erosiism

[erosiism]

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 | yandere! prince x male! reader | NSFW

pairing: horny! prince x oblivious! male reader

CONTAINS:

blowjob

overstimulation

bathtub sex

dick riding (literally)

nipple play

fingering

sorry i think im turning into a nsfw tumblr page with a sprinkle of gore, fluff and angst lol might contain small tiny discrepancies as i edited it from third person to second person. | taken from my fic on wattpad called possession thank you for 1k followers on tumblr! please comment, reblog, and like if you enjoyed this

The situation you had gotten yourself in was rather dire.

For the longest period of time, you had been unaware of your best friend’s feelings — the crown prince — and just how strong his affections were towards you.

And that included not knowing how horny Isidor — your best friend — was. 

And now that both of your feelings were out in the open, that meant that the air was practically suffocating with sexual tension.

You sat across him on the bed, jumbling up your words as you tried to tackle this nefarious topic.

"I—" You faltered. "What I mean to say is, I know you're sexually aroused. You've made that clear..." you trailed off, voice small. "And I know you're being very patient with me."

"Yes, Y/n." Isidor said slowly, "...what are you trying to say?"

Why is he making me say it? you thought with frustration, just—!

You reeled the prince in for a kiss, cupping the prince’s cheek and pouring all the things you couldn't figure out how to say at that moment in that kiss. Then when both your lips were both red and swollen (they already were, from all the initial kisses), you looked at Isidor with a meaningful glance.

Realization flashed through Isidor's eyes. It was followed by a smoldering glint that signaled his lust.

Encouraged by his reaction — you struggled on, "you don't have to wait. You don't have to be patient."

Isidor was painfully hard by then, his cock throbbing and pulsing as blood rushed up to its surface. 

"Y/n," Isidor murmured in a strangled voice, "say it. You know, I am curious about how sound-proofed our dorm truly is. Let's test it out, shall we?"

"I—"

You had barely gotten the words out before Isidor was crowding you against the walls, tongue licking a stripe up your neck from your open collar. Oh, you tasted godly — Isidor would carve his hips against your own and engrave his initials to your brain — he would make you say his name in a feverish heat. 

Isidor's hands started to slide under our shirt, staring at you with eager eyes. "Say what you want, Y/n — and I shall give."

"I want," you panted, "you to fuck me."

I want you to fuck me.

Following your bold declaration, Isidor's remaining sanity that he prided himself on had dissipated into nothingness. For an extremely long period of time, Isidor had thought he still had remarkable self control, considering that he, up until this point, had not made any significant advances towards you, the man he loved.

But you had now given him explicit permission — had almost begged for it, even. 

Isidor angled himself into a tilt, dragging his lips along your sensitive own. You gasped — and Isidor took this as an opportunity to slide his tongue into the gap of your mouth, plunging right into the heart of your mouth.

And oh, he sure took his time to explore. You found yourself grasping for something to support yourself with, as every single time Isidor would move, your limbs would grow weak.

And soon, when the two of you broke apart, there was an obscene, sliver slick of saliva at the edge of your lips. Sensual, sensitive, and alluring.

"You're sensitive," Isidor whispered, "now this is going to be fun..."

And even that last kiss had careened into something else entirely — into a debauched, obscene mess. At that moment, there was no rhythm to the kiss — there was nothing controlled about your movements. Isidor's grip on your waist was bruising and lacked the tenderness that it usually had.

"You're hard," Isidor said, almost seeming proud — "aren't you, Y/n?"  He reached down to your hard length and squeezed, causing you to release a soft moan, grinding yourself against Isidor.

"Ah—don't —" you swallowed, "Isidor."

Isidor wanted to ruin you. He wanted to mark the skin that seemed to call him in —to lick the skin that was peppered and powdered with pink.  He wanted to stake his claim on your body, to show that you were truly his, and solely his. Only his.

Isidor didn't respond, instead grasping your pants and pulling it down in a deft motion, tossing it to the other side of the room where it lay forgotten. And now you could be seen hard, aching — with your boxers painfully restraining your boner. Isidor licked his lips, the other hand grabbing your shirt and also tossing it away carelessly. Yourbare skin looked like a feast to Isidor: it was unblemished, untouched, and provided as the perfect canvas for Isidor to litter his marks and kisses on. 

"Perhaps we should do something about this," Isidor murmured, one finger reaching to jerk your cock, still clothed beneath your boxers, the other slowly peeling off the last layer of fabric like Isidor was uncovering a prize. "Right, Y/n?"

"Don't tell me you're planning on—" you swallowed back a moan, a hand flying to your mouth as you stifled the lewd sounds slipping from your mouth. "I-Isidor—"

How unfair. Isidor was completely clothed still, while you were already naked and bare for him to see. Isidor pressed his cheek to the head of your cock, his eyes gleaming. His hands had started to wrap around your girth, lips curling into a smirk. And here you were initially worrying about giving head — when as it turned out, Isidor was going to be the one giving it to you. 

