lovedeatheren

[lovedeatheren]

What is... dead dove?

Dead dove, do not eat - this is often found in the tags or the notes of a fanfiction. It is basically a warning sign.

What the author means with this is that the reader should take a closer look at the title, the summary and the other tags, because what they can see there is exactly what's going to happen in the story. These stories mostly contain themes that are sensitive or can be disturbing for a reader.

It's an author's way of saying: "I tagged what's going to happen in the story, so don't be surprised if those things happen."

[lovedeatheren]

He's such an overgrown baby i can't😭💀

Carpe Noctem 17

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of��The Club AU

“What are you doing?” You open the driver’s side door, “you can’t drive.”

“Bullshit, I can’t,” Lloyd scoffs in a nasally voice, causing himself to hack and spit blood between your feet.

“You’re–” you huff and open the package of tissues in your hand, “take these,” you pull out two and try to stem the blood leaking from his nose.

“Would you–” He snatches them, “quit? I’m not a baby.”

“Let me drive,” you insist, “you could be concussed.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll get blood on the upholstery.”

He sighs and gets out. You step back to give him room. He glares down at you and pinches the end of his nose with the tissues, wincing as he does. You try to touch his arm but he pulls away, tramping like an angry child around the car.

You get in and put the tissue package in the little space between the seats. The other door opens and Lloyd falls in heavily, jolting the car with his weight. You shut your door as his slams and you buckle yourself in. You start the car and adjust the mirrors.

“Try not to fuck anything up.”

“Do your seatbelt up,” you grip the slender wheel, it’s bigger than what you’re used to.

“Yeah, yeah,” he clicks the buckle into place, once more tamping his nostrils with the tissue, “why do you even have these?”

“I keep them in my purse. Just in case.”

“Jesus, you’re one of those PTA moms. You even got the ass for it.”

You don’t comment. You focus on the road, waiting your turn to pull out. There’s a tap on the window on Lloyd’s side. You glance over, searching for the switch to roll it down as an unfortunately familiar face peers in. Stephanie, one of the mother’s from the daycare.

“Hi,” her expression is pinched as she holds her son, Carter, on her hip, “Carter wanted to check on you… we saw everything.”

The judgment in her voice both injures and irks you. Lloyd laughs but chokes on his own spit, fighting not to swallow blood. The small boy looks at you with round eyes.

“Are you okay, Mimi?” He babbles.

“I’m okay, Carter, promise. It was just a little tussle.”

“Sure,” Stephanie snaps, “I will be speaking with Carol about this.”

“Um, alright, I’m sorry, it was beyond–”

“Look, lady, I’m the one who jacked the cop up. Not her,” Lloyd pulls the tissue away, revealing crusted blood in his mustache and the split in the bridge of his nose, “you want my supervisor’s number? Oh wait, I don’t fucking have one, karen.”

He hits the door, pressing down the button so the window rolls up. You gulp as Stephanie recoils, bouncing Carter as you hear her talking to him comfortingly. This isn’t great but you’ve worked at the daycare long enough, it shouldn’t matter that Johnny is out here causing trouble.

“Let’s just get you home,” you say, “it’s been a long enough day.”

“I hope you don’t think it’s over already,” he takes another tissue, balling the red-stained ones in his hand.

“Trust me, I know it’s far from,” you slowly pull out onto the avenue.

“Mimi… what kinda name is that?”

“It’s what the kids call me. It’s easy for them.”

“Easy. I like the sound of that.”

“Take it easy, alright?” You try to see past him as you stop at the intersection, “and lean your head back. It will help with the bleeding.”

He grumbles but does as you say. You feel a twinge in your chest. It’s your fault he’s like this. You shouldn’t have called him. Really, you don’t know why you did. You could’ve just taken the ticket and gone on your way.

🍑

“Aw, you stained your shirt,” you say as you drag a chair close to the sofa, “I can probably get it out though. Little secret my Nan taught me.”

Lloyd opens one eye, his glare just as intimidating at half-strength. He reclines with his head against the armrest, you have everything on the little round table behind him, ready to get him cleaned up. He rolls his eye before closing it again.

“I don’t know about the nose though,” you wet a cloth and gently reach to wipe the blood smeared across his cheeks and chin, “I’m not a doctor or anything.”

He flinches and growls. He doesn’t speak as you mop up his mustache, rubbing to get the dried blood out of the hair. He wiggles his nose and grunts, turning his head away.

“You’re pushing the hair up my nostrils, it tickles,” he waves you away.

“Well, I gotta clean it,” you insist, “if you could see yourself–”

“If we just went to my room like I said, I could.” 

You give him a look, huh?

“There’s a mirror on the ceiling,” he smirks as if it should be obvious.

“Right,” you continue your work, trying not to dab the bridge too hard.

“Shit, that stings, baby,” he hisses.

“Sorry,” you retract your touch, “it has to be done–”

“Is this why that idiot is obsessed? Cause you played mommy to him?”

You shrug. You don’t want to think about Johnny and what he did or didn’t like about you. You take some gause and some rubbing alcohol.

“This is gonna sting too,” you warn.

You look at him. His brow is cut too and his eye socket and cheekbone are swelling up and turning purple. You cluck as you daintily press along the broken skin.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He snips.

