pocd is worsened by people like antis who are constantly talking about killing all pedophiles in public and skinning them to death. btw. i'm gonna need antis to stop claiming to care about beings with pocd when they are literally worsening the pocd by talking about how evil all pedophiles are. you aren't helping.
I LOVE YUR OCS SO MUCHHHHHHH πππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππ
THE VIBE IS SO GOODDDππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππππ
hi, if you're doing requests right now could I get a Tea Scentien / Trans Tea Scent flag? like one who wants to smell like tea or whatever. thank you :3!
βTeaScentianβ
TeaScentian/TransTeaScent - someone who: believes they should have, identifies as having, or is transitioning to have the natural scent of tea.
π¦Ή I went a little crazy and made 6 more flags π΅βπ« (<- tea lover)
A noncon fic of my two ocs. (READ THIS FIRST >>) Introduction post to the fic Part 3 Last part
His fingernails dug deep into the seat's fabric, tearing at it as if it could somehow provide an escape. βAHHHGGG! STOP! IT HURTS! PLEASE!" The words came out as a guttural wail, his voice breaking and cracking. His vision went white with pain, and he felt like he was being split in two. His legs kicked wildly, his heels hitting against the car's interior with dull thuds. The pain was so intense that he felt like he might pass out, but a part of him remained agonizingly aware, aware of Damage's sickening words, of the brutal movement, of the fact that there was no one to hear his cries. "P-PLEASE... MAKE IT STOP... GOD, HELP ME...". Damaged had then began to thrust, finding a deep attraction in how this femininate man was falling apart right beneath him. His dick thrusting deeper into the body beneath him, it was rough especially with the lack of preparation, but the blood leaking from Brayden had started to act as some makeshift lubricant. Each brutal thrust sent waves of excruciating pain through Brayden's body. His screams had subsided into broken whimpers, and his body went limp from the sheer trauma. Blood trickled down his inner thigh, a stark contrast to his pale skin. His hands, which had been clawing at the seat, now lay lifeless at his sides. "Please... please... stop..." The words were barely more than a whisper, his voice completely destroyed from screaming. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to dissociate from reality and what was happening. Images of his bandmates, of the stage, of the life he had before this nightmare, flashed through his mind. Tears continued to stream down his face, carving clean paths through the smeared makeup. His big teased hair was now matted with sweat and whatever else. The car interior was filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing and Damage's grunts, a sickening symphony of horror. "Why... why are you doing this...?" he managed to choke out, his body trembling. Damage grinned, loving the way Brayden was breaking beneath him, his body trembling and begging for mercy. He leaned in close, whispering into his ear, "Because I've waited so long for this... I've dreamed about this for so fucking long.β Damage continued to thrust into the blonde body, his taller and overall larger frame essentially swallowing Braydenβs smaller body. A fresh wave of nausea rolled over Brayden at the whispered words, and he turned his head to the side, retching violently. Nothing came up but bile, which dribbled down his chin and onto the seat with a mixture of saliva. The humiliation of it all, the violation, the degradation, was almost worse than the physical pain.
"You're... a monster..." he gasped, his voice so weak that it was now barely audible. His vision was starting to fade in and out, and he felt a strange sense of detachment from his own body. It was as if he was watching the scene from outside, unable to do anything to stop it, like watching a sick movie you canβt turn off. His chest heaved with each shallow breath, and he could feel his heart pounding erratically. The pain had become a constant, throbbing presence, dulling his senses. But beneath the pain was a deeper, more profound ache, the ache of having his trust shattered, of having his body and soul violated in the most brutal way possible. Damage had always seemed to be a normal man, sure he may have had that quiet aura and that mysterious feel- he had never been evil. He was the guy youβd ask for help when hacking a drum kit into a van. But here he was, being a disgusting monster. The bile and saliva leaked from Braydenβs mouth, snot and tears ran down his face, blood trickled down his thighs. All disgusting, hideous, signs of the abuse he was in during from this monster. Damage had continued the rough and unyielding thrusts, a hot feeling pooling at his stomach as he breathed heavily. A low, guttural sound escaped Brayden's throat as he felt the hot intrusion within him. His body spasmed one last time, then went completely still. He tried to move, but his limbs felt like concrete. So many feeling started to fill him as he felt Damage pull out, his throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. The taste of bile and blood was still in his mouth, and he felt sick to his stomach. The world around him faded to black, and for that blissful moment, he lost consciousness.
