Lizzie would not be an angry or mean cuck… she’d be cheering them on… telling Xisuma to pound Joel harder… she would be an encouraging cuck she is pure of heart
I believe you. Sorry for being a fake Lizzie fan I have hardly engaged with mcyt in over a year. Maybe she is just grumpy because shes not included.
i sure as hell remember joelsuma, your and fagladders art of them made me and my bf insane about them forever theyre legit one of my top fave ships . if joelsuma has no fans im dead
it's funny that Xisuma and Joel do not seem to gaf about each other or interact at all and yet here we are being correct about how they're absolutely rawdog fucking every night
humble xisuma king do u still have that one art of like. idk who it was with but i think xisuma? fucking someone where he was being penetrated but the position was as if he was penetrating the other person. im trying to find it as reference for smth im writing and also Because it is hot
Hello anon. Are you thinking of this joelsuma art by a friend of mine? :)
honestly the only reason i never drew explicit rape kink stuff on this account is because i share all my art (including nsfw) with a small circle of online friends who do not share my fandoms and i couldn't fight the shame of admitting that i think noncon is hot
googling how to soft launch to my friends that i think nonconsentual sex is hot and that i like imagine myself as not only the victim but sometimes also as the rapist
ADDITIONAL TAGS: yet-to-be-seen life series setting, rough oral sex, choking/lack of oxygen, crying, fear, threat of harm typical to life series, a tiny smidge of emeto, mild aftercare, reads like noncon until the end
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"Scar!" A shrill, familiar voice calls out, startling Scar from his work in the storage room. He jumps, spinning around and trying to locate the source of the noise.
The peculiar base holds no secrets. Grian stands in the doorway, hands on his hips, and scowl on his face.
"Ahh! I mean, hello there Grian!" He tries, and fails, to save face, tucking powered rails into the back of his inventory. "W-what a fine day it is today!"
Grian glares at him. "Scar. What did you do?"
A beat passes. "Nothing!" The lie is incredibly obvious, seeing as Scar still has redstone dust on his fingers and TNT in his hotbar. He tries his winning smile, despite knowing it has literally never once worked on Grian.
All it takes to break him is one unimpressed stare. Scar holds up his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay, fine, I was trapping your base. Wanna see what I did?"
The offer is desperate. It's not like he even finished what he'd planned, thinking Grian and his team were still wandering around the server and would be for a while.
To be fair, Grian's team is nowhere to be found. Which makes things more dangerous. He probably should've thought about this.
"I'm a red name, Scar. You wanted me out?" Grian doesn't sound hurt. In fact, he sounds rather pleased, a nasty faux-innocent tone coating his words. Batting his eyes at Scar like he's some poor angel.
It's not often Scar is a yellow, while Grian's red. "Well, not you specifically-" In these games, Scar does his best work under the haze of violence, red flooding through his veins and boiling inside him until it's time to strike. Even when he's green, a hint of that bloodlust lingers. Makes him reckless. Makes him set up stupid traps.
Usually, Grian is different. He takes chances, yes, but he's logical about it. Thinks things through. Doesn't instigate violence unless it's necessary, or funny. He's alright at making allies, where Scar tends to make enemies even when it isn't his fault.
But, clearly not caring about potential traps, Grian opens one of his chests. Scar's body tenses, even though he knows he hasn't laid down the TNT yet. Did Grian know? Or did he just assume whatever Scar had set up wasn't going to work?
How rude! Scar can set up traps just fine, he'll have you know.
The chest creaks closed. Grian tuts, shaking his head. "Did you steal from me, too? For goodness' sake." And, well, okay, maybe Scar did. Just some food and gunpowder! Nothing special!
There's something simmering in Grian's gaze when he turns back to face Scar. Something deep, blood red. It levels itself at Scar and eats into his bones, squirming under the skin.
A shock of fear pulses down Scar's spine. He shivers.
Right. Fishing the stolen goods from his inventory, Scar starts towards the chest. "I'll put it all back-"
"Stop." Grian's hand stops him as much as the word, pushing against the base of his throat with a flat palm. "Get on your knees." And, uh, surely he didn't hear that right.