“Getting you hurt. I should’ve just dealt with it myself.”

“Maybe. But it was fun,” he lets out a squeak and nearly smacks you away. “Shit!”

“I’m being nice, I’m sorry–”

“Honey, you can be as nice as you want, my face is fucked. Lost cause… you should just play with my dick.”

You tilt your head and give him a look. He really has a one track mind. If it’s not violence, it’s… that.

“Please, mimi,” he pouts, pushing his lip out, “my dick really hurts. I just need you to rub it better for me.”

“One thing at a time,” you tut.

“Yes, mommy.”

You recoil and scoff. He cackles but stops quickly as he puts his hand over his nose. He groans and feels along his swollen nostrils.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” you puff out, “it’s gross.”

“Why not, mommy?”

“Lloyd,” you sneer.

“Oh, so you can get angry… I like it. Channel that rage… onto my dick–”

“Let me finish,” you grab his forehead and push his head back down, “then, you can have play time.”

“Ugh,” he relents, letting you hold him down, “yes, mimi, I’ll be a good boy.”

[lovedeatheren]

"He... doesn't.... deserve..... whatever." LMAOOOO he's such a loser😂

Genuinely cannot wait for this story to progress more

Carpe Noctem 7

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulatin, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You make yourself leave the bathroom, the smell of maple greeting you as Lloyd sets out the cardboard containers at the end of the bed. There's not much in the room besides the bed and television. He smirks as you elude his gaze.

"So, you a waffle girl–"

You take a container without concern for the contents and catch the plastic-wrapped cutlery as it rolls off the top. You turn your back to him and sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, his soles shifting as he slowly struts around the corner.

You flip open the box, balancing it on your lap as you open the fork and knife. You juggle awkwardly to pour the container of maple syrup over the French toast. He looms over you, a hand in the pocket of his powder blue pants.

"You put some ice on that?" He points to your cheek.

"I'm fine," you insist and cut into the eggy bread, "please, just say whatever little speech you have prepared and go."

He walks in front of you and clears his throat. He tugs on his pants before he sits beside you. You scarf down a mouthful, trying to focus on the food over him.

"You really gonna go back to a jackass who would do that to your pretty face?" He leans back on his arm, his shoulder behind yours. Too close for comfort.

"So you came to gloat?" You scoff.

"I came to repay the favour and let me make it clear, I don't do that shit. Favours, what the fuck ever. But baby, most women would left me stewing in that gin–"

"I should have," you scowl.

"But you didn't," he leans his shoulder into yours, "so the least I can do is offer you a place in your time of need."

"Uh huh, you seem like the generous type," you poke at a piece of crust.

"I brought you breakfast," he intones. You look at him sharply and he snickers, "alright, it doesn't come without some… terms."

"Terms?" You frown.

"Look, I don't do that pining bullshit. Sexual tension makes my balls ache, they fill up like pendulums and I can't walk straight–"

"You're disgusting."

"Sure am," he pulls his arm out from behind you and leans his elbows on his legs, "but I'm not gonna lie to your face then bash it in. I just want a little tit…" he looks you up and down, "for tat."

"Ew."

"Don't think of it too deep. We both got needs, even if you can't see it now but I know for a fact you haven't been fucked the way you should and I can do just that. Plus give you a nice room of your own and a place to get away from that man child you call an ex."

"Ex? We didn't–"

"Ugh, don't make me say all that sappy shit but you… don't… he doesn't… deserve… whatever. You know that old cliche."

"Wow, very moving," you close up the box, your appetite shriveled.

You get up, trying to make space between you and him. You put the box down and brace your hips.

"You got your work and life, I got mine. I'm just looking for some stress relief at the end of the day. It's nothing serious. Fuck, high five, go on our way."

You chew your lip. You don't even want to acknowledge the offer. It's gross and slimy. Just like him.

"And I'll help you get your shit from the dickless fuck before he destroys it. Make sure he doesn't go for round two on your mug."

You huff, blowing out air until your lungs thrum. You shake your head. You can't really be considering this.

You could call the twins and… they live with their parents still. Coworkers… they all have kids and families… your mother lives in a totally different city and you can barely be in the same room for more than an hour before you're ready to bawl.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Right," he pulls out his phone, "I'm looking at listings. Nice bachelor for, hm, 2400 a month. Good deal. Oh if you want a one bedroom that'll be another three hundred…"

"Stop. Stop," you face him, "I get it. Okay. I fucking…" you flinch and touch your cheek as it throbs, "I get it."

"Aw, baby face," he stands and nears you, surprising you as he nears and cradles your chin, "you just wait until I meet this fuckboy."

You look at him, defeated. You can't say it. You can't admit it. You're at a dead end and he's the only way out.

"Nah, you don't gotta say it… yet. But we both know the facts. So, you get your stuff, check out, and we'll do this step by step."

He spins and goes to the bed, scooping up your cell phone. You follow him as he keys into the screen and you try to take it from him. He keeps it out of your grasp and grins triumphantly.

"Alright, so my address is in there," he throws it onto the pillow, "I'll meet you there. Also, key code is on there too. Let yourself in."

"What? Where–"

"I got business, we'll debrief later," he winks at you, "in a manner of speaking."