Precum was already leaking from the top of your cock, sluggishly dripping down your whole length. You started to writhe, your train of thought forgotten. Your whole body was riled up, all restless energy and pure jittery nerves. Your hands flew up to weave into dark strands of hair as Isidor started to move, bobbing his head to swallow your cock whole. You felt a sudden jolt of pleasure as all you could feel was the slickness, wetness and pure heat of Isidor's mouth enveloping your body, deep-throating him. A wanton moan left your mouth.

"Shhh," Isidor murmured, "I'll make you feel good, darling. You can make those noises when I truly fuck you later."

Isidor was awfully good at giving head, to the extent you started to suspect he had done it before. And it was not before long when your cock started to twitch as you felt your imminent release. Desperately, you tried to pry Isidor's lips from your length, but the prince stayed stubbornly, his eyes traveling towards to meet yours. Your thighs spread further apart, your ass angling upwards, cock jerking in Isidor's mouth, fervently begging for more.

Smug. Isidor looked smug, like he knew he was responsible for your first release.

You watched with mortification as Isidor's Adam apple bobbed, the white liquid sliding down his throat. But your mind was already driven from pleasure and your eyes were glazed, your vision indescribably heavy. You grew slack as low breaths escaped your lips, your chest rising up and down as you looked at Isidor, cheeks reddening.

Why was the fuck — sorry for the crude language — was the crown prince licking his lips?

"You came so fast," Isidor murmured, "perhaps I should have delayed it so you would have the energy to continue on. Perhaps I should have waited so that you would come with my cock inside you. But no matter —  I can think of a lot better ways to make you come again..." Isidor pressed a firm kiss to the base of your neck, straightening his back to be on eye level with you. "Can you continue?"

It was stupid to think how a simple blowjob had rendered you utterly gone. 

I'm not going to last, you thought, I really won't. Because from the looks of it, Isidor had plenty of ideas in mind.

"Not fair," your voice was garbled, "I've already come once and you haven't even taken your clothes off yet."

"Would you like to do the honor?" Isidor tilted his head teasingly, reveling in the feel of your bare skin underneath his fingers, "would you, Y/n?"

You nodded your head weakly. Your hands reached out, trembling, to fumble clumsily with the band of the prince's pants and boxers, slowly pulling it down like Isidor had done earlier. Isidor was impatient — he was already deftly and quickly unbuttoning his own shirt, discarding it into the pile that your clothes had formed. 

And oh, you could see how the prince had been so truly tortured for the past year, in all the moments you had been oblivious to his advances. The tip of his bulbous cock was so swollen and red that you marveled at it — but a strange feeling settled into the pits of your stomach: how were you supposed to fit it in?

"Well," Isidor said in a low voice, "now that the matter of our clothes has been settled..." Slowly yet roughly, Isidor pushed you down to press flush against the bed, using his hands to pin you down and secure you. Your head was now resting on the pillows placed against the bed frame.

There was a brief stretch of silence.

"What are you doing?" You asked feebly, seeing how Isidor seemed to be so transfixed with you, "aren't you going to do something?"

"Admiring you." Isidor breathed out, "seeing how all this —" Isidor's hands gingerly traveled across the expanse of your chest, before resting upon your nipple and twisting it — "is mine now. Seeing how all that I've lusted for...every inch of you is all mine to touch."

"Isidor," you said, your voice cracking. "You're torturing yourself by waiting."

"And don't I know it." Isidor smiled.

"Isidor," you whined, your voice needy as the prince's fingers grazed your other nipple, "just—"

"Starving for it, are you?" Isidor kissed your bud, swirling his tongue around it. There was a sheen of saliva between your hard nipple and Isidor's mouth as he finished sucking it. Isidor moved towards the crook of your neck temporarily, lightly scraping his skin with teeth, just enough for a small mark to blossom as it followed the fangs of his teeth. You let out an unconscious moan, feeling as slight pain started to settle in.

Isidor looked with satisfaction at the mark that now adorned your neck, resuming his earlier actions — your hands twitched, body arching up as Isidor played idly with your nipple, rolling it leisurely between his fingers before pinching the sensitive and red bud. 

A hand stopped you from rolling your hips towards Isidor's hard cock, pressing you further against the bed. Teeth tugged at your earlobe, biting it gently and possessively as light kisses were then bestowed upon your skin. A hopeless and tender groan fell from your lips as Isidor moved down to latch onto your other nipple — the one that had been spared earlier — glancing at you with a starved look.

"You taste so good..." Isidor mumbled, seeming to be lost in whatever pleasure he was experiencing — "ah, I just want to fuck you already."

