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phossiii · 6 months ago

Text

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter four

synopsis: you and phosphorus cover for flag. and your "other personality" pays a visit.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, gore, blood, demon shit, reader might be a bit op but who cares.

"Are they fuckin' killing each other?" you scoffed, incredulously, as you pressed your pointed ear against the door with G.I Robot.

"Not too far off from what you sounded like an hour ago, sunshine," Phosphorus teased, reaching out to touch you.

"You wanna lose that hand?"

Instantly, your tail whipped up, its sharp edge pointing directly at his throat, Weasel letting out a whimper at the sudden movement.

The four of you were outside the bathroom, waiting for Ilana to finish patching up Flag's injuries.

Though, as made evident by the aggressive, obnoxious moaning, they seemed to have gotten side-tracked.

'Typical...'

Nodding, Phosphorus raised his hands in defense, smirking—unbeknownst to you.

"Message received."

"Have you seen General Flag?" Alexi asked, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

The four of you glanced at each other, before turning to face him with indifferent expressions.

"Uh, yeah, why?" Phosphorus shrugged.

"Because he should be informed that two of your teammates have left the grounds."

Your eyes widened, slightly, brow raising with confusion.

'The Bride... and Nina?'

You knew the Bride didn't give a shit, but you were surprised that Nina went along.

You never thought she would rebel, seeing as she seemed terrified to step a single webbed-toe out of line.

Not to mention, she had her little goody-two-shoes thing going on.

"Yeah, he's, uh, in there..." Phosphorus stood up straight, pointing his thumb toward the door.

But just as the captain was about to move forward, you stopped him, pressing your reddened palm into his chest plate.

"You don't wanna do that," you sighed, attempting to spare him from the sight of his princess in such a... compromising position.

"Maybe you should just give him thirty seconds," your skeletal partner agreed.

Alexi raised a brow, suspicious.

"I mean, you've seen the princess. I don't know how he could hold out for more than thirty seconds, do you?"

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as Weasel let out a soft squeak.

"Ah, you got a point, Weez," Phosphorus nodded, thoughtfully resting his hand on his chin. "He's an older guy... probably has a lot of experience. Give him a full minute."

"This is not funny. Why are you smiling?" Alexi ignored.

"Slow down, bigot," Phosphorus scoffed, pulling open his lab coat. "I'm a freaking skeleton. It looks like I'm smiling even when I'm not."

"You are not smiling?"

"Oh, I am... But you can't tell that."

Punctuating his sentence, the sounds of banging echoed from the door, followed by Rick and Ilana's moans

It went on for an uncomfortably long minute, but once it was over, Alexi let out a sigh.

"May I knock now?" he asked.

Phosphorus held up a finger, forcing him to wait as they started up again, only louder, the sounds making you want to smash your head into the wall.

'I was better off at Arkham...'

After Flag cussed you both out for waiting to tell him that the Bride and Nina had escaped, Task Force M left to go rescue them from Circe and the Sons of Themyscira.

But after you arrived to find that neither of them had been horribly harmed, everyone quickly realized their real objective was to leave the princess without protection.

Which is why all of you hauled ass back to the castle, and why all of you were currently charging into the battle-filled courtyard with Alexi's super-powered, armored truck.

Zooming forward, he mowed down a Son that was about to toss a grenade at the royal guards, dismembering the bastard on impact before coming to a complete stop.

The Bride exited the vehicle guns blazing, as well as Flag and Alexi, shooting down five of the Sons right out the gate.

With a sigh, you cracked your neck, exhaling deeply out of your mouth.

"My body is mine... it belongs to me... Shall Mahalat come running... I will force her to flee," you muttered under your breath, repeatedly, as you kicked off your boots.

'Arkham shrinks... don't let me down.'

Out of the team of psychiatrists tasked with keeping you mentally sane, one offered a simple, catchy mantra to help you keep your "other personality" under control.

Whenever you thought Mahalat was going to show herself, or forcefully take over, you were supposed recite it, as the words would keep her at bay.

It worked well enough in your cell—but, then again, you were heavily medicated, anyway, so it was hard to say for certain.

Rushing forward, you dodged the oncoming barrage of bullets from the group of Sons in front of you, completing forward flips, handsprings, and round-offs to build momentum before launching yourself in the air.

There, you attacked, using your tail to slash the eyes of the man in front of you before kicking him into another, the force so powerful that it smashed their skulls together.

Landing on the ground, you turned quickly, shooting a small beam of fire from your finger tip and meeting the oncoming bullet heading for your shoulder, completely destroying it as well as burning a pea sized hole within the man's brain.

Using your speed, you got in close to the three grunts next to him, punching the first one in the face with a flaming fist as your tail twisted the neck of the second.

When the first one tired to shoot, you swirled around, using the second as human shield while you kicked the third in the nuts, forcing him to his knees and thus low enough where your legs could reach.

Using your feet, you grabbed his face and the back of his head before violently jerking, snapping his neck all the way around.

But before he could fall, you ran up his face like a wall, using it to flip yourself back around as your tail let go of the second man's neck.

Landing on the first one's shoulders, you ignited your hands in flame, slamming your fists down on his head with a sickening thud and caving in his skull.

Though, you had little time to celebrate, as the raining bullets from the castle began to increase, forcing you to leap away and duck behind the fountain with the others.

"Are these Nazis, General?" G.I asked from his place standing up, seeing as he was bullet-proof.

With a smirk, Flag turned to him, giving an affirmative nod.

"Yeah, G.I... these are Nazis."

Breaking out into a wide smile, the robot retracted his arms and replaced them with guns, opening fire on the Sons of Themyscira with a look of absolute glee.

Though, it came to a surprise for everyone when his torso suddenly detached, some sort of hover technology allowing him to float high into the air, where two additional guns were added to each arm.

"Hit the deck!" Flag exclaimed.

Quickly, G.I began to spin, his bullets utterly dismembering every Son of Themyscira in sight.

'Holy shit!'

He looked so happy, so utterly relieved to kill Nazis.

It was adorable, and even you were fighting off the smile rising to your lips.

That is... until Circe appeared, completely destroying him.

"G.I!" Nina screamed as he exploded right before her eyes, his parts raining down on the ground below.

"Well, that's enough of that," Circe scowled, looking down upon you all before shooting a large beam of destructive, purple magic.

Quickly, you all dove out the way, just barely avoiding the attack as chunks of the stone fountain shot into the air.

"Is that magic I smell, o' pitiful flesh?" a terrifyingly familiar voice grinned within your mind, turning your blood to ice in an instant.

'No... no, no, no, no, no! Not now! Not today!'

"My body is mine, it belongs to me. Shall Mahalat come running, I'll force her to flee," you muttered, frantically, screwing your eyes shut with fear as you pulled yourself into the fetal position, hugging your legs. "My body is mine, it belongs to me. Shall Mahalat come running, I'll force her to flee!"

"(y/n)! Snap out of it! What's wrong with you?!" Flag barked as he glanced over his shoulder, shooting at a couple of the straggling Sons as he noticed you were laying down in the middle of a battle.

"Is she having a mental breakdown in the middle of a fight?" the Bride asked, going back to back with the general.

"I was told she was cleared for the field!"

"Stupid girl. You know better than I such a weak incantation cannot keep me at bay..."

"Shut up!" you spat, sharply, as you clutched your head. "My body is mine! It belongs to me! Shall—!"

"Enough."

With a choking gasp, she silenced you, forcing your body to float into the air.

Like countless times before, your pupils shrank to the thin slits of a snake, the others watching with awe and confusion as your limbs fell limply to your sides.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

Your voice seemed to dubbed over by another, more malevolent one, and after the words were spoken, you burst into hellish flame.

Within this flame, large, red, pointed wings sprouted from your back, your horns growing larger, fangs extending, claws growing, and clothes tearing, leaving you in the tattered remnants of your leather pants and top.

Though, when you turned to Rick Flag, you were no longer you.

But rather the thing that's been haunting you since you since you first opened your eyes in this world.

Mahalat.

"Where has the witch gone?" Mahalat asked, her voice dubbed over yours.

Utterly speechless, both Flag and the Bride pointed toward the castle, where Circe had flown to attack Ilana.

With a bone chilling grin, the demon turned around, her large, strong wings propelling her quickly as she zoomed toward the princess's broken, bedroom window.

Free for the first time in years, Mahalat had only one thing on her mind.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

When she reached the two, Circe had her magical orbs drawn, ready to destroy an already beaten up Ilana.

