#cw implied noncon

[stars-obsession-pit]

…oh.

My brain has had another idea for a problematic/unhealthy relationship for a fic.

CW/TW noncon (explicitly being held captive, possible implications that more might have happened) + kinda selfcest (Danny and Phantom are separated now, but they were originally just one person)

The Ultimate Enemy + Pitch Pearl

It starts with essentially the canon Ultimate Enemy timeline, up until it diverges when Vlad separates Danny’s ghost and human halves.

Unlike the canon version where Phantom is implied to have killed his human half, in this one Phantom’s emotions towards Danny are a bit more possessive.

Phantom hates the world. It hurt them over and over, destroying everything good they had. It’s an evil, corrupt place. Unlike his beautiful, perfect human side. Danny only wanted to help people, to protect them. And those people rejected him.

Danny may have only separated his ghost half to try to remove the pain he was feeling, but Phantom recognizes a different opportunity that he’s been given.

A chance to right the wrongs dealt to them. To show the world the error of their ways for rejecting Danny’s care. This time, Danny is going to be the one protected. Phantom is going to keep him safe. After all, if he destroys everything, there will be nothing left that could potentially harm his Danny.

And so, Phantom begins his rampage.

But in the meantime, he still needs to make sure Danny remains safe. So he takes him captive, locking him up in the most secure fortress he can find. It’s not perfect, but it should be enough to delay anything that could cause him harm. He’ll check in often to make sure Danny is safe. Both from the outside world, and from himself. He knows his human half is lonely, still mourning the losses of his family and friends. But Phantom will be there to remind him that he is loved, that he doesn’t need anyone else, that this is all for him.

And when it’s over, when everyone is gone but the two of them, won’t the night skies be oh so beautiful?

[whumping-in-the-dark]

Drabble #1- Mistake

Instead of using the usual whumper and whumpee placeholders for characters, I decided to give them names to try and connect with them more. I doubt it'll turn into a coherent story since atm I don't plan to connect all the drabbles but let's see how it goes. Also, I don't feel brave or knowledgeable enough atm to write noncon but hope to get there sometime in the near future. So any tips are welcome!

CW: sadistic whumper, pet whump, dissociation, suicidal thoughts, electrocution, implied noncon

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Theo lay huddled in the corner of the basement, clutching the thin sheets close to himself.

Marlon tsked. "What have I told you, boy? When I come downstairs, I want you on your knees, ready to accept my gifts for you."

Theo curled further into himself, eyes screwed shut. "Please..."

"Please, what?" Marlon huffed out. He'd kick Theo straight in the ribs- except that might just kill the pathetic thing. He hadn't been all that harsh with him either and yet he had come apart in a matter of weeks.

"I wanna go home... let me- let me go..." And of course, he was a whiner. "Please please pleeaasee-" His voice broke off with a quiet sob. Marlon hated whiners.

"Yeah? You're the little bitch who approached me; begged me to take you in. You said you would pay me back in any fucking way." It was true. They both knew it. "And now you have the audacity to be ungrateful?"

Theo pressed his palms into his eyes, shaking his head. "No- no, sir. I didn't know that's what you meant. I made a mistake. I was wrong. Please, no-"

Marlon took in a deep breath. He had to control his anger unless he wanted to kill his favorite pet. Crouching down, he reached over to stroke his hair. Theo flinched.

Marlon growled. Enough. He grabbed his pet's matted hair, wrenching his head up and forcing their eyes to meet. "It's too late for that now, darling." Without warning, he shoved the previously hidden tazer deep into his ribs, turning it on high. A sick grin spread across his face as he twisted it in, relishing in the way his pet screamed and thrashed around.

Theo scratched his throat raw as he cried out from the flashing pain. He knew it was bad for him to resist his master but he couldn't help but try everything in his power to escape his iron grasp. When Marlon finally let him fall back to the hard ground, he was left whining for breath- for any scrap of mercy from his master. There was none to be found.

In one swift move, Marlon had zipped off his pants and-

-when Theo finally returned to true consciousness he was left trembling on the floor, the sheets tainted red.

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 14: I Can’t Die Here

~2370 words

CW: aftermath of implied noncon, vampire whump, vampire feeding, offscreen fighting, carewhumper

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

Ariella - which he was allowed to call her when they were alone - was kind.

She’d given him his own room in the main lodge of her sprawling ranch - home to more than three dozen vampires. She’d already bought him two books in the month that he’d been there, and the promise of more hung on his good behavior. She’d bought a whole wardrobe for him. Everything was soft and stretchy and skimpy for easy access, but she let him pick the colors.

He’d picked black, to hide the stains.

She still followed all of Lara’s old safety rules: no keeping the same wound open for too long, for fear of infection; and no bites near the ‘danger zones’ of major arteries.

She never made him scream. She never hurt him for no reason.

It could be worse.

That’s what he told himself as she got up from the bed, and he pressed a clean cloth to a fresh bite on his outer forearm. His bedroom was large, and ostentatious, all dark rustic woods and woven fabrics. A small window showed a glimpse of mountains, and a thickly starry night sky. A massive deer head loomed above him on the wall - another one of Ariella’s prizes.

It could be worse.

He reached down and pulled a sheet up to cover himself - but Ariella caught it and twitched it away.

“Leave it,” she said gently, “I want to look at you.” She smiled down at him, her face sweet and round. Unintimidating, if you didn’t know her, which is why she refused to show it around strangers. She preferred to radiate power; but she needed no veil around Simon for him to feel that. He was helpless in her possession.

It could be worse.

Simon lay back, exposed, closing his eyes to stifle the pinpricks of tears that were forming. He longed for Matthew. His smile. His laugh. His quiet acceptance of all the ways in which Simon was broken. The way he made Simon feel smart, and funny. Simon's heart felt like it was burning a hole in his chest. Matthew would be dead if Simon weren’t here right now - that had to be worth it.

It could be -

“What was that?”

Simon opened his eyes to see Ariella, posed with her flannel dressing gown half-pulled on and her head cocked, listening.

“I don’t hear -” Simon started. Ariella silenced him with a raised hand. After a second longer she sprung into action, tying her robe tightly and striding to the door.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, uncharacteristically serious, “Stay here.”

Simon sat up to watch her leave, not sure what to feel. Something being wrong on the ranch could be good for him - a distraction that would keep Ariella away from him for a night or two.

Or it could be very bad. He had yet to see her angry.

He tied the cloth around his bitten forearm and went to his wardrobe. He got dressed quickly, in flowy shorts and a wide-necked t-shirt, both black. He hoped that the problem was something silly she would laugh with him about later, like a horse escaping.

Then he heard the screams.

They came from the west wing, where the stables were, and ended quickly. They weren’t wordless screams - they were certainly frightened, but they sounded like they were trying to communicate something. From this distance, Simon couldn’t tell. Then there was a crash, and the unmistakable sounds of fighting. Shouts, gunshots.

Simon shrank back against the wardrobe, hope and fear fighting each other in his chest. It could be the VIU, they could be here for him - but that’s impossible. Yarl told Simon himself, before the trade: no one would come for him. Which left… an attack by another vampire family.

The fear won out, and Simon scrambled to open the wardrobe and hide inside. This muffled the sounds of battle, but he could still hear that they ended suddenly. A long minute passed where he could only hear his own quick breathing, then it started again, closer this time. Whoever they were, they were moving towards him.

What if they’re here for you.

Simon pressed himself further back into the wardrobe, his heart pounding.

What if it’s Mr Rhodes?

What if it’s Gloria?

What if it’s…

What if it’s him?

A single set of heavy footsteps passed the door to the room. Simon held his breath, and they continued on. Soon after, the sounds of fighting started up in the east wing. These defenders sounded more prepared, more organized, and it lasted longer. Simon couldn’t listen anymore, he pressed his hands over his ears. He had no idea who to root for, or which outcome would be better for him. Maybe they’d all kill each other, and he could escape.

He eventually lifted his hands from his ears to discover silence. He couldn’t hear a single sound coming from anywhere in the massive lodge. He eased the door open a crack. Still nothing. He emerged from the wardrobe, and moved silently to the door of the room. What if this was his chance? What if he could slip out in the aftermath?

Suddenly he heard the heavy footsteps, marching swiftly towards him. He stumbled back from the door, Hide! his brain screamed, but the footsteps had already stopped, they were already opening the door, and standing there was -

Was -

“Matthew?” Simon breathed.

Matthew, beaten bloody, with an oozing bullet wound in his upper left arm. He wore all black, as usual, a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans. His knuckles were raw and red, and he carried a dented and bloody metal baseball bat that slipped out of his fingers and clattered loudly to the floor as he stood there, looking at Simon.