A noncon fic of my two ocs. (READ THIS FIRST >>) Introduction post to the fic Part 2 Part 4
The cool air hit his exposed skin, and he felt a wave of nausea rise in his throat, bile threatening to spill. "NO! STOP! PLEASE!" he wailed, his voice cracking with raw desperation. He kicked out wildly, his pink heels connecting with something, possibly Damage's chest, but it was a weak, ineffective attempt. His vision blurred with tears, and he could hardly see through the haze of fear. "GET OFF ME! SOMEONE HELP!" he screamed, knowing it was probably futile. The street outside remained deserted, the only sounds the distant sound of traffic, the ruffling of clothes, and his own panicked breaths. His mind flashed back to the letters, to the sickening details, and he realized with a crushing certainty that this was what HE had been planning all along. Every intimate detail, every threat - it had all led to this moment. "You're sick... you're fucking sick..." he sobbed, struggling against Damage's hold with all his remaining strength. βJesus fucking Christ just shut the fuck up! No one is going to help you!β Damage snapped at the shivering, smaller, body beneath him, he then started to pull down his own pants. A horrified gasp escaped Brayden's lips as he saw Damage's actions, and he redoubled his efforts to fight back. With a sudden burst of energy, he managed to shove Damage off him for a brief moment, moving back and putting his back up against the other backseat door. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" Brayden screeched, his voice raw. His hands fumbled blindly for the door handle behind him, but his terror numbed fingers could barely grasp it. In a desperate move, he lifted his leg and then kicked, one of his pink heel connecting to damage in some way. The heel connected with a sickening thud, hitting something soft, maybe his face or shoulder. Brayden didn't wait to find out. He continued to try and open the locked door, starting to hit it and shove his body against it. His heart was pounding so hard that he thought it would burst, and his vision started to fade in and out. The world around him had become a nightmarish blur of fear, pain, and desperation.
"LET ME GO! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Brayden screamed. Damage growled and then tacked Brayden, tugging him back down onto the backseats. Flipping Brayden roughly so his stomach was down. Then he began to try to postion them. Damage he loved to look at Brayden from behindβ¦ Brayden could almost pass as a girl from behind, but his body was still more square with snatched waist. He loved the fact that Braydenβs makeup was running too, the mascara and eyeliner running down and lipstick smudged. Damage then grabbed Braydenβs hair, slamming him down. A strangled cry of pure horror tore from Brayden's throat as he was slammed face-down onto the seat. His cheek pressed against the rough fabric, and he could taste the musty smell of the seat mixed with his own blood and sweat. The weight of Damage on top of him was crushing. "NO! PLEASE DON'T! GOD, PLEASE!" His pleas were muffled against the seat, but the desperation in his voice was palpable. He kicked and thrashed, his body contorting in every direction as he fought against the inevitable. His big, teased hair was now nearly completely flattened against his head, and the last remnants of his stage makeup were smeared across the seat. The fact that Damage was getting off on his terrified state only added to the violation, making it all the more sickening. "GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" he shouted, his voice desperate. His hands grabbed at the seat, searching for anything a handle, a lever, ANYTHING that could help him escape. But there was nothing. Damage then thrusted himself in dry, using pure force rather then any sort of preparation. βFuckβ¦ you are so hotβ¦ I- i canβt believe I finally get to do this! Iβve been waiting for this moment for months.β He breathed heavily. A deafening scream ripped from Brayden's throat as the invasion occurred. His body went rigid with shock, every muscle tensed to the point of pain. The pure agony was overwhelming, blotting out all other thoughts.
A noncon fic of my two ocs. (READ THIS FIRST (if you havenβt) >>) Introduction post to the fic part 1 part 3
The car ride was normal for the first half, driving from the nightlife of the sunset strip down to the more quiet life of the suburbs down south. That is, it was normal, until Damageβs hand moved from the gear stick to Braydenβs thigh. A faint, uncomfortable sound escaped Brayden's throat as he felt the hand on his thigh. The touch, even through the leather of his pants, sent a jolt of alarm through his drunken system. He tried to move his leg away, but his movements were too sluggish. βHey... what are you doing?" His voice was slurred, lacking the usual confidence. His eyes fluttered open, trying to focus on Damage's face, but everything was still a blur. He reached down with a trembling hand to push the hand away. βCmon bro... knock it off" The words came out in a disjointed plea, his mind slowly attempting to piece together the danger he was in. The car's interior seemed to close in around him, the motion of the vehicle making him even more nauseous. He tried to reach for the door handle, but his fingers fumbled uselessly, he tried to open it but soon realized it had been locked "Let me out... I wanna get out... I can walk from here." He mumbled. Damage just laughed, tightening his grip on Brayden's thigh as he drove "come onβ¦ you know you want it..." his voice was low and teasing, half lidded yet crazed eyes never leaving the road. Panic surged through Brayden like a shock, cutting through the fog of alcohol. His heart pounded against his ribcage, and he fought to sit up straighter, his movements now frantic. The hand on his thigh felt like a vice, paralyzing him. "No! Get off me!" He managed to yank his leg away with a sudden burst of strength, his knee hitting the dashboard with a thud making him wince. His head was still spinning, but the fear gave him a clarity he'd lacked moments ago via adrenaline. "Stop the car! I'm serious, let me outβ¦!β
He clawed at the door handle once more, his painted nails scratching against the plastic, the pink color a stark different to the dark leather color of the interior. His breaths came in short gasps. The realization of what was about to happen crashed over him like a wave, sobering him up faster than any cold shower could.