In an instant, Mahalat flew forward, grabbing Circe by the neck with a sharp, burning hand.

She fought back with a scream, hands frantically clawing at the demon's arm as her throat began to cook.

"I wonder..." Mahalat smirked, her sharp nails drawing blood with her harsh grip. "Is the flesh of a witch as delicious as I remember?"

With a sick grin, she lifted the woman higher, allowing a few droplets of her blood to drip onto her face.

"It's been a millennium since I've had one in my clutches..."

With a malicious chuckle, the demon sank her fangs into Circe's shoulder, the sorceress letting out a blood-curdling scream as the meat was torn from her bones.

Muscle, tendons, and all.

Taking a moment to enjoy her new snack, Mahalat threw Circe out the window with impossible force, leaving her to fall onto the concrete below.

Out the corner of her eye, she glanced at the princess, who looked absolutely horrified, before flying after her dinner.

As Circe attempted to scramble away, Mahalat landed harshly on her back, the sharp claws of the demon's feet digging into the witch's flesh and keeping her in place as she was absolutely mauled.

Any available skin was up for the taking, Mahalat's claws and fangs destroying anything they could reach with a delighted grin.

And as she went to town on Circe's back, Phosphorus approached, lifting Circe's chin with—what everyone could tell—a sick grin

"I always love a good barbecue."

Pressing an irradiated hand into her face, she let out another bone-chilling scream, unable to do anything but sit there as her face was cooked alive and her back was torn to shreds.

From the distance, Flag watched, wide-eyed and thoroughly disturbed as the two before him tortured the sorceress, the realization donning on him pretty quickly that the both of you had gone incredibly easy during your fight in the kitchen.

"You wanted monsters... you got monsters," the Bride smirked, standing knowingly by his side.

"Kunus matez ka'am aluk baa nat su da (y/n)!" your voice finally managed to break through, stopping the demon in her tracks.

Pupils dilating, you snapped out of it in an instant—your wings slowly returning into your back, your horns shrinking, fangs receding, and claws disappearing—while still leaving you in your torn up clothes.

Quickly, you threw yourself off the witch, chest rising and falling rapidly as you snapped your head around, frantically touching yourself to gauge if it was really you, while also covering your practically bare chest.

That was the first time she'd taken over in over three years.

You hoped it would never happen again.

'What did I do?! Who did I kill?! Oh, God, I can taste blood?! Who did I eat?! Why did I—?!'

"Hey," Phosphorus's voice broke through your spiral.

Out of instinct, you flinched, but when you looked up at him, you realized he was holding out his lab coat.

Your eyes widened slightly, surprised by his kindness, and you couldn't help but stare at him with suspicion.

What was the gag?

Where was the joke?

Why was he being so... chivalrous?

"Unless you wanna walk around with your tits out," he shrugged, standing up straight with a grin. "I mean, I'm not complaining—"

Quickly, you took it from his hand, throwing it over your shoulders and crossing it over your chest, avoiding all eye contact.

You weren't sure how or why... but he was doing you a solid, so you wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Thanks," you muttered, standing up.

"You don't understand what you've done!" Circe awoke from her pain induced fainting with a gasp, glaring up at you all as Weasel, Bride, and Flag reconvened.

Your eyes widened even further at her injuries, a little sorry.

It was nowhere near the worst you'd done to someone... but still.

Attempting to gather her breath, she turned her sights on Flag, brows furrowing harshly.

"You've doomed the world!"

#creature commandos #creature commandos x reader #dc #dc x reader #dcu x reader #doctor phosphorus #dcu #doctor phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus #dr phosphorus x reader

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urdreamydoodles · 7 months ago

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Can you write bat villains x someone who use to be a psychologist? And gn please

Bat-Villains x Reader

You used to be a psychologist

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

I hope I did what you hoped. Love you guys, bye ♡

The Joker

- You’ve always known that your choice to leave psychology behind wasn’t entirely your own. It became evident the moment you met him, the infamous Joker, during your stint at Arkham. You were initially his psychologist, drawn into his world by the challenge of untangling his chaotic psyche. But instead of understanding him, you found yourself caught in his web. Your analytical mind fascinated him—your attempts to “fix” him became his favorite game, one that always ended with him flipping the script and dissecting you instead.

- Your former training as a psychologist now feels like a double-edged sword in your relationship. On one hand, it’s the reason he respects you. You’re the one person who can spar with him intellectually, who can try (and sometimes fail) to keep up with the labyrinthine way his mind works. On the other hand, he sees your past profession as an ongoing joke. He’ll mockingly call you “Doc” or ask if you’d like to analyze him, knowing full well that any attempt would end in him exposing your own vulnerabilities instead.

- The Joker revels in pushing your boundaries. He’ll leave Rorschach test cards lying around the hideout, asking for your “professional opinion” with a maniacal grin. He’ll turn every fight or disagreement into a warped therapy session, making you question your own motives and sanity. Yet, there’s a twisted tenderness in the way he values your insight. When he’s planning his next big scheme, he’ll ask for your input—not because he needs it, but because he enjoys the way your mind works.

- You often catch yourself analyzing him even now, despite knowing it’s a futile exercise. But every once in a while, you’ll hit a nerve. When you call out the cracks in his façade, when you pinpoint the rare moments where his chaos feels less calculated and more personal, he’ll grow uncharacteristically quiet. Those are the moments when you see the man beneath the madness, even if only for a fleeting second.

- He loves reminding you that you’ve crossed a line no ethical psychologist ever should. “Falling for your patient, Doc? That’s against the rules,” he’ll say with mock horror. But there’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes because you didn’t just fall for anyone—you fell for him, the one person no one else could ever hope to understand. And in his own twisted way, that makes you his perfect match.

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Meeting Harley was like meeting a mirror image of yourself—if the mirror had cracks and glitter smeared all over it. You’d both been psychologists, both lured into the world of Gotham’s rogues by the thrill of understanding the incomprehensible. She was fascinated by the fact that you shared her background, though she couldn’t resist teasing you about being the “goody-goody” version of her.

- Your shared history in psychology becomes a cornerstone of your relationship. You’ll spend hours debating therapeutic techniques, discussing old case studies, or laughing over the absurdity of Freudian theories. Harley loves hearing about your time as a psychologist, often joking that you’re her “normal” counterpart—but deep down, she’s proud that you chose her world over your old one.

- Despite her playful nature, Harley respects your insights in ways few others do. When her insecurities bubble to the surface—whether it’s about her past with the Joker or her struggle to define herself outside of it—she’ll come to you for advice. She values your ability to articulate what she’s feeling when she can’t find the words herself. And while she doesn’t always follow your advice, the fact that she listens at all is a testament to how much she trusts you.

- You sometimes find yourself slipping into “therapist mode” when Harley spirals, but she’s quick to call you out if she feels you’re treating her like a patient instead of a partner. “I’m not sittin’ on your couch, doc,” she’ll say with a pout, before pulling you into a playful wrestling match to lighten the mood. Still, she appreciates your ability to ground her when things get too overwhelming.

- Harley loves that you chose her, knowing full well the risks involved. “You coulda stayed all boring and normal, but you jumped into the deep end with me,” she’ll say with a proud grin. And while your past as a psychologist may have shaped you, she loves that you’ve embraced the chaos of her world without losing the core of who you are.

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Ivy found your past as a psychologist both intriguing and amusing. “A former mind doctor falling for a plant lady,” she’d tease with a sly smirk. “I suppose it’s only natural—plants are easier to understand than people.” But beneath her teasing lies a deep respect for your intelligence and your ability to see the world in ways others can’t.

- Your psychological background often comes into play in your relationship with Ivy. She values your insight when it comes to understanding human nature, a realm she’s often detached from. You help her navigate her complex feelings about humanity—her disdain for their destructive tendencies versus her occasional, begrudging hope that they might change.

- Ivy’s cool, analytical nature contrasts with your warmth, creating a balance that neither of you expected. She’ll often challenge you to apply your psychological theories to her world of plants and ecosystems, delighting in your attempts to bridge the gap between the two. You’ve become her sounding board for her plans, helping her refine her ideas and temper her more extreme impulses.

- There are moments when Ivy grows frustrated with your attempts to analyze her, particularly when you delve into her trauma or question her motives. “Not everything needs a diagnosis,” she’ll snap, her walls going up. But over time, she’s come to appreciate your perspective, even if she doesn’t always show it.

