dog.

“fuck— i can feel you getting wetter— feels fucking amazing, i knew you always wanted it,” childe moans.

you couldn’t help the way your body responded to his harsh thrusts, your walls automatically lubricating themselves more and more as each thrust had his cock stroking your g spot. //the pleasure wasn’t enough to mask the pain, and you found yourself softly sobbing.

“childe, please, stop it— why are you doing this?” you sniffle.

“i’m sorry, you’re just so pretty— fuck— i can’t help myself,” childe pants, his cock twitching inside you with every thrust. “you’re so fucking tight— you’re a virgin aren’t you?”

the question makes you sob even harder. you were a virgin, and planned on saving yourself for someone special. but here you were, underneath your step brother, getting pounded into like a fleshlight.

“fuck, you look so hot when you cry,” childe moans. the pain in your lower abdomen has gradually subsided, leaving only the euphoric sensation of his cock rubbing on your sweet spot, sending a warm tingling feeling throughout your body.

“can’t wait to breed this tight little pussy of yours— ah— it’s gonna feel so fucking amazing,” childe says through gritted teeth, his pace growing sloppy as he neared his orgasm.

his words snap you back to attention. “what the fuck— that’s fucking gross— please don’t, childe, pull out!” you begged, a hurricane of nausea in your stomach at the thought of his cum being inside you (which was ironic to him, since, at this point, it had been everywhere else on your body).

“sorry, i have to— you feel too good to pull out,” childe moans in reply, pausing between each thrust as his orgasm loomed closer and closer, the coil of pleasure on the verge of snapping.

“don’t,” you whisper softly, though you know it’s pointless.

“fuck- fuck- fuck,” childe hisses, thrusts punctuating each expletive before he stills deep inside you with a sigh of relief, pressing against your cervix. you feel his cock twitch as it pumps your home full with thick, warm liquid.

he slowly pulled out, pausing for a moment to watch his cum seep from your cunt.

“fuck, that was incredible,” he says, tugging the waistband of his pants back up. as he makes his way to your bedroom door, you hear him mumble to himself: “i have to do that again sometime.”

#tw noncon #tw stepcest #tw somno #genshin #childe #childe x reader #childe smut #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia smut

[dragonsandbutterflies]

Hi Everyone!! ♡

My name is Sabrina! I originally started this blog as just a place to share my kinks and fantasies but it has inspired me to start making content!

❀ this is a NSFW blog so no under 18s!!! I will block you if you do not have your age in your bio!!

❀ consent is so important, especially with the kinks on this blog. I do not condone or support actual rape.

~✿~✿~✿~

My kinks include;

❀ submission, praise, degradation, exhibitionism, bd/sm, free use, cnc, somno, public play, breeding, dumbification, humiliation, edging, monster fucking.. and probably more (still discovering <3)

please DNI if any of these are triggering for you ♡

Big NOs / Limits;

❀ scat play, vomit, piss, fisting, branding, bestiality, incest, actual rape, abuse // gore (anything more painful than scratches and biting).

Asks and Messages;

❀ My asks and messages are open!

❀ I am more likely to respond to asks than messages. I do try my best to respond to all messages but please understand that they are not my priority. My messages on OF and Snapchat are my priority, dm for details ♡♡

❀ I will not send photos in messages unless I decide otherwise... you can definitely suggest any pictures I should post, though!!

❀ Please do not message or send an ask without reading my kinks and limits. I will block you if you can not be respectful to my boundaries

My Content Links;

My OnlyFans come watch me fuck myself!!

My Fansly for free or premium content!!

My X (Twitter) for more photos of me!

My Throne if you want to spoil me!

+ DM me to see my menu

Giveaways;

Once we hit 800 followers on Twitter, I'll give 8 free subscriptions to my OnlyFans for 3 months!!

Hashtags;

You can see more of me under #my pics and #me

My answers are under #sabrina answers

My original writing/ text posts are under #my writing

~✿~✿~✿~

I hope you enjoy my blog!!! Please remember that all kinks aside, I am still a person ♡♡

#praise k!nk #degrading k1nk #bd/sm kink #bd/sm blog #cnc free use #free use slvt #cnc fr33use #cnc somno #somno fantasy #breeding k1nk #monster fucker #human fleshlight #corruption kink #daddy's good girl #daddy’s wh0re #dumbification #fr33use #free use fantasy #cnc k!nk #exhibtionist #c0ckwarming #c0cksleeve #submisive and breedable #subby mood #use my pussy #cumslvt #dumb wh0re #bd/sm community #r@pe fantasy