A nervous laughs bubbles from his throat. "What?"
Unimpressed and impatient, Grian rolls his eyes. "You stole from a red, Scar. You're getting punished." He meets Scar's gaze, tilting his head a little. The flame burning in those eyes is like a knife to the gut. "Don't be stupid."
Now, Scar isn't a stranger to sex. He knows what Grian wants. But, now, in the storage room, under these circumstances, it's not like he's in the mood.
He laughs, again, panicky. "O-oh. Oh, Grian. I- I'm not sure if I want-"
"I don't care. On your knees, or you're dropping to red today." With a casual flick of his wrist, Grian pulls out his sword, shiny blade cutting the air. Scar watches it, wide-eyed, his breath caught in his throat.
Cool, sharp metal rests against his clavicle. Digging against sensitive, thin skin. The deadly pulse of enchantment magic flows through it, shimmering in biting anticipation for a fresh, helpless kill. Scar swallows, and the movement of his throat causes the blade to scratch him, warm blood trickling down his neck.
He knows what Grian is capable of. All the ways he can make this hurt. Fear fizzles low and nauseating in Scar's guts.
There's no other option. Even if he wanted to run, he's frozen, muscles achingly tense, fixed in place with a palpable terror. Something he's never felt with Grian before. Something he didn't know could happen.
It's only a game. A game where death hurts, and losing doesn't feel like an option. Whatever washes over them in these places, it changes them, warping their minds until they're far too lost to recognise how temporary it all is.
Scar falls to his knees. They hit the ground hard, and a snap of pain trails up his legs. He'll feel it in the morning, if he's still alive.
The sword vanishes. "Better." Grian looks down at him, an uncaring scowl on his face. "Well, go on, then. You know what to do." Leaning back, he places his hands on the lid of his storage chest, pelvis angled out for Scar's ease of access.
Shamefully, Scar does know what to do. He shuffles forward, so Grian's crotch is almost touching his nose. Anticipation burns inside him like an oil fire, crackling and spitting its muted dread.
But it's not only fear. As his hands reach up, shakily unclasping Grian's belt, something deeper, darker, swirls in the pit of Scar's stomach.
"Make this good, and I might consider letting you go." A hand brushes through Scar's hair. He flinches, anxious breaths stuttering with the pitter-patter of his heart. Grian's fingers loop around thick brown strands, tugging gently, but with intent.
Like he owns Scar. Like he can do anything he wants. Not that he even cares, absolute apathy still etched hard into his gaze when Scar glances up. Looking down at him as if he's just something to be used.
Just a toy. A thing to exploit. No, worse than that, something broken and useless which has to prove its purpose, or be thrown away.
Scar stifles a moan. In his constricting trousers, his cock stirs, threatening to get hard. But, no, he doesn't want this! He can't!
Still, his fingers pull the zipper of Grian's pants, and he tugs them down until they're resting around his feet. The bulge in his boxers is obvious, a damp spot already forming around the tip of his cock. Scar's mouth waters at the sight.
A sharp tug of his hair brings him back to his senses. Grian hums, sounding bored, and reaches for the waistband of his own boxers. Pulling them down before Scar gets a chance.
His cock springs out, hitting Scar in the face. The contact pulls a short, pleasured groan from Grian. Scar tries to cringe away, the musky smell overpowering his senses, but the hand in his hair keeps him steady and unable to escape.
Pre smears across his lips, salty and wet. His nose scrunches in disgust. Then Grian leans forward, and suddenly there are fingers pinching his nose shut, blocking his airflow.
Scar panics, heart racing as he realises what's going on. If he opens his mouth, Grian will shove his cock inside, violating him. If he refuses, he'll eventually run out of air, and he'll start taking damage.
A muffled whimper escapes him, tears burning in his eyes. He shifts on his knees, and the friction against his dick sends a short burst of pleasure right into his crotch. No! No, he's not meant to be enjoying this! What does that say about him, hard over being forced to his knees?