- Ivy loves that you see her as more than just a villain or a force of nature. You see the layers of Pamela Isley beneath Poison Ivy, and that makes her feel truly understood. Your shared bond is rooted in a mutual respect for each other’s intellect and a deep, unspoken trust that neither of you takes for granted.

Bane

- Your relationship with Bane began with mutual curiosity. He was fascinated by your background as a psychologist, viewing your profession as a form of intellectual strength. You, in turn, were drawn to his disciplined mind and the way he combined brute force with strategic brilliance. “You dissect minds; I conquer them,” he’d say with a rare, genuine smile.

- Bane respects your intellect in a way that few others do. He sees your psychological expertise as a weapon, one that complements his physical prowess. He’ll often ask for your insights when planning his strategies, valuing your ability to predict human behavior and anticipate his enemies’ moves.

- Your past as a psychologist also gives you a unique perspective on Bane’s struggles. You understand the toll his dependency on Venom takes on him, both physically and mentally. While he rarely lets his vulnerabilities show, he appreciates your ability to see past his armor and offer support without judgment.

- Bane occasionally challenges you to analyze him, though it’s always on his terms. “Tell me, doctor,” he’ll say with a smirk, “what drives a man to seek strength at all costs?” These moments often turn into deep, philosophical discussions that leave you both with a greater understanding of each other—and yourselves.

- Your relationship with Bane is built on mutual respect and an unshakable trust. He admires your strength, not just as a psychologist but as a person who chose to stand by his side despite the risks. And while he may be the one known for breaking Batman, you’re the one who’s managed to break through his emotional walls, earning a place in his heart that no one else ever could.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- Jonathan Crane was both intrigued and suspicious when he learned of your past as a psychologist. “Another mind eager to probe into fear,” he’d remark, his tone dripping with both mockery and fascination. You, however, weren’t interested in analyzing him, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead, you saw through his bravado to the wounded man behind the Scarecrow.

- Your shared background creates a dynamic of intellectual sparring. Jonathan delights in challenging your understanding of fear, throwing hypothetical scenarios at you to see if you can unravel them. He respects your insights, though he’s quick to remind you that fear, in his eyes, is an art—something that transcends mere psychology.

- Despite his attempts to maintain dominance in your relationship, there are times when Jonathan allows himself to be vulnerable. You’re the only one he trusts to see the cracks in his armor, to hear the stories of his childhood torment without judgment. Your empathetic yet clinical approach soothes him, though he’d never admit it aloud.

- Jonathan often tests your limits, pushing you into scenarios meant to evoke fear. At first, it frustrated you, but over time you came to understand it as his way of sharing his world with you. When you show resilience or even appreciation for his experiments, he’s secretly proud, though his compliments are always wrapped in veiled insults like, “I suppose you’re not as naive as I thought.”

- Your past as a psychologist doesn’t just make you his partner—it makes you his equal. Jonathan loves that you don’t cower before his intellect or his fascination with fear. Instead, you challenge him, forcing him to confront his own insecurities and vulnerabilities, something no one else has dared to do. And though he thrives on fear, you’ve become the one person who doesn’t fear him at all.

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- Harvey Dent was initially wary of your background as a psychologist, fearing you’d see him as just another case study. But your approach was different—you didn’t try to fix him or push him toward integration. Instead, you accepted both sides of him, recognizing the war within and respecting it as part of who he was.

- Your ability to navigate Harvey’s duality sets you apart. You’ve learned to address both Harvey and Two-Face as separate entities, treating them with equal respect. This earns you a rare level of trust from both sides of his fractured psyche. Harvey appreciates your kindness and understanding, while Two-Face values your refusal to dismiss him as the “bad” half.

- Your past profession comes in handy during Harvey’s darker moments. When he spirals, you use your skills to help him regain balance, though it’s always a delicate dance. You never push too hard, knowing that forcing him to confront his trauma could drive him further into chaos. Instead, you offer guidance when he’s ready to hear it, a patience he’s deeply grateful for.

- Two-Face often tests your loyalty, flipping his coin to decide whether you’ve earned his trust. At first, it unnerved you, but over time you came to see it as his way of coping with uncertainty. You’ve even convinced him to let you flip the coin once or twice, a rare display of vulnerability that leaves Harvey quietly amazed.

- Harvey loves that you don’t pity him or try to change him. You see the man he was, the villain he’s become, and everything in between, and you accept it all. Your background as a psychologist gives you the tools to navigate his complexities, but it’s your unwavering loyalty that makes you indispensable to him.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- Edward Nygma couldn’t resist testing you when he learned of your background as a psychologist. “A mind-reader, are we?” he’d sneer, throwing riddles your way to see if you were as clever as he hoped. When you solved his puzzles with ease, his skepticism turned to fascination. You were a challenge, and he loved every second of it.

- Your relationship with Edward revolves around intellect. He thrives on your ability to keep up with him, often dragging you into his elaborate schemes just to see how you’ll react. Your psychological training gives you a unique edge in solving his riddles, something he alternately admires and resents.

- Edward often uses your past profession as fodder for his own ego. He’ll mockingly ask if you’re trying to analyze him, only to turn the tables and psychoanalyze you instead. Yet, there are moments when he lets his guard down, asking for your insight on his compulsions and insecurities. He values your honesty, even if it stings.

- Your shared love of puzzles and problem-solving creates a bond unlike any other. Edward delights in creating challenges specifically for you, riddles designed to test your wit and emotional intelligence. When you solve them, he’s genuinely impressed, though he’ll grumble about needing to “up his game.”

- Edward loves that you don’t see him as just a criminal or a narcissist. Your past as a psychologist allows you to see the layers beneath his arrogance—the insecurities, the need for validation, the brilliance he feels the world constantly underestimates. And in return, he gives you his loyalty, a rare gift from a man who trusts so few.

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- Oswald Cobblepot was immediately intrigued by your background as a psychologist. To him, it was a sign of power—not physical strength, but the ability to control and manipulate others with your mind. He saw your potential as an asset, but what he didn’t expect was how deeply he’d come to care for you.

- Your relationship with Oswald is built on mutual respect. He admires your intellect and your ability to read people, often seeking your advice on how to handle rivals or navigate the treacherous waters of Gotham’s criminal underworld. You, in turn, appreciate his cunning and his ability to turn every disadvantage into an opportunity.

- Oswald occasionally uses your past as a psychologist to his advantage, asking you to “profile” his enemies or predict their moves. While you’re happy to help, you’ve set boundaries, refusing to let your skills be used for outright manipulation. Surprisingly, he respects this, though he’ll grumble about it being “bad for business.”

- Despite his tough exterior, Oswald has moments of vulnerability that only you get to see. He trusts you to understand the pain and rejection that shaped him, the insecurities he hides behind his bravado. Your psychological insight helps you navigate these moments, offering comfort without making him feel weak.

- Oswald loves that you see him as more than just the Penguin. Your past as a psychologist allows you to understand his complexities in ways no one else does, but it’s your unwavering loyalty that truly wins his heart. With you by his side, he feels invincible—both as a crime lord and as the man he is underneath.

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mamayan · 2 years ago

Text

🎃 Happy Halloween 🎃

Shigaraki Tomura x Fem! Reader

Good girls should just stay home, lest something goes bump in the night.

cw: NSFW • Implied Murder • Implied Serial Killer • Consensual Non-Consent turned Non-Consensual • Noncon • Dubcon • Abuse • Fingering (F) • Oral (M) • Deep Throating • Rough Sex • Attempted Murder • Hair Pulling • Degradation/Slight Humiliation • Dacryphilia • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • a little OOC • This story possessed me and basically wrote itself • Barely proof read tbh

wc: 7k+

Something must be wrong with you.

Or at least, that’s what you imagine the world would think if anyone knew what you were doing.

The room was dark aside from the blue glow of your computer screen. The black web browser with red lettering almost ominous as your eyes scanned the consent form again. It was a consent form just to access the full website, on the surface serving only as a dating type of situation for the BDSM community. Beneath it though were layers deeper than what the simple description actually provided. You only found out about it through a deep dive into multiple sub-threads of Reddit. It was a basket case of crazy, the majority of information or advice, but you managed to dig up one reliable looking source.

This website you were currently on. L@ce&R0pe.com happened to provide a wide variety of goodies, from sex toys to actual published books on shibari, there wasn’t much you couldn’t find. Except like all websites not swallowed up by the deep web, there was never any section like the one you wanted so desperately.