Isidor was a prince. His language was often flowery and not crude. And yet now obscenities were being spewed from his lips like nothing. It made your chest tingle as you saw the power you held over the prince — as you realized the power the two of you had over each other. 

Oh, you could bring Isidor down to his knees.

Your thighs were spread further apart, Isidor slotting himself right in between them as if he belonged there.

"I'll prepare you," Isidor leaned back as he opened the bedside drawer and took out a bottle of lube, making you immediately ask: how do you have lube so readily available? — to which, Isidor answered: for myself. "I'll prepare you, Y/n."

Ah fuck...you’re so cute. You are so, so cute. I just want to put it in already — I just want to fuck you already, Isidor thought in desperation, I just want you. But for the sake of your bottom half in the future...

Isidor coated his fingers and cock liberally with the slick liquid, his touch hot as he capped the bottle, chucking it to the side. The last vestiges of coherent, calm thoughts were slowly starting to vanish from Isidor's mind — so close. He was so close to feeling your walls squeezing along his hard length, just like he had always envisioned in his dirty dreams —

Heat surged through you, positively blazing as Isidor pressed two fingers relentlessly against your hole. The foreign sensation grounded you — sparks of pleasure tingled down your spine as Isidor wiggled his fingers around, pressing down onto your prostate. It held your impending orgasm at bay — albeit briefly — but you welcomed the feelings, moan after moan leaving your lips, the lewd sound mixing with the filthy sounds echoing around the room.

You hoped fervently that the rooms were advertised like they were — soundproof.

But even with two, you felt so full. It burned, yes, especially when Isidor added a third. 

"Mgh," you moaned, "Isidor—ah, hngh—"

"I've waited, Y/n," Isidor purred, "I deserve to be a little selfish, don't I?"

Isidor was practically scissoring you open, consistently pressing down to the most sensitive spot in your hole — you writhed on those fingers as they plunged in deeper, milking your prostate with precise strokes. And when those fingers left, you felt empty, your walls clenching around nothing. A last finger trailed lightly over your twitching rim, the touch featherlight and gentle, yet as you were already sensitive from your earlier orgasm, you couldn't help but jolt at his touch. 

"You took my fingers so willingly," Isidor cooed, "makes you wonder how you'll take my cock, right?"

"Will you — ah —" you panted, feeling your vision black out for the briefest moment — "Isidor —"

"Are you tired?" One last kiss was pressed onto your lips, chaste, but no less satisfying as the others — "bear with me a little longer."

"Isidor," you whined, giving a petulant moan. You were unsure of what you wanted. No, actually, screw that — you knew exactly what he wanted. You ran your nails along Isidor's back, causing the prince to hiss slightly, "just — just do what you want. Do what you want with me."

"Isn't that inviting?" Isidor's voice held no restraint, as he practically towered over you. "isn't that too inviting, Y/n?"

"Please — mgh,” you were sobbing now, tears streaming down your face. It was not of pain, however — it was due to the pure pleasure and ecstasy thrumming below your skin. 

Isidor wiped away at your tear-smeared cheeks, shushing you softly and thumbing at your waist with sweetness and tenderness. "Oh," Isidor panted, "I promise you it won't hurt. I can't promise you that I'll be gentle, but —"

"Fuck me."

Isidor's head snapped up to meet you, real hunger swirling in his eyes. The nips on your skin veered into bites, and soon Isidor started to line his cock to the rim of your sensitive hole. As the tip prodded your entrance, you found Isidor's arms wrapping around your body, pulling you closer. Isidor grunted slightly as he started to press in slowly, as your body rejoiced at the feel of Isidor's girth entering your body, your walls tightening around it.

"Hah," you panted, "I-Isidor—"

The prince paused, allowing you to accommodate his size. Isidor grabbed your thighs, and in a quick motion, threw your legs over his shoulder, forcing you to lift your hips. And Isidor's grip on your hip stayed.

Trembling, you let out a wanton groan when you felt the tip of Isidor's cock twitch as it brushed against the hot, slick ring of muscle, clearly eager to plunge inside. And you were more than ready to accommodate it — to accommodate the warmth; the demand. A filthy sound echoed yet again around the room as Isidor pushed his cock deeper into you. And you couldn't help but keen as you felt yourself being breached, violent shivers wrecking and coursing through you as Isidor slid in with his entire length in a single thrust.

Slowly but surely, Isidor bottomed out, sinking deeper, splitting you open and punching all the air out of you. You were left gasping, breathing in and out rapidly. Isidor was huge, you thought, left shaking at the stretch, with Isidor all the way in. Your vision turned black for a moment, and you feared you would pass out from overstimulation. But that moment passed, and you were still there. Alive.

Your legs were suspended over Isidor's shoulder, your back upright against the bed frame. And Isidor started off with a slow pace, and slowly set up a steady rhythm that left you gutted every time the prince thrusted back in.

