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rainrot4me · 2 months ago

Note

helli, I don't know if you take requests or not, but I saw your eyeless jack hc's and was wondering what if s/o actually was up to jack cutting into their abdoment? I thought that was a interesting hc but I liked it.

Have a good day/night/evening!

Please, please, please, please, please be cautious reading this. Remember it's fiction.

SMUT WARNING, MDNI

✦ . Characters: Eyeless Jack x Genderneutral Reader

✦ . Warning: THAT DOVE IS DEAD, scalpels, organ pleasure, paraphilia, internal organs, blood, I don't know how else to tag this besides Jack literally fucks your intestines through a cut in your stomach, pain and pleasure, mentions of needles and medical equipment, reader is a proxy/not entirely human

✦ . Words: 2.7k

✦ . Note: I'm not responsible for your personal enjoyment/disgust of this work so do not come complaining to me!!! ALSO, I’m in no way a medical expert, so take everything I write here at face value and not as what would actually happen (I hope none of you actually partake in this LMAO).

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“I’m not suggesting. If we’re going to do this, you’re going to listen to me.”

Jack counted, then recounted every inch of medical tubing that ran up your arms, checking once again that he had all of them flowing correctly. The medical table underneath your back wasn’t comfortable, but the giddiness you felt overran the complaint of stale leather and stiff wood.

It was your idea, after all, to follow through with this whole fantasy. The demon never brought it up again after he had let it slip once—the idea of fucking something other than just your holes—but you never let it slip your stingy mind. It came as teasing afterwards, breathless remarks about ‘sticking his dick in’ while Jack sewed up yet another bullet wound or knife attack. As a proxy, the sting of pain became secondary to the sting of disappointment you would get from messing up a mission.

“Love, I’m fine.”

You reassured him yet again, reaching a hand out to grip on his wrist, the tubing that stuck into your veins following with the movement.

“I’ll be the judge.” A stern remark. You were beginning to think this would make him more stressed than anything.

He adjusted the mask over his face, not the porcelain one, not today. Just a medical-grade surgical mask, as if that could sanitize what was about to happen. His gloved hands paused at your hips. Not out of hesitation, but deliberation. Measuring, calculating, and then recalculating again.

The scalpel gleamed beneath the low amber light overhead. He had used it a thousand times before, but right now, it looked like he wasn’t even sure how to hold it.

“You have to tell me,” he said quietly, not looking at you, “if anything changes. If your heart rate spikes. If your breathing changes. If you feel cold, nauseous, faint—”

“I know the list, Jack,” you murmured, voice warm despite the chill in the air. “You’ve made me memorize it every time I get so much as a scratch.”

He glanced at you then, the sockets where eyes should be were black and bottomless, unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his gaze settle over you like a second set of hands.

“This isn’t a scratch.”

You tilted your head, smirking just a little. “Then make it count.”

That shut him up.

Silence bloomed between you for a moment, taut and thrumming. Your pulse was steady, he was monitoring it on a tiny screen just out of your line of sight, but his? Jack’s breath was shallow, stiff, like his lungs refused to sync with the calm professionalism he wore like a second skin. His energy was thrumming against you, even as he leaned closer, even as his hands steadied over the exposed area of your gut.

Then the scalpel kissed your abdomen.

Just a line, not yet breaking skin. He dragged it slowly from sternum to navel, a cold whisper over warm flesh, and you shivered, goosebumps shot up like a warning.

“Last chance,” he said, voice a ragged whisper. “If you say stop, I stop. I don’t care what you promised or what you think you can take. My pleasure is not worth you life, love.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

You could see it: the twitch in his jaw. That flicker of restraint cracking.

“I want you, Jack,” you said, breathless now. “All of you. Even this.”

He exhaled through his nose, something feral and broken. Not quite relief, not quite fear, but things deep and old that stirred in him when you said that like you meant it.

The scalpel cut.

Not deep, just enough, just barely. A hot line of pain seared across your skin, sharp and bright and real. You gasped from the sheer thrill of it. Jack’s gloved hand pressed gently against your side, steadying you.

His breath caught.

“You shouldn’t look so happy,” he said, voice hoarse. “It’s fucked.”

You grinned up at him, eyes glittering with heat. “Then we’re both fucked.”

He leaned in, hovering over you, the warm wetness of your blood slicking his gloves as he spread you open, not cruelly, not recklessly, but with reverence. With trembling hands and barely-contained hunger.

The scalpel’s edge dipped beneath the top layer of skin. A clean incision. Shallow enough to avoid danger, but enough to make your breath catch and your limbs tense against the restraints. Jack felt it, the flutter of your pulse against the inside of your wrist, and watched, silently, as a thin rivulet of blood bloomed from the cut and curved down your side.

“Breathe through it,” he said lowly, almost beneath his breath, not a command, more like a reminder to himself. To both of you.

He set the scalpel down with reverent care, replacing it with gloved fingers that were soaked almost immediately in the warm slickness pooling from the wound. Your blood coated his hands, dripping between his knuckles, sliding down his wrists in long, slow trails. It made his mask cling tighter to his face from the heat radiating off both of you.

Jack’s hands spread you open gently, the pads of his fingers pulling the skin apart to expose the layer of fat beneath. Yellowish and subcutaneous, still undisturbed by damage, glistening under the low light.

Your body arched involuntary. A hiss of pain curled off your lips, and he watched it. Every twitch of your body fed into that overworked brain of his: breathing, color, responsiveness. You were straining, but you were there. You were with him.

“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said, voice low and shaking with something that wasn’t fear. Not anymore.

Desire, tightly caged, pushed against the back of his throat. He hadn’t felt this much pressure in years, not since the last time he’d truly wanted. His cock pressed against the front of his jeans, hard and straining, but he didn’t move toward release. Not yet, not until he finished what he started.

He reached for the clamps.

One by one, he peeled you open. Just slightly, just enough to let the blood roll down your sides in thick, slow arcs, not pouring, but oozing, dark and rich and slick. He placed the clamps with exact care: one on each side of the cut, holding the skin parted so he could see deeper. The pale fascia layer shone beneath, the muscles flexed. Jack sucked in a sharp breath.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself, but his hands didn’t stop. “You’re insane.”

Yet, he leaned in closer.

His fingers brushed the muscle wall, feeling the heat pouring out of you like a furnace. Blood coated the table. It soaked your lower back and ran toward the leather padding beneath your spine. Your poor clothes were beyond salvageable now. You were smiling through the pain, through the heavy ache blooming inside you.

Jack was trembling now. He leaned over you, lips inches from your temple, and whispered, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

His voice cracked at the edge. You offered yourself like a specimen and a sacrifice, and he was fighting the line between worship and defilement.

One hand, just one, dropped to his belt. He paused, checking your vitals again, glancing at the monitors. Still stable, still strong. Your breath came out in uneven, heated bursts, but you weren’t crying. You weren’t begging him to stop. Tears were welled in your eyes, but nothing to be overly concerned about, yet.

You were thriving in it.

He pushed his hips against the table edge and groaned, muffled behind his mask, his other hand tracing the opened wound again, not pressing too deep, not enough to damage, just to feel, to memorize the heat and slickness of your insides under his fingertips. He could see everything, all the bits and pieces that worked together to keep you going, to keep the one he loved moving and talking and his.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, head bowed, voice nearly broken. “Perfect and fucking ruined.”

The blood had soaked through to his thighs. He didn’t care. It dripped off the table in steady splashes, pooling on the floor beneath him. There was a feral gleam in his posture now, tempered only by the strict rigidity he had grown to master. No flinching, no frenzy, just precision, a steady hand with a throbbing ache behind his zipper and an unbearable tightness in his chest.

This was desire in its rawest, ugliest, truest form. And Jack had never loved someone more than he did when you moaned softly and whispered, “More.”

“Fuck.”

Jack adjusted the clamps again, delicately teasing the incision wider. The abdominal wall pulled apart under the gentle pressure, revealing a glistening tapestry of tissue, layers of pink and red, quivering slightly with every breath you took. The room smelled like copper and antiseptic, thick and sharp. Jack leaned over the cut, mesmerized.

He could see the coils of your intestines, slick and glistening with fluid, nestled like an offering inside you. Your liver, dark and velvet-smooth, sat tucked to one side, pulsing faintly. Your stomach curved beneath it, twitching slightly. You were a cathedral of blood and muscle, and Jack bowed before the altar of your anatomy.

“Fuck,” he rasped again, voice hoarse. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this.”

The mask over his face was stifling. It kept him from you, from your scent, your breath, the warmth of your skin. He tore it off with one hand, flinging it to the side with shaking fingers, and exhaled shakily as cool air hit his skin. A bit of your blood streaked across his cheek. He didn’t wipe it off.

You were watching him, dazed, drunk on the adrenaline and pain, but your eyes stayed locked on his. There was no fear in them, just longing.

Jack climbed up onto the table with slow, deliberate care, straddling your hips so his knees bracketed your thighs. You could feel the weight of him now, the tremble in his legs, the tension in his gut. The bulge in his pants pressed against your stomach, just below the wound.

Even now, he didn’t move too fast.

One gloved hand reached for the drawer beside the table. The other tore at the buttons and zipper containing him, tugging his cock sharply with his latex palm. He fished out a packet, and tore it open. His fingers moved automatically, rolling the condom down with expert care. He held himself over you, head bowed, one hand braced beside your head, the other finishing the motion.

“I need to know,” he murmured, dipping closer, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, then your temple. “You’re still okay? Nothing’s changed? Heart rate’s steady, no dizziness, no numbness?”

You nodded, breath hitching as he kissed the corner of your mouth. His lips were hot and slick with sweat, blood, and something unbearably tender.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, a quiet confession breathed directly into your ear. “Not to this. Not to me.”

Your hand, trembling, reached up and touched the back of his neck, encouraging, grounding. Jack let out a shaky sigh and leaned into it. His body trembled above yours, barely holding himself together.

“This isn’t about fucking,” he whispered. “It’s worship. I want to be inside you. With your blood on my hands and your body open to me like this. It’s not just pleasure. It’s—” He broke off, his voice almost cracking.

His forehead pressed against yours.

“—it’s communion.”

He rocked his hips gently, pressing himself flush to you, not yet entering but close, so achingly close. One hand ghosted down, stroking the edge of the incision, marveling at the way your body welcomed him even now. His other hand found yours and squeezed.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “And I swear to God, I’ll bring you back from this. I’ll sew you back up perfectly. You’ll feel nothing but safe and loved.”

You gave a weak laugh, trying not to move around your open abdomen too much, but still communicating.

He kissed your mouth then, deep and slow, tasting of blood and desperation, while his trembling hips pressed against you, sliding his cock between the folds of opened skin without entering, just feeling, just savoring.

He could lose himself in this. But he wouldn’t. Because he had you.

Jack hovered, every inch of him taut and trembling like a cord about to snap. His cock, sheathed and slick, pressed flush to the line of your opened flesh, not thrusting, not breaching, but feeling. Just the heat, the proximity, the tension of muscle and blood and living warmth beneath him. Your body pulsed against his, and his breath stuttered in response.