Except this one, because your mouse didn’t hesitate to shift and hover over the drop down section for MEET, where you could link up with real people for whatever your heart desired really. You trailed down to NEW FRIEND, and clicked. A new tab opened, this one themed differently than the main website. It was light blue and pink, almost like a baby shower, except the only thing on the page was a single drop down menu, and clicking it made your head ache. There were thousands of options, but thankfully it was organized alphabetically, so you could easily scroll mindlessly until you hit the C section.

You found what you wanted, clicking it as your chosen option and hitting GO.

The screen changed, this time it looked similar to a dating profile fillable. You worked quickly, efficiently even, as you typed all your information in.

Not your name or address, nothing silly like that. Just your measurements, your favorite foods or beverages, the color of your eyes, your hair color, your height, and even the style of your nails. It asked if you liked to brush your hair everyday, how often you showered, what shampoo or body wash you like. You answered them all, as invasive as they soon became, you never wavered. What brand of deodorant do you use? How often do you clip or file your nails? To what length? Do you shave your pubic area? How often? What style? How many sexual partners have you had? Where have you had sex? Which hole do you prefer? Are you a crier or a screamer? Does blood turn you on? Do you like physical or mental pain more? Have you ever been raped before?

They got more personal and physiological as you answered. You felt hot and stuffy despite the window being open and the cool autumn air blowing in. You kept answering even as your throat got tighter and unease nestled into your clavicle.

Do you want to know who your new friend will be?

This time you do hesitate. Knowing would make it feel safer. Knowing would give you some semblance of control. Knowing would be the smart choice.

You clicked “no” and submitted the form, sealing your fate as your hands shook and adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You set the date for October 31st. Now all you had to do was wait and show up.

A notification hit his phone, lighting up the screen as cigarette smoke billowed around him in the back alley. A quick glance was all he needed to unlock and fully see the entire screen. The leather of his jacket rubbed against the brick he leaned against.

Halloween was probably the best time for such fun, crime rates skyrocketing and parties being loud and wild really left a big gaping hole for any type of heinous activity to occur. He grinned as the information poured onto his screen. His dick already becoming painfully hard as he read all your supplied information. You liked breath play, having someone spit in your mouth, even being slapped around. He was always amazed by the lack of shortage for sick freaks like you, but then again, he was one of them too. Licking his top lip, tongue piercing flicking out to rub against his cupid’s bow, he clicked “ACCEPT” on the notification. He had all your information, the when and where, and your adorable little comment of “Please don’t degrade me.” What more could he ask for? His smile is sinister in the low light off the neon sign of the bar, casting a purplish hue on his skin as he chuckles and shoves his phone away. Flicking his cigarette butt onto the dirty ground, he cracked his neck and knuckles before going back inside to finish his beer and round of pool with his friends.

He’ll see you on Halloween. He might even dress up a little for the occasion.

It’s cold.

It’s nearly November so you hadn’t expected warm weather necessarily, but it seemed chillier than usual despite your fairly insulated dress.

You dressed up as an angel, the irony not lost on you at all but it felt fitting almost for the occasion. The pristine white looked off in your surroundings. It was nearly midnight, but despite that the sidewalk of the park was filled with a fairly regular crowd of people passing through, on to the next party or home to sleep off all the alcohol. Really, you weren’t too out of place, in your white stockings and black heeled boots, the fluffy ruffled white babydoll dress that barely covered your ass or tits and the wings which were strapped around your shoulders and jutted out behind you. On your head was a slim clip which was attached to a white shiny halo that seemed to float above you, only a thin wire keeping it up. You’d at first felt a little exposed passing children going home for the night after trick or treating, eyes of judgemental families which you ignored boring into you, but now it was time for the adults to have fun. You’d already passed a plethora of college students or older dressed even more scantily than you, making you feel better, safer, out in the park you’d chosen. You’d chosen 0300 as your designated meetup time, but specified you’d be early in case they wanted to start sooner. So here you stood, under a streetlamp that illuminated you in a yellow glow, making you seem even more angelic despite the ominous darkness surrounding you. You were busy playing on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and trying not to appear too excited. Or scared. You figured it was a combination of both, the arousal and fear bleeding into one very specific but unnamed emotion. Tapping your boot to a rhythm only you could hear, the night drew on and another hour passed. The droves of people passing didn’t dwindle, but it was always a group, never a single individual which you hoped was your new friend. It was almost 0130 when you felt watched, goosebumps rising on your skin as you realized someone must be looking at you. A quick glance around showed no one though, and after ten minutes your hope dissolved into disappointment. It seemed your friend wasn’t an early bird.

“Hey,” a raspy, deep voice speaking almost directly into your ear, startling you enough to elicit a yelp. You turned, eyes landing on a dark clothed chest and trailing up to a hooded face you could barely make out through a mess of blue hair. His lips look a bit chapped, a small scar decorating a corner, but his teeth are white and straight as he smiles a grin that causes shivers to shoot down your spine.

…maybe your friend was an early bird, just not as much as you.

You take a step back, stuttering stupidly due to your overactive nerves and the earlier shock of his sudden appearance. “H-hi…um,” the stranger tilts his head, eyes still not visible, dark hoodie baggy on his frame. He looks a bit thin, like he wouldn’t have a lot of strength, his jeans having some strange splattering of fake blood or something on them. You lick your lips, heart ready to leap from your chest but not quite ready for the events to unfold.

Or maybe you were very ready.

“You’ve been standing here for hours,” he comments nonchalantly, hands moving to shove inside the large inner pocket on his hoodie, “Aren’t ya tired of waiting for your boyfriend?” His question is a bit confusing, and when you glance around you, it dawns that there’s no one out right now. When had the crowds dwindled to nothing? “I don’t… have a boyfriend…” you had clearly stated that online too, so he already knew the answer to your relationship status. Was he just teasing? Keeping this as realistic as possible? It made you a bit pleased. You fiddled with the ends of your cute frilly dress, exposing a small portion of your skin and garter belt which kept your thigh high socks up. His eyes tracked the motion, lips pulling up even higher making his smile menacing. Dangerous. “That so?” He asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a reply as he steps closer, his beat up sneakers so silent on the ground it’s a little unnerving. Since he’s playing along so much, it feels wrong for you to not reciprocate.

“What do you think you’re doing, creep? Stay back,” You hope he’s not offended by the name, figuring it wasn’t too mean or odd of a thing to call him. Your firm stance and defiant gaze make him pause, head tilting again but he’s quick to recover and laugh. It’s less of a sexy and deep chuckle like you expected, and more pitched and giggly. It’s almost creepy to hear from a grown man. Like a child from a horror movie laughing. “Creep? Yeah? Guess I am, but you know what?” His head lifts, and since he’s more centered under the tall street lamp, when he looks straight at you, two red eyes flash. “I’m a lot fucking worse than your average dumbass creep,” you jolt when he lunges at you, hand outstretched to grab you. It’s instinctive how quickly you turn and run, adrenaline helping you shoot off into the park where no light but the moon shined down. This is what you wanted, you chant to yourself to stay level headed enough to not truly panic. This was staged and as safe as possible. He’s not actually going to hurt you. You’d be fine, albeit maybe a little sore tomorrow morning. You shut your mind off and focus on running, though your speed wasn’t great in such cheap and unstable boots, roots and random objects on the ground constantly tripping you up.

You looked like the dumb girl in the horror movies, tits practically out of your low cut revealing white dress, strapless white bra damn useless and more for show than any real support or push-up. You huffed, digging in your heels when you heard a few twigs snap behind you, feet carrying you faster as you realized he was gaining on you quickly. He didn’t shout and you didn’t scream. The chase was exhilarating, your mind becoming fuzzy as your lungs burned for more oxygen. You hadn’t planned a chase, really leaving it all up to fate and your new friend, but this was perfect.

Until fingers tangled tight in your hair and yanked you completely off your feet, your shoes and legs going out in front of you as you landed gracelessly on your ass. Then an intense burning in your scalp erupts, a hiss of pain and a whine escaping as you slide over cool damp foliage, senseless grumbling coming from the stranger as he drags you into a deeper more secluded section of the park, away from any and all prying eyes. Not like anyone gave a damn. “I-it hurts!” You feel childish for crying, tears pricking your eyes but the burn was worse than you imagined truly, soft hands coming up to try and pry his fingers off.

He has a grip of iron apparently, not the least bit phased as he sighs, hauling you up and tossing you in front of him. You land weirdly on your left shoulder, a shock of pain numbing your mind as you heave for air and roll over. When you open your eyes, you’re face to face with him. His hood pulled off, shoulder length blue hair now tied back and up into a little bun while some stray pieces frame his face and forehead. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as they take him in.