Isidor wrapped his arms around you and pulled you until the two of you were impossibly close, his cock rubbing deep against your insides, causing you to gasp against the skin of Isidor's neck. Briefly, Isidor seemed to catch sight of your reflection in a tiny mirror on the bedside table — and the prince smiled as he grabbed your chin and angled you towards it. 

You flushed.

"Look how pretty you are, Y/n. Look, Y/n. Look at your pretty little face. Look at your eyes...your nose...your lips. Such a cutie just for me, right?"

You could not answer — it felt like you were getting pried open to the point that your brain couldn't register anything.

The pace had started to increase, and Isidor had clearly become greedier with his thrusts turning more vicious and earth-shattering. Each one sent you pushed against the bed frame, and Isidor burrowed his head into your neck, breathing heavily in your ear.

"Haa — You feel so good," Isidor looked almost relieved that all his pent up sexual frustration over the months — the year — had finally been resolved, "oh, Y/n...you  take me so well — aren't you just made for me?"

Compliments and sweet sensibilities continued to roll off Isidor's lips.

"Aren't you just such a pet?" Isidor breathed out shakily, "Aren't you just perfect for me? Fuck —”  You rolled his hips amidst a delicious burn. Something blazed in Isidor — he slammed in deeper than the previous thrust, dragging his length over your prostate.

"My stamina — it's terribly bad," you choked out, spots beginning to swarm around your vision. But still your body continued to move against Isidor's. 

"And yet you're still doing wonderfully." Isidor murmured, pressing a kiss onto your lips. Your lips were bitten raw and almost bloody, but Isidor's lips were slick and hot, and that sent more pleasure tingling down your  spine — "aren't you?"

You seemed to burn. You didn't know just how your body was still holding up — when you would have expected that it would have been gone by now. But you couldn't dwell upon it — soft lips met yours, the movement languorous and easy as Isidor's mouth explored yours.

Isidor's hands moved up to frame your face, shaking a little bit from the emotions coursing through him. He'd wanted this. Had yearned for it for years. And here he was, with his cock in you, watching as pleasure blazed in his beloved's eyes.

Nothing could compare to the feeling of your mouth against his, the way your skin felt underneath his soft caresses, frantic and urgent. Yes — Isidor, though starved, could be gentle, reverent, adoring. The kiss was so soft, tender, and sweet that it made you dizzy.

"Isidor, please — haa, fuck me," you pleaded. You felt the cock inside of you twitch, the sensation almost too much for your tightly wound body. It felt near overwhelming how deep Isidor reached, how thoroughly stretched your ass was around the throbbing erection inside of you.

Isidor's pace was faster now, and his thrusts were going sloppy. You could feel the way Isidor tugged your hair to kiss you wildly and messily unlike the previous soft kisses — and with a low groan of your name, Isidor buried himself to the hilt, spilling himself deep inside of you. Warmth — pure warmth pooled low in your belly, and Isidor's cock pulsed with the last of its release. This was cherished, inviting warmth, and Isidor pressed a firm kiss onto your forehead and shifted his hips back, slipping out. His cock had softened compared to before and yet still —

You felt completely and utterly gone. Boneless. Used.

You could feel Isidor's cum slowly trickling out of your abused hole, but you currently cared very little about sullying yourself or the sheets.

"I'll clean you," Isidor said hoarsely, wrapping you in his arms. "Come here, darling."

Your vision was fading in and out — you were immensely tired, and yet — how horny was Isidor? You would have expected for his appetite to have been whetted after the prince spilled all that in you — after he had relentlessly pounded you — but still, Isidor's stamina had not waned. If anything, the prince was only stopping out of consideration.

You allowed yourself to be carried and to be brought into the bathroom — there were a few wet and sloppy kisses exchanged between the two of you, with Isidor nearly pressing onto you against the table —  but whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, Isidor managed to turn on the tap, run the bath, and enter the bath along with you. There were a few peaceful minutes as you collected your thoughts and feelings, your breaths managing to steady. 

And it was with mirth you realized that just a while ago, the two of you had bathed here, with you utterly oblivious.

And now you weren’t oblivious to the fact that Isidor — he was still horny. It was concerning how a human could hold so much hunger for someone.

...Should I...?

You cupped the prince's cheek, looking at him meaningfully while using your leg to nudge Isidor's erection. Despite how exhausted you were — though those few minutes had saved your lungs, albeit temporarily — you were selfish enough to want the both of you to feel satisfied. You wanted the first time to be equally desirable for both of you. And besides...you did need to train your stamina, didn't you?

"Are you that insatiable?" You asked, tilting your head. Your voice was now rendered hoarse. You felt like you had just gotten the living lights fucked out of you mercilessly — your back was aching, with the countless of times you had nearly been folded against the bed frame — and your nipples and lips were sore, having been bitten.

A heated sensation went right to Isidor's cock.