The sensation of your split-open belly against him wasn’t grotesque to him. It was divine, sacred. The friction of skin slicked with blood, the twitch of exposed fascia under his thighs, the trembling strength still thrumming through your body despite the pain. You weren’t fragile, you were transcendent, and Jack was trembling like a devout man at the gates of heaven.

He kissed your mouth again, slower this time, mouth open, breath hissing through his teeth. When he pulled back, his lips were tinged crimson. Your blood was on him, in him now. He licked it without thinking.

“I need to go slow,” he whispered, voice cracked and guttural. “If I do this too fast, I’ll break. I’ll fucking lose it.” He was starving.

You tilted your face into his, mouth brushing his jaw. “Then lose it.”

His hips practically moved on their own.

He pressed forward — not into the organs, not through the surgical field, but just above. Carefully, Jack guided himself between the gap of your skin and insides, slick with your own excitement and the blood running from the incision. The mix of fluids made him groan deep in his chest. His hips rolled forward in a slow, measured motion, sheathing himself inside you with one shuddering breath.

Your walls gripped him, and for a second, Jack’s entire body seized up. He clenched the table’s edge, head bowed so low it nearly touched your collarbone. He contorted himself, trying to not let his size crush you.

“God—” he gasped, “You’re—so warm, so fucking tight—alive.”

He stayed still, buried in you, trembling with the strain of holding back. Around him, your body twitched with the dull burn of the incision, the clamps holding you open, the ache of fullness and restraint. Every breath you took stretched your skin and made the gap that much smaller for him to fit inside. But your hand found his jaw, and when you whispered his name— “Jack” —something tore through him all over again.

He moved.

Slowly, with measured control. His hips rocked into yours, shallow at first, grinding rather than thrusting, careful not to jostle the table or disturb the surgical site. But every stroke pushed him deeper, not just inside your body, but into something untouched by him or anyone else.

Your groans and gasps were like music, every jostle of your body making you react in ways much different than normal sex. This was more severe, more intense than anything the two of you had experienced, this was new territory. Scary or not, you were enjoying it.

His gloved fingers slid down to your lower abdomen, ghosting just beside the open wound. He didn’t touch the organs—he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not during. But he let his palm rest just above, feeling the movement inside you, the tension, the way your body pulsed beneath him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, voice rough with adoration. “You’re incredible. So strong. So beautiful.” He kissed you again, your lips, your cheek, your throat, leaving smears of blood and sweat in his wake.

With every careful thrust, his body pressed more tightly against yours. The heat of your blood, your scent, the friction of his thighs against your hips, and the taste of your mouth sent him spiraling. He began to whisper again, soft mantras, barely audible between ragged breaths:

“I love you— You’re mine— I’ll put you back together— I swear— You’ll be whole— I’ll clean you— stitch you— worship you…”

His words were unraveling. His rhythm faltered, losing its precision as his desperation built. His mouth found your pulse, sucking gently at the skin, his hips moving faster now, grinding into you harder, needier.

And still, still, he never lost track of your vitals. One eye on the screen. One hand still resting near your surgical clamps. He was fucking you with every fiber of his being, but part of him remained the surgeon, the caretaker, the one who would never let you slip too far.

It only took his hips angling down just a bit for the head of his cock to slip from the valley of your wound into the folds of your intestines. The coils of organs housed his cock like they were meant for him, the warmth and deepness sucking him in hypnotically. Jack nearly snarled, your gasp loud as you both watched his cock slip in and out of your guts, each pass leaving the condom a deeper shade of red than the last.

He didn’t last another couple thrusts, the sensation absolutely breathtaking.

When he came, sudden, raw, tearing a broken sound from his throat, he locked his body over you like a man dying and being born in the same breath.

His mask was long gone. His blood-slicked face buried against your neck, he panted harshly, whispering, “I’ve got you— I’ve got you— Stay with me, sweetheart, stay awake— You’re okay— you’re okay…”

You felt the shift instantly from predator to protector. From desire to devotion.

He eased out of you with a groan, both of pleasure and urgency, already reaching for gauze, clamps, surgical thread. His hands moved fast now, gloved and shaking but trained, slipping back into medical command. He would sew you shut with the same reverence with which he split you open.

And all the while, he kept talking to you, even when your eyes grew heavy and your heart-monitor beeped just a little slower.

“You did so good… I’m gonna make it perfect, okay? I’ll clean every inch… You’re safe… I’ve never—never trusted anyone like this.”

And you knew, beneath the sweat, the blood, the trembling afterglow, he meant every word. That’s why, when your eyes finally shut, you didn’t fight it. Even when you heard muffled calls of your name.

── .✦

“A week??”

Jack nodded, stern.

“Love, come on, you can’t do this to me.”

“I can, will, and already have.”

Jack had turned your post-orgasm crash into a fucking hospital wing.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, watching him move around the room like a storm in latex gloves, reorganizing tools, labeling vials of your blood, adjusting dosage meters with that signature furrow between his brows.

The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, barely masking the copper tang that still lingered under Jack’s nails no matter how many times he scrubbed.

You lay flat on the medical cot, body bound by more tubes and machines than you could keep track of. A bag of saline hung above you, feeding steadily into your arm through a neatly taped IV. Two blood bags dripped slowly into the second line, another pump released a slow stream of antibiotics. The pressure monitor beeped softly with each stable beat of your heart.

“You lost two liters,” he replied sharply, not even looking up. “You’re on bed rest until your red cell count stabilizes. You were open, and you let me— We—” He paused, visibly tensing. “You’re lucky I was aware enough to stitch you before you passed out.”

“I didn’t pass out.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I moaned, Jack.”

He stopped, slowly turned to face you, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable beyond the never-ending scowl.

“You are the most medically irresponsible human being I have ever met.”

You smiled sweetly. “And yet, I’m still your favorite patient. And you’re the one who agreed.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then sighed, finally stepping closer to the bed.

“You’re incorrigible,” he muttered, brushing your hair back gently. His hands, for all their violence and precision, were so soft now, fingertips moving across your temple, trailing along your jaw, checking your temperature like he always had.

“You stitched me up like a fucking Renaissance painter,” you teased. “Could at least let me walk around to show it off.”

“Out of the question. You’re not moving until your body starts producing again. Your hemoglobin is down, your BP is shaky, and if I catch you trying to stand—”

“You’ll what?” you smirked. “Strap me to the bed?”

Jack’s hand paused mid-adjustment on the IV regulator. Slowly, he turned his head toward you. There was that pause, the look he always gave you when he was trying to decide between scolding you or absolutely wrecking your shit.

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered.

You grinned wider, triumphant, but your body betrayed you with a groan as you shifted. Pain flared down your abdomen, a dull, bruising ache around the tight seam of fresh stitches.

Jack was on you in an instant, hand on your shoulder, pressing you back down.

“Easy,” he said, voice gentler now. “You’ll tear something. The internal stitches need time to settle. You’re not indestructible, even if you proxies like to act it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you push it,” he snapped. “You’re mine. That means you heal right.”

You blinked, momentarily silenced by the possessiveness in his voice. Jack didn’t say things like that often, but when he did, he meant them.

“…Okay, Doc,” you murmured, reaching up weakly to curl your fingers around his. “You win.”

“I always do,” he said softly, entwining his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles. “Now shut up and let the IV do its job.”

You smirked as he leaned in to check the dressing on your incision, humming thoughtfully under his breath. For all his fussing, his touch lingered more than necessary, fingertips trailing your ribs, his mouth brushing your stomach just above the bandages.

“You know,” you said lazily, “if this is the treatment I get for letting you cut me open, I might volunteer more often.”

Jack gave you a flat look. “Don’t even joke about that.”

You laughed, drowsy now, drifting in and out beneath the buzz of medication. Jack pulled the blanket up over your hips and leaned onto the cot, careful not to jar the tubing. His arm traced across your chest, palm resting onto your heart to feel the steady beat underneath.

“You’re infuriating,” he murmured, already sounding more relaxed.

“And you’re obsessed.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, grinning. “I am.”

꩜ .ᐟ

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noirscript · 1 year ago

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mine, oh mine

pairing/s: yandere!sugar daddy x f!stripper reader | warning/s: NONCON. oversimulation. illegal detention. dead dove: do not eat. MINORS DNI | src

You should've known better.

Alastair, the man who pulled you out of the rat race with his merciful proposal, would never have summoned you urgently for no reason.

You should've realized that something was amiss as soon as you start putting on an attire that he finds disgusting. That you wouldn't just perform in front of him like usual.

"I-It... It was just one dance. One... just one! I swear!" You cried, pleading with your sorrowful eyes, as he attached the metal cuffs to the chain attached to the wall. "I'm sorry... please... please don't do this..."

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to look up at him. "I've been tried to save you. To keep you out of that filthy gutter. But you kept on coming back," he said through his teeth.

"Al—"

Your skin stung and ear began to ring as soon as a hard slap landed on your right cheek.

"You wanted to be treated like a slut? So be it!"

He took one of your nipples in his mouth, nibbling it while roughly pinching and kneading the other.

You tried to get away by grabbing the metal chain above your head, but he immediately caught on and placed his hands on your hips.

"Do that again. I dare you."

You pleaded while trying to keep his tongue away from your overstimulated core, but he simply pushed your legs against your chest. Savoring your juices like a madman.

"M's...rry..." you slurred while looking at the painting hanging on the wall. Something you've never seen before. "No... more... no more..."

"Why?" he asked before chuckling. "Can you even do something about your situation?"

A sharp gasp came from your lips as soon as his girthy cock slid into your abused hole.

The sound of chain and the creaking of the bed created a deranged symphony—one that Alastair would listen to over and over.

Your sense of time became non-existent as he made you understand who owns you. Only when he became exhausted did Alastair stopped.

You tried to wiggle away, but one firm grip kept you in place. Followed by a swift thrust from him.

"Stay still."

"Let me... go..."

Alastair chuckled before whispering into your ear. "And where will you even go?"

He grab your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "This is your home now."

Note: It's my birthday on Tuesday. I'll finalize the mini-event we'll do on that day. Commissions are open. Requests are also open (might take time due to irl work).

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starsofjewels · 1 year ago

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Mama, Papa and Baby Too

Ramsay Snow (Bolton) x Lady Bolton! Reader, Roose Bolton x Lady Bolton! Reader

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

Please read responsibly.

DARK FIC: This piece includes or is focused around a situation some readers may find uncomfortable or disturbing. Know your limits and keep yourself safe.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Incest (Stepmother x stepchild), non-descriptive/ implied incest (father x child), voyeurism, breastfeeding, foreplay (fingering + handjob), riding (Roose), Little(-ish) Ramsay, non-descriptive mention of assault (in regard to Ramsay's conception)

The Boltons are their own warning

MASTERPOST - Dark Fic section

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

I've never published any smut before, so why not, in true GOT fashion, start off with a weird little incest-ridden oneshot? The gods may smite me, but Ramsay is still my baby boy, so here we are.