“Matthew!” Simon rushed forward, throwing his arms around Matthew’s neck and sobbing. “Oh my god, Matthew, how are you here, are you okay? Matthew, Matthew, I can’t believe it -”

Matthew seized Simon’s waist and sank his teeth into his shoulder.

Simon gripped the back of Matthew’s shirt tightly, sucking in a little hiss of air. His eyes stared blankly, wide and tearful, as the vampire wrapped his arms around him and fed.

“Matthew?” he whispered. But he knew it wasn’t Matthew anymore. Simon twisted slightly, trying to pull away, to no avail.

“Matthew?” He didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t think straight. His heart skipped a beat and he knew that much longer of this on top of what Ariella took would leave him unable to walk - or run. 

“Okay, Matthew?” he tapped the vampire’s back rapidly, his voice shaking, “Mathew, it’s time to stop. You need to stop.”

To his surprise, Matthew - the vampire - Matthew - released Simon and stepped back, baring his new incisors as he ran his tongue over his bloody lips and teeth. 

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least, “I haven’t fed from a human since I turned.”

Simon swayed on his feet, blood leaking from his shoulder. Old instincts kicked in: Keep him talking. 

“Oh wow,” he said, his voice sounding like it belonged to someone else, “How long ago was that?”

“Three weeks. Listen,” the vampire clearly wasn't keen on conversation, “We have a long drive ahead of us. Pack for three nights.” He crossed his arms and looked at Simon expectantly. 

Simon gulped. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home, to DC.”

“What about Mrs Peacock, and -”

“They’re all dead.”

“How -”

“Pack and put on your shoes or I’m taking you with nothing,” the vampire spat. 

“I don’t…” Simon couldn’t process what was happening. There was no way Matthew could have killed nearly forty vampires all by himself. Many of them were grade As, too. And now he wanted to take Simon home? For what purpose?

“Am I… yours, now?” Simon asked. 

The vampire laughed.

“I wish! No, human-me was smart. He put my smartphone, all of my IDs, bank cards, and stock information into a box and gave it to Gina for safekeeping until you were home safe. There’s no way I would have been able to torture the location out of her, you know how she is. Easier just to get you, and exchange you for my things.”

Simon’s eyes flitted over Matthew’s injuries, his bloody knuckles, and the metal bat.

“Easier?” he whispered. 

“Pack,” the vampire ordered, suddenly stern again, “I'm going to shower. Clean yourself up too, I don’t want blood in my car.”

He brushed past Simon and went into the en-suite. He didn’t bother closing the door, but he was out of sight, leaving Simon alone in the bedroom.

Simon’s legs gave out, and he sat down hard on the braided wool rug beneath him.

Matthew. Matthew is a vampire. He… He set up a bribe, for himself, to rescue you.

Matthew turned himself into a vampire for you.

Simon began to sob uncontrollably. Matthew was gone. Matthew was dead. And it was Simon’s fault.

Matthew certainly had been smart about it - once the government confirms a person is a vampire, their accounts are frozen and Border Control is alerted to their identity. A top priority for a new vampire is draining their accounts, cashing in their assets, and - if they have no ‘family’ - possibly fleeing the country for somewhere with no organized agencies like the VIU. Whatever Gina has, Matthew - the vampire - must need it to start a new life.

Simon wasn’t thinking about any of that, though. The blinding grief had abated just enough to make him realize that he had to go with Matthew. There was no other option; if the vampire left without him, Simon would be stranded on the ranch in the middle of God-knows-where. Based on the mountains and forests he could see from the windows, Simon guessed somewhere in the northwest - he’d never been good at geography, and no one had ever informed him of their location. There were a few cars on the premises, but Simon didn’t know how to drive. And since he was never let outside, he didn’t even have shoes.

I don’t even have shoes.

“What the fuck are you sitting here crying for? Let’s go.”

Matthew stood over him, glowering down, his hair dripping. Simon hadn’t heard him get out of the shower over his own crying. He lifted his tear-streaked face. Now that Matthew was clean, it was revealed that most of the blood on him hadn’t been his. The various scrapes and bruises he did have, and the bullet wound, were already healing. Unusually fast, even for a vampire.

“I don’t have shoes,” Simon said, his voice high and strained.

“Ugh,” Matthew strode to the door - and left. Simon stared after him, his heart rate rising.

Did he just leave? Is he leaving me behind? What if I starve here? Me, and the horses, and -

The others in the basement.

He’d never seen them, but he knew from Ariella talking with her lackeys that all the other vampires on the ranch were sustained by blood drawn from a handful of humans kept in the basement. And… Simon didn’t like to think about it, but the few times Ariella had overfed from him, he’d been given real blood to recover. From somewhere.

He struggled to his feet, intent on chasing after Matthew as best he could, but there the vampire was, in the doorway. He held a pair of boots, and an empty backpack.

“Try these,” he ordered, tossing the boots at Simon’s feet.

Simon quickly pulled them on as he talked, doing his best to ignore that they were warm.

“There are other humans trapped here, in the basement, if we don’t let them out they’ll starve down there,” he babbled, “And the horses too, please, I don’t want the horses to die -”

“Stop,” Matthew interrupted, “Someone here’s gotta have a cell phone, right? We’ll call 911 on our way out.”

For a moment Simon was stunned that Matthew agreed to do something.

“Thank you Matthew, thank you so much -”

“Don’t tie yourself in knots, I just figure you’ll be easier to deal with if I’m nice to you. Now would you fucking pack already.” His voice grew harsh and he threw the backpack at Simon.

“Yes!” Simon yelped, “Yes sir, sorry sir!” His face immediately heated as he realized he’d fallen into old habits. He turned his back on Matthew’s delighted smirk and went to the wardrobe, but he had to grab the handle to steady himself. He cautiously turned back to the vampire.

“I need to take care of my shoulder first.”

Matthew huffed.

“Fine. Make it quick.”

Simon went to a bedside cabinet where all his medical supplies were stored. Matthew had left a clean pair of punctures; Simon pulled off his bloodied shirt and made quick work of cleaning and bandaging them, and the bite on his arm for good measure. He also stuffed handfuls of bandages and antiseptic wipes into the backpack, anticipating the worst. He felt Matthew’s eyes wandering over his body, and he went to the wardrobe and put on a new, identical top. Then he grabbed handfuls of clothes and stuffed them into the backpack.

“I like your new style,” Matthew commented.

“It’s not mine,” Simon replied. He didn’t want to sound argumentative, but he couldn’t let anyone think he was dressed like this by choice.

“It should be. I always hated how stuffy you dressed, all slacks and button-downs 24-7.”

Simon stilled. He knew how the psychological change into vampirism worked - contrary to popular belief, a vampire is not the same person as before but with no filter or moral compass. No, becoming a vampire changes you into an entirely different person. 

But they keep all their human memories.

“You didn’t like it?” He couldn’t help his curiosity.

“No. Human me thought you were repressing yourself or something. I just think it’s lame. Let’s go.”

Simon pulled the backpack onto his good shoulder and jogged to keep up with Matthew. He’d have to be careful what he asked - he didn’t want to learn something that would ruin his memory of Matthew.

Having to hang out with what is essentially your boyfriend’s possessed corpse is pretty memory-ruining already.

~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

[fmaoldficarchive]

Winry/Rose- Fifty Sentences

By baeckahaesten and t3h_toby_chan - posted 2006-03-14 18:50:00 Live fic link Rating: PG-13 Mature Category: F/F Warnings: Implied past sexual assault Relationship(s): Rose Thomas/Winry Rockbell, implied Past Sheska/Winry Rockbell Character(s): Rose Thomas, Winry Rockbell, Rose's baby Original tags: !set alpha, fullmetal alchemist Summary: As a conjoined work of baeckahaesten and t3h_toby_chan, we bring you the fifty sentences of Winry and Rose.  (Baecka's in Blue and Toby's in Pink)

A really fun project to do, this got us to do a lot of thinking and exploration, and combines a lot of different writing styles, from blatant minimalism, to stringy drabble-like sentences. Lots of fluff, domesticity, angst, and everything in between.

PG-13 (For mild mentions of sex) End of Series Spoilers.

Winry, Rose and 'Baby Cain' are a ridiculously wholesome family!  :D

Please give feedback! <3

[hezele]

Astarion, the Techie (Cyberpunk AU)

Astarion has a doll chip, and works at a dollhouse that looks expensive in a gothic way and is sorta sketchy. He works at a place that caters to specific customer kinks. Cazador, the owner of the place, decides what ware and body mods the dolls get. Astarion got exotic biosculpting, red eyes, and vampyre teeth (aesthetic, non lethal).

Astarion is well versed with tech though and made his own modification to his vamprye teeth so they're no longer just aesthetic. He's got the kind that contains a dose of sedative or poison in them that he can inject in an assailant by biting them. He figures it’s a good last resort, in a pinch. Given his line of work, if he gets in a fight it'll likely be in close quarters. Although when he’s working with his doll chip on he has them set to be automatically inert in case of an accident while he’s mentally not there.