"You... you're him, aren't you?" he choked out, finally putting the pieces together. The familiar tone, the detailed knowledge of his shows, it all made terrifying sense now. "You're the one who's been sending those letters..." Damageβs grin widened, his eyes gleaming with twisted excitement as he kept driving, the car speeding down the empty street "mhm, youβve figured it out, baby." his voice was a mix of lust and madness. A choked gasp tore from Brayden's throat as the confirmation hit him like a physical blow. Terror coursed through his veins, giving him an adrenaline-fueled energy. He lunged at the steering wheel with all his might, desperate to make the car veer off the road. "YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!" he shrieked, his hands clawing and grabbing at anything within reach. His pink lipstick was completely smudged, his mascara running as tears streamed down his cheeks. He kept clawing at whatever, the wheel or Damageβs arm. The car swerved violently through the empty road as he fought against Damage's control, tires screeching on the asphalt. Brayden's mind raced with thoughts of escape. He reached for the gear shift, his fingers slipping in his panic. βLET ME OUT! SOMEONE HELP!" His voice was hoarse from screaming, but he didn't care. He kicked and flailed, using every ounce of his weak strength to resist the inevitable. The headlights of the car moved wildly across the surrounding buildings, casting distorted shadows as they drove down the deserted street. βJESUS CHRIST SHUT THE FUCK UP.β Damage then swung and arm hit him, finally pulled over onto the side of the road. The force of the blow sent Brayden back against the seat, his head hitting against the window with a sickening thud. A burst of pain exploded behind his eyes, and for a moment, everything went hazy. Blood trickled from a cut on his lip, split from being near where Damage hit him, mixing with the remnants of his pink lipstick. His ears rang, and he could barely hear Damage's angry words over the rushing sound in his head. Through blurred vision, he watched as Damage leaned over him. Brayden's hands shook as he fumbled for the door handle once more, but Damage was too quick. He grabbed his wrists with a bruising grip, pinning them above his head against the seat.
"NO! PLEASE!" Brayden's voice was a broken sob now, his body trembling violently. He could feel Damage's hot breath on his face, and the once familiar and even comforting smell of cigarettes and alcohol made his stomach churn. The streetlights outside cast an eerie glow on the car's interior, highlighting the madness in Damage's eyes. "STOP! SOMEONE... PLEASE..." He cried, eyes darting as he looked through the windows- hoping someone, anyone, would maybe be around and see what was happening. Damageβs taller figure crawled over, shoving the seat back to make room, then he unlocked the door βWe are going go to the backseat and youβll be quiet okay? If you yell or anything Iβll fucking kill you, you understand that? Iβll fucking kill you.β he snapped, his voice sharp and cold, devoid of any of the care-free tone he had earlier at the club. Then he opened the door and roughly dragged Brayden out of the car. A new wave of terror washed over Brayden as he was dragged across the rough ground. His pink heels caught on the ground, nearly causing him to fall face-first but he was pulled back up by Damage. His wrist throbbed under Damage's iron grip, and he could already feel bruises forming, multicolored blotches sure to be there. The cold night air bit at his skin, and he shivered violently, both from fear and cold. Once shoved inside the backseat, he curled up into a ball, his body instinctively trying to protect itself. His makeup was completely ruined, mascara and eyeliner smeared across his face in thick, black streaks. He kept his eyes closed, unable to look at Damage. Every fiber of his body screamed at him to fight, to run, but he was paralyzed by fear. "Please..." *he whimpered, his voice barely audible.* "Please don't do this..." His words were punctuated by ragged sobs, and his whole body shook with each breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the empty street outside. Damageβs ignored his words. Brayden peaked through his shut eyes and looked at the other man. Damage looked determined, in a way that was terrifying, from under his teased hair and bangs Brayden could see the crazed look. Then suddenly Damage shut the door behind them, moving his hands forward and hooking onto Braydens leather pamts and starting to tug them down. A violent surge of shock shot through Brayden at the touch, his body convulsing involuntarily. His arms instinctively crossed over his chest, trying to maintain some shred of dignity as his leather pants were roughly pulled down.