I apologise in advance for this characterisation of Ramsay, even though I fear it fits his character exceptionally well.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Word count: 2.5k

You had known your stepson was unstable since before you had wed his father. A bastard boy conceived out of rape, raised by an insane servant until his mother grew tired of him, and threw him on the steps of the Dreadfort. Anyone in the North could recount the stories surrounding Ramsay Snow, how he tormented the serving girls in his father’s employ, commanding his pack of dogs to tear flesh from the servants’ bones, and naming each new pup after a girl he had slain. How he burned, and destroyed, and caused so much havoc across the Dreadfort and the lands surrounding it.

When you first arrived, to be married to the boy’s father, your maids told you, with varying levels of excitement, what he had done to Roose’s previous wife, and their only surviving son. Supposedly, your new stepson had tortured Lady Bethany to the point of insanity, to a degree that her hair fell from her scalp and her skin flaked. Her only living son, Domeric, had a worse fate still, succumbing to an ‘illness’ commonly believed to be poison in the hands of his jealous half-brother.

You are given a silver dagger to hide in your skirts, and told to not use it sparingly. Ramsay is unpredictable, and cruel, and Roose will not try to stop him.

Roose does not allow you to meet him until after the wedding. The day you finally do, the staff refuse to look at you, or speak with you as they usually would. You are taken care of, of course, fed, and bathed, dressed in Bolton pink. You feel like a sacrifice, being made-up to appease some vicious god.

“Sit, wife.”

It is not a question, but you answer anyway.

“I have no need to sit, lord husband.”

You watch him roll his eyes, fixing himself a little. You stand in silence for a good few moments, until you hear unfamiliar footsteps, which you assume belong to your stepson.

Ramsay stops in the doorway, eyeing you up as you are sure his dogs do their prey. You want so badly to reach out and take Roose’s hand, or run off. But there is no comfort for you, not now. You know your fate here, and it is not to be coddled like a doll.

He steps closer to you, and again, and again, until you can clearly see his cold, blue eyes in the dim light, sizing you up, as though he can tell exactly how to torment you.

Instead of striking you, or grasping at your hair and pulling, Ramsay cautiously wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder. You gasp in surprise, expecting far worse. Glancing up at Roose, you see his brow furrow in apparent confusion, he goes to speak, Ramsay does first.

“Mama…”

He sounds like a pathetic little boy, a baby, and some part of your heart is filled by it. He takes your hand in his and puts it to his own head, and you stroke his curls as he seems to want you to. The boy preens at this, pushing himself further into the embrace.

“It seems the boy likes you, dear.”

You almost smile at his words, looking down to the boy, still hiding away in your hair.

“Aye, it does seem that way.”

Roose has shown no signs of affection towards you before, much less openly giving you pet names. You try to ignore it, putting it to the side as a one-off, a part of his surprise towards Ramsay’s affection towards you.

Your stepson stays attached to your hip for the rest of the evening. He follows you everywhere, insisting he cannot do anything without you, and although you understand the oddness of the situation, if this is what it takes to prevent yourself having the same fate as Lady Bethany, you are willing to indulge the monster.

He practically squeals in delight when you give him a sip from your wine when his father is not looking, having been barred from partaking after sunset following a particularly violent drunken escapade, the one sliver of actual parenting Roose had enforced.

By the time he is ready to retire, he is squished up beside you in your chambers, practically on your lap. You are distracted from your sewing by him gently butting into you, trying to grasp your attention. Looking out at the dark night outside your window, you glance back at Ramsay, already nearing sleep.

You sigh, setting him up on the unused side of your bed. It takes barely a moment for him to shuffle across the sheets and wrap himself around you, clinging like a baby. There is no point in denying him, part of you knows he would sneak in later, anyway.

Eventually, Roose comes to you, dressed in his nightclothes. He has never spent the night with you before, much less in your own rooms. He slips in beside his bastard, watching the two of you with mild curiosity.

“You’re good with him.”

“Thank you.”

He scoffs slightly, leaning back against the headboard to look down on the sleeping Ramsay.

“I have never seen him like this. He’ll be asking to suckle from you next, dearest.”

There it was again, a small hint of your husband’s affections for you. You are terribly glad the dim night hides the blush on your cheeks.

“He would not!”

You can make out Roose nodding his head.

“Really? He’s a man grown, Roose.”

“As if that could stop him. Keep yourself clothed around him, no matter how much you trust him, He’s a mischievous one, our Ramsay. Give him a chance and he might pounce.”

You feel Ramsay smile against your chest, and you realise he’s not yet fallen asleep. Summoning your best act, you look at your husband with mock surprise,

“My boy? Oh, I find that hard to believe, lord husband. Is he not just an angel?”

Ramsay tucks himself tighter against you, and a smile finds itself upon your lips. You kiss his curls gently, the boy giggles, glad that you consider him to be your own.

- -

The night, though young, is dark. As the Stark words always say, winter is coming. You can feel it in the cold, in the way the trees tilt in the breeze. You rest your head against Roose’s chest. The flames and your furs keep the room almost uncomfortably warm. You are the lady of the Dreadfort, after, you of all people must be shielded from the oncoming trials of winter.

The storm outside is bitter and cruel. The wind is harsh, and you are certain trees will have fallen by the morning. Every so often, if you try particularly hard, you can hear your son’s dogs howling at the weather from the kennels. You turn, your back now to Roose. He reaches his arm around you, holding you closely to him.

And your moment of intimacy, in less than a second, is ruined by the gentle tap of a hand against your bedroom door. Just from the sound of it, you know exactly who it is. You smile softly,

“Come in, darling.”

Ramsay shuffles into your bedchamber, like a child, a pout on his face which you can see from the light of the fire beside him. He is dressed in his nightshirt, his hair messy, and you know that you are in for a long night.

“Want to sleep here, Mama.”

He makes no effort to speak to your husband, not when his precious mother is waiting for him. Though Roose attempts to grasp your arms, you reach out for Ramsay, and he leaps into your bed. Before long, he has wrangled you onto your back, snuggling viciously into your chest. His attachment to you has only grown in the months you have spent as his mother, to a degree many might consider unsettling.

“Oh, love, did the storm scare you?”

The boy nods weakly, just the hint of a smile ghosting his face. His father scoffs,

“He is not a babe, my dear, the boy can manage a bit of wind.”

Ramsay glares at his father, before going back to affectionately nuzzling you. You stroke his cheek gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“It is very late, Ramsay. You should try and get to sleep now.”

He shakes his head,

“Nuh. Can’t.”

Roose sighs, having given up completely, resting his head back against his pillow. Though your hands are preoccupied by the Ramsay in your arms, you lean over to kiss his cheek, something of an apology.

“Why can’t you sleep, darling?”

“I’m hungry, Mama,” He practically pleads, “I can’t sleep if I’m still hungry.”

This is always his excuse. Hunger. You think the boy must have a stomach the size of the Riverlands for how much he complains of it. But, you know his excuse well, and what it always ends with. So you smile, sweetly, and lean closer to his face.

“And what does the master want for his supper, then?”

He practically paws at your breast, begging with his big eyes, almost whimpering.

“Milk, please. Milk, Mama.”

You sigh affectionately, pressing another kiss to his face, and letting him tug down your nightdress.

“Just a little to settle your stomach, and then off to sleep, alright?”

“I promise, Mama.”

Though you are yet to have a babe of your own, Ramsay’s consistent suckling has eventually caused your breasts to swell, your body preparing its hardest for a baby who is, in fact, a grown man. This delights your boy, of course, who could spend the rest of his days living off of nothing but the milk you’ve provided him.

He is enthralled when you help his mouth find your nipple, suckling immediately. His brow furrows, waiting impatiently for his reward. He groans when your milk touches his lips, snuggling you more, mumbling thanks, or praise, or something hidden by his face buried in your breast.

You hear Roose shuffling. He sits up, and roughly pets his son’s hair. Ramsay’s eyes flick open, he glared again at his father, relaxing as you shush him gently,

“You’re alright, sweetling. Mama’s here.”

Ramsay moans again, and you feel him shift against your leg. Roose makes a laughing sound from the back of his throat.

“Someone is in need of a little affection, Mama.” He teases lightly, nipping at your neck. His stubble is rough, adding to your sensitivity. “Perhaps you should take care of our boy, and I’ll look after you.”

“I want to look after Mama!”

The boy has detached from you, pouting once more. You kiss his nose, wiping some of the milk from his mouth,

“You are looking after Mama by being a good, quiet boy. Let Papa have a turn, hm?”

He grumbles, but goes back to your breast, suckling again.

Roose, ever pragmatic, slips his hands quickly between your thighs, delving two fingers at a time into your cunt. He chuckles again at how ready you are, continuing to spread kisses up your neck,

“You get your mother in such a state, Ramsay. Here, taste.”

Your husband puts his finger to your son, you whine at the loss of pleasure, and the boy cleans it off as a starving dog. He looks from his father, to you, and snuggles up against you.

“Milk is tastier.”

And you cannot help but smile, quickly replaced by another gasped moan as Roose goes back to his previous activities. You take his hand, leading him up to your clit with no words spoken. The two of you have an understanding now. In between your groans and little twitches, you notice how Ramsay’s heart rate gets faster, how he grinds just a little against you.

“Ramsay?”

A pause.

“Mama?”

“Do you need help there, sweetling?”

He whimpers, having been caught, but nods anyway. You help him shift his nightshirt up to his hips, and carefully find his cock with your free hand. Your boy moans immediately, his hips buck, and he looks up at you with a sense of pleading. He whimpers,

“Mama… more…”

“Soon, my sweet boy. Enjoy your milk.”

You stroke him in a soft, rhythmic pattern, making sure to pay just enough attention to his weepy head to keep the boy on edge. Roose continues to tease you, you gasp every so often, reaching out for him, groaning his name. You come first, stopping your movements upon Ramsay to grip Roose’s arm, crying out for him. Ramsay takes your hand, trying to help. You kiss your husband softly, and then return your affections upon Ramsay. Roose leans back, watching.

You wrap your hand around Ramsay’s cock just the way he likes, and his nails dig into your arm. The boy nips on your breast as he comes, moaning with a mouth full of milk. Most of his mess is caught by his nightshirt, which makes him much easier to clean off. Once he has calmed down just a little, you slide him off you. He cries out, still complaining even as you shush him.

“Papa deserves a treat, too, don’t you, Papa?”

“I do.”

You sit Ramsay up, tired and comfortable, and the two of you share a private laugh as you straddle him, sinking yourself quickly upon his cock. There is no time for play, not when you have been so worked up by the evening’s activities. He moans, and you remember the man behind his cold demeanour. The one who loves you, who desires you even more than your son does.

“My- Careful, love- We are not a rutting dog, are we?”

“Hm- Your fault for being such a tease, Roose…”

He scoffs, replaced quickly by another groan. It is, indeed, his fault for teasing you. You bury your face in his neck, and bite down upon it. He moans out in surprise, jolting suddenly. The action is enough to send him over the edge, and he finishes inside of you, just as a self-respecting lord should.

Ramsay, naked, bathed and half-asleep, lies on one side of you, Roose on the other. You are the lady of the house, after all, you deserve to be treated as such. Ramsay snuggles into your chest again, full and sated.

“Hm- How is my big boy?”

Instinctually, you reach out to rub his stomach, which seems to settle him,

“Sleepy- Mama…”

“Then sleep, silly boy. Mama will be right here.”