Despite his stealth skills, and day job, he's actually a tech in terms of skill set. He's especially good at disarming security systems. He's also learned how to modify and create stealth weapons (throwing knives, silienced guns, etc.) In his personal time he likes to tinker and build random tech and he likes to tailor. Sometimes he builds a little tech into the clothes he makes too.

[angelyuji]

webbed-up

spider-man x f!reader (noncon/kinktober week 1)

cw // noncon, shitty smut, implied stalking, dubcon

18+!!! minors dni!!!

“HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP!” it was the middle of the night and no one was out. you were all alone when someone had snatched your purse and ran. you chase after them, screaming for help, but no one was coming. you follow them into an alley and before you could continue screaming, a familiar voice comes from behind you.

“woah woah, what’s the issue here, cutie?” you turn to see spider-man standing before you.

“s-someone t-took my p-purse.” tears streaked your face as you sobbed.

he tilts his head and lifts his hand, “this purse?” you blink. your purse hung from his arm.

the relief came in waves, “oh my god thank you so much-” as you reach for the purse, he tosses it into the air and webs it to onto the wall of the alley. “-what are you…”

“since i helped you, you can help me, can’t you?” his voice was deep, and as he moved closer, you could feel your heart in your throat.

“y-you’re not spider-man, spider-man wouldn’t…” you back up, alarms going off in your head.

you hear him sigh, “spider-man has needs too, you know…. i mean, it’s only fair." you back up, looking around for a way to get out, “uh oh babe, are you trying to run?” before you could move, you feel your arm slam against the wall. “just stay still.” he grabs your other arm, forcing it against the wall, and webs it. you try to struggle, but you weren’t budging.

“please d-” your words were silenced as he webs your mouth closed.

“for today, i’d prefer your mouth closed.” his spandex-clad fingers go under your shirt, “god, how i’d love to really feel your skin.” chills go down your spine and you choke on your sobs. he coos, softly, his hands wandering down to grope your ass.

you try to scream through the webs, but your sound comes out strangled and muffled. spider-man taps your butt, “we don’t have much time, jump up and wrap your legs around me.” you shake your head and he huffs, “don’t be difficult. the faster we get this done, the better it’ll be for you.” he tilts his head. you test the webs trapping your arms once more, seeing no change, you try to jump in little space you have. he makes sure to grab your ass, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. you could feel his hard cock under the suit, pressing against your cunt. you let out a panicked sound at the feeling. he groans, letting his head drop to your shoulder. slowly, he rolls his hip into you, pressing himself closer. you let out a muffled moan and you hear him chuckle.

“i wish i could taste you.” he groans into your ear, as he grinds against you. you could feel heat starting to pool at your abdomen as he gets rougher. “my good girl, my pretty girl.” his voice was dripping in pleasure as he breathlessly groaned, getting faster. you couldn’t hold back your moans and spider-man gets faster hearing you. you let out muffled pleas, as you feel the coil tighten in your abdomen. “i hear you, cutie, i hear you.” he grinds you against him for the final time and you feel that coil snap as pleasure washes over you in waves. you hear him groan and slump, pulling you as close as he could without hurting you.

a few minutes pass before spider-man collects himself, letting your legs drop to the ground, “this-” he gestures between the two of you, “-was great. let’s do this again sometimes.” he blows you a kiss and swings away, leaving you attached to the wall. after another 15 minutes, you feel the webs start to disintegrate. you rip your arms out and pull the webs covering your mouth off, letting you loudly sob. you snatch your purse off and dig out your phone, in between your choked whimpers.

the phone rings for a few minutes, before he picks up, “p-peter? c-could you come pick me up? p-please?”

his voice was sympathetic, “god, of course, (y/n)… i’ll be right there.”

[icepip]

big brother yuta making you sit on your lap even though you tell him you're too big.. his long fingers gripping your hips too tight when his cock twitches beneath you. you were just trying to get comfortable but it sure felt like you were grinding against him, practically begging for him to just slide the tip inside..

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 12

1922 words

CW: implied noncon, forced to listen, gun violence, bombings

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Tao woke suddenly, blinking up at the underside of a bed. The only thing he could think about was the pain in his leg. The kind of pain that made his brain go holy shit holy shit holy shit are we dying?

Until he remembered how it happened.

He rolled his eyes around. He lay on the lower of a pair of bunk beds, in a tiny cinderblock room with a toilet-sink combo in the back corner. The door was metal, with a small safety-glass window.

He pushed himself up on his elbows with a grunt, and took stock of his knee. It was covered by loose orange pants – he wore a shirt that matched – but when he reached down to feel it, it seemed to be immobilized by some sort of slim-fitting cast underneath that stretched from mid-thigh to mid-shin.

Exhausted by even that small amount of movement, Tao dropped back onto the threadbare pillow with a sigh. The bunk above him shifted.

“Tao? You awake?”

Vic dropped down from the upper bunk, and crouched at Tao’s side.

“Hey,” he said when he saw Tao’s open eyes, “How’re you feeling?”

Tao took a breath and turned his face away.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Vic,” he said slowly, “But fuck you.”

“Woah, what?” Vic laughed nervously.

“I know about you and Lark,” Tao hissed.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh!’” Tao looked back at Vic, suddenly filled with rage. “Why the fuck would you do that?!”

Vic sat back on his heels, the guilt clear on his face.

“He begged me to, Josh,” he said quietly, “I didn’t understand what… I just didn’t understand.”

Tao fumed in silence for a minute.

“If it weren’t for my leg,” he said eventually, “I’d kick your ass, right now.”

“Yeah, that – that’s fair,” Vic yielded.

“And now Lark is… fuck!” Tao pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to push away the visions of Lark, lying like a broken doll on the stone stage. But it wasn’t just Lark – it was all the rebels who had died that night. Tao’s friends, his comrades. And who knew how many more had fought to the death rather than be captured. The sense of loss threatened to overwhelm Tao, clawing at the inside of his chest and stealing his breath.

“I’m so sorry, Tao,” said Vic, his voice hollow with unshed tears, “I’m so sorry.”

Tao didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what would happen to them. He didn’t know what would happen to what once was the United States, now that the Commander was dead.

Somehow, he felt that it would be bad.

~~~

Marina was inconsolable when they reached the rendezvous point and Karlo and Tao weren’t there.

Faye had revealed a rare human side, and held her tightly as she screamed and cried.

They set up camp in the penultimate level of a parking garage, the only structure left of an otherwise leveled town. It gave them good visibility of the surrounding area, and a long radio reach.

They listened to coms chatter all night. The news that the Commander was dead was met with solemn silence – as was the announcement that a group of captured rebels were being taken to the Capital prison.

Marina started looking at maps.

In the weak light of early morning, Marina approached Becca.

“Is it possible to make bombs out of car batteries?”

Becca didn’t reply. But when Hannah said, “Oh hell yeah you can!” Becca didn’t exactly say no, either.

~~~

Being trapped in the prison cell was torture. Tao was provided no pain medication, so he sweated, and groaned, and writhed. The lights never turned off, so he slept in fits and starts, daydreams seeping into nightmares spilling into daydreams. The axe coming down. The deathmasks of his friends. A car in flames.

Food was delivered to them through a slot in the door at odd hours and in inconsistent portions, as if to keep them confused. Or perhaps, with the Commander gone, his systems were falling apart. Who knew.

It felt like days before their monotony was finally interrupted by the door flinging open with a bang, startling Tao and Vic out of their restless dozing.

General Gordon stood in the doorway, a wild smile on his face.

“Tao, right?”

Tao kept his mouth shut, watching the General warily, but Gordon shrugged.

“Don’t bother lying, Lark told us everything.”

“He’s alive?” gasped Tao, pushing himself upright.

“Of course he’s alive, why would I waste an ass like that?”

Tao gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”

Gordon’s eyes glinted above his smug grin.

“I want to make a trade.” He stepped further into the cell, and a soldier moved to take his place in the doorway. The soldier held a pair of crutches.

“You get these,” the General proposed, “As long as you listen very nicely, very politely, to this recording that I have.” He pulled a small device out of his pocket.

It would be nice to not need Vic’s help to use the toilet, Tao thought, but there was no way this was that simple.

Gordon didn’t wait for an answer, however. He continued on.

“Yes, Lark’s been a very good boy for us. After we patched him up, I decided the boys in the barracks deserved a treat. They’ve been so loyal. I stop by every once in a while, and Lark makes… just the prettiest noises.”

He hit a button on the recorder. Wordless, rhythmic, painful cries, high and plaintive, came through tinny and small from the recorder’s meager speaker.