"You can still fuck me," you murmured, "here."

In normal circumstances, Isidor would have said no. But here you were. pliant, offering him this decision — how could the prince resist?

"You might regret this decision," Isidor warned, starting to move towards you. One hand held the back of your head, so the proceeding thrust would not cause you to topple right over — while the other hand gripped your already bruised hip. It was a rather interesting position, with you straddled over him, Isidor's cock pressed against your stomach.

You smiled gently. "I won't. So you're really that insatiable, I suppose."

With that final affirmation, Isidor lifted your hips slowly, dragging his length over the puffiness of your hole. It was much too ambitious to think about fucking you again but god, Isidor so wanted to. And he would. Isidor would fuck you again, with your

Your hole was slick and wet already from the earlier rounds, and so slipping it in was easy. In fact, so easy — that Isidor started to marvel at just how made for each other you two were — and his gaze dropped down to the evidence of the penetration — the slight bulge in your lower stomach. Your ass was sitting so sweetly and nicely on his cock, your walls squeezed around it. You gave a little moan as you started to adjust yourself.

Isidor's voice came out so wrecked it was almost inaudible — and he answered your question belatedly. "I'm afraid that yes, I am. I am that insatiable."

You were on his lap — you were —

...Riding him, amidst the waters.

The evidence of your previous pleasures was smeared between the two of your bodies, and Isidor languidly rolled once more into you, thrusting into your prostate once more. And all you could do was sit there prettily and gasp as your cock twitched against your abdomen, leaking more fluid onto yourself. 

Your hands tightened around Isidor's neck, pulling him down for another filthy, wet kiss. Endless shivers and tiny spasms wrecked through you as Isidor kept fucking you, with moans and sounds falling all over your kiss-swollen lips. The pleasure in your body started to build once more. Exhaustion riddled your body, and yet your walls continued to clench around Isidor's intrusion, with the prince's fingers digging into your hips, his rhythm faltering for a split second before returning. This time, the thrust was faster and harder. Isidor was practically splitting you open. 

Overstimulated, You felt like you were gone.

Your lips met with his in a mix of saliva and tongue, and you shuddered as Isidor grounded himself further, pushing his way inside until he was impossibly deep in you. The water sloshed around the two of you, and for the briefest moment, you wondered what it would have been like for your entire body to be beneath the water.

Whatever obscene sounds you made were muffled by Isidor's hungry mouth on yours, unrelenting and harsh. You were devoured, ravished, treasured — and you loved every bit of it.

Your stomach swooped as Isidor broke the kiss and started rocking into you faster, the thrusts stronger and deeper now as he took pleasure from your obedient body. With your breathing ragged and uneven, you closed your eyes and let the sensations wash over you. You could feel everything — the way Isidor pressed inside of you, the way Isidor fucked you until guttural cries were forcibly spilled from your mouth. You could feel the unrestrained desire, the pace quickening. There was the steady roll of hips against an addicting burn — Isidor thrusted in and out, his cock sliding into your wet hole continuously. 

"Fuck," Isidor breathed out, "you're so perfect."

Your hole stretched so impossibly wide, taking in the prince deeply. There were a never ending mix of grunts, groans, and moans from the both of you, coupled with aborted renditions of Isidor's name — you were rendered speechless and helpless. 

You could feel the sensation vividly — the warmth spreading through your belly, anchoring you. The searing heat that was diffusing in you, building and building until it threatened to overwhelm you. For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, you felt the imminent sensation of your release. 

Isidor thrusted, harder, pressing his cock as deep into you as it could go. You clenched around Isidor, muscles constricting involuntarily and rippling around the cock fucking you open. A low groan sounded below you, as Isidor's hips stuttered for a brief second before he found his rhythm again. Your body was wet with the water but the slipperiness of it only reduced the friction between Isidor’s and your body — Isidor took your lips in his, ravaging them.

"Fuck," Isidor panted, voice strained from the effort of plowing into you. "You're so cute." The prince could not seem to stop the honeyed praises from falling from his lips.

Another thrust ripped a moan from your throat. Isidor was pounding into you, his motions merciless and relentless. You clawed at his back, your walls tightening as he struggled to accommodate Isidor's size. 

You pushed your hips back down — Isidor's body responded, and he flexed his hips just in time to meet with your downward grind, and that was the last straw. It was enough for you to release once more, and your back arched as you spilled on the thick length lodged right against your prostate, walls quivering. Isidor had come too, and now the both of you were panting, with you seated firmly on the prince's cock. The spilled seed leaked from your puffy and tender hole.

You could feel yourself really about to black out this time round. It was a miracle that you had made it this far — if not for the small break you had had in the bath, you would have collapsed by now. Strong, muscular hands wrapped around your waist, and Isidor was pressing tender kiss after kiss on the marks littered on your skin. It was like the prince was trying to map everything out again. 