It takes him a little longer to drift off, but you can tell, as you boy goes limp, almost drooling against your shoulder. Roose kisses your hair affectionately.

“He really does love you, dearest.”

“Mh. He’s happy, and so are you. That’s all I care about.”

“Everyone is happy tonight. Mama, Papa and Baby too.”

You give him a tired laugh, and kiss your son’s forehead. Feeling yourself begin to sleep,

“Goodnight, darling.”

“Hm- Love you.”

#got x reader #game of thrones x reader #got x reader smut #game of thrones x reader smut #ramsay bolton #ramsay snow #ramsay snow x reader #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay bolton x reader smut #roose bolton #roose bolton x reader #roose bolton x reader smut #dark fic #dead dove fic #dead dove content #dead dove do not eat

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creepricot · 2 months ago

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been dreaming up a lil vampire au between dracopia and vampire bat pet. i can’t blame copia for having a hate on for pet, i’d be pretty annoyed if my brother got the cool lycanthropy powers and all i got was fangs 😒

full on bluesky

#the band ghost #dead dove do not eat #my art #copvia #antis dni #mdni #dead dove content #nsft art #monster perpetua #copia #perpetua #thank u eater-0f-fl3sh for giving me permission to use the pet design for my own shenanigans ^^#monster fucker #im struggling to tag this #btw i need to talk about this lil vampire au thing so bad #idk what to call it yet but auahghehghgh #ghost bc

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mindbreak · 1 year ago

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tw: noncon, threats baby trapping, yandere gojo x reader, manipulation, satosugu mention, mentions of forced marriage, stalking, light mindbreak mention.

tags: satoru gojo x special grader sorcerer reader

I do not condone any of the acts mentioned in this drabble in real life. Minors Do Not Interact. No Age in Bio Will be Blocked.

I can't stop thinking about a needy and clingy Yandere Gojo. In the jujutsu world where everyone sees him as a weapon, you being one of the only people who sees him for who he truly is.

Of course, it wouldn't start that way, in the beginning, the two of you would just be really good friends.

You'd be a special-grade sorcerer just like him, joining their little trio during your younger years. You'd understand him when he'd talk about his clan and all the heavy pressure they placed on him and how all of it stripped him of an actual childhood. The both of you laughing together at Geto's bangs while he calls the two of you childish but also butting heads with him from time to time when he took a joke too far.

You'd be the only one to witness him in at his most vulnerable. Watching him with such sad eyes as he sobs to you about Geto leaving him behind. About how he's never felt more alone. You'd try to comfort him by telling him he still had you. It would only be meant as a way to comfort him; for him to see that he wasn't the strongest by himself, that there was still someone who cared for him. And in that moment, he'd probably calm down, and you'd ignore the desperate yet dark look he got in his eyes as he made you promise to never leave him.

Never would you imagine just how much your dynamic would change after that. From him following you around the school grounds, to him randomly popping up on missions with souvenirs. It would seem cute and harmless at first but suffocating as his visits only get to be more frequent and his demands more and more intense.

He'd isolate you from the others, not wanting you to get close to anyone else. He'd also manipulate the hire-ups into keeping you away from the others like Nanami or Haibara. Why would you need to go on missions with them? They were strong enough, and he needed you more. Afterall, special grade sorcerers had to fight the most dangerous of curses! You should be at his side!

His touching would become incessant. He'd be insatiable, greedy. In the beginning it would just be hugs, him needing you to hold onto him but it would gradually get more and more intense, from hungry kisses full of tongue and teeth to him dropping his infinity just to feel the soft skin beneath your shirt.

You'd let it slide for the most part, trying to be empathetic, taking pity on him in such a sorrowful state. But, after years passing his heavy make-outs and one-nightstands would go from stealing your breath away to just suffocating you entirely.

You would tell him you need space and he'd only get worse. Afterall why would you need space from him? Were you planning on leaving?? You couldn't leave!! He'd rather die than live without you!!

He'd get rougher with you then, holding onto you so tight that you could feel bruises forming on your skin beneath his iron clad grip. You didn't need space, if anything, he needed to be around more so that you'd see how much he needed you!

It would get so emotionally draining, until finally you'd up and leave Jujutsu entirely. Or you would try to at least...

"Gojo how did you get my address?" you'd ask him one day as he randomly popped up at your home one day at 3 in the morning with puffy eyes.

And he wouldn't answer, only forcing his way inside, and wrapping himself around you, shaking violently as he keeps you held close in his embrace. He'd be angry at you for leaving, because you promised to stay. You couldn't leave him. He wouldn't allow it. Even if that meant keeping you there by force.

And maybe you'd scream and try to get away for a while as he pushed your body into the floor, but that was okay because once you were carrying his child you'd have no choice but to stay...right? Your clan would be more than happy to marry you off to the strongest modern sorcerer, and your kids would look so cute!

He'd whisper such delusions into your ear while forcing himself inside, covering your mouth with his hands when you tried to protest all while telling you that you'd accept him soon enough and - "Oh you feel so good baby, even better than I imagined."

If you tried to push him off, it would be of no use, he'd just fuck you harder every time you tried to squirm away. Deeper when you try pushing him away. Faster when you beg him to stop.

"I love you...geto.." he'd cry into your ear, clearly in a deluded state while pounding deep into your sex.

He'd kiss you desperately, sucking out all your air as he cums inside you over and over and over again, until finally, your body is too weak to continue on resisting.

And even then, he wouldn't stop. You'd sooner pass out with exhaustion, only to wake up with his arms around you, his face buried in your tummy, as he cries and begs you not to leave him.

It'd be even more twisted when you tell him you don't love him, and the tears come to a sudden halt, and you're uncertain as to whether he's taking a mask off or putting one on in that moment, as he tells you it doesn't matter what you want, because he'll come back anyway. He'll tell you it doesn't matter where you go, or how far you try to run to get away from him, you're his and he'll keep raping you until it's drilled into your mind that you're his.

++ Added bonus if you actually do try to run, and he does in fact keep his promise. Finding you every single time and fucking you on every surface he can reach, until your brain becomes fog and you forget why you ever wanted to run from such a good feeling to begin with.

++ Additional bonus if both your clans actually find out and forces you to marry him for status and power, forcing you to be stuck with him whether you like it or not.

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yanderestarangel · 4 months ago

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♡ 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵: 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱f𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 “𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵”...

— TW: stepincest, short smut, ftm reader, vulnerable kink, non con, age gap.

Seriously thinking about stepdad simon taking care of you with a fever, waiting for you, his sweet prince to be feverish enough to not even notice his fingers going straight to your pussy, fingering you while eating another hand he passed a cold fabric over your skin, telling you to be quiet and be his good boy — rubbing your clit while giving soft kisses over your face, the fabric of his skull balaclava brushing against your sensitive skin.

"So cute... Helpless and sweet, you're just a dumb little thing for daddy to fuck, aren't you?" the military man would whisper as he sank two thick fingers into your extremely hot channel, you wouldn't even be able to close your thighs, the fever and the heat of being touched by the British would only make you moan—choking on your own voice.

It wouldn't be long before you were being fucked by the blond, his dripping cock buried deep in your pussy, his blue eyes dancing across your body as you could feel precum dripping from your hole—he would praise you for holding out so long for him. "A good fucktoy for daddy, huh?" his hips met yours aggressively, to the point that your pussy turned a deep, ruddy red - the delicious friction of his thrusts mixing with the sweaty sheen of your fevered skin.

The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, punctuated by your muffled moans and his grunts of exertion; drool leaked from the corner of your mouth as the intense pleasure overwhelmed your senses —your cunt clenching desperately around his cock as if trying to pull him even deeper. "You love this, don't you, you filthy boy?" Your mind was too hazy to form a coherent response, lost in the haze of fever and fucked-stupid bliss. The last thing you felt was the blonde's hot cum filling you to the brim, and your exhaustion making you fall asleep. When you woke up, you were completely clean, and Simon was watching TV in the living room.

You wondered if that had been a strange dream, feeling guilty enough to cover yourself with the sheet again and try to ignore your cloudy mind and trembling legs... Was it just another fever dream about your hot stepdad?

Meanwhile, Riley sighed, satisfied that no questions had been asked. His dick was still dirty with your juices, but he decided to ignore it and wait for the adrenaline to settle in his chest. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d make you sick on purpose just to "take care of you."

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pricesbug · 4 months ago

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Content warning(s): drugging, reader takes/is given drugs, implied dubcon, implied noncon

High as a kite tonight and thinking about Simon enjoying his little pet being so pliable. Dizzy with the slightest shift in movement. Giggling at obscene things. Vision hazed as her face meets the pillow, the slightest bit of drool pooling out of the corner of her mouth. Feet slipping against the bed sheets as confusion clouds her already foggy mind. The whispers and demands sending shivers down her spine. Giggling at nothing in particular whilst Simon has his way. Not phased by the crystalline tears that slip from her eyes as her giggles morph into whimpers of pain and despair. Hands fisting the bedsheets as she asks what he’s doing. Far too high to comprehend anything meaningful. Eyes crossing and blurring, brows furrowing as she blinks and time seems to stop, resuming when her eyes open. Only to see Simon’s right hand man, Johnny, kneeled down next to her on the bed. His eyes ablaze as he takes her in state, sprawled on her back, one leg half off the bed and one arm dangling over the edge, head lolling to the side. Heart pounding too loud in her ears to understand what the two are discussing but as Simon nods and Johnny grins your intuition tells you it’s not something you would agree to had to been sober. Vision spotting and turning dark just as Johnny begins to unbuckle the belt holding up his cargo pants. The last sound heard is a lusty curse of appreciation and the belt hitting the floor. Poor bird.

A/N…I was (am) so high when I wrote this I genuinely can’t tell you if it makes any sense

Xoxo bug

#dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dead dove content #dark!johnny #simon ghost riley x reader #dark!simon #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #dark cod #simon riley x reader #ghoap x reader #cod fanfic #dark!141

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savagebite · 3 months ago

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Breaking up with the toxic cod men

Tw: forced feminization, Gn!reader, manipulation, non con, toxic dynamics, blackmail, threatening murder, guns, and etc. Dead dove do not eat. price uses the term “wife” on reader in a forcibly feminized way. Posted this at 5 in the morning so this might be horrible.

Price:

-Look at you! You finally stood up for yourself! Putting your foot down and telling him you don’t want to be in a relationship with him anymore because of how’s toxic he’s been.

-Remember how I said Price is a really big family guy? How he slowly turns you into his little housewife? Yeah well the wife doesn’t make the decisions in the relationship for him.

-Trys to scare you, throws your phone at the wall because it’s “filling your mind with stupid shit” and “your friends are plaguing your mind”

-Throws you in the shared bedroom and locks you in there until you apologize. When you do he does that cute little smile he does with a big ol’ hug.

Johnny/soap

-After finally realizing he’s literally drugging you and keeping you almost in a lobotomized mindset you tell him you’re done! that you refuse to keep dating him!

-Just straight up fucking ignores you.

-Refuses to acknowledge it, changes the conversation, or just walks away. Takes you so off guard you just give up after awhile.