The lack of air is getting to him. Maybe. That must be it. Lightheaded and confused, he grinds down, savouring the friction and pulses of heat coming from his dick. Grian tugs his hair again, painfully hard. He yelps-
Seeing his opportunity, Grian pushes his cock forward, breaching the small gap between Scar's lips. Immediately, instinctively, he opens his mouth wider, allowing more of the hard shaft inside.
It's thick. Tastes of salt and sweat. Grian makes no pause, gripping Scar's hair tight as he thrusts into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. All the way to the back of his throat.
Scar chokes, body twitching, as the intrusive thickness pushes on, sliding past his tongue and into his tight, spasming throat. Completely unbothered by the wet coughs and gurgles. Bucking deep into Scar, making him take every inch, slowly and with a satisfied groan.
When he finally bottoms out, Scar is sure he can feel his throat bulging from the outside. It convulses, trying to force the invasive shaft out, but that only serves to stimulate his assailant. Grian moans, leaning over Scar and pushing his head further down on his cock.
His nose squishes against Grian's pelvis, buried in his pubes. Tears track down his face. A strangled whine froths from his stretched lips.
There's no way he can breathe. He tries to take air through his nose, lungs starting to burn, but it's useless, blocked by the cock in his throat. His chest aches, spasming as it tries to pull oxygen in from nowhere.
Another thick wave of dizziness washes through him. His head spins. Dark spots crowd the corners of his vision. Thinking at all is a struggle, but he knows, vaguely, this is going to hurt.
Sizzle. A tick of damage. Whimpers he's sure couldn't come from him. Another tick. His cock is still hard, weeping a wet spot in his pants.
The darkness crawls ever inwards, vision hazy and flush with pale skin. He'd be swaying on the spot if Grian's hand wasn't pressed to the back of his head. So tight he must be tearing out hairs.
Tick. Tick. Tick. His health drains down, down, down. Drool drips down his chin, falling to the floor. The cock inside him carves a space for itself, pushing away all thoughts of breath and using his insides as a sleeve. Like his life doesn't matter.
It doesn't. Tick. Tick. Tick. Scar's eyes roll back, darkness overtaking his unfocused vision. His thighs shake. Whole body quivering. Lips turning blue.
In one slick, smooth motion, Grian wrenches himself out of Scar's mouth, pulling a thick line of pre and saliva with him. He drags Scar's limp body back by his hair, forcing his spine to arch and slack mouth to hang open.
Scar gasps, air flooding back to his lungs. His vision spins. Wet coughs rack his whole body, leaving him shaky and weak, phlegmy bile spilling from his lips.
A long, drawn out moan. Grian pulls his trembling body back towards his crotch. "Mmh. On second thoughts, keeping you here would have a few..." he lines his cock up with Scar's panting, open, mouth... "benefits."
Just as Scar's heart and lungs recover, the cock thrusts inside him again. This time moving back and forth, each push feeding it straight down his stretched, wet throat. He cries out, but it's muffled, and a waste of precious air.
Each jerk of Grian's hips is matched with an equal force pushing and pulling his hair, manipulating his body like he's nothing but a doll. Scar sneaks gasps of air between thrusts, desperate to keep himself alive through it all.
Grian pushes into his throat with reckless, dis-coordinated movements. His own breaths come hard and fast. "What d'you think, slut? Fancy a little sleepover? Just wait 'till the others come home and we can make it a party..." He grinds his cock against Scar's tongue, letting out little moans as it leaks pre all over the inside of Scar's mouth, indulging in his sick fantasy.
Scar can imagine it too. Grian's teammates crowding around him. Opening him up. Using his body while he screams and cries and pleads with them to stop.
They wouldn't stop. They would violate him until he's nothing but a mindless, stupid set of holes.
He sobs. It shouldn't turn him on. Hot, disgusting arousal pools in his guts. In time with Grian's thrusts, his own hips grind against the ground, cock desperately twitching in his underwear.
The tip slips from his mouth, and Grian holds him there, weeping and drooling all over himself. Waiting for a response.