Tao felt every muscle in his body tense. The pain in his leg pulsed as his heart rate picked up. Horror and rage flooded his system.

“What the fuck?” he hissed.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Gordon scolded him cheerfully, “You have to listen quietly if you want-”

“Fuck your crutches!” With nothing else at hand, Tao threw his pillow at the General. It hit him in the face, and when it fell harmlessly away he was no longer smiling.

“Fine.” He clicked the recording off, just as a voice was asking, “You like that, don’t you, you dirty-” “Have it your way.” Clearly pissed that his mind-games hadn’t gone according to plan, he turned on his heel to leave. But as he was passing through the doorway the whole building shook with an unholy, cacophonous crash. It sent Gordon stumbling, and reverberated through Tao’s bones.

“What the hell is that?” the General shouted over the continuing rumbles, then, seeing something off to the side exclaimed, “Oh shit!” He took off, slamming the cell door behind him.

Vic jumped down from the upper bunk and pressed his face to the little window in the door.

“Oh shit indeed!” he echoed the General, “Tao, you’re never going to believe this!” He grinned over his shoulder.

“What?” Tao demanded, his hopes rising.

“It’s the Watch, they blew the fucking wall open! And…” Vic took a step back and tried the door. It opened. “Yes!”

Tao, grunting with pain, heaved his injured leg off the bed to rest on the floor. “Come help me!”

“Hang on!” Vic ducked through the door out of sight for a moment before returning, bearing the crutches. “They left something behind!”

He helped Tao to his feet and situated the crutches under his arms. Outside their cell, the building continued to rumble and shouts echoed as orange-suited prisoners ran past their door. Tao followed Vic out of their cell into the chaos.

The prison block, Tao could now see, was a two-story structure of cells encircling an empty, open space in a U-shape. The side with no cells, to their left, was blown open, with clouds of dust yet to settle over scattered rubble. Through the hole in the wall was another chamber, but it obviously reach the exterior somewhere beyond that – the prisoners, who had all at this point realized this was their chance at freedom, were making a collective mad dash for the open wound in the building. Standing within the tide, but letting them through, was a group of Watchmen; kitted out with stolen and scavenged weapons and tactical gear, blacked out with spraypaint. One of them held two prison guards on their knees at gunpoint off the to side; looking around, Tao couldn’t see any other guards.

“Let’s go!” Vic started across the atrium towards the Watch, waving an arm, “Over here!”

“Wait!” Tao shouted, “Where did that rat-fuck General go? He knows where Lark is!”

Two of the Watchmen had spotted them and run over. It was Hannah with a rifle, and someone else with a pistol, who shouted, “Where’s Karlo!”

Tao did a double take. “Marina?!”

Indeed, it was Marina’s face peeking out from under an oversized helmet. Her angrily determined expression was a familiar comfort.

“Where’s Karlo? Is he here with you?” she demanded.

“No, but a man was just here…” Tao scanned the room, and almost dropped a crutch when he pointed, “There!” A face flashed in one of the cell door windows before ducking down. “He knows where Lark is!”

Hannah unslung an extra rifle from her shoulder and handed it to Vic. “Let’s get the bastard!”

They charged towards the cell where General Gordon was hiding, Tao taking a second to figure it out before finding he could swing himself along fairly fast on the crutches.

“How the hell’d you get here?” he asked as they moved.

“It’s fuckin’ wild out there, boss!” Hannah replied, “Everything’s falling apart now that the Commander’s dead, soldiers are abandoning the Capital or holing themselves up in barracks, Capital civilians are rioting, this prison was being run by a skeleton crew!” They reached the cell door. “Once we started blowing shit up, motherfuckers ran.”

Vic looked into the cell through the little window.

“There are more of us than there are of you!” he shouted, “Drop your weapons, now!” There was a pause, then he looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Fuckin’ cowards!” He flung open the door and lifted his rifle. Inside stood Gordon and the soldier who had been carrying the crutches, their arms raised and their pistols on the floor. Gordon’s face was a twist of fear attempting to hide behind rage.

“Kick ‘em to me!” Vic ordered, and they had no choice but to scuff their guns across the floor to the rebels. Hannah scooped them up, sticking one in her own belt and handing the other to Tao. Tao tucked it into his waistband, and stepped forward.

“You’re going to take us to Lark now,” he said, “You got that?”

Gordon was breathing hard, trying to sneer but failing as his chest heaved and his hands shook.

“Fine,” he hissed.

Vic gestured with his gun for the General to walk forward. Then he swung his weapon towards the soldier.

“Eh. We don’t need you.” He aimed down and shot the soldier in the foot.

“Vic!” someone shouted over the solder’s scream, “Geneva convention!”

Tao turned to see Becca and the rest of the Watch had joined them, along with the surviving captured rebels and what looked like a few new volunteers, in their orange prison uniforms.

Vic beamed at her. “Sue me later?”

“Quit fucking around!” Tao shouted, and turned on Gordon, “Take us to Lark, now!”

Gordon slowly walked forward, keeping his arms raised. He was doing less to hide his fear, now, and watched them all warily.

Becca stepped aside to let him through.

“Lead the way, fucker.”

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em, @morning-star-whump, @thecyrulik, @honeycollectswhump, @pumpkin-spice-whump

[snail-day]

I love your yandere fics so much!! You write them so well like how imagined them to be! Can i request a yandere!gojo with celebrity reader. Gojo is a smitten fanboy (he finally found his match a beauty that can be on par or surpass his looks) who then kidnaps reader and with somno and mindblowing smut (he is intimate and makes love, very sensual — but sometimes can be cruel when reader is not cooperative), very obsessive and possesive behavior, where reader eventually falls into a stockholm syndrome when she realizes he is the only one who can lover her like that.

Ah, anon, fanboy gojo is a horrifying gojo. I couldn't fit the somno in there my bad but I did let em get frisky. Yan!Gojo x Idol! Reader TW: Yandere Behaviors (Heavy in obsession & manipulation, stalking, trapping), Non Curse AU, Noncon / Dubcon, Stockholm Syndrome, Unbalanced power dynamic, Lifesize Doll, Gojo is just a fucking creep in this one. Reader has bad ending and is going through it. MDNI A/n: There's something absolutely horrifying about just anyone with too much money. Also, this one gave me an icky feeling, like really icky to the point where I had to go play some wii sports for some serotonin . So just fair warning on that everyone.

So this would definitely take place in a non-curse AU where the Gojo family reigns supreme over an empire of companies, including your idol agency. Satoru’s obsession with you began long before his parents handed him the keys to your career as a "gift" for his 21st birthday. By then, he already had an entire shrine dedicated to you—a collage of your debut album covers, grainy videos from your first audition, and meticulously preserved cut-outs of you in your signature frilly stage outfits.

He even went as far as purchasing your stockings and, disturbingly, a vial of your sweat from an online auction. Because when it came to you, no price was too steep, no boundary too sacred.

Satoru had been such a good boy, after all. He kept his record spotless, avoided any scandals, and played the part of the dutiful heir to perfection. So, for his birthday, the Gojo family rewarded him in the grandest way possible: a private concert (in their household theatre)  featuring none other than his favorite obsession.

Lucky you.

"Why do I always end up with the creeps?" you muttered under your breath backstage, steeling yourself for what was to come. You’d been expecting a small, exclusive audience—maybe a handful of elite guests alongside the infamous Gojo Satoru. Instead, the venue was eerily empty, save for one man sitting dead center in the front row.

Of course, it was him.

Satoru lounged in his seat, his long legs spread comfortably and his unrelenting gaze fixed on the stage. Those icy blue eyes shimmered with a kind of deranged excitement.

Still, you plastered on your most radiant smile, the same one that had been drilled into you since your debut, and stepped onto the stage. "Satoru-kun!" you called sweetly, your voice dripping with feigned delight.

That simple acknowledgment sent him into a visible frenzy. He straightened immediately, his grin stretching impossibly wide, the edges almost unhinged. His hands clutched the armrests of his chair as if holding himself back from leaping onto the stage.

"Satoru-kun," you repeated, your tone syrupy enough to mask the bitterness in your throat. The way his eyes sparkled, as though you’d just handed him the universe, made your skin crawl.

Why did he have to smile like that? Why did it feel like this wasn’t just a concert, but some kind of trap?

You swallowed hard and launched into your first song, your voice steady even as your heart raced. Through it all, his gaze never wavered, and you could swear that he wasn’t just listening—he was memorizing every note, every movement, every glance in his direction.

The worst part? You could feel that manic, suffocating grin even with your eyes closed.

The final note faded, and you lowered the mic with a practiced flourish, painting on a dazzling smile despite the tight knot in your stomach. Applause didn’t erupt—just a slow, deliberate clap from the lone figure seated in the otherwise empty venue. Each measured beat sent an icy shiver down your spine.