He’s young, maybe early twenties, with pale skin and dark bags hugging beneath his scarlet eyes. He’s got a beauty mark just below his lip on the right side, the scar you saw earlier on the other. He’s not hard on the eyes, cute even, but the strange air around him makes the close proximity fill you with anxiety. His eyebrows are thin and sparse, but he cocks one with a smirk. “Not gonna scream for help, crybaby?” The nickname makes you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks, you blink them away quickly, shaking your head and trying to find your words again. “I—uh, do you want me to?” Wouldn't screaming just make it more likely for someone to call the police? You figured a little noise was fine, but screaming seemed counter productive.

His eyes widened a bit, confusion painting his features as he crouched down more comfortably on his haunches to get a better look at you.

He’d been watching you since you got to the park. A single party in this sort of place always sticks out like a sore thumb. You looked more ready for a porno than a costume party, from behind the view of your ass indescribably arousing in your short little dress. It was both a slutty and innocent look you pulled off well, at least enough to make him riled up, cock twitching in agreement within his pants. He shamelessly rubbed it through his jeans, caressing the hardening length and letting you watch with glee. Your face made him snort, amusement evident as he chuckles and squints. “You like this, little freak?” You looked like you did, he notes. Your wide pretty eyes, still a little teary and red at the ends, showed your blown out pupils. You looked to be more star struck, not terrified like any normal girl chased through a park and dragged into a little corner between some trees to be out of sight. He watches you swallow hard, lips parting before closing as if you aren’t sure what to say to that question. “Fuck, you’re cute,” he grins, “a cute little slut who stood out at night all alone as if begging for someone to come along and do something nasty.” You release a tiny yelp as he meanly shoves you back, straddling your upper chest with his thighs as he hunches over you, looming ominously above with wild eyes screaming for chaos. “Good thing that I came along, huh? Make all your nasty little fantasies come true.” He watches you gasp as he presses his fingers against your lips, confusion evident on your face but you aren’t really putting up much of a fight as you open and let him slide two in. “Nasty fucking girl, look at you, when you don’t even fucking know me.” He chuckles, and while he’s teasing you mostly, he is amazed. You looked erotic as hell right now, little angel costume all wrinkled and a bit dirty from the earth below, pretty face a bit stained with mascara that had run a little from your earlier tears. You weren’t wearing the waterproof kind it seemed. Lips bitten and chewed on, plump and glossy from whatever glittery shit you swiped on them earlier now wrapped around his digits as he dug around in your warm wet mouth. “Suck on them, slut,” he orders, his smile dropping and face becoming more serious as you hurry to obey, a strange trepidation building in your gut. He groans as he feels your tongue wiggle and swirl, pumping his fingers a bit now and enjoying the little bleats you release when he chokes you a bit with them. “Wonder if you’re soaked down here~” he hums, leaning back a bit and yanking his fingers from your lips, wiping the excess saliva across your cheek and huffing a laugh as your features wrinkle in distaste. His hand moves behind him, easy access to your cunt due to the frilly dress hiked up almost around your waist, revealing cute soaked white cotton panties he growls at the sight of. “You really suck at putting up a fight, crybaby, but I think I heard somewhere that girls get wet when scared too…” those red eyes flick back to your own, "You scared?” He asks, almost softly. He watches you breathe, chest struggling a bit under his weight but your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not pushing him away. “A little…?” Is your shaky response, and he wonders silently if you’re an idiot or just a pervert. You might be both, because when he lets his thumb dig into where your pussy lay poorly hidden, you moan for him and spread your legs wider. You make it even easier to search for his desired location, your swollen bundle of nerves. “O-oh—!” Your head falls back, little halo becoming a bit misshapen as it gets flattened to the ground, he tsks, fixing it with his free hand as he thumbs your little clit and watches you mewl and writhe beneath him, pleasure clearly visible on your face. Your hips buck and wiggle, body pinned beneath his and unable to get away or closer like you desperately want for more friction than he’s providing. “P-please,” you can’t help but beg, hoping your new friend is merciful enough to make you cum and not simply edge you all night.

It’s the pouty expression which makes him nearly feral, his grin spreading wide again as he keeps working his finger on your clit but his face closes the distance between your own. His lips just barely graze yours, and you are all too happy to part your lips and give him a sloppy kiss back, his own tongue finally slipping into your mouth where you suck. The smooth muscle in your mouth and the saliva dripping from it drive you wild, hands now dragging him closer and trying to make him do more for you. The heat spreads slowly however, his pace not changing, and despite his slim build he’s much stronger than you. You aren’t able to take any more than what is given, huffing in exasperation and groaning when he places more force before easing off. “S-stop teasing…” you whine against his lips, which were much softer than they look. He smirks, airy chuckle felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh, “how can I not, you’re such a rare find, I plan to take my time with you.” He kisses you hard to silence whatever whines you planned to release to make him give you more. Instead he forces you into a slow building orgasm that leaves him having to pin your wrists above your head lest your clawing rip his skin open. He works you gently and cruelly into it, loving how you gasp and choke for him, eyes rolling back while you shake almost like you’re possessed and soak through your panties. “There you go, heh, normally I wouldn’t bother to take my time with whiny bitches, but you’re more obedient and sweet than I first assumed.” He whispers into your ear as you come down from the mind blowing high, body limp and pliant like dough now. The insult from him brings out a little whine of protest, teary eyes looking at him with almost something akin to betrayal.

“I-I don’t like being called mean names…I said so online too,” he pulls up finally, the chill of the night attacking full force on your now exposed cunt as he brings your panties up to his nose to inhale. His eyes narrow, almost into slits as he pulls them back and shoves them into his hoodie pocket. “Oh yeah? You post that shit on your social media or something? Sorry, I don’t really use those trash platforms. I have a Twitch stream though,” he acts like this is the time for a regular conversation, even as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, yanking them down his hips to pull his cock free. Your eyes go wide, mind a bit blank and missing something, in favor of looking at him pump his length lazily. A trail of blue curls like on his head travel from his navel to his groin where it spreads out a little, the color a bit darker as it goes lower. He’s not one to shave it seems, but your eyes focus on his cock, average in length but girthy with a tip that curves up almost perfectly. It looks like a cock someone would sell as a dildo at a sex store. It was pretty, admittedly, as a few pearls of pre-cum dotted the tip and spilled over as he slowly worked it above you. “Hungry?” He jokes, but when you nod he grits his teeth and bites back a moan, the night truly more unexpected than he thought. “Open up then, crybaby.” He thankfully didn’t call you a bitch again, crybaby the less of the evils and more acceptable of a petname for your preference as you open your lips and awkwardly lean your head forward. “No need to lean up,” he mumbles, shifting until his knees now rested by your shoulders, tip just in your mouth and his forearms on the earth above your head. He’s looking down at you, and you lay back down as he works his cock in your mouth. He’s going to fuck your mouth, you realize a bit late, the position so easy for him to hit balls deep in your throat and prevent you from running just from his weight alone. You’re pinned to earth, the scent of crisp autumn becoming mingled with the musky masculine odor the stranger had clinging to him. Something smelled of iron too, but it was fainter and didn’t bother you too much, not when he seemed determined to suffocate you with his cock. You jerk a little, teeth accidentally grazing his cock and his hiss of pain alerts you that you’ve hurt him. He pulls up and out of your mouth, glaring ferociously as he looks down at you with contemplation. “Sorry—! I’m not used—,” the words leaving you mouth go unfinished as you’re suddenly looking away and down, confusion wracking your mind before white hot pain erupts across your face and you cry out in agony.

He watches with a cool nonchalance as you whimper and cry, holding your inflamed cheek and looking at him with teary eyes filled with questions. The sight doesn’t help his hardness, your face swelling a bit from the force of the blow already, but it was still arousing how you cried for him so easily. “Don’t bite my fucking dick and I won’t hit you, clear?” He’s grabbing you roughly by the hair again, yanking you up and no longer in the mood for that awkward position as he stands and pulls you to your knees. This position at least gives him a good eye full of your tits, shaking from your little trembling as you’re made to look up at him. His angry reddened cock next to your injured cheek is a sight for him, his hand gripping his shaft and slapping you lightly on the cheek with it, his hand in your hair preventing you from turning away even as you whimper in pain. “Okay, we’ll try this again, crybaby. Open.” You do, even as tears run like waterfalls down your face, mascara smeared and making a pathetic sight for sore eyes of you, you let his cock enter your mouth once more.

