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thesightstoshowyou · 1 month ago

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Never Say Never

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Jesse loves himself a cam girl.

Warnings: Reader is a webcam model, noncon, daddy kink, kidnapping, a little blunt force trauma, boot play, bondage, knife play, blood play, blood as lube, sex in a coffin, fingering, overstimulation, creampie, branding.

This was a commission for the lovely @genzisnotokay Thank you for your business!

Gif by @sweeetestcurse

CS: Meet me.

The black letters stretch across your computer screen and your fingers freeze, hovering just above the keyboard. You’re so taken aback that, for a brief moment, you forget you’re on camera. You forget you’re performing. Your practiced smile falters.

CS: C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that. You know I won’t bite.

Just like that, you snap back to reality. Your sly grin returns.

‘Tired of only being able to look and not touch, Jesse?’ you type back. On screen, you see the black suit shift, the shoulders raise and lower with what you assume is a huffed laugh. There’s no sound, never is when you video chat with your most generous client, and his face is never in frame, so you do your best to pick up on his body cues.

Seems to be working out for you so far, if your bank account is anything to go by.

CS: I’ll be doing a lot more than touching when I get my hands on you, baby.

You sound pretty confident I’m gonna agree to this, Mister CS.

CS: When have you ever said ‘No’ to me?

There you go, freezing again.

Truly, the list of debauched things you’ve done for him on camera is close to endless. You’ve readily agreed to it all, and he’s certainly not shy about asking. All that green has proven to be a great motivator.

He won’t show you his face though, no matter how many times you ask. You’re sure this is what stops you from agreeing. That, and the survival instincts that keep you from meeting clients in the first place.

CS: It’ll be worth your time, babe.

A number crosses your screen, a number with more zeros than you’ve ever seen in your life.

Inhibitions be damned.

When and where, Daddy?

***

You’re pretty sure you fucked up the moment that horrible chrome skull mask emerges from the darkness, streetlights glinting off its shiny surface.

And you know you fucked up when that baseball bat collides with the side of your skull.

***

The first sensation to return is pain. Bright, splitting agony arcs through your head and blinds you. It brings a broken cry to your chapped lips and has you reaching through silk to cradle your skull.

Awareness trickles in past the pain, sand through an hourglass, the first grains alerting you to the fact you can barely bend your arm. Palms reach, press against soft fabric—silk. There’s resistance just beyond. To your left, to your right, above you, at your back….

All around you.

Pain ebbs just a little, adrenaline dulling it to replace it with fear. Panic rises and snakes up your throat to choke you. You’re trapped in a narrow box, a container of some sort. Trickling sand, more cognizance falls into place.

Not a box.

A coffin.

Your chest rises, the frenzied scream locked and loaded in the back of your throat. Muscles tense, fists prepare to beat the lid open, legs poise to knee and kick and flail. It all comes grinding to a halt with knocking atop the coffin lid.

TAP TAP TA-TAPTAP….TAP TAP.

Shave and a haircut.

Hinges squeal as the lid is thrown open. Light blasts you in the eyes, temporarily reminding you of the throbbing in the side of your head. Cold air rushes into your prison, raising goosebumps across your skin and spilling into your lungs with your inhale.

Oxygen pours into your blood and kickstarts desperate movement. You heave yourself up and over the side of the coffin. Blinking, scrambling, you feel chilly concrete against your palms. Your fingers bump into something sturdy, rubbery, but it’s gone a moment later.

You only realize it was the toe of a boot when the sole stomps down on the side of your face.

Blinding anguish erupts behind your eyes once again and that scream finally has a reason to fly free. Sleep-weakened hands grasp the sides of the shoe, but there isn’t even a hint of give. Above you looms the shadow of a body, silhouetted against the overhead light, the barest hint of chrome glinting in the darkness. Beyond is a room, dark and basically empty save for a few sheets hanging from the ceiling and those blinding floodlights.

Rubber squeaks near your face—the other boot—as weight shifts. The person pinning you to the icy floor crouches. You jolt when words shriek somewhere overhead, as though a terrified woman is speaking with every new word.

I take it back. I think I might bite.

Your stomach drops at the same moment your heart jams itself into your throat. “J-Jesse?! Jesse please, w-why are you doing this?!” Your trembling voice is muffled and distorted by the boot smashing your cheek into the floor.

Give it a kiss and I’ll show you.

Give what a kiss? Your confusion only lasts a moment as the toe of the opposite boot waggles suggestively before your face. You barely hesitate. The sharp, turpentine scent of shoe polish fills your nose as your lips press to the smooth surface.

With tongue, piggy. C’mon, I thought you were a professional.

Abhorrent chemical flavor bathes your tongue as you drag it along the side of Jesse’s boot. Saliva makes it shine brighter than the polish. Your nose wrinkles and you fight back the bile that begs to burn its way up your throat.

Weight lifts from your head and you would cry out in relief if it wasn’t quickly replaced by a gloved hand digging into your hair. You yelp and sob as you’re tugged back to the coffin. The hand on your head shoves you face first over the side, cheek meeting soft lining.