-If you keep mentioning it he gets extremely annoyed. Will snap and yell at you, degrading you.

“You really think anyone will want you but me? You’re lucky to have me! Stop being a spoiled bitch and shut up”

Simon/ghost

-After a really bad night when he came home from the bar incredibly drunk,along with throwing a beer bottle at your head you finally get the courage to break up with him.

-He’s hung over as hell so you think he won’t have the energy to argue about it. You were sort of right. Instead he pulls out his phone and shows you the many videos he has of taking advantage of you while he was drunk.

-“How would my team like to see my stupid wife/husband getting their hole wrecked? How you’re begging to stop but so obviously wet? What then?”

Gaz:

-When you finally step up for yourself and try to break up with him after years of him manipulating you. Tired of him keeping you from your friends and missing the nights when you go out with friends.

-Flips out, immediately gets in your face and yells at you. Loams over you while slowly backing you into a wall, trapping you physically.

-“Oh so is there another guy? Huh? Felt to bad about cheating on me so you’re breaking up with me? You’re lucky to have me. Your ran through, so you really think anyone will love you like I do?”

-Somehow the day ends with you apologizing to him for being a bad partner while you cry in his lap. He softly caresses you while accepting it.

Makarov

-Somehow senses you slowly start to realize everything is waring off and his “Treat you like absolute shit and then immediately butter you up with love” tactic isn’t working.

-You don’t even say anything other than “we need to talk” before he throws you in a truck and drives you to some secluded place. Throwing you out and pinning you to the ground

-“You’re my wife. You’ve seen to much to be anything else, you either die right here right now or you stay my wife”

Philip graves

-You finally realize he literally only sees you as a wife and not a person. He expects you to cook you dinner while doting on him when he comes home from work. He didn’t even ask if you wanted that.

-You sit him down and explain how you feel in which he apologizes so sweetly. Oh how stupid he was! He should have thought about you more! Give him one more chance?

-You cave in, giving him one more chance.

-That night he oh so gently wraps his hands around your body, erection pressing against your ass before covering your mouth and with little prep shoving it in. Growling in your ear how he owns you and your his.

-You hear his hand dig in his drawer, praying he was grabbing a condom but instead he pulls out his small revolver. Pressing it against your temple forcing you to agree to stay his partner.

-“You’re staying here, you’re not leaving understand? Unless you want your brains on the fucking sheets! You don’t? Good.”

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pradapussy · 2 months ago

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Don’t Hide Behind Your Rage

TAGS: Remmick x Reader , Remmick x OC , second person POV, named OC, WIP , vampire , remmick x fem!reader , dead dove do not eat, dubcon , noncon , dark fic, monsterfucker , human x vampire , feminine pronouns for reader, multi-part fic, sub!remmick, dom!reader

SUMMARY: You share a cigarette with a handsome stranger. When he offers to walk you home, both of y’all find yourselves having bitten off more than you can chew.

A/N: heyyyy sorry for contributing to the horrific amount of remmick x readers and remmick fics in general. i haven’t written for myself in so so so long and i just wanna blow off steam after finals. I don’t see a lot of sub!remmick so i make the world id like to see :) Part 2 is tomorrow :D I’m testing the waters today. Enjoy!

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

A cold October at some rinky dink bar in Oklahoma is not how you expected to spend your Saturday. Parties were never your thing. Music, sure. Drinks, hell yeah, People sometimes, but all of these at once make your head spin - make you need a smoke. Honestly, nobody would expect a homebody like you at a place like this, sharing a cigarette with a total stranger. Not without good reason, at least.

Your stranger leans casually on the railing, his stubble and pink lips are highlighted by the ember of your cigarette in his fingers. He passes it back to you, his fingers are jarringly chilly but the way his dark eyes glint in the moon reassures you. This man is reason enough. You stare a bit too long, lost in thought.

“You gonna keep me waitin’, duck? Or d’ya want the wind t’finish the cig for ya.” He seems like a proper southern boy with that lilting drawl, but his diction throws you off. The words he chooses feel like another time and place.

“Sorry, dunno where my mind went.” You gingerly take the cigarette from his clammy hands. Now it’s his turn to take you in. Your skin diffuses the silvery moonlight and bronzy street lights into a color all its own. Your hair is soft and is tousled by a stray autumn breeze. He picks a flyaway piece that threatens to blind you, and tucks it behind your ear. Heat fills your cheeks.

“Sooo,” he starts “what's a wee gal like you doin out at some dive in th’middle o’ nowhere?” He leans closer towards you, looking you up and down.

“Oh nothing, just lookin for something special.” Your words are aloof, yet inviting. He hears the smile behind them. Your bright eyes glance at him purposefully, scanning his form just as he did yours. His shirt is half-tucked and his suspenders hang limply on his lean shoulders. The pants he wears are a touch too big on his cut waist. That pale blue light of the moon seems to be all the color his fair skin and brown curls of hair can absorb - save for the hint of red in his eyes.

“How mysterious, a Jane Doe sauntering around Sulphur ‘looking for something special.’” He laughs, cracking a toothy, crooked smile. “Can I ask what special thing yer lookin’ for t’night?”

“You caaan, but it’d be embarrassing to tell you since I seem to have found it already.” You smile playfully, the tip of the cigarette burning bright as you take a drag of it.

Suddenly, your cigarette burns out in the wind and is quickly forgotten. The smell of smoke, embers, and a bit of something metallic, something iron-y catches your nose. What was that? And when did your stranger get close enough to be shoulder to shoulder with you? He leans in, his face too close for comfort, but you hold steady, masking instinct with poise.. “Yeah? And what would that be, darlin’?” his attempt at being suave are thwarted by his puppy-dog eyes.

His efforts to fluster you are adorable. You one up him, placing your plump lips right in front of his, millimeters away from a kiss. Your hand squeezes on his forearm. He can smell your blood running hot, the scent of arrogance fills his head.

“You, baby.” Whispered words of a strange woman roared in his head. His unnaturally cold hands almost feel warm under yours. Muscles contract under his work shirt, responding to a multitude of emotions and desires he was unprepared to handle.

He is flustered. You can see it in the flush tips of his ears and the heat coming off his pallid face. “I appreciate your forwardness, sugar, but I dinna even know your name.” The way he pronounces “don’t” piques your interest. There is something so off about the way he speaks - it excites you because you know this man is hiding something. You smile wide and toothy just like him.

“Connie” you whisper in his ear, your soft neck exposed to him pulsing with something more intense than desire. A twitch, the name seems to stir something from a past life in him. His eyes open, half-lidded and fighting temptation to sink his teeth into your tender flesh. You pull away from him, your presence still lingering in his ear. “I oughta head home...” Remmick leans his head into your shoulder as you pull away lips brushing your retreating flesh. You catch a glimpse of him wincing with his mouth parted and fangs just barely retracting. “I’ll see you around…” There is space for a name at the end of that sentence, and he fills it eagerly.

“Remmick, and please, where are ya stayin, duck? Lemme be a gentleman and walk you home. You never know what crawls around at night” You want to roll your eyes. He can’t conceal his excitement at your invite. Remmick thinks he’s got an easy mark out of you.

“My uncle’s got a little cottage in the woods just outside of town.” A heat forms in the pit of your stomach, stronger than desire, laced with anticipation. Bloodlust. You gesture in a direction, interlocking arms with him and pressing your body to his. “We can take a shortcut so you don’t have to spend too long protectin' lil ol me.”

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

A/N: if anyone’s seen lady chatterley’s lover ya already know why i chose connie as the mc’s name >v<

#remmick x reader #remmick x oc #second person pov #named oc #dead dove content #dead dove do not eat #remmic x fem!reader #feminine prounouns for reader #sinners fanfiction

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totorolaughs · 11 months ago

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DABI x READER

dead dove, toxic relationship, gn reader, blood & gore, cannibalism, spanking, after care (?), no pronouns for reader REQUEST: OPEN | CLOSED

You have been dating Dabi for a while now. Your friends had warned you about staying away from him; ‘he smells strange’, ‘I heard he's an absolute psycho with daddy issues (Name)!” and ‘he’s toxic’.

You ignored all their protests, you liked Dabi. and he /seemed/ to like you /a lot/ whenever you were around other people and he was around you could feel his blue eyes piercing into your soul.

But that was because maybe he had never been in a serious relationship before, he was prone to get jealous and possessive over you. He would always ask to stay over by your house and every time he would leave your house would smell like sex, blood, and cigarettes with a hint of beer floating in the air.

Today was no different, you were lying with Dabi on the couch and he had his arm wrapped around you. He had a tight grip on you as you both watched TV. It was a horror movie about a cannibal who kills prostitutes and then sends their private parts to the police as a clue.

Dabi seemed to be enjoying it as his eyes stayed glued to the TV, you on the other hand felt sluggish. Your mind wondered with one question; would humans taste good? — as strange as it was, you couldn't help but let the questions sink into your brain.

Dabis's hand rubbed your waist in an up-and-down motion which snapped you out of your thoughts. “You okay, Babe?” Dabis asked as he placed a kiss on your head. “You seem to be thinking hard about something and that's not normal for you, toots” You frowned at his words since he was basically calling you brainless but he was telling the truth.

It wasn't normal for you to think, you never think before speaking or committing an action. And ever since you met Dabi he had been making choices for you which felt nice to have someone do all the thinking for you, if Dabi told you to do something you would do it in a heartbeat you would never protest or fight against him.

“I’m fine..don’t worry” you snuggled up against Dabi as he ran his fingers through your hair “Plus don't be silly, my mind is always empty” you lie through your teeth. all of sudden as if he sees right through you (which he can) his fingers tangled in your hair and yanked your head back.

You let out a pitiful cry “You aren't lying to me, right?” he smiled. under different circumstances, you wouldn't have been fluttering after all you did love it whenever you got to see his creepy yet handsome smile. “My boy wouldn't do such a thing?” but you knew he didn't like liars, you had to learn that the hard way.

He slapped you the first time you lied to him, it was a little white lie it wouldn't even hurt a fly but even then he couldn't stand it.

He had cupped your face “You know I don't fucking like lying rats,” you had nodded as hot tears filled your eyes but as soon they began to run down your cheeks he (forcefully) grabbed you by your waist and pulled you to his close to him, you buried your face in his chest. “ I only do it to teach you a lesson, y’know I love you doll”

From that moment you had never told him a lie.

“I would never lie to you!” you pouted, he chuckled. “I know, just teasing y’know,” he said as he continued to watch the movie, your eyes stayed on the movie you felt too scared to look at Dabi at this very moment, as you watched the movie;

The killer stood on top of a woman he had just beaten with a baseball bat, her clothes were torn off her body and covered in her blood. bruises formed on her beaten body before cutting off and showing the killer dismembered her body and putting her parts into jars.

It seemed so real to you, your eyes stayed fixated on the scene; he covered her skin in salts and peppers as he began to chop them up. He poured boiling water into a pot as he collected her body parts and dumped them into his pot.

He grabbed a torn-off chunk of her body and put it on an oiled-up pan, the sound of sizzling could be heard as your stomach growled.

Fuck. you hoped Dabi didn't hear that.