Because you’ve never been more aroused.

Your stranger isn’t nice, pushing hard and deep into your throat immediately and gagging you. You’re careful with your teeth, jaw already burning and aching as he locks his arm and hand, strands of hair tearing out as he works his hips into your face at an uneven pace. “Stop fucking moving,” he growls, stepping even closer, blocking any and all exits and forcing you to take it. His cock didn’t seem so scary when he’d pulled it out, but in your throat it was a plug to your oxygen and felt too big for your poor mouth. It hurt, feeling him go too deep and leaving you coughing and sputtering and even still he wouldn’t pull out, groaning and pressing impossibly deep like he truly means to suffocate you. “You got a good little mouth pussy, crybaby. Fuck—take my cock, just like that.” He moans, watching as you struggle on his dick to breathe or swallow, slobber and tears coating his cock as he makes a mess of your pretty face. He doesn’t care that your eyes are starting to roll back, hands which had previously been clawing at his legs going limp at your sides. You acted more like a hole for him to fuck when you were limp like this, and it drove him wild as he grunted like an animal and rutted into your mouth like he held a grudge against you. Both hands dug into your hair, hands pulling you back onto his cock when his hips bucked you away. “Never fucked a—holy shit—ah, mouth so damn good before—, ah fuck, fuck,” he’s getting breathier as time ticks by, his own eyes rolling back as his balls draw up tight. “I’m going to cum, ready for me crybaby? Want it in your tummy or on your face?” He’s being condescending on purpose, but it’s a bit useless considering he’s rendered you nearly unconscious on his dick. He shrugs your lack of response off, pumping his cock down your throat until he sees stars and yanks himself free just before the first spurt misses and hits the grass below, he grips the base, pumping and shooting his next shot right onto your face. He yanks your head against his thigh, delirious face dazed and coughing softly as he finishes on your glitter and mascara run cheeks, using the tip to smear it well into your ruined makeup as he sneers at you from above.

“Hah…” he catches his breath, sucking in oxygen along with you as his gaze turns calculated.

“Wake up, I’m not done with you yet.” He’s more gentle now that he's cum at least once, tapping your uninjured cheek with two fingers as your eyes roll around before opening and looking at him.

He swears, your face making him hard again instantly, blood pooling to his groin at the messy sight of you in your white ruined angel costume. “You really are unlucky I was out tonight, I don’t think I’m gonna let you go.” His dead serious comment caused something cold to hit your veins, chills running through you as you gape in shock.

“W-what…?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out what looked like a foot long serrated hunting blade. He snickers at the blank look of shock on your features.

“What’s wrong, crybaby? No tears for me right now?” You’re shaking, getting paler by the second as you realize no, it’s not a costume, and yes, there is still dried blood on the blade. There’s dried blood all over him, his spree tonight ridiculously fruitful and his body still high on the thrill. Imagine his luck finding you. “T-this wasn’t in my profile, wh-what are you doing?” Now you look alert, now you act like a regular civilian, he notes cooly. “I only con-consented to the sex and stuff, I said I didn’t like—like blades or blood play.” Your eyes are wide as saucers and you have a cold sweat now forming and dotting your skin, shaky like on too much caffeine as your body dumped chemicals to help you run.

His head tilts, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his tie as those red eyes watch you without any emotion in their depths.

“Ah~ I get it now. Are you some kind of freak who links up with people online for this kind of shit?” He laughs, eyes not matching the manic toothy grin. “Sorry to disappoint slut, I ain’t your tinder or whatever match. Did you do it anonymously?” He’s beyond amused, thrilled by the horror dawning on your face as reality sets in. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He sneers, but he’s joyful when you book it, heeled boots caked in mud as they dig into the ground and you take off for real. True intent to get away now because he’s not your new friend, he’s a real stranger and his energy is nothing but malevolent.

You’re going to die.

It’s a sick thought that twists inside you as you push the hardest you’ve ever, scream bubbling up and out as you cry for help now. “HELP! Please! Someone! Anyone!” It’s more broken and hoarse than you want, his earlier abuse to your throat having taken a number on your ability to vocalize.

It’s empty. This damn park is empty.

Not a soul around and you can’t hear him coming for you anymore, and it only makes the tears fall harder as you drive your body to a breaking point. If no one is around you can at least aim for your car, your phone will take too much time to look at and dial the police, you’d be too open and that would mean—

Something—someone—smashes into you, your body thrown sideways by the brute force and flung roughly to the ground where you roll several feet.

It hurts—!

Your body and mind scream as pain lights up your shoulder, a previously dull ache now hounding for your attention so much it left you lightheaded. You twisted your ankle too or maybe broke it, already so regretful for the evening and your life choices that your shoes hardly broke the bank. It all hurt, and yet you still tried to crawl to get away, still eager for another deep breath of air in your lungs even if it hurt to do that too.

“Hck, please, please—help—!,” you’re a sobbing pathetic mess, and he couldn’t be more turned on by the sight. He dusts himself off like he hadn’t tackled you like a linebacker for a major league football team, his lanky form sinewy with muscle and his agility nothing to scoff at. He swirls the enormous daunting blade with a whistle, smiling more genuinely as he strolls towards your shaking form crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, crybaby? I said I wasn’t done with you,” he lands a solid hit to your middle, dirty sneaker smearing mud on your cute little dress, looking less and less white as the night wears on. The blow is not hard enough to damage anything, he’s sure, but you act as if you’ve been disemboweled by how you howl and heave. He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, settling one foot between your shoulder blades and pressing down until you’re left immobilized.

Your vision is blurry, going in and out of focus as you try, and try, and try to get away, cute nail polish chipped and ruined as you claw at the dirt floor for leverage.

He admires your tenacity. “You think you can get away? That anyone is coming to save you?” He brushes a few stray hairs out of his face as he laughs, the urge to gut you strong as he savors your useless little struggle. “Crybaby, look around! No one is coming! I said look,” he grinds out, dropping to one knee while his other leg remains planted on your back, his hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up to see what he meant.

There’s a fence. A metal chain link fence, and it had a sign your vision was too blurry to read through your tears.

“You ran yourself straight into the worst possible area, this is sort of your game over,” He leans down to look at you, yanking your head back and forcing you into an uncomfortable arch. He raises up the blade, fully intending to slit your pretty throat and watch your eyes as the light fades, but you blubber out a sentence which halts him.

“Y-you didn’t finish! E-earlier, hck, earlier you didn’t finish—!” Your eyes squeeze closed in pain as he yanks your head to the side. Confusion burned in him, and curiosity kept you breathing for now.

“Didn’t finish what, crybaby? Fairly certain I finished all over your face, if I remember correctly.” He has a sharp edge in his tone, something metallic fills your mouth and you realize you’ve bitten through your tongue in your panic. A few drops spill past your lips, catching his attention.

“S-shouldn’t you also f-fuck me too? I-it’s why I came out tonight, wh-why I, ah, d-did this,” it’s a long shot by any means, and he’s no fool, but you did make a good point.

He was still hard.

“Smart little crybaby, aren’t you?” He mutters darkly, setting aside his blade in favor of smashing your face into the dirt, keeping your head down as he presses against your back and yanks your hips up. Your knees are skinned from the rough handling, socks torn open and stained with blood and dirt while his calloused hands slip beneath your dress. Your breath hitches. You needed to think of some way out of this, some kind of plan to escape or incapacitate him.

He’s busied himself with your still dripping cunt. Two fingers roughly filling your hole and uncaringly stretching your tight entrance. “You really are a freak, wet even though you’re going to die, crybaby.” He felt a bit strange as you whimper and mewl below, hand slowing as he tried to place the feeling.

He shrugs it off, instead easily yanking down his jeans which were still unbuttoned and pulling out his cock once more, stroking his shaft a few times before he lined himself up with your puffy lips. “Fuck—,” he swears, eyes seeing stars as he pushes just his tip past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, mouth opening as licks his lips and stares down at you. “Never had pussy so good…” he giggles darkly, cracking his neck as he pushes each inch inside of you, stretching you out deliciously until you’re speared on his cock with his hips flush with your ass. “Who knew you’d be the best, crybaby.” He muses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips, your little dress flipped up and over your ass so he can watch it bounce as he leans back on his knees to fuck you deeper. You need to think straight but it’s difficult with how good your body feels, the pain from earlier seeming to go away with a numb buzz as he fills your pussy, hitting perfectly against a spot that has you arching harder for more.