Lips rasped against your cheek, and you felt a hand brush your loose hair away from your face. Isidor's voice was low and sweet as he spoke: "Rest well, darling."

And with that, you blacked out, your exhausted body slumping against the cold tiles of the bathroom.

please support me by reblogging, liking, and commenting

[erosiism]

and yesterday I wrote another thing out that I’ll cross post here

ayato

joongdok

yandere professor

smut

I apologise in advance if it takes a while for the requests to be done, I’m currently focusing on Wattpad in terms of fics and this few months will be prettyy busy for me 😭 currently only updating one fic

dottore

ayato

joongdok

yandere professor

crown prince smut

naga smut (2nd)

left out some I forgot

[erosiism]

How do you manage your writing and your life? How do you strike a balance between these two?

i squeeze in all my writing when I’m on the bus/train etc lol — and editing and publishing will be done at around 9:30pm-10pm right before I hit the sack so I can wake up to all my lovely comments

On the days when I’m truly super free I pre write a ton so that I can release chapters daily in the following weeks when I truly can’t write — but usually I write a chapter daily (takes me about an hour or at worse, 1h45mins) because writing fics is technically keeping the writing engine oiled and I do want to venture into that industry

Basically whatever free time I have, I squeeze in writing. And surprisingly bit by bit by the end of the day everything is done. would love to use that time on other stuff too but I do like writing soo Granted, I only write about 2k for a chapter lol

but of course I have my off days too

[erosiism]

hey, just opened up commissions! this is my first time trying this out, and your support would be much appreciated! check my link below, and if you’re interested i’ll be eager to fulfil all your requests! https://ko-fi.com/eros62563

[erosiism]

I want anton to kill us 🙏

rather morbid

[erosiism]

(Person who requested the dottore fic here) YOU DID SO GOOD?? TEEHEE IM LITTERALLY KICKING MY FEET AND GIGGLING IT WAS SO WELL DONE!! TY FOR DOING MY REQUEST

no problem! thank u for requesting & super glad you enjoyed!

[erosiism]

yandere gojo fic out now — note that wp marked it mature so remember to check if you gave “mature stories” on lol go comment and support! https://www.wattpad.com/1472394640-%F0%9D%90%85%F0%9D%90%88%F0%9D%90%8B%F0%9D%90%8C-%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%80%F0%9D%90%91-gojo-introduction/comment/1472394640__1724679292_513bb343f8

[erosiism]

Omg your profile layout is so cool the name part looks so good 😭😭😭

thank you 🎶🎶

[erosiism]

HIII OMG ARE U GOING TO MAKE A JJK FIC?? SPOIL US IN THE PLOT PLEASE

yss today!! Lol it’s hollywood AU since I don’t know the plot of jjk at ALL lol (I read it before but I low key just didn’t absorb it)

Major narcissist celebrity reader x rival celebrity gojo who loves to tease him for how obsessed he is with his looks

[erosiism]

Dude your dottore fic was amazing 10/10 would love to see something written like that again

thank you HAHA glad u enjoyed

[erosiism]

𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 | yandere!dottore x m!reader

warnings | torture, religious imagery (if u squint), psychological horror, gore (detailed), non-com/dub-con, human trafficking & experimentation, what do u expect its dottore, no beta we die like kdj | might contain some mischaracterisation or misconception somewhere or whatever because I stopped playing genshin in 2021 lol 

pairings: dottore x m!experiment!reader

summary: after creating you, dottore grows to be obsessed with the idea of you, and your perfection.

was requested by anon

THE FIRST THING YOU FEEL, is the absence of being.

It’s strange to feel so substanceless; so inhuman. When consciousness first awakes in you — when you feel the first rays of the glaring lights seeping into your eyelids — all you can do is blink your eyes, wincing. 

SUBJECT 094 HAS JUST BEEN CREATED.

Your body is shivering and naked and raw — you’ve just been created. Hands rove over your body, but they aren’t lecherous: rather, the way they touch you is purely clinical, like how a butcher would inspect meat. You hear bits and pieces of words you don’t know, floating over your head. You wonder if they’re any perforations in you — whether you’re another failed experiment, another creation to discard.

Your hands are without a single blemish. You’re new.

You hear them say you’re perfect.

An experiment. A perfect experiment, after ninety-three times. 

They call you 94. 

You long for a name.

Your creator has not met you yet: but you’ve seen people who look exactly like him, working on you — they knock you out with pills, drugs, serums — they give you injections with thick, blunt syringes and stuff your mouth with tissue when you want to scream. They ignore your convulses and your shrieks and the tears that roll down your cheeks madly — they too, are not human. They have no emotions to pity you: and you too, shouldn’t have the capability to feel, and yet you do. Shamelessly, piteously, and horrifically — you feel human.