But the human flesh looked so good, could it be chewy or rough like a well-cooked steak? Gosh, you couldn't help but begin to drool at the thought of it.

You hadn't realized you were actually drooling until Dabi spoke up.

“Looks super tasty, right?” he laughed, and you felt your face begin to heat up. You didn't answer him which was a bad idea but you couldn't help it. It's embarrassing admitting that you like the way human flesh looks!

He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV as he pulled you onto his lap, his hands gently placed on your hips. “Are you gonna answer?” before squeezing your hips roughly and digging his nails into your soft flesh.

“I…It looks g..good” Your face flushed as you grabbed his wrists since his long nails began to dig deeper into your plush skin. His narrowed as he smiled, placing a sloppy kiss on your forehead.

“You wanna try it?” your heart skipped a beat it felt as if your heart had stopped beating in that moment, and your eyes widened. You just stare at Dabi as if he had grown two heads, he slaps your ass which causes you to jump.

“Answer.” Dabi’s voice turns rough “M..mhm I wanna try..” He smiles before picking you up and you wrap your legs around his waist as he takes you to your rather dirty and unkept kitchen. He places you down on the kitchen counter; there are cans of beer, boxes of cigarettes, empty vapes, and weird stains covering the floor.

Dabi keeps an eye on you as if to say ‘stay’ before he goes over to the sink and turns on the sink, beginning to clean a dirty used switchblade (which usually he uses when there aren't any clean knives). You truly don't know what to think at this moment.

Was he actually going to cut his flesh to feed it to you? No of course not! That would be fucking crazy but Dabi is known for being crazy.

Before you know it Dabi is looming over you with a sharp black handle switchblade. “If I'm going to let you /eat/ me, you’re going to have to do something for me, yeah?” his free hands tangled in your head and forced you to nod.

“Mhm…” your whole body is shivering. Dabi is only wearing; a nine-inch nails t-shirt that is pulled up slightly as it shows his v-line and his happy trail along with some black sweats-pants, you can tell Dabis cock is hard since he isn't wearing any boxers you can see the line-out of his thick cock showing as it twitches in his sweats.

He makes a deep cut into his arm and blood begins to drip down his arm. The sound of blood dripping onto the floor is the only thing you can hear besides your heavy breathing, He cut himself deep.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his crimson blood. He places the switchblade down on the counter as he brings his arm up to your mouth and you latch your lips and begin to suckle on his deep gash.

A groan slips from Dabis scarred lips, and Dabi palms his clothed cock. The sound of wet sucking sounds and heavy breathing can be heard throughout the dingy apartment you and Dabi owned.

“F..fuuuck go easy on me, baby” Dabi throws his head back before tugging on your hair causing your lips to let go of his arm, blood is all over your face.

“You made such a mess..” He pinches your cheek “Ouchh, Dabi m’sorry!” A whine comes from your bloody lips causing Dabi to smirk “Shhh I’mma give you more ‘kay?” Dabi once again grabs the switchblade and begins to carve into his skin he digs his thick fingers into the deep wound his nails tearing chunks of his flesh.

He holds the pieces of his flesh in front of you, drool drips from your crimson-covered lips. As you open your mouth to begin eating his flesh, he slaps you with his free hand.

Your eyes went wide, and you gasped, you never liked it when he would hit you yet it would feel sosos good. “Before I give you what you want,” he places a kiss on your lips, the taste of blood begins to fill his mouth, just making his cock leak pre-cum more. “I want you to strip.” In a blink of an eye, you're stripped from your clothes, all of your clothing is on the bloody floor, your pierced nipples hard and your cock twitching and leaking like a leaky pipe.

Dabi had torn your clothes right off of you before you could even reply which humors you since he said you're the needy one. “You look so pretty, baby..” Dabi licks his lips as he scatters marks all over your neck he loved it whenever you would show off his markings that were proof you belonged to the lunatic.

His bloody-covered fingers teasing and pinching your nipples, you moaned as your back arched. “P..please Dabi!” your voice filled with desperation and need.

“Please what, huh?” He bites down on your neck, you're definitely bleeding. “I w..wanna taste you!,” you cry out “I w..want you inside me..mee”

Dabi lifts your legs up and spits on your winking hole, you feel Dabi's spit roll down your hole and his bloody fingers enter. You let out a choked-out moan.

Your nails digging into the countertop “You’re tight, I should fuck you until your hole bleeding and begging for more. You would like that, no?” he kisses your cheek as his thick fingers go in and out of your whole. It hurts.

Your whole body feels hot and is burning up, you knew you would need him fingering you for a good while before you were able to take his cock inside of your tight heat but tonight he didn't feel like waiting for him to get his fat cock wet.

He pulled his member from his sweatpants. It had a trimmed bush of white and red hair unlike the hair on his head which was dyed black. His cock has a Jacob's ladder piercing which probably was your /favorite/ piercing he had besides his helix piercings which he had put silver spikes along with his nose and nipple piercings.

Once his cock was free from his black sweatpants, his pants dropped to around his knees as he began to slowly shove his cock inside. You breath in and out as he grabbed something and once you realized what it was he slammed his cock inside his balls slapping against your ass.

It was the torn-off chunks of meat, he gripped your jaw and shoved the chunks of flesh into your mouth. You whimpered at the taste of it on your tongue, and without warning he began to thrust in and out of your bloody hole.

His hands held your legs up as he shoved his cock deeper inside of you, your cock leaking all over your tummy as drool escaped from your lips. You almost choked on his flesh from how rough his thrusts were getting.

Your bodies stuck to each other by sweat, the kitchen smelled like blood, sweat, and sex. “Holyshiiit… you feel so good!” he groaned as he tightened his grip on you “Dabi g.. gah! ” Your tears began to burn with tears.

“C’mon, babes cry harder you can do that for me, right?” Dabi hisses as he feels your nails dig into his back, you nod as you continue to cry out in ecstasy.

You had long ago finished his flesh but you wanted, no, needed more of him. You needed to have him fill all your senses, you buried your face into his shoulder as you sank your teeth into him. Blood began to gush into your mouth as you sucked hard on the bite mark lapping up the blood with your tongue.

It felt like forever as he continued to slam into your tight warmth, your tummy covered in pre-cum as tears rolled down your cheeks, Dabi on the other hand growled and folded you like a lawn chair as the tip of his cock kept hitting your prostate causing you to roll your eyes into the back of your skull.

“Fuuck..imma cum” he groaned as he gave your thigh a spank “m..me ah..ahh c..cummingcumming!” your cock squirts out cum as it lands all over your tummy and chest. Dabi kisses you; it is sloppy, filled with teeth, and tastes like blood.

Your eyes crossed as you began to sob from being fucked stupid, what was your name again? Fuck you couldn't even remember. “n..no more! P..please st..stop!” Dabi didn't listen to your pleas as he reigned your guts.

“J..Just a little m..more, fuuuck..!” He buried himself balls deep inside of your velvety walls “I.. I'm gonna c..cum inside..you okay with that right? Of course you are, you whore..” he painted your walls in his cum. You could feel his cum slip out from your hole as he fucked his load deeper inside of you.

You both breathed in and out.

“You did so well…” he placed a kiss on your forehead as he rubbed your bruised hips “You take me so well..” he placed kisses on your neck and shoulders so gently as if you were going to break.

“l..love you..” you whisper into his ear before closing your eyes “I love you soso much, fuuck you drained me dry..”

You or Dabi didn't feel like moving at this moment, too sore. He held you close as he gently ran his finger through your messed up hair as if he didn't just fuck you brainless.

“I’ll take care of everything, okay? Rest easy, doll” All you remember is Dabi slowly pulling out his cock with the feeling of his cum oozing out of your abused hole.

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angelicpoison12 · 6 months ago

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stepdad adam has my heart i need like hcs of him its insane

dw bbg i gotchu <3

cw for dead dove content: stepcest, and just overall grossness <3

first off, he's a douchebag. but do i really have to mention that?

he's very egoistical that he married your mom.. and i mean REALLY egoistical. thinks he's actually hot shit

you avoid him a lot at first. you just get really bad vibes from him, okay? even though your mom reassures you that he'd never do anything like that..

a part of you finally gets comfortable enough to lower your walls a bit

Adam is very protective, which pisses you off because he's not even your real dad..

he doesn't let you leave the house in any form of revealing clothing, whether its crop tops, shorts, a cute skirt, anything is off limits unless if it's boiling point outside

you try complaining to your mom but she doesn't do much which pisses you off even more

"can't you just fuck off?!" you'd snarl at him one day, only to have him grip your wrist and growl, "what the fuck did you just say to me you little shit?"

Adam purposely leaves the door open whilst he's sleeping with your mom.. you try and avoid it at first, but then curiosity eats at your stomach lining like a leeching parasite, so you find yourself peeking into the crack.

a sick part of you wishes it was you..

you're quieter after watching them for the first time, attempting to remain nonchalant was nearly impossible. you couldn't even watch Adam kiss your mother anymore without feeling this pang of jealousy. why were you even jealous?

whilst tucking you into bed one night, Adam lets his lips linger a little too long on your cheek.. and the rest is in the story for another time <3

#hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel x reader #adam #adam x you #⋆⁺₊❅. snowflake’s mailbox!#dead dove: do not eat #dead dove content #stepcest #stepdad!adam #stepdad!adam hazbin hotel

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lsunstreakerl · 4 months ago

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Trying a new post/tag setup for the darkbull content: explicit darkbull content. (you guys have been begging for it so here I am poking at the edges of what enters dead dove territory. nothing extreme, just testing the waters)

1.9k, Max POV. oscar/max, oscar/daniel/max/carlos, referenced charles/max

relevant heads up: dead dove do not eat (additional tags specified below the cut)

DDDNE tags: sort of petplay? continuation of the kitten conversation, implied/refrenced previous extreme dubcon/noncon, slight dacryphilia, slight somnophilia, no discussion of consent, darkbull typical heavy dubcon, max shaming.

Max wakes up because there are fingers curling inside of him, and he's drooling facedown into his pillow. He's roomed with Oscar this weekend, and he moans as thin, nimble fingers press into his prostate, a hand pinning him down to the bed as he squirms.

Oscar can get so mean about it when he's in a mood- and he hadn't qualified as high as he'd wanted last night, so he's definitely in a mood.

There's warm breath fanning across the back of Max's neck, and then Oscar's teeth scrape across his skin as he gets the metal of Max's necklaces in his mouth, tugging up sharply as he pushes Max's waist further down.

Max's eyes roll back as his spine curves, gasping.

"Oscar-"

His fingers curl into the sheets as Oscar pushes another finger into him, scissoring them wide before pulling them out, letting go of Max's necklace. His head drops back forward, lightheaded.

"You want it?"

Max pushes his hips further up in response, feels Oscar's fingers grip his hair before his head is shoved further down into the fabric, muffling any noise.

Only Oscar understands this. That Max still needs it sometimes, to balance out his brain, or else he'll be all fucked up later when he has to be around Charles.

"It's okay, I know what you need."

Max whines into the pillow as Oscar pushes into him- he'd prepped enough for Max to be able to drive, but not enough that it doesn't still sting.

"You just need to be a stupid little kitten, yeah?"