You really are a freak like he says.

You can’t help relaxing further, eyes dumbly looking to the side where your head rests as he pounds into you from behind, the coil in your gut growing tighter by the minute.

The clouds blocking the moon seem to part just for you, the full moon’s light no longer blocked and illuminating the little patch of grass he’d tackled you into. Something gleams, in perfect reach too as your eyes widen.

His knife.

He’d already proven you can’t outrun him, but what if he was injured? There’s a major artery in the thigh, if you hit that, wouldn’t you be able to get away?

He yanks back roughly, moaning as he feels you squeeze even tighter around him, velvet walls massaging his dick while he tries to fuck himself as deep as possible inside of you.

It hit you despite all your intentions not to, because this wasn’t safe and he wants to end your life and everything is wrong, but your body doesn’t listen. You cum with a shaky cry, and with an awkward turn of your head you watch as his head goes back and he moans, eyes closed in bliss as you coat his cock in even more slick.

You’re louder than you intended to be, but your fingers close around the hilt nonetheless, trembling with the heavy weight in your grasp, you use every ounce of energy inside you to swing it back into his thigh.

“Cute,” you scream as he catches your wrist, hand clenching so tight you feel your bones grind together as the knife falls from your grip. He twists your arm around and pins your wrist behind your back, holding it in place while his other hand remains at your hip.

“So fucking cute, crybaby. Did you cum just to distract me or was that because you couldn’t help yourself?” He’s getting a high from this, from fucking you and turning you into nothing but a toy as he bounces you on his cock, hips still but arms pulling you back and forth with ease. Scarlet eyes drink you in with undisguised sick glee, and he’s finally able to place the feeling from earlier.

“A pretty little slut trying to get her rocks off and getting shown why she should’ve been a good girl and stayed home,” he grunts, releasing you and leaning over, pinning you with his weight and nearly knocking the air from your lungs how deeply he hits you inside from this angle. Dirt fills the underbelly of your nails, your fingers digging into the earth just for some semblance of stability.

You had none. It was a sick and horrifying realization. You have no control. You can do nothing to stop this. As deeply as it made your gut sink, another odd emotion rose to the surface.

A bubbly sensation that tore through you as your tears became less from fear and more from overstimulation.

His hips piston in and out of you, bullying your cervix in this position as he ruts into you like a hound, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he moans and grunts.

You break again, spasm and cinch down on his cock like a vice while you wail as if in mourning. Maybe you are, for yourself at least. “Oh fuck—! s’too much—, please, I can’t—, f-feels good, hah,” your nearly incoherent babbling sends him over the edge along with you, his own dull nails finally drawing blood as he holds you for dear life as he releases deep inside you, tip kissing right up against you womb as he cums. You can feel it too, his cock twitching inside as the night seems to still for a moment.

He holds you for a while. Breathing you in, nuzzling his face into your neck and licking you. He holds you until his cock fully softens and it hurt to be gripped so tightly inside your wet heat, regrettably pulling away.

He stands, putting his sticky limp cock away inside his underwear and pulling up his pants, looking down at your ruined figure that had slumped over to the side.

“Y’know, crybaby… you really resemble an angel now,” he smiles, red eyes almost glowing as the moon blankets his back and shadows his face. His hair seems almost white like this, your tired eyes note. You don’t move or even flinch as he grabs his knife and yanks your limp figure up by your hair. Even now you’re still crying, face lax despite the rivers flowing down your dirty swollen cheeks. You make no effort to stop him, having given up completely.

He crouches down again, mostly eye level now as he makes you look at him.

“You got any last words?” He’s being dead serious. He feels strange looking at the almost glazed over look in your eyes.

“W-what…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the night is so quiet he catches it, “what’s your…name?”

An unexpected question.

His eyes gleam, smile ravenous as he puts his lips against your ear and whispers it.

“Tomura, what’s your name, crybaby?” He asks, gently, almost like he’s actually interested.

You hoarsely whisper it, your last time ever saying it after tonight. He hums, like it pleases him, before he brings down the knife swiftly.

Your vision goes dark, the strike mercifully painless. Your last thoughts blur as you drift into soft nothingness.

He releases your hair, grabbing your limp figure up in his arms as he chuckles and sheaths his knife properly on his hip. “Dumb crybaby” his voice almost singing the words as he whistles and walks away, the park dead silent but even if someone had seen you in his arms, he could just play the good boyfriend taking his sweetheart home safely. It’s not entirely a lie either, his eyes glancing down at your unconscious form, pretty neck unmarred but a bruise would likely form on the back where he struck you tomorrow. Tomura had never felt compelled to allow a victim to live, but then again he’s never fucked a victim either, so you’re the first for a lot. He supposed it made you quite special, his legs carrying him in the direction of his car in the parking lot about a mile south. Obsession and possessiveness swirled in those red depths as they looked at your figure.

“Good girls should just stay home…” he continues his sardonic little tune, his smile gruesome and foreboding.

Vibrant blue orbs check his surroundings again, noting once again his friend was a no show. Rolling his eyes, he knew it was too good to be true. Your profile screamed inexperienced and cautious, despite you clicking that you’d like him to remain anonymous beforehand. It didn’t matter, he’d just go enjoy some sorority girl pussy instead, figuring at 0330 that most parties would be winding down. Drunk girls dressed like sluts were his second favorite.

Dabi clicks the notify option on his app, letting the website staff know you never showed up.

Though, he muses if something did happen, the police wouldn’t be notified until it was too late. Halloween weekend after all meant you could be missing for quite a while before anyone noticed.

Not his problem though.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

#tw:noncon #kinktober #Shiggy fuckers come get y’all juice #kinktober 2023 #my only one lol #shigaraki tomura smut #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki mha #shigaraki x reader #mha tomura #tomura x reader #boku no hero academia tomura #yandere tomura #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere tomura smut #yandere shigaraki tomura smut #yandere tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader smut

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cherrrydragon · 1 year ago

Text

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER ONE: WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE

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SUMMARY ↳ A large machine stationed on both sides of the room, pointed ends meeting each other. A particle accelerator. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne wc: 2.1k

In every universe the Spider is a hero. Some go by different names, some can create their own organic webs, and some have their own cat burglar to wrestle with. One constant, for sure, is that they all are bitten by a spider. You are not the exception.

You were bit when you were 13, and for the last 5 years, you have been the “one and only” Spinnerette! It had been a rocky start, but things are looking okay now. You’ve got a family, a real, strong and fun family.

“You’ve been officially added to my hitlist, Tony, watch you’re motherfucking back.”

“Oh, goody. You might be the only person who hasn’t hired a sniper on me before.”

Loving family, of course.

There was an idea to put together a group of remarkable people to see if they could fight the battles humanity could not. It was called the “Avenger Initiative.” A billionaire, super soldier, scientist, Russian spy, master archer and a God walk into a Shawarma restaurant, wonder what it leads to. The Avengers currently all (mostly) live in the former Stark Tower.

You also currently live in the former Stark Tower. It’s a dream come true. Everyone is happy, everyone is healthy, and your relationships with each Avenger is thriving.

“When’s the last time you ate, kiddo?” asks Tony, stepping inside your personal lab he had gifted you for your 15th birthday. Your hands move deftly, fluid and familiar in fixing your web-shooters.

“A definitely normal time,” is your reply. “Hey, what did you do with the Iron Spider suit? I’ve been looking for it everywhere. I’m thinking about tweaking some of the web combinations.”

“It’s charging, where else would it be? Also, here.” He puts a bag of sandwiches from Delmar’s. You grin and reach out for it. “You know me so well.”

“I know you best,” he clicks, and reaches out to ruffle your hair, only because you let him. “Can you tell Nat I fixed her widow bites? And tell Sam I fixed that dent in his wings, too.” You take a bite of a sandwich. “I’m unna pakrol inna vit.”

He pinches your cheek. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s disgraceful.” Stay safe.

“[Name], it may be more efficient to patrol without music blasting in your ears,” says your ever so faithful AI, Karen.

You huff goodnaturedly. “ Ear , Karen. Singular. It’s never screwed me over before, I promise I am a responsible music listener.” The thwip of your webs shooting out has always been a comforting sound. It’s a reminder, of who you are, of what you stand for. All your accomplishments (failures too, but the pain is grounding.) “Also, please place an order for the new Batman comic, I forgot to do it earlier.”

“I find it contradicting how you say you are a casual enjoyer, yet own nearly every issue of any and all related Batman comics.”