That is the desired result, one tells you, when you spit those words out. They tasted funny in your tongue, sitting there and rotting until you finally tossed them out. We wanted you to be human. A perfect being. You will aid Fatui greatly.

Fatui? You had echoed.

Fatui, another murmurs, the order we serve. And our master, Dottore, who you are supposed to serve.

You learn that Dottore is away in a place called Sumeru. This place is Snezhnaya, and the place you’re in is Dottore’s lab. Dottore. The name drops down honeyed from your lips, and so you repeat it: Dottore…

The master you serve.

The master you serve is named Dottore. But you will call him Doctor, one warns you.

You tuck those words in your head, and they insert more needles into you. Your skin has become an atlas of thin, small holes — non noticeable to the human eye, but each pulsing and swelling beneath your skin.

You wait for your creator to come.

You wait for your God to come.

.

.

—

.

.

You see him for the first time when crimson and carmine is marred on his cheek, and when his eyes are amused and glinting. He’s beautiful, you note, terrifyingly so. He has red eyes: blooming crimson ones — and wavy blue hair. Half of his face is obfuscated by a mask, but still you can see his lips move as he speaks his first word to you: “Y/n.”

Your heart leaps. Your creator moves towards you, his eyes inspecting you, his deft fingers moving your face to the side, checking every part of you to ensure you aren’t damaged. His lips curl up into a satisfied smile, but your brain is still reeling from the name he has called you.

Almost like he can read your thoughts, your creator grins. “Y/n,” he says in a lilting, falsely warm tone, “that is the name I give you. But the minute you step out of line, I’ll be ripping that away from you. Remember that, pet. Remember that, alright?” His touch is gentle as he thumbs at your hips, tracing circles around your skin. You swallow, nodding your head.

I’ll be ripping that away from you.

Essentially speaking, the moment you misbehave, you’ll have your own chance at humanity taken away from you.

“You will call me Doctor,” Dottore speaks slowly, his words like music to your ears, “you, Y/n…you must remember that you are incredibly special. You are the first successful weapon I’ve made. The word “human” will have to be earned — but for now, be good, alright?”

You drink his words up. By the side is a cart filled with more medication — more knives, more needles, more syringes. You’re sitting on a white bed — everything around you is white. The different clones have started to look like smudges of white to you: blobs moving and shifting around in a distance. You can’t tell if your reverence for the Doctor is programmed, or if it’s because he is your creator — but it doesn’t matter. You want him to praise you. You need it. If he likes you, he’ll give you your humanity — and you want that.

“Y-yes,” your voice wavers as you speak, “y-yes, I’ll —”

“Ah…the first order of business,” The Doctor — Dottore — says, “stitches. It appears that the ones who have finished creating you have lacked something: an organ, if you will. It isn’t something a human would necessarily have, but well…” His red eyes study you, and there’s almost sadism rampant in his eyes — “you aren’t a human, are you?”

You stay silent.

“Well, Y/n, what do you think? I’ll make it painless,” Dottore smiles, “why aren’t you giving me a reaction? It’ll be simple. I’ll cut you up, insert some things inside you, stitch you back up,” he says carelessly. “Hm. Perhaps it will be painful…but good things come at a price. With this, you’ll be a better prototype than anything else. You’ll be special — to me. You want that, don’t you?”

What is my purpose? You want to ask, why am I different from the other people?

“And on that thought, I suppose you can withstand pain. You’re a robot — a false creation. I might have programmed you to make you feel pain, but now a new thought has occured to me: I certainly can’t have any painkillers messing up the careful system in your body.” The Doctor stares at you, hard, “but you’ll be willing to do that, right?”

Pain, you think. The word explodes in your brain. You don’t know what that word is. It’s strange to think that you understand human language: that you can somehow articulate it out, like it’s been annotated in the blood of your veins — but you can’t live it. Words have no meaning to you: after all, you have not learnt or earned them. Is pain the feeling of aching when you feel blood burst from your body? You are a machine, but yet you’ve been gifted flesh. So what exactly are you?

“I will,” you whisper, “I can.”

“Good boy,” Dottore hisses quietly, “now, be a pet and behave, will you?”

You nod your head.

.

.

—

.

.

For the next few weeks, Dottore indulges in you. He buys you sweet treats he knows you can’t taste, he comforts you when you cry, he makes you dependent on him. Soon, your whole world consists solely of him, just him, your creator. You wonder if he’s forgotten about his whole promise to “tweak” you, to perfect you, but finally, the day comes.

Dottore’s hands are gentle as he props you up the operating table. You look around, noticing that it’s just the two of you.

“The others —” you manage a shaky sentence, “they aren’t helping?”

“As advanced as they are, they aren’t me. Now that I’ve laid my eyes on your perfection: your potential for perfection, that is: I cannot risk anyone else touching you, tainting you: destroying you…” Dottore shakes his head. “Now lay down, Y/n.”