"Bravo! Amazing, as always," Satoru called, his voice laced with the kind of excitement that made your skin crawl. His bright grin stretched wider, his icy blue eyes fixed on you like a predator watching its prize.

Suppressing the urge to grimace, you clasped your hands in front of you and tilted your head, letting out a bubbly laugh. “Aww, Satoru-kun, you’re too sweet! You always know how to make a girl feel special!” Your voice was light, airy, laced with the charm your agency had drilled into you since day one.

His grin widened, if that was even possible, and he leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin in his palm. “Only because you are special, [Y/N]-chan.”

You swallowed back the bile creeping up your throat and gave a coy wave, bowing deeply. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoyed the show!”

The second you turned and stepped offstage, the smile dropped from your face like a mask sliding off. Your jaw clenched as you made your way backstage, your mind racing. What is wrong with this guy?

Inside the dressing room, you immediately set to work peeling off your stage outfit and shoving your things into your bag. The faint hum of the mirror bulbs was the only sound as you yanked off your heels, wincing at the ache in your feet. “Just a few more minutes,” you muttered to yourself, your tone dark and venomous, “and I’m out of here.”

A sharp knock at the door shattered the momentary quiet. Your heart sank. “Just a minute!” you chirped, forcing the syrupy sweetness back into your voice. But your hands trembled as you zipped up your bag. He wouldn’t come backstage, would he?

The door creaked open without waiting for a response, and your worst fears were realized.

Satoru stepped in as though he owned the place—which, you supposed, he technically did—and shut the door behind him with a soft click. The sound of the lock sliding into place sent a chill racing down your spine.

You plastered on another sunny smile, turning to face him. “Satoru-kun! What a surprise! Did you come to say goodbye?” Your voice was an octave higher than usual, chipper and fake as it could get, but he didn’t seem to notice. If anything, it only made his smile softer, more adoring.

“Goodbye?” he repeated, tilting his head as if the very idea was foreign to him. “Oh, no, [Y/N]-chan. The night’s just getting started. I thought we could spend some time together. Just the two of us.”

You laughed, the sound forced and overly bright. “Oh, Satoru-kun, you’re so funny! I’m sure you’re busy, though, and I wouldn’t want to keep you—”

He interrupted by stepping closer, and you instinctively took a step back, your spine hitting the edge of the dressing table. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous now, something far too intense.

“I made sure I wouldn’t be busy,” he said softly, his voice unnervingly calm. “This is a special night, after all.”

Your hands tightened around the strap of your bag, but your bubbly mask stayed firmly in place. “You’re so thoughtful, Satoru-kun! But really, I’m just so exhausted from performing—I don’t want to ruin your night by being a boring old workaholic!”

His smile faltered, just for a second. The glint in his eyes shifted to something colder.

“Ruining my night?” he echoed, his voice dropping a pitch. He stepped even closer, his long fingers brushing against the edge of your bag. “Oh, [Y/N]-chan, you could never ruin anything for me. You’re perfect. That’s why I waited so long for this.”

The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Still, you kept the mask on, even as your pulse thundered in your ears. “Satoru-kun, you’re such a charmer!” you said with a giggle, though the sound nearly cracked under the weight of your fear. “But really, I—”

“Enough.” His voice was soft but firm, and it froze you in place. The playful tone was gone, replaced by something sharper. His hands found your hips, firm but not painful—yet. “You don’t have to pretend with me, [Y/N]-chan. I know what you really need. What you deserve.”

For a split second, the mask cracked. Your smile faltered, your eyes betraying the panic clawing at your chest. But you quickly forced it back into place, stretching your lips into something resembling a cheerful grin. This wasn’t just any creep—this was the owner of your agency. The man who could ruin your career with a single word. Rejecting him wasn’t an option.

“Oh, Satoru-kun!” you said with a bright laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “You’re too kind, really!”

His expression softened at your attempt, though the unsettling hunger in his eyes never wavered. “I want to show you something,” he murmured, his voice low and syrupy as he stepped closer.

Before you could react, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. The sharp scent of his cologne—overly expensive and cloyingly strong—invaded your senses, making your head spin. You froze as you heard him inhale deeply, the sound sending an involuntary shudder down your spine.

“That’s it,” he sighed, as if your discomfort was the most intoxicating thing in the world.

You swallowed hard, suppressing the wave of revulsion rising in your chest. “Y-Yeah, sure. Anything you want,” you said, forcing another fake giggle. The bile was starting to creep up your throat, but you choked it back.

Satoru straightened, beaming like you’d just granted him his deepest wish. Without another word, he grabbed your hand and tugged you along, his grip firm but not painful. His long strides made it hard to keep up, and you stumbled slightly as he led you down a long, opulent hallway.

“This way,” he said brightly, his excitement bubbling over as he opened a door at the end of the hall. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to show you this.”

The room you stepped into wasn’t just a bedroom—it was a shrine.

Your face froze in a practiced smile, but your stomach churned violently. Every inch of the walls was covered with photos of you, from professional headshots to candid moments you didn’t even know had been captured. A glass case in the corner held memorabilia from your career: props from music videos, outfits you’d worn onstage, and even a pair of shoes you’d discarded years ago. The bed, an enormous thing with crisp white sheets, was adorned with pillows printed with your image.

And in the center of it all, on a pedestal near the window, was a life-sized figure. You.

Your knees nearly buckled at the sight. It was a doll replica, eerily accurate down to the smallest details. The same smile you forced onstage, the same sparkle in your eyes. But the longer you stared, the more disturbing it became.

“Oh, this isn’t even the best part!” Satoru chirped, oblivious—or perhaps delighting in—your horror. He dropped your hand and strode over to the pedestal, gesturing at the figure like a proud artist showing off their masterpiece. “It’s perfect, don’t you think? Just like the real thing.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you clutched your bag to your chest. “I-I don’t even know what to say, Satoru-kun,” you managed, your voice strained despite your best efforts to sound enthusiastic.

His gaze snapped to you, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. “Say you love it,” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air.

“I love it,” you echoed immediately, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you might vomit right there on the pristine floor.

Satoru’s grin returned, softening into something almost tender. “I knew you would,” he said, stepping closer until he was mere inches away. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch that made your skin crawl. “It’s because it’s all for you, [Y/N]-chan. All of it. Everything I do is for you.”

Your smile wavered as you nodded, the muscles in your face aching from the effort to keep it in place. Inside, you screamed.

He began to ramble, his voice drifting into an almost giddy monologue as he circled the room. “The doll is great, don’t get me wrong,” he said, gesturing at the figure with a flourish. “But it’s not you. It doesn’t feel like you.” His words trailed off into something quieter, almost wistful. “At least… not yet.”

You didn’t want to know what he meant by that, and you weren’t about to ask. Instead, you kept your fake smile plastered on and nodded along, praying he’d lose interest and let you leave.

“But…” He stopped mid-sentence, turning to face you with that same soft, disarming smile that would’ve melted hearts if it weren’t attached to someone so terrifying. He stepped closer, and you instinctively backed up, only to find the edge of the bed pressing into the backs of your knees.

“You can be the real thing for me, right?” he asked, his tone almost teasing, as if this were some innocent joke between friends. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, deceptively gentle as he guided you to sit down.

“Satoru-kun…” you began, your voice high and airy with forced politeness. “I-I’m not sure what you mean—”

“Oh, come on.” He crouched down to your level, his face just inches from yours now. The smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, [Y/N]-chan. I mean… heh…” His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating, but the threat behind it was crystal clear. “Imagine if the media found out we did something together? Your career would be over, wouldn’t it?”

Your blood ran cold. The bile that had been simmering in your throat threatened to rise, but you swallowed it down, forcing another laugh. “Satoru-kun, you’re so funny! You know I’d never want to disappoint you, but—”

“You wouldn’t disappoint me.” His interruption was immediate, his voice firm but still unnervingly calm. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he was eager to solve. “You’d make me the happiest man in the world, [Y/N]-chan. That’s all I want.”

The weight of his hands on your shoulders grew heavier, and for the first time, the mask you wore faltered completely. You could feel the edges of your resolve cracking as panic clawed at your chest.

“I—I think I should go,” you stammered, your voice trembling now. “It’s been such a long night, and I’m so tired—”

“Shhh.” His finger pressed lightly against your lips, silencing you. “No need to rush. You’re home now. With me.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating, as he gently pushed you back onto the bed.

You felt caged, trapped beneath him as he leaned down and kissed you with a fervent passion that left no room for doubt. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that sent heat spiraling through your body, surprising you with how skilled he was. How is he this good? you wondered, a flicker of reluctant curiosity slipping into your thoughts. For someone with a room like this, you didn’t expect him to know his way around intimacy so well.