Max hates his pavlovian response, hips hitching up as his cock blurts out precome, head going fuzzy.

No one else gets it. Just Oscar, and it's why Max had wanted to room with him, needed Oscar to settle his brain.

Oscar laughs, tugging sharply at Max's hair.

Their hips bump together, and then Oscar is setting a brutal pace, coring Max out in the hotel bed. His nails are snagging in the sheets as Oscar's hand on his waist tugs his hips up, forces his back into a deeper arch.

"Gonna be good for us? Make a mess here in the hotel room? Shame Charles doesn't know how to house train, honestly."

Max isn't-

He's not-

He tries to lift his head, but Oscar's palm is broad against his skull, shoving it back down.

"Kittens don't need to talk, babe."

He whines, scrabbling at the sheets as Oscar finds his prostate, and then all he can focus on is being full, just him and Oscar.

Oscar's hips are starting to stutter, snapping in fully and grinding into Max, and then there's fingers curling around his cock, a chest pressing in along his back.

"Go ahead, be a good kitten, make a mess for me."

Max feels like he's hearing the instruction through layers of cotton, but he wails when Oscar presses his thumb into his slit, fingers squeezing as Max comes, fucking into him hard.

Max goes limp, hips held up by Oscar's hand as he keeps fucking him, before he's finally yanking Max back onto his cock, a hand in his hair hauling Max upwards.

The change in position makes Max sob, overstimulated and raw, and now he's practically sitting up in Oscar's lap, head dropped back against his shoulder as Oscar grinds up into him.

"Fuck, you're being a good boy, aren't you? So pretty for us, we take such good care of you-"

He can feel as Oscar comes inside of him, hips slowing into small circles, fingers relaxing from around his hips.

Max catches his breath, voice watery.

"Oscar, raw-"

Oscar kisses against the side of his neck, pressing a hand over Max's stomach and pushing.

"I know, I know. It's race day. But I have a plan for that, I promise. We won't let you race with cum in you, I know you hate that."

Max does hate it- it's distracting at best. He can handle being fucked and racing in the same day, he's been doing that with Carlos for ages, and then Carlos and Daniel both, so he's practically an expert.

But usually the rule is ‘no doing it raw on race day’.

He makes an unhappy noise as Oscar lowers him back down onto the bed, pulling out. There's a soft kiss pressed between his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I know. Just a few more minutes."

Oscar makes his way to the top of the bed, settling Max's head into his lap, fingers brushing through his hair.

"And when you see Charles later, he's going to see how much better we take care of you, yeah? Because you,"

He tugs at Max's necklaces, eyes dark as he looks down at him.

"Belong to us."

Max swallows, turning his face to press into Oscar's thigh, leaving a soft kiss.

He does. In his entirety, everything he is, belongs to them. The team.

He settles for a moment, tries not to think about the cum inside of him, Oscar's fingers scratching gently at his scalp.

His hotel room door beeps. Max doesn't move- it's not anything anyone with access to his rooms hasn't seen before, so he doesn't mind that he's stretched out on top of the duvet, freshly fucked.

Daniel and Carlos step in, and the door clicks shut behind them. Max shivers.

There's only so many reasons for Oscar to have invited them both over, especially when Max is like this.

Daniel grins, clapping Carlos on the shoulder.

"You qualified under Osc yesterday, so don't think too hard about it when it's his cum in your mouth, yeah?"

Carlos whacks Daniel in the shoulder, shooting Oscar a glare as he laughs above Max. His eyes soften when he looks down at him, crawling up on the bed between his legs.

Oh.

Max gets what Oscar means now, by taking care of it. He tries to squeeze his legs together- he's still sensitive- but Carlos' large hands wrap around the inside of his legs, pushing them back apart.

Max whimpers, and there's a warm hand cradling his jaw, soft lips pressing against his.

He's always easy for Daniel, mouth dropping open as he lets him take the lead, and Daniel gives him a few sweet kisses before he deepens it, turning it wet and messy.

Max gets distracted, the way he always does, and he flinches when Carlos gets his mouth on him, legs tightening.

Carlos holds him firm, and Max whines into Daniel's mouth as his tongue licks into him, because he can't come again, and they're going to make him.

Oscar's fingers are still running through his hair, nails scratching gently into his scalp. Daniel's fingers tighten around the edge of his jaw, holding him in place- it's a good call, because Max jerks underneath them when fingers curl around his soft cock, stroking gently.

He can't, not again, not so quickly.

He's gasping into Daniel's mouth, held down between the three of them, and he's starting to get hard again, borderline painful between Carlos' mouth on him, Daniel's hand around his cock, Oscar tugging at his hair.

Carlos presses two fingers inside of him, and Max's hips jerk, tears beading at his eyes again.

"Ah- I can't-"

"Yes you can, baby."

Daniel's voice is low near his ear, and Max is so overwhelmed, pressed down by the three of them, so in tune with what makes Max tick, how to get exactly what they want.

His toes curl as Carlos presses another finger in, dragging them slowly against him.

"Please-"

Oscar has one wrist pinned, Daniel has the other, and Max writhes between them as Carlos pushes his fingers up inside of him, stretching him out.

His eyes roll back into his head, cock twitching as Daniel keeps up his slow strokes, the same steady pace even as Max squirms, tipping into too much-

Oscar laughs above him, tugging lightly at his hair.

"I thought you couldn't cum again, yeah? What's all this then, begging for it?"

There's a hot flash of humiliation through Max, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, even as his movements get more frantic, because he doesn't want to come again, it's going to hurt.

He can't tell if he's trying to get away or trying to get more, tears slipping down his cheeks as Daniel kisses him again, never changing the pace of his hand, and Carlos is working him open.

Max thrashes when Carlos brushes up against his prostate.

"No, no I can't, I-"

Carlos rubs his fingers in small circles, and Max wails as he comes, choking on tears. It hurts so good, he's shaking as he comes down, Carlos carefully pulling his fingers out.

Daniel strokes him through it, but he takes his hand away when Max sobs again, kissing him chastely.

"Good boy, Maxy, so good for us."

Max sniffs, feels wrung out and exhausted. He's still trembling, isn't even sure he could move his limbs if he wanted.

Oscar leans down to kiss his forehead before looking down at Carlos.

"How's it taste, Sainz?"

Carlos makes a low noise, annoyed.

"Maybe we should try wringing you dry sometime- see if it gets rid of your smart mouth."

Max isn't quite following the conversation anymore, just knows he's tired and if anyone comes near his ass again he's going to pitch a fit, wrung out and sleepy again.

If he performs badly in the race, he's going to blame it on this.

------

Max comes in second, just below Charles but ahead of Lewis, and he plays his part well- smiles for the cameras, doesn't flinch when Charles wraps an arm around his waist.

It's only when they're walking back behind the cooldown room, where there's no cameras, that Charles strikes, getting an ironclad grip on Max's wrist and shoving him into an empty hallway, pinned between Charles and the wall.

Max's breathing picks up, heart thundering as Charles glares down at him, one hand coming up to curl around his throat while the other grips his wrists above his head.

"Hello, mon chaton."

Max makes a small noise, caught in his throat as Charles squeezes his hand tighter. His vision is going spotty at the edges.

"You've run very far from home, yes. Don't worry, I'll come get you soon."

Max wheezes, struggling to get air in as Charles holds his wrists tight- they're going to bruise.

"Even if you're perfectly happy getting bent over like some street slut- we'll have to fix that, won't we? I think you're too easy for it, baby. Too used to getting what you want."

What Max wants is for someone to come get him.

He's lightheaded, colors dancing in his eyes when he hears a rap of knuckles against the wall.

"Don't fucking kill him, man. We have interviews in five minutes. Keep me out of your shit, I don't want to be involved."

Max has never been grateful to Lewis before, but he drops to his knees when Charles lets go of his throat, greedily sucking in gasps of air, mentally praising him.

Fingers tangle in his hair, cool rings brushing against his scalp as Charles yanks, forcing Max's head up to meet his eyes.

"You should've stayed with me, chaton. But when you come back with your tail between your legs-"

He yanks again, dragging Max forwards as he stumbles, trying to get his feet under him.

"I will still take you back in, yes? Because I love you."

Max finally wrenches his wrists free, scrabbling at Charles’ hand to tug it out of his hair, staggering back away from Charles.

Charles lets him, simply stands with his arms crossed, watching Max disdainfully.

"You'll come back, baby. They always do."

#darkbull verse #dead dove content #ficlet #really the dead dove here lies in the implications #oscar babe ur insane

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mindbreak · 1 year ago

Text

Destrudo - One Shot

2.9K Words

Tw: noncon, sadism, dacryphilia, stalking, obsession, mention of rotting limbs (shigi takes your leg on accident), blood (reader bites Shigi), light mindbreak if you squint.

Tags: Shigaraki x Reviving Quirk! Fem! Reader

This is a pure work of fiction. I do not condone any of the actions that take place within this fiction in real life. Minors DO NOT interact. No Age in Bio will be blocked.

There’s something about you that makes Shigaraki’s skin itch. From the moment he saw you, there was the urge to destroy. Like a trigger, you set him off. Maybe it was your smile, or the way you stood so high and mighty as you called yourself the ‘hero of heros’, or maybe it was how quickly you had risen in the ranks earning yourself a place at AllMight’s side. Whatever it was, one thing was clear;

He wanted to break you.

He could recall the first time he feeling it, the insatiable urge to break you down. You had called yourself “Revival”, a rather corny name he had thought but one that seemed to describe your quirk well. Your quirk that seemed to directly oppose his own. He had done his research on you, your mother having been born with the ability to heal and your father born with a quirk that involved repair, you had somehow been gifted the powerful mixture of both. You had initially made a name for yourself in the recovery and rescue fields, with your most notable feat being the recovery of burned down Forrests. However, after an incident where you were able to completely reverse the effects of one of his victims, people regarded you as a top ranking hero who was ‘immune’ to the Leader of the League of Villains.

People loved you. You gave them hope. Even All Might regarded you as a great and powerful hero and, that made his skin crawl.

His hatred had quickly become a fixation, and he began to behave more recklessly to garner your attention. Attacking civilians with hopes you’d show up, destroying buildings, and Forrests to test the limitations of your quirk. He would never truly leave the scene of the crime, always just a ways away, watching you.

Sometimes he’d go so far as to follow you afterwards, his skin crawling as All Might would place his hands on your shoulder after a long day, laughing about how amazing you were.

Were you fucking him? Disgusting. You’d probably fuck anything if you were fucking that old bat.

He hated watching others touch you, sometimes he’d find himself biting his lip until it bled while you laughed at a table full of hero’s, all of you gathered and drinking together. So fucking chummy with one another.

What would your face look like if you knew he were just a mere few feet away? What would your reaction be if he were the one touching you?

When he voiced his thoughts to the other members, they didn’t seem to understand him in the slightest.

“Aww, Shigi you’re in love!” Toga exclaimed excitedly. Twice seemed to agree, before calling him some insult in a separate voice. “You should just fuck her already and get it over with.” Dabi notes, nonchalantly.