Rattling meets your ears, dulled by the blood rushing there. Chain slides across metal and wood and cool steel encircles your wrist. It clamps down, digs into your flesh. Shifting weight, fingers grappling with your opposite hand. You won’t let this one be restrained—

Viciously, you are yanked upright and a horrible, serrated blade the size of your forearm is brought just before your face. Reflected in its gleaming surface you see the chrome mask and your own wide, frightened eyes.

Click, click, click, click. His thumb types out a message on some kind of cell phone. You can see it in your peripheral, but can’t make out the words.

There’s no need to read as they are shouted at you the moment he’s finished: Fight me like that again and I’ll just cut off the whole fucking arm and be done with it.

A whimper and a hasty nod are your response. You hand over your wrist and it’s swiftly secured by a shackle attached to the other half of the coffin lid. Both sides have been modified, you notice, a D-ring bolted into the wood. Now, your arms stretch out in a T, knees digging into the concrete floor, Jesse and that terrible blade at your back.

‘Comfy?’ asks the screaming phone. Chest heaving, eyes searching for reason, you crane your head over your shoulder in an attempt to predict what’s coming. Unfortunately, you don’t guess ‘knife cutting away your clothes so sloppily it catches your skin more often than fabric.’

Each slice burns with white hot torment, your own sweat adding insult to injury when it drips into your wounds to sting and sting and sting. Mascara streaks down your face, aided by your tears and your throat grows raw with how fervently you shriek and plead.

When Jesse smooths his hands over your gashes to paint your bare skin in scarlet, you realize the cuts were intentional. The cruelty, the pain, the terror are all by design. You quake uncontrollably, fear, and cold, and pain gripping hold and sinking in deep.

‘There’s that pretty pussy you show off to all those strange men online.’ The flat of the blade slaps sharply against your clit and you cry out in shock, back going ramrod straight.

Not quite as wet as I remember though. Maybe she needs a little help, huh?

Two gloved fingers slide across your back to wet themselves in the blood trickling across your flesh. With no warning, they plunge deep into your cunt. You wheeze and try to scoot away, but the coffin edge against your thighs keeps you right where you’re wanted.

Bloody digits pump and curl and massage and circle until you all but forget they’re coated in gore, that you’re bleeding from multiple knife wounds, that you’re chained to a fucking coffin. You clench your eyes shut and do your best to remind yourself what’s happening to you, what’s likely about to happen to you. Then, your hips tip on their own accord and your back arches and your lips part to exhale a quivering moan.

Cum on them, piggy.

“F-Fuck, n-n-nuuuuugh—“

It’s too late. You crash into climax, crimson coated walls gripping those fingers and telling Jesse exactly what he wants to know. Your shaking voice echoes around the room, pitch rising sharply when the fingers slide from your cunt to rub perfect circles into your clit.

‘Cum again and you get my cock,’ screeches the phone. You don’t have a choice. He knows exactly how to get you there, has seen you do precisely this in all the videos you’ve made for him.

You stammer out some garbled protest, but it’s lost in the wake of the pleasure that unravels in your belly. It forces your legs to shut and bows you forward just as though his hand has returned to your head. It’s nearly too much, but that won’t stop the warm, thick length that settles against your entrance.

Now that’s the pussy we all know and love.

One hand returns to your hair and the other holds the knife flat against your lips. This allows you to see your scream fog up the blade when Jesse surges forward to impale you on that cock he promised.

You don’t know why you say it: “D-Daddy, it h-hurts, it’s too-too much…!”

Shaking behind you, rhythmic, like silent laughter. The hand leaves your hair so the phone can reply, ‘That’s why I’m doing it, baby girl.’

Jesse fixes his grip on your locks and renews his efforts tenfold. You can’t talk anymore, not with the way you’re arched, not with how furiously he brutalizes your hole. Every breath becomes a moan as it’s punched from your lungs, every jostle further tweaking your aching shoulders where they’re stretched wide. Shackles dig into the flesh of your wrists until steel turns red.

When Jesse wheezes in your ear, when cold Chrome touches your shoulder, when every inch of his girth throbs to paint you full of him, you cum again. The third orgasm is wrenched from you, painful and tight. Everywhere sings with strained pleasure, every nerve frayed and twitching.

A pathetic whine spills from your mouth and you’re released, allowed to slump over the edge of the coffin, cheek meeting silk once again. Warmth vanishes from your back and boot falls echo through the empty room. Plastic flutters.

Clattering. Squeak. Rushing of air. Click. WHOOSH. Using the last vestiges of your strength, you pull yourself upright. Blearily, you look over your shoulder. Make-up smeared eyes widen.

Jesse lights a torch. The flames reflect eerily across the chrome grin. He shifts to place the torch against the end of a long metal rod.

A branding iron.

Wildly, you yank your arms, jiggle the chains, brace with your legs. You cry and scream and thrash and jerk, anything to free yourself. You only succeed in scooting the coffin a little way across the floor and peeling the skin away from your wrists.

Slowly, ominously, Jesse approaches. Each step is a cacophony as it echoes around the room to fill your ears with panic. The branding iron glows in the dark and acrid smoke fills the air.