When his kisses trailed down your neck, you couldn’t suppress the small sounds that escaped your lips—tiny, breathy moans that only encouraged him. You hated how natural it felt, how easy it was to let yourself melt just a little under his touch.

His hands moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your soft frilly blouse and sliding it down your arms. The fabric fell away without ceremony, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air. He unhooked your bra without even looking, his attention fixed on you as if you were the only thing in the universe.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “So beautiful. I can’t believe you’re real.” His voice was thick with awe, the kind of adoration that would have been flattering in another context. Here, it only added to the strange, heady mix of fear and something else stirring in your chest.

You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your mind a blur of conflicting emotions. Part of you screamed to push him away, to escape this madness before it consumed you. But another part—a quieter, insidious part—was starting to crave the way he made you feel. The way he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

When he pulled out a condom, your breath hitched. He held it up with a playful smirk, his icy blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Can’t have my favorite girl off the stage because of a baby,” he teased, the words delivered so casually it made your head spin.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your body caught between tension and reluctant desire. “S-Satoru-kun…” you murmured, your voice softer now, less forced. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say—if you were trying to stop him or if you were giving in.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t worry, [Y/N]-chan. I’ll take care of everything. Just trust me.”

And for some reason, at that moment, you did.

His actions surprised you. For all the unsettling obsession and the manic energy that seemed to define him, he was unexpectedly gentle. Every hitch of your breath, every flinch, had him pausing immediately, his hands soothing against your skin. He pressed soft kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your jawline, as if trying to reassure you, as if trying to prove that this was about more than just possession.

Each movement was careful, each thrust deliberate, his pace slow and measured, as though he was determined not to hurt you. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice how his body seemed to move in perfect rhythm with yours, how his touch sent shivers coursing down your spine—not from fear, but from how good it felt. It felt almost too wrong for it to feel this good. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “So much better than I ever imagined. So much better than… than her.”

You knew exactly what he meant by her—that unsettling doll that resembled you sitting in the room. But there was no malice in his tone, no frustration, only unbridled awe. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a breathless babble. “So warm, so soft… so real.”

His hands caressed your sides, trailing down to grip your hips with a reverence that made your chest tighten. “You don’t understand, [Y/N]-chan. I’ve waited for this. For you. I’ve dreamed of having you here, like this, for so long.” His lips found yours again, and this time, you kissed him back. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of obligation—or perhaps something else entirely, something you weren’t ready to confront.

“I’m so happy,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. His hips ground against yours with a practiced ease that sent shivers through your body, small, involuntary moans slipping from your lips. You weren’t even sure anymore if they were fake.

His icy blue eyes softened, a vulnerability shining through that you hadn’t expected, a strange mix of desperation and adoration. “So happy you’re finally here with me. You belong here. With me.”

The words sent a wave of unease crashing over you, yet his touch—so deliberate, so intimate—made it harder to hold on to that feeling. His pace quickened, his rhythm building into something that pulled soft cries from your throat, cries you weren’t sure belonged to the person you thought you were.

And then it was over, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your ears. You stared blankly at the ceiling, the tension in your body refusing to dissipate even as the room fell silent.

Silently thankful for that condom.

Satoru, however, seemed perfectly at ease. He snuggled into you with a satisfied sigh, his face pressed against your chest, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. 

His white hair tickled your skin, and without thinking, your fingers found their way into it, absently threading through the soft strands. The motion felt automatic, like muscle memory from a life you weren’t supposed to be living. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, questions you didn’t have answers to. Yet, as he murmured something incoherent against your skin, his voice content and heavy with sleep, you found yourself continuing the motion, stroking his hair in a way that felt far too natural.

Because even if it’s love from some creep, maybe that’s the kind of love you crave.

The thought sat heavy in your chest, an unwelcome truth that made your stomach twist. You’d never had someone hold you like this, never had someone look at you the way he did—as if you were the entire world, as if you were the answer to every question he’d ever asked. It was overwhelming, suffocating, and yet…

It was something.

Your fingers paused in his hair for a moment, hovering as if they’d been burned by the thought. But then his arms tightened around you, his face nuzzling deeper into your chest, and a soft, contented sigh escaped his lips. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

Maybe you didn’t deserve something better. Maybe this was all there was.

So, you let him hold you. You let your fingers tangle in his hair again, let yourself relax just enough to make it through the moment. Because even if it was wrong, even if it wasn’t the love you’d dreamed of, at least it was real. At least it was something.

[kabr0ztrousers]

hi, big fan of your writings!! could you do a fem!reader being free-use’d and bred by anthropomorphic bug people, with noncon/dubcon, and intox/drug venom? the darker and more objectifying, the better!

More bugs? Plus egging, intox, noncon and the reader having a really, really bad time? Sounds like fun!

Kabr0z Writes Episode 45: Resistance

This episode concerns Chitinids, we've seen them before in episodes 25 and 26

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Noncon; warcrimes; military occupation; intox; freeuse; Interspecies; group sex; oviposition; implied impending character death; parasitic pregnancy; forced breeding;

A/N: Another day, another reminder that requests are open, and that if you want to see anything, send an ask or a DM and it'll be added to the list of stories to tell!

Long-time readers will notice a bit of a retcon with a returning species of alien bugs, but hell to it! Nobody's reading these for the rich, cohesive world

#########################################

The cities were clean. The streets quiet. Everything eerily safe and sterile. The Chitinid gunships patrolling sky saw to that. They were silent, hanging ominously in the air in exactly the way bricks don't.

You hurried from your office, aiming to get to the old library before one of them noticed something awry. There's always people on the streets, going to and fro, everybody had jobs although nobody really did anything at them. The work was just sitting in meetings and firing off salvos of emails that would be diligently opened and summarily ignored. Chitinid tech had ended world hunger, cured almost all disease, even fixed the climate. Only problem is, it came at the cost of billions of human lives.

They didn't try to hide the farms, where people were processed and converted to semi-conscious milk producers, or the trade in human pets where some of the wealthiest of your insectile overlords would own a human or four, implanting them with cruel machinery to force their subservience. They also didn't hide the 60-minute war, the last stand of the old world. London, New York, Washington, LA, every city with more than a million people was emptied within ten minutes of formal first contact. Humanity launched every warhead that seventy years of paranoia and hate had stockpiled. Those suspension fields caught every one, redirecting them to deep space. The last of mankind capitulated.

Except you, and a dozen or so others you knew of. Rebels in the dark. Your cell was in terse contact with another, who told you they knew of at least one other, and so the chain went on. It's safer if no one link in the chain know too much about any of the others, but some interesting word has come down the grapevine. In your bag was a thermos filled with nitroglycerin, one of your friends was working on a detonator, a set of elevator codes had came over the radio.

The plan was simple, get to the parts together, get to the roof of a building, and drop the package onto a gunship. It wouldn't win the war, it wouldn't even reallt slow them down, but it would send a message. They hadn't won yet, far from it.

The cell met in a cellar under the library. The building had been a pub decades ago, and the old cellar still existed under the stone floor, the hatch hidden under a rug behind the reception desk. Nobody said much, the group was too close knit to need signs and countersigns. The device came together gradually, a cacophony of held breath as the mercury fulminate charge was lowered into the flask, and you were set.

No time to lose. The plan was your baby, and you weren't going to leave it to chance. The codes you had were for an office building, likely to be empty this late at night. You dodged the pools of light coming from the streetlamps. The foyer was unlocked, as promised, and the lift code worked. Clutching your flask to your chest, you ascended the building. It used to be some bank or other, now it's the same office as everywhere else, but the building was still tall.

The penthouse office. You moved carefully, an overeager step would echo off the polished marble tile. The huge desk stood unoccupied, the roof access behind it. You made for the rail overlooking the west corner of the building, and there it was. A black shape on the dim streets below. The gunship stopped at the intersection and scanned its surroundings. You dropped the bomb.

An azure light caught it in midair, projected from the gunship. You ran. A confinement field shone down over you, inches from the door back into the office. Dust whipped around you. The world flipped.

You're in a cell now. Three Chitinids stood watching you. They spoke amongst themselves, or maybe they were speaking to you? You never learned the chittering language they used, and they don't normally speak English. You tried to move in the azure light, the tingling numbness stopped that. One of the bugs held a screen to your face. The library. Your stomach knotted up as you realised, this is a live feed.

Gunfire rained on the old building, within seconds it was rubble, a minute reduced it to a hole. You screamed, rage and hate filling your voice. The bugs laughed, keeping up the bombardment.

One approached you, pushing its sharp mandibles into your face. Strong hands gripped your clothing, tearing it off. You floated, naked and immobile as the three bugs paced around you, pinching and prodding, laughing at your yelps and threats. One grabbed your ass, pulling you weightlessly towards it in the field. A sharp barb jutted out from its mouthparts, and sank into your shoulder.