His words barely catch up with his brain as he shakes his head. "N-no... no, please, Grian-" A heaving gasp for air. He doesn't want more. Doesn't want to be used.
Grian's cock pushes right back inside, and Scar's thoughts turn to mush.
Floating. Because he's nothing. Nothing but a toy. A bargaining chip. A thing. Maybe if Grian kept him- and dread flickers from his shoulders to his stomach at the thought- he'd be happier. Useful.
There's a detached snicker, above him somewhere. "You're right. I should keep you to myself." Grian's hammering thrusts somehow speed up, punching painfully into his abused throat. "See, you- hah- are clever sometimes."
The words are like needles, puncturing him with a stark humiliation. He whines, face wet with tears and drool, wanting to protest. No, he's not clever.
If he was, he wouldn't have a cock in his mouth, on his knees in the middle of Grian's storage room. He wouldn't be getting off on the fear and pain. Wouldn't be getting off from- from rape.
Smart, sensible people who care about surviving don't let their stupid thoughts drift so far. Scar closes his eyes, and imagines being kept. Kept, tied up, stored in the dark until it's time to be used. Fucked- no, raped- within an inch of his life every night. Grian's soft hands and cruel eyes. His cock violating every part of his body. Because that's all he's good for. This is it. This is his life.
A terrible, wet moan shudders right through his ribcage. He cums, hot pleasure bursting in ropes from his trapped cock. Making a mess of his trousers. Warm and sticky.
Overhead, panting groans grow louder. "Ah, Scar-" Grian's thrusts lose all sense of regularity. Hard. Frantic. "Close-"
He has no other warning, still coming down from his own high, thighs twitching and shuddering like he's a newborn fawn. There's a split second of realisation. Of bracing himself. Then Grian buries himself deep in Scar's throat, and cums.
His spend floods down in waves, and Scar has no choice but to swallow it, throat pulsing around the cock. In any ordinary circumstance, Scar would remember more of it.
As it is, though, he's pretty sure he blacked out. Because the next thing he knows, Grian is pulling out of his throat and sitting on the floor right next to him, breathing heavy and leaning into his side. Sweat dripping down his forehead.
Scar blinks. Looks down at the wetness in his pants. Oh.
Pulling off his shirt, Grian grimaces. He uses the soft fabric to wipe spit and cum from Scar's face, cleaning him off with gentle, careful movements. His hand is no longer in Scar's hair.
It's a bit of a novelty, Scar fully clothed and Grian willingly shirtless. If he weren't so out of it, Scar would laugh, enjoying the absurdity. In a life game of all things.
Grian's hand strokes over his thigh. "Did you finish?" Scar glances again at his pants, and nods. This seems to satisfy Grian. "Nice."
Silence, for a moment. The two of them catching their breath. Somewhere outside, birds sing.
"You okay? Not too much?" Grian is quiet, now, speaking softly into his ear. In response, Scar shakes his head, then considers the questions again. Those need two different answers, don't they? He nods. Then shrugs.
Petting his hair, Grian sighs. "Can you use some words?"
After that throat-fucking? Grian is lucky Scar can speak at all. It hurts a little when he does, coming out scratchy and raw. "Not too much. Good." It's all he can manage for the moment, but he feels Grian's body relax next to him.
Not completely. Grian's hand twirls through the strands of hair at the base of Scar's neck. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" Familiar tones of anxiety bleed through his words. "You know I worry." Gosh, he could say that again.
Honestly, it's a bit of a silly question. Of course he hurt Scar, that's the point. But he didn't hurt him in a bad way.
Scar hides his face in Grian's shoulder, exhausted. "It's all good, G." His hand finds Grian's waist, and settles there, holding him in a way he hopes is reassuring. "We... should clean up before the others get back, though."
A half-hearted groan of frustration. "Gimme, like, five minutes." It's endearing. When Grian is himself again, not playing up that cruel character for their play, he's still the same as always.
The one Scar fell for. The one he keeps falling for, every time.
Knocking their foreheads together, Scar weakly smiles. "Love you." At his words, Grian pulls him closer, their warm bodies intertwined.