You sob and shake your head, feverishly begging, desperately scooting as far away as your bonds and aching limbs will allow. Jesse’s head tilts to the side and he waves the iron teasingly through the air. The phone screen momentarily lights up the mask as he types.

There’s no saying ‘No’ to me now, is there?

#chromeskull #chromeskull x reader #jesse cromeans #jesse cromeans x reader #laid to rest #chromeskull: laid to rest 2 #commission #thesightstoshowyou

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shedontsmelltoogooddarious · 11 months ago

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ChromeskullxOC (SMUT)

Shameless self indulgent first time writing actual smut between my OC, an eldritch mafia boss and Chromeskull from Laid To Rest. Two bad rich older men sdhdhdhd

(Black is trans)

He picked the most upscale club in town to discuss business with his partner, within a private room, drinks going in and out as Ivanov barely paid attention, his wallet was too fat to care. He lit another cigarette, offering one to the man sitting across from himself. He took it, his mangled face lowering to light it- barely acknowledging the desperation bursting through the mafia boss’s seems. “So tell me, are those girls beneath your knife satisfying you enough?”

Black purred, prompting Jesse to look up, his hands suddenly going into motion; “Very much so, thank you for asking.” He signed, before smirking- knowingly at the face of danger. If he wanted, Black could snap the experienced serial killer like a twig.

“Nice to know that our rendezvous meant nothing to you, but I guess we’re here to strictly discuss business.”

He poured himself another drink, taking a swig before slamming it down to the table. “Preston emailed me about you needing another place to “play”, I supposed I could allow you to have free reign on one of my properties in the city- but why should I give you that privilege?”

“Because you still want to fuck me.”

Jesse signed once more, before taking a drag off his cigarette, smoke whisping out of the holes where his nose should have been. A low growl could be heard, his human form slipping. But Jesse remained nonchalant, ignoring it like his former lover ignored him when his face melted off.

Muffled techno music could be heard, filling in the silence between both men. “You’re right, and I always get what I want when I want,”

His hand shot across the table between them as he grabbed Jesse’s shirt, ripping expensive silk in the process as his lips feverishly collided with his ex’s. Instead of fighting back, he allowed it- his long, boney fingers entwining with Ivanov’s black hair. The don was expanding, sickly popping and crunching sounds being heard as he contorted into his true, monstrous form. Tendrils wrapped around Jesse’s legs, parting them, the sharp blade of a knife suddenly against Black’s throat.

“No.” An electronic voice commanded, the blade biting into his skin- right above his jugulars. Don Ivanonov was shoved down to the floor, a human dominating a monster, a predator of his species. He undid his belt buckle, his cock throbbing out as it was erect. Jesse’s free hand traveled down to Black’s pants, undoing them to reveal a familiar sight, his fervid pussy already seeping. His face flushed in embarrassment as he turned his head away, forgetting the blade held to his throat before feeling sharp pain as Jesse shoved it deeper.

“You’re so pathetic- look at me!” He growled, before his black leather glove hand grabbed his bottom jaw and forced him to look into his mangled face. “You’re mine- you’ve always been mine.”

WIthout warning, his member slid inside Black’s warm insides as he needily thrusted into him. How long has it been since he last was inside one of the most notoriously dangerous dons in this city? Too long. The knife against Black’s throat trailed down to his own dress shirt, cutting it open as the blade slid across his skin, causing inky black blood to bead out against his pale white skin.

The thrusting gradually turned to a steady pace, syncing with the rhythm of the music outside, stretching Black’s insides out as his claws dug deep into the tiled flooring, leaving deep grooves behind. Jesse lifted his partner’s hips up, gripping his large thighs tightly, shoving himself deeper yet. “I’ve heard you’re whoring yourself out in this city- tell me, what happened to your playthings Ivanov?”

Jesse growled, sparing no mercy for Black as he continued, going faster with the tempo. Black gritted his teeth, his pride now in shambles as he was drunk on pleasure and pain.

“Answer me!” His fingers dug deeper, Black’s tendrils going limp.

“You killed them.” He moaned, recoiling in disgust internally.

Jesse grinned, going slower with the tempo change, but still keeping a firm hold on the man larger than himself. His cock throbbed, he knew he was about to come soon- but he wanted to keep going, to reclaim what was his and his alone. “You’ve been fucking around with my toys as well, you can’t share can you? You’re a greedy old bastard.”

He was about to come too, his legs shaking- insides clenching around Jesse’s cock. They squeezed, kneading against him. He needed more. His claws found themselves in Jesse’s shoulders, gripping for dear life as his lips once more collided with the human’s, but this time his sharp teeth were prominent. He bit down on Jesse’s lower lip, instantly drawing blood, savoring the familiar taste. “You’re like a damn drug.” Black snarled,

Jesse was unable to hold it back any longer, his back arching as he came into Black, his hot seed spilling deep inside. As if on cue, Black too came, his name sake’s goo spilling out as it leaked from every orifice, mixing with his partner’s crimson red blood. Black made an attempt to pull away, but his partner had other ideas. He locked in his grip, coming again into Black before thrusting once more.

“What are you-”

“I want you pregnant.”

A new track was placed down, faster and harder.