Your yells turned to moans. It had drugged you with something. Your body got hotter. You tried to turn and grapple it, but all the strength in the world wouldn't move you. One in front stepped up to you, both forelimbs on your tits as one of the lower arms grabbed your cunt, sinking angled fingers into you.

Your body spasmed, you swore as you felt yourself clench around him. The one behind you laughed and bit you again, giving you another dose of the venom.

You came around the fingers stuck in you, cursing and crying as you did. It released your tits and knelt down in front of you, using its forelimb to tease your clit as it pumped its hand into you.

Tears welled in your eyes as you felt another orgasm come on, you tried to suppress it. The one forcing its hands into your cunt bit you. Its mouth barb lanced into the flesh above your womb, instantly driving you over the edge again. You felt yourself spasm and squirt uncontrollably as the roaches laughed at you again. They tipped you over, flipping you end over end in the light, bringing you to rest face-up, waist high to them.

They loomed over you. Sizing you up as you quivered and squirmed, your breath catching, fluid still dripping in thick droplets from your cunt. Chitinous plates parted on the one stood near your face. A long, ribbed appendage slid out of the gap, dripping dark fluid of its own onto your face. You felt your legs part and what you imagined would be a similar thing brush the lips of your swollen cunt. A chittered word, and both thrust into you at once.

The slime was thick, and bitter. It hurt your throat to swallow it, but it filled you with heat, stronger than the venom from their mouths. The one in your pussy was having a similar effect, making your walls shudder and clench against it, the ribs of its exoskeletal cock stimulating you as he slid them in and out of you. Tears were streaming down your face now, moans turning to screams, and back to moans as the cocktail of aphrodisiac mingled in you, driving you beyond your breaking point.

All you could feel was the cocks pounding your body, again and again making you cum all over them.

All you could see was the screen, the smoking hole that was the library burned into your mind's eye.

You felt the one in your throat cum. It forced itself further in, spraying a thick slime down your neck. You gagged, the instinct to swallow the only thing stopping you drowning on the thick cock-slime being pumped into your belly.

It hurt. The slow-moving load coating your insides. Every beat of your heart making your head spin. You couldn't even feel the one in your cunt unloading into your clenching womb. The potent drugs in their sexual fluids keeping you dazed and in a constant orgasm.

You didn't notice the third had a different appendage. Wider, with a bulbous tip. You didn't sense it slide into you, pumping eggs into your cunt where they lodged into your womb, fertilising from the ocean of bug spunk in your body. You could half-see it as it lay its ovipositor on your lips, stopping your breathing as it forced its way into your throat. More eggs, pushing down into your stomach, fertilising, embedding.

You wouldn't be able to know what would happen to you when the eggs hatch.

You couldn't know the hosts of Chitinid young rarely survive to tell of what happens next.

You'll find out

######################################

Dark enough for you?

[wildflower-ramblings]

MDNI - 18+

Warnings in the tags - warnings contain spoilers.

Read at your own risk.

Simon Riley x reader

I have no explanation for this.

Simon knows everything about you.

He knows your favourite songs, your favourite movies. How you take your tea. How you sing in the shower and apologise to inanimate objects when you bump into them. The way your eyes light up when you laugh; the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re annoyed or frustrated. Knows every twitch of your mouth and flicker of your eyes, and what emotion they mean. He knows the best way to make you giggle in amusement, or to make you flush in embarrassment. Knows what little things annoy you, or upset you; and more importantly, what makes you happy.

He knows the street you grew up on, and the crack on the side walk that made you fall off your bike and scrape your knee. He knows the exact shape the scar is in now, decades later. He knows the name of your first pet, a goldfish you swore once changed colour ever so slightly and definitely had more than a three second memory. He knows the name of your best friend in kindergarten, and how you wanted to become astronauts together and be the first to land on Saturn. He knows the names of all of your cousins, even the ones you only saw at weddings and funerals. Remembers all of their birthdays, too, and remembers when and where you last saw them.

He knows each and every one of your exes, from the first boy in high school who kissed you then broke your heart, to the thankfully short relationship you’d had in university, who refused to let you meet their friends or go over to their place. About the last relationship you had, the one you thought you were going to marry, and how much it broke you when they told you they couldn’t do it any more. He knows how long it took you to pick yourself up after that, and how much strength it took to shut them down when they tried to tearfully apologise months later.

He knows every single on of your friends, very way they’ve hurt you, which friends seem to flake at the first sign of trouble, which ones will cancel plans at the last minute and leave you on your own. Which ones will stick with you through anything, who will point out the red flags you can’t see, but still be there for you even when they don’t agree with your choices.

He knows everything about your job; your favourite and least favourite coworkers, which ones will chat about your weekend with you and which ones have talked about you behind your back. How much you dread each Monday, and how much you wish you could tell your manager where to shove it. He knows how tired you look every Friday night, collapsing onto the couch with a glass of wine as soon as you can, some mindless show on TV that you swear you’re not really into, but can name every character from.

He knows your entire bed time routine, from the hot drink you make yourself to wind down to the way you dance around whilst brushing yourself. How terrible you are at remembering to take your tablets and the systems you’ve tried (and failed) to keep track of them. All your little tricks to get yourself to sleep when your mind refuses to shut down.

He knows how you are first thing in the morning, all droopy eyes and soft sighs, the sheets tangled around your body. He knows how soft you look in the golden morning light, the way you curl into your pillow when your alarm goes off, and how softly your eyelids flutter open. How you always swear you’ll get up on the first alarm, but end up sleeping an extra five or ten minutes, lulled back in by the warmth of the bed.

He knows that you sleep in nothing but an extra large t-shirt, grumbling about how uncomfortable any extra fabric makes you. How your shirt always rides up and gives him the perfect view of your body. How enticing you are, all spread out for him. How soft your skin is, and how it gives when he grabs at it, his too large hands creating dimples and leaving faint traces – his mark on you.

He knows how pretty you look when you come, your sweat-slicked skin glistening in the glow of the lamp. How breathy you sound when you’re close, the way you try – and fail – to keep your moans in so the neighbours won’t hear. How loud you can get when you truly let yourself go.

He knows exactly how you like to touch yourself and be touched, and just how quickly he can make you cum in every possible way. He knows how you feel on his fingers, how you clench around them when he finds that perfect spot inside you. How pretty you look stretched out on his cock, the slight furrow of your brow when he first pushes into you, and how it quickly morphs into soft gasps of pleasure. The way his come looks dripping out of you, and the whimpers you make when he pushes it back into your sensitive walls. How you come even harder when he cleans you up with his mouth, and how sweet you taste on his tongue.

It’s a shame you have no idea he exists.

He knows how to fix that.

I have literally never written dark content I have no idea what I'm doing

I just got the last two sentences in my head and it just unravelled from there

[itsyamanjack]

I KNOWWWWWW It's more Overkill but my computer is pissed as hell that it's been open for like over 2 days and I really wanted to draw and also I'm STRESSED so I will continue to draw genius horrifying scenes. And then retiring my laptop for a day so I don't get deltarune spoilers.

Speaking of horrifying scenes: Below here is stuff relating to mostly Dawn's attempted noncon kiss and then one art of dawn's loop 6 death (burning alive, not graphic it's right Before that but still.)

THEY MAKE ME SICK. THEY MAKE ME ILL. I KEEP FUCKING FORGETTING TO TAG OVERKILL HOLD ON @askoverkill give me a dusk charm I need to shake them badly

[angelyuji]

Omg, yandere step dad Wonverine x nerdy/geeky step daughter x yandere Deadpool????

Wade asks Logan to talk about some things with him at his house. Logan telling him no, that they should meet somewhere else but Wade is already there and starts flirting with you. Logan being completely jealous but you two ignore him and keep flirting

Later that night both of them are fucking you in your room

i unfortunately have not seen deadpool and wolverine yet becuz ryan reynolds is a zionist and i've also hated him for awhile becuz of how much he shit talks green lantern, however i will watch it (illegally) one day

BUT i have seen some clips so im gonna push the poolverine agenda😈

tw // noncon/dubcon (under the cut) , sadism, deadpool, implied cheating, stepcest

minors dni!!! 18+!!!!!!

logan and wade have been friends for awhile and wades been dying to meet you. logans been putting off introducing him because you're his!!! he doesn't like to share yk? but wades convinces him "wolvie, baby, i wouldn't dareee touch a hair on her head!! i swear!!"

when wade meets you, he's literally ENAMOUREDDD like ohmygosh you're like a cute cat. and the way you react every time wade says something a little scandelous is sooo funny to him

at first logan's a little jealous and like very "wade fuck off", but logan was starting to be really into how you and wade interact like logans mean to you like he's very much a sadist but wade is sweet and teasing. so logans like... maybe i do like to share! but only with wade.

wade's still sadistic but in a different way. like when logans being an asshole, wade is cooing and soothing you just to immediately start being cruel and teasing you. very hot and cold.

wade would def somehow convince you to sleep with him and while he's eating you out, logans going to find you too and join :)

"don't worry, cutie, logie's not gonna find us." wade traps you against the bed, his lips sucking your neck. you nervously shift, feeling his teeth pierce your neck.