“I don’t believe in consistency… or whatever Hobie would say.”

The discovery and confirmation of the multiverse was not as surprising as it should’ve been, but it was daunting all the same. You’ve never really been alone since your life at the Tower, but it was a whole new type of connection, finding out there were other Spiders, other you’s . Then, of course, there was that whole “Miles, you’re the original anomaly!” fiasco. Luckily, the situation ended up resolved, and there are (mostly) no hard feelings. You haven’t met another [Name] [L.Name] yet, but there are plenty of other Spider’s to learn from.

“Numerous suspicious activity reports have taken place downtown. I suggest checking it out.”

“You’re the boss, Karen.” You twist your body, changing your momentum and direction, heading downtown. You do flips and tricks, with all the grace of a ballerina. The nanotech is perfectly flexible enough for your dramatics. Tony had spontaneously made the suit for you, as the fabric of your old one didn’t provide as much armor as he needed for peace of mind.

“I am detecting a multiversal instability. Tread carefully.”

The eyes of your suit squint. “Get Miguel on this.”

It isn’t often a multiversal problem pops up in your universe. With people like Stephen Strange and Wanda Maximoff holding cosmic power in relation to interdimensional activity, and the Space Stone itself, your universe holds up well in defense to multiverse activity. But even so, space is unpredictable.

Miguel, despite all his grievances with you and the Peter Parker of Earth-199999, equipped you both with a Web-Watch (you and the other Spiderlings agreed Gizmo was lame). You don’t use it much unless it’s to go chill at the Spider HQ or visit the other ‘Lings in their universes. Whatever iota of guilt he felt after the whole Miles thing manifested itself as overprotectiveness, and he insists on dealing with all spatial related problems himself. You’ll indulge him, if only to bother him about the tech in his universe.

You’re met with a warehouse, abandoned, because of course it is. “No heat signature’s,” you mumble, the suit scanning for signs of life. You hop down through a hole in the roof silently, looking around. There’s random tech and machine parts scattered around, which is never a good sign. It’s easy to miss for the untrained eye, but you spot a hidden elevator mechanism and step inside it. If anything goes wrong, you trust your spider-sense to get you the hell out of dodge.

The way down is ominous, if not for the almost complete darkness, then for the red blinking lights. Your sense tingles, not sensing any immediate danger, but very uncomfortable down here.

d on’t feel good not safe for long leave quickly

Going en pointe (because going on your actual tippy toes to increase stealth is just way too good), you sneak carefully. Just because there are no living dangers doesn’t mean there are none at all. The room is as dark as the rest of the place, and while you can turn on night vision, it’s not as efficient in understanding what the hell you might be looking at.

“Karen, is there a light switch in here?” Your voice echoes in the large room.

“To your left, [Name].” Sure enough, there actually is a light switch that you find after groping the wall. “Huh,” you hum, pleasantly surprised. A flick of the switch activates the many overhead lights and reveals a daunting sight.

A large machine stationed on both sides of the room, pointed ends meeting each other.

A particle accelerator.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Ok- uh. Karen, contact Tony, and Bruce. Can you tell if it’s been active recently?”

“I am picking up a recent signal, yes. I theorize the recent earthquakes are because of test runs.”

Miles once told you his story. Finding the particle accelerator, his Spider-Man’s death. You remember placing a hand on his shoulder, and you remember him grasping it tightly. It was a complicated time in his life.

“How did he destroy it again…?” you murmur, looking around the machine. “A goober.. right. How did Peni make it, though?” Pulling up your wrist, you scan the machine. “Please contact Peni as well, K.”

Stilling your posture, you look up at the accelerator. You have no doubt nothing good will come from whoever is behind this. Those who try to manipulate powers greater than them always receive a rude awakening. Maybe, by the grace of some higher power, you can somehow rope the Space Stone into this. You know better than to think they don’t have some kind of sentience. Maybe you’re just getting ahead of yourself–

watch out! behind you!

When you turn around, there’s nothing behind you. You’re on high alert now. Your sense doesn’t make mistakes, so either a sniper is pointing his gun at you, or someone who can cloak themselves in around you, and neither of those are good. You breathe in, honing your senses, the situation is far too delicate for you to stumble.

“Show yourself,” you demand. “If you’re smart enough to build this then understand when I say I will find you.”

there! right there!

You turn and send a web to where your senses pointed. The person grunts, trapped in your solution. You pull them toward you. “Show yourself,” you repeat.

A sigh leaves the person's mouth. Then, slowly, their form reveals itself. It’s like Miles' ability to go invisible. Before you is someone your age, must be. And yet the way they carry themselves is reminiscent of somebody who has been through far too much for someone their age. So, basically every Spider you know.

Which is on brand apparently, because this person must be like you. There is no other possibility. The web patterns on their suit, the bug eyes of their mask, the invisibility thing.

“You’re…” you mutter.

“Like you,” they finish.

Your eyes narrow. “The hell are you doing, man? Surely a Spider knows this if some fuckshit,” you gesture to the massive machine. “What are you even doing here?”

Their suits eyes squint. “It’s a delicate matter.”

“Yeah. Obviously,” you roll your eyes. “Not like a bridge to different dimensions is any walk in the park.”

“It’s none of your business,” they huff.

“Hell yeah, it is. You’re me, basically. You’re building a particle accelerator in my universe. By the way, let’s talk about that. Why not just carry out your evil plans in your own home? Did Venom get you or something? We can like, do something about that. Probably–”

“Enough nonsense,” they spit.

“Oh, okay.”

The room lights up, and the particle accelerator whirls to life. The room shakes, no doubt another earthquake beginning to affect the city. A whirlwind of colors fill your vision. Your hand curls the cuff of their suit into your fist.

“What did you do.”

“I’m doing what I have to.”

It happens fast, far faster than your senses could have warned you. Your web restricting them snaps and their hands grab you.

“You’ll survive.” Their hands destroy your watch. “I’m not so cruel.”

And you’re thrown into the web of the universe.

Waking up in an unfamiliar environment has happened far more times than it should have. It’s instinct that pulls you up from the ground. Your body is sore, your head hurts, and the eyes of your suit are genuinely tweaking.

“Karen…” you groan.

“I am unable to connect to any Mr. Stark’s satellites. I detect multiple bruises all over your body, no broken bones. The suit is in functioning condition, 92% charge left.”

“Yeah, we are definitely not in New York anymore. My New York, anyway.” You look up. Your environment is gloomy, the skies are gray, and the buildings have seen better days.

“I’ve connected to the satellites I can detect that are currently in orbit.”

“I need out of this suit, K.” The nanites retract into your web-shooters, now disguised as regular bracelets. You pause and think. “Gimme some glasses, actually. I still need you.” A couple of nanites crawl up your body and form frames on your face. “I can always count on you, K.”

“I’ve created a route to a public library with computers for you.”

The walk to the library has you on edge. Your sense isn’t exactly reacting like it would when you’re in immediate danger, but it’s buzzing constantly. You sigh to yourself. There should’ve been a protocol made for this as soon as you found out about the multiverse. It would’ve definitely been called the “We’re Not In Kansas Anymore Protocol.”

“I’ll start making that protocol for you,” Karen says. You hadn’t realized you’d been talking outloud, sighing. “Thanks, K.”

People keep glancing at you when you walk by before ultimately minding their own business. You’re sure that you give them that uncanny valley feeling, even if you look like a regular human. Effects of being from another universe, you guess.

Walking up the steps to the library, you think about your next move. You should worry about living your situation. You have no clue how long you’ll be here before someone finds you (or, god forbid, you build your own way back home). You know how to be sneaky and steal, hopefully it doesn’t have to come to that though. You look up, thinking, and pause when your eyes spot something.

Gotham City Public Library.

What. The. Fuck.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t be so surprising. Infinite universes, infinite possibilities, so on and so forth. It had never crossed your thoughts that the silly stories you like (read: obsess over) could be a real universe out there. You don’t like to think about it too hard.

“Karen. Where are we.”

“My map tells me we are currently located in Gotham City, New Jersey.” Big yikes.

“Okay. Change of plans. We are going anywhere but here. Let’s just make up a fake identity, first. And get a job. I deserve a couple of days to think.” No way in hell are you going anywhere near that library where goddamn Oracle works.

It’ll be best to avoid everyone all together.

notes: title is a lyric from "Saturn" by SZA.

#damian wayne x reader #jon kent x reader #dc x reader #superboy x reader #robin x reader

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