“Don’t be such a brute, he should try and buy her flowers. I’m sure she’ll love it.” Toga adds, blushing crimson as she begins to go on and on about how good being in love feels.

“I don’t love her…” Shigaraki gripes, trying to silence the now rowdy bar as they all descend into their usual chaos. Dabi, the only sane one at the moment, shoves his hands in his pockets before leaning against the counter next to Shigi. “Listen, I don’t care about whatever feelings you have towards that hero but, it’s getting creepy how often you talk about her. Whatever you want to do, just get it over with so we can get back to the mission. I’m not here for any love fest.” He advises.

That’s how he ended up here, in your home, sitting on your couch and waiting for you to come home, like some crazy obsessed boyfriend.

At first he was uncertain, he had followed you home many times but, he had never actually broken in.

However, it quickly dissipated and was replaced with hatred as he observed the various pictures and certificates along the walls. You had pictures with your family, and awards from various parts of your life. It reminded him of just how much he couldn’t stand you. You, the ever-so-privileged, to be fortunate enough to live this happy little life of yours.

He wanted to snatch it all away from you.

The faint click of the door alerts him of your arrival, and his head snaps up to find you staring back at him in horror.

The next set of events are a bit of a blur, as he immediately stands to his feet to chase you down, somehow knocking you too your feet and slamming the door shut, and locking it behind him. You had tried to fight him, but the moment his hands grabbed your legs, it was over. You could only scream in agony as your leg began to rot and fall away.

Shigi was stunned for a moment, his eyes wide as he watched the tears stream down your face as you mourned your now lost limb. He had known he was fucked in the head, but right now as he watched you try and crawl away, his cock twitching in excitement, he knew something had been very wrong with him.

"So you aren't completely immune to me..." He says, more to himself than to you with an amused grin on his face.

He doesn't chase you, you're too hysteric to think logically, immediately trying to bring back your own leg when you realize that the rotting is spreading further and further, reaching your knee.

While you make quick work of bringing back your leg, he digs in his pockets for his gloves, sliding them on his hands while humming casually.

"W- why are you doing this?" You ask, confused and distraught.

He doesn't answer, only reaching for a syringe that he bought with him with a newfound sense of pride.

"Try not to fight to much..." is all he says, before sticking the needle into your neck, and everything fades to black.

When you come to, it’s pitch black inside your home. Not even the moons fluorescent light shines through the void that engulfs your living space. You can tell you’re in your room though, as the familiar firmness of your mattress keeps your warm from the otherwise chilling air.

If not for the throbbing feeling in your leg, you’d have assumed the prior events had only been a nightmare, but, unfortunately for you this all was very very real and the man who lay watching you with his arm across your abdomen and his crimson eyes boring into the side of your face was no figment of your imagination.

“You’re awake? Finally, I was starting to thing I had injected you with too much…”

Is all he says as you try to pry him off of you, only for you to realize that your arms and legs are tied to the posts.

“Please…whatever it is I did to end up on your bad side…I apologize.” You say, eyes watering in a desperate attempt to pull sympathy from him. You may have been a hero but you healed, helped rebuild buildings, and worked on rescuing civilians. Your quirk wasn’t built for combat, Allmight had sought you out for your abilities sure, but as a sidekick, you were still just learning the ropes in terms of fighting bad guys! You were in no way capable of handling the league of villains leader, at least you thought so.

Your tears only served to excite him

“Yes, this is exactly what I wanted to see..” he uttered in complete fascination, “Cry harder for me, sweet girl.”

Your body physically recoils when you feel something firm pressing into your side.

Was he getting off on this?

“You..You’re sick!” You spit at him, a wave of disgust and anger washing over you as you seethe at him through hot tears. “Let me g- mmh!”

You’re silenced by his mouth pressing against yours, a gloved hand gripping your throat tight enough to block your air ways forcing you to instinctively try and gasp for air.

He makes an attempt to slip his slimy wet tongue into your mouth and—

CHOMP.

“Fuck!” He hisses, pulling back from you. “I’m bleeding..” he announces to you, annoyed and angry as if he weren’t literally trying to force himself on you.

You want to make a smart remark but before you could say anything his hands were in your pants, prying you open with his fingers.

“I was trying to be nice to you, ya know. Wanted to ease you into it.” He gripes while you bite at your lip, trying to close your legs but to no avail.

“But if you keep acting like a little bitch, I’ll just rip you open. I can make this feel good for you or painful..I’ll cum either way” He threatens.

You can’t hide the way your face twists in disgust, nausea overtaking you as he starts to massage your clit sloppily and unskilled. Was this some kind of sick joke? There was no way he’d make you feel good no matter how gentle or shitty he was to you. Still…you weren’t foolish enough to pick a fight with someone while you had no way to defend yourself. You could only hope that one of your hero friends would stop by to save you.

Shigaraki takes your silence as an agreement of compliance (it is) and makes a second attempt at kissing you, this time the taste of metal invading your senses as his blood gets in your mouth. He doesn’t remove his fingers from your heat, only adjusting them so they’re not so uncomfortable.

His movements are slow and methodical, shifting every so often while he watches for a reaction from you. His fingers twist and curl until he finds a particular spot that makes you moan in his mouth.

“Cute..” his whispers against your lips, his face just a few centimeters from yours as he rubs against that same spot a few more times. “Can you hear that?” He asks, drawing your attention to the wet sounds coming from below your waist, “You’re so wet from just a few fingers.”

You turn away from him, biting your lip to try prevent yourself from making anymore involuntary sounds. “I-it’s a Biological response. That…that doesn’t mean I’m enjoying this.” You try to explain. But the smirk radiating off his face, tells you that he doesn’t believe you…or care.

He starts to press into that spot harder, kissing at your neck and leaving little bites on your shoulder. “I guess I’m not the only sick one. You claim to hate this, but you’re dripping down my fingers.” He taunts, “How would your precious Allmight feel if he knew you were getting off on his enemies fingers? Do you think he’d get rid of you?”

You don’t answer. Instead you try and place your focus anywhere else, on anything else. But his constant chatter won’t allow your mind to wander for long.

“Fuck, I want to feel you…”

His hand leaves your sex, and for a moment there’s shuffling beside you. The sound of zippers and clothes dropping being the only thing to fill the otherwise silent room. You had hoping if you just let him do what he wanted, he would get it over with quickly.

But Shigaraki had no intention of letting you stay silent the entire time. He slipped his gloves off, making sure he was in full view and your heart rate picks up instantly as the thought of him touching you fills you with newfound paranoia.

He’s careful this time though, letting his fingers graze over your clothes and watching as they disintegrate beneath his touch, leaving only a cool sensation ghosting in their wake.

You whimper when he’s got you down to your underwear, shuddering in the silence while he plays with the hem of your panties. You flinch at the contact, and he almost laughs.

“Careful, if you move too much, you might lose your leg again..” he warns playfully, though you don’t find anything about what he says to be funny at all.

He observes your lower half for a moment longer before speaking again. “Your leg did heal nicely though. I wonder…if I were to keep breaking away at you, could you keep putting yourself back together?”

His curiosity was scaring you. You didn’t know yourself and you didn’t want him trying to find out the answer.

“T- Tomura…”

His eyes seem to hone in on you, he never expected his name to leave your lips, but he liked the sound. Something he made a mental note of for later.

Ever the oblivious to your future misfortune, you only cared about placing his mind else where. “A- Are you going to put that inside me?” You asked, raising your head, only to take in his naked form. He was a lot more muscular than you had expected, still fairly thin but in a lean kind of way, as if he had been training.

There were scars along his pale skin, ones that trailed down his abdomen leading to his—

“Do you mean my dick?” He says, a little too confidently as he places himself between your legs.

You only nod in reply, disgusted with yourself.

If the circumstances had been different, you would have rolled your eyes...but this was a moment of desperation. If you didn't keep him entertained, he would clearly find ways to entertain himself. Horrifying ways that would only end in suffering for you.

"I want to hear you say it...ask me to put it in." he says, his mouth getting closer to your loins, kissing at your inner thigh.

A larger part of you wanted to pull away, but you knew better. He had slipped his gloves back on, somewhere in the midst of your little interaction, and had his lips kissing dangerously close to your pussy. It was better this than him testing the limits of your quirk.

"Go on...Beg me for my dick..."

He swipes his tongue up your bare slit, it's warm but leaves a cold and wet feeling after. He doesn't stop there, his cracked lips kissing your bundle of nerves, before he circles it with his tongue.

Its foreign feeling at first, and strange, but you can't stop the way your breath picks up as he licks at your most sensitive parts. The fact that you're even giving him a reaction fills you with shame. You just want this to be over.

"Pl-please put your dick in me.." you say, your own voice just barely above a whisper in an attempt to mask the fact that your voice sounds a little less like your own right now.

"Hmm? What was that? I didn't hear you..."

You were embarrassed and overstimulated, and there was a strange feeling starting to build up in your tummy from his tongue on you. As sloppy as it was, he was learning your body quickly, and that was terrifying.

"Please...Tomura...Put your dick in me.." You say, louder this time.

"You want it?"

"Y-es.."

He smiles a genuine smile, and had you have known what he was thinking, you may have fought him a little harder.

He brings his face back to yours, his hands on either side of your head and his length nestled between your folds and twitching in excitement. "Kiss me..." He commands, but he sounds breathless, needy almost.

You do as you are told, despite your skin crawling, despite the bile that's building in your throat, despite the alarm bells going off inside your head.

The kiss felt different than the first.... the first was experimental, curious. This one was greedy, like he intended to take something with it.

"Mm..MM" Your wrists twist at the restraints as the tip of his cock pushes past your folds, pressing into your innards and spreading your walls apart.

"Relax a little for me baby..." he growls, hips stuttering as he feels how tight you are. He groans when his balls finally slap against your cunt, bottoming out inside you.

For a moment you're in disbelief, you try to scan through memories, trying to find something that would make sense of the situation you're in right now. Searching for anything that would explain why he was doing this to you.

Meanwhile, Tomura was pulling back his hips to fuck into you again. You moan as he sets a slow pace as if he's savoring the feeling of you.

You're made to feel every inch of him as he pressed into you deep. "Fffuck.." you curse under your breath, as the girth of him grinds into your gspot.

You can feel the build in your stomach again, and your walls start to spasm around his dick.

"That's right, cum for me pretty girl..." he says, picking up his pace, snapping his hips forward. You can't think anymore, not that you want to anyway. He thrusts once, then again, and suddenly your coming undone, your limbs shaking as an orgasm wracks throughout your entire body.

He talks you through your orgasm, whispering about how good of a whore you are, about how your body was made for him, how you were made for him, about how he's known all along that you were his.

It scares you when he says those things but, it scares you even more that you're starting to believe him.

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Authors note: Hope people like the one-shot. Again english isn't my first language so I apologize for any grammar or spelling errors. This isn't meant to be anything serious or align with any part of the recent storyline in anyway. Just something I wanted to write. If there needs to be more tags or warnings, I'll be sure to add them. Hope it is well received. Again, I don't condone any of the acts depicted here in real life. Minors DO NOT interact or Follow. No Age in Bio will be Blocked (I'll get to checking my following soon). Thank you to anyone who does like the stuff I write.

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