"i-i don't want to do this, wade." you try to push him off, but wade lifts his head away from your sore neck, pouting.

"but we've started already, and look at what you did?" he points down to the bulge in his pants and your eyes go wide, "see? and unless you want me to tell your dad about this, you should zip-" logan mimics zipping his mouth, "-and let me make you feel good." you swallow and nod. wade smiles, "good girl."

wade trails his lips down your chest down to your clothed cunt, you feel his mouth press against your panties, soaking the fabric with spit. but in your disgust, you feel something burning in your stomach. you try to push wades head off, but he uses a hand to smack you away. your thoughts swirled as the pleasure built up in you. you try to press yourself against him, to bring you over the edge, but wade refused. "naughty kitty, i thought you didn't want this?" you can feel the vibration of his voice and you whine.

"wade." your step-father's voice comes from the door. you look over, panicking. wade lifts his head away from you to give him a toothy smile. "i thought you said you wouldn't touch a hair on her head?" he lifts an eyebrow at the man's behavior.

wade rolls his eyes, "come and stop me then, logie." wade wiggles his finger at him. your step-father gives you a strange look, before walking over to the two of you.

"well, i didn't tell you to stop, did i?"

[tragicwithacapitaltodd]

dick whispering "i'm sorry" when jason uses his safe word. :)

[3amfanfiction]

idk if you’ll think this is OOC for simon in the darling and doll series but can you write moments where he was actually kinda sweet/loving to doll? the recent chapters made me feel bad for doll, she doesnt get enough love 😔

feel free to ignore if u dont want to write him a bit ooc

Hi nonnie, this is the best I could do without pulling him so far ooc that we would be talking about a different story. Shoutout to gouge for brainstorming help. I couldn't have done it without them

cw: aftermath of rape, lackluster first-aid, icepacks and haircuts. It's assumed that reader has shorter hair in this.

Simon x reader, part of the Doll and Darling series (this is a dark series, hurt/no comfort, so be aware before you dive in)

~~~~

You jerked back as something hit the bed.

The packaging crinkled. You stared with uncomprehending eyes, trying to figure out what was just thrown at you.

"I know I was too rough with you last night. So. There's an icepack," the man standing over you grumbled. He was frowning down at you, expression put-out that you needed medical attention at all, no matter how lackluster it was.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for it, pulling it in.

He huffed an exasperated breath as the seconds ticked on and you fiddled with it, trying to hold it gingerly to hinge of your hip to help with the pain only to flinch away when you pressed too hard. "It's just a fucking icepack, how do you not know how to use it?" He pulled it from your hands to press it firmly against your body, ignoring your wheezed gasp of air at the pressure against your tender ligaments.

He'd had you in all sorts of stress positions the night before. Pushing and pulling you this way and that. When the morning light had come, you'd barely been able to walk, having to content yourself to wallowing in bed in pain.

You were surprised at his gesture. This wasn't the first time he'd hurt you but it was the first time he'd done something about it. You were hesitant to look a gift horse in the mouth but at the same time you were wary of this kindness. Surely he would expect recompense. Something further he would take from you that you weren't even aware you still held.

Still.

"Thank you."

It was best to stay on his good side while he had one.

You sat there awkwardly as the pain in your hip slowly cooled. It had dulled to a low throb when Simon shifted, bending down to tug you up and over his shoulder.

Well, that was short lived, you thought bitterly as you hung upside down, staring at his back. You wondered what new horrors he had in mind now that he had adequately 'repaired' you.

He sat you down on the bathroom counter, the hard surface cold against your bare thighs. Watching as he bent over to rummage through the drawer, you wondered at your life. You never expected to end up here—held against your will by a man you now knew far too thoroughly. Life was supposed to work out. It was supposed to be this great adventure that you were on, something exciting and full of hope. Not exhausting and full of pain.

You flinched when he stood up. You couldn't help it. A minute twitch that he was sure to have seen. Because he saw everything. There was no hiding from him. And it was constant. An ever-watchful eye over your shoulder that never blinked, never slept, always seeing.

You were the watcher this time as he straightened and stepped closer to you, spreading your knees (slower when he saw your wince at your hip being moved) and stepping in between them. Your spine went rigid when you saw the pair of scissors in his hand.

"W-wait, what are you doing?"

"Hold still," he grumbled, grabbing your chin to keep you from jerking away. "Unless you want these scissors to end up in your eye, you won't move."

Your muscles locked up, spine rigid as you froze at the threat.

"That's a good pet."

Your eyes clenched shut involuntarily as the scissors got closer to your face, leaving you to twitch in surprise at the snip near your ear. You felt strands of hair fall, brushing your bare shoulder on the way down. You sat as still as you could, cradling him in the V of your legs as he looked down on you with a slight frown of concentration. Your eyes cracked open to take a peek at him.

"Why are you doing this?" you whispered through strangled vocal cords.

"Noticed you kept messing with it. Know you don't like your hair this long."

That's right. You'd almost forgotten the time he'd spent stalking you before he kidnapped you. The hours he'd spent outside your house or following you on your errands. He would've seen everything you did. Cataloged everything about you. Including personal appearance preferences.

It was almost sweet in a way. Not really but you could delude yourself into thinking that way. You could pretend that it was care and devotion that had him helping you with your leg and your hair. A concern for you welfare and emotional state. A desire to keep you happy.

You knew it wasn't true but it was fun to pretend. To sit still and let him cut your hair in this musty bathroom, strands falling all over the counter and floor. Shedding more of your DNA around this hellhole to be found if the police ever bothered to look. If they were ever pointed in Simon's direction.

His grip on your chin gentled as he turned your head this way and that. Tilting it as he checked his work.

You sat still, careful to only move in the way he wanted. Eager for this to be over but also thankful for the small kindness he was showing. It was still a relief when it was finally over. You took deep breaths for the first time in ages, filling your lungs and shifting.

Simon took a step back to look at you, "Good as new."

He picked you back up and moved you to the couch, throwing you down onto the cushions with a slight bounce. You winced and readjusted the icepack that was slowly warming against your leg.

Simon sat beside you, pulled you into his lap and turned on a footie match, reaching out to twist a pinch of hair back and forth between two fingers. If he would've been anyone else you would have snapped at him about putting knots in your hair. But it wasn't someone else so you stayed silent, letting him fiddle to his hearts content.

You found yourself slowly relaxing back into his heat, the warmth soothing on a fundamental level. But it was the steady rise and fall of his chest that finally lulled you to sleep, hopeful that this strange mood would continue. This softer Simon that you hadn't seen before. You hoped he stuck around.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes episode 134: Forevermore

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: noncon; knotting;

A/N: It is late, and I am on the poorly side, so enjoy another nice short one.

#####################################

The night was freezing. You regretted offering to work late to get the project in, but you needed the overtime hours. It probably wasn't worth it. Now you've missed your last train home and didn't even make enough on top to make up a taxi fare. So you walked.

Your heels clacked against the road surface as you clutched your jacket around yourself. Had you known you'd be walking home tonight, you'd have worn trousers rather than a skirt, and probably gone for a thicker pair of tights. As it was, you could feel the wind on your legs as you went, the pace you were keeping the only thing stopping you shivering.

Noise from a rooftop. A dark shape from above. Dank fur and powerful arms. Dizzying acceleration. You made out the group receding, before landing with a thump on a flat roof. The dark shape that grabbed you was hunched over you, glowing red eyes staring as one brutally clawed hand held you down.

Pain. Tears. Clothes turned to rags. Cold night air. The shape panted above your nude body. Heat radiated from it. A sharp-toothed maw closed about your neck. Claws dug into your thigh. It opened your legs, pressing against you. Warm wetness spread onto you. You struggled. It held you.

You screamed as it entered you. The overwhelming smell of damp fur. Claws cutting your shoulders. The thump-thump-thump against the roof as it drove on. Your fists battered against matted hair. It did not relent. Its jaw tightened. A warning. Screams became whines. Panting turned to grunting. A bulbous swelling slapped against you, threatening entry. You twisted and turned to no avail. It pressed on.

It hilted in you. You sobbed. Stretched out. Twitching and clenching. Heat filled you. Spreading inside. Making you his.

Forevermore

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This one's probably the shortest I'll try to pass off as an episode, at a super tight 300 words. Unless anyone specifically requests a wordcount less than this, in which case I could go lower.

Either way, hope you all enjoyed it!