You obey, lying flat down on the operating table. You expect a subtle, soft kind of pain — the kind that you’re accustomed to: but instead, he stabs into your jugular, and you scream. 

Blood — there was blood — that burst from your neck, soaking your skin. Your eyes started to tear, but still you lived.

“How interesting, right?” Dottore muses as he continues to dig the knife through your skin, “how strange. I needed to acquire quite a bit of blood to ensure that you functioned just like a human, while retaining the qualities of what a God would be like. So I imagine it’s quite painful for you. Right, Y/n?”

You’re convulsing now, screams slipping from your mouth.

“I forgot. You can’t exactly speak now, can you?”

“D-Doctor,” you rasp out, “will I be stronger after this? Will I be better?”

“Of course, my dear,” Dottore hums, “it’s just a slight tweak in your body, and you’ll be better than ever. Do you know what? I’m aghast, really, at those who call this human experimentation. I suppose in your case, since you aren’t quite human to begin with — well, you were made from human extracted parts — it’s not quite counted. But when I take little test subjects, there are some who mock me. I remember the ruler of Sumeru quite well: quite a pathetic Archon she was — saying, and I quote: experimentation is an insult to the very concept of life…do you agree, Y/n?”

Your body recovers frighteningly fast. The pain is there, but the wound closes as quickly as it has appeared. Dottore stares at it with fascination, with a small ah of gratification.

“No,” you say, words muffled with sobs, “I don’t agree.”

You feel another knife press into your skin — your belly this time. He doesn’t cut you up first — he carves into you, a bloody insignia on your skin. “With me, or with her?”

Your creator is never wrong. “Her,” you choke out.

“Bingo!” Dottore hums in delight, “correct. I’ve always believed that there is potential for weaponization. Discussions of research on beings like you have to be increased in the future. Humans have unlimited potential. It may be foolish of me as a researcher to say this, but with enough input, I might be able to reach the level of a 'god', or so people might call it. Some say it’s heresy. I disagree.”

You splutter. The surgical knife has made it past the first layer of skin: he’s flaying you alive. 

Are you even alive? Can you be associated with the words of life and death, when you are not even human?

My name is Y/n, you desperately think. My name is Y/n. Y/n. Y/n…!

I’m human. Tell me that I’m human, please.

“And others say I blasphemous further against human life as a member of the Fatui, by creating clones or "segments" of myself. But really — I do have convictions. Just different from everyone else’s…” Dottore strokes your tear-stained cheek, tilting his head. “You’re such a good one, aren’t you? You aren’t even refuting what I say. The earlier ones before you — subject 43 in particular — kept making a fuss. You, however…” his eyes are gleaming. “Might be fun to play around with.”

You aren’t wriggling anymore. You aren’t shaking. You force yourself to be ramrod straight on the operation table. The knife is embedded in your skin.

“You are both machine and human, and yet you are too much and too little of both to be truly worth anything…but really, all you need to do is to stay loyal to me. When people like Capitano, Pantalone, or even Childe approach you — do not speak to them,” Dottore says softly, so softly you have to focus on his voice to hear him — “you understand that, don’t you? Because you are my perfect creation…no one else can tamper with you. Not even for a minute or second.”

You nod your head.

“Good. And now, for the matter of your heart,” Dottore tells you, “your heart, Y/n, is unlike any other. It’s an amalgamation of all the artificial blood vessels I’ve managed to make from other projects. But frankly speaking, I think you might be better without it: my clones have told me that you seem to feel too much. And weapons do not feel. They never do, Y/n.”

“I understand.” 

“So — I will do this —” in one quick motion, Dottore rips your heart from your chest, holding it as thuds in front of you. 

You freeze.

Your heart is there. There’s a gaping hole in your chest, and the presence of absence has made itself known. You watch as Dottore bites into it: in front of you he feasts; his mouth bloody and your heart rimming his teeth. There’s blood pooling in your mouth too, dripping onto the table. Your skull has never felt this light. Pain was present in every inch of your body, but still your heart continued to beat. 

“I might need to rewire your brain too,” Dottore looks at you intently, “if your loyalty is skewed. But if you prove that you’re loyal to me, then of course, that won’t be needed.”

All you can think about is: your flesh lines his throat. But you’re a dirty being. 

“I’ll prove it,” you gasp, “I’ll prove it. So don’t discard me.”

“Your desperation is adorable,” Dottore coos, “did you know I based your heart off a pomegranate? Delicate hands are required for it, to peel back later after layer. And it is red that dyes your fingers when you touch the juice sprinkling out — like blood. There’s concentration needed to break the surface, a certain strength needed to crush the seeds between voracious teeth and sip up the sweetness of the nectar. Then the juices will hemorrhage your tongue: it’s supposed to remind you of your actions. Similarly, you — Y/n — you have stained my tongue. Don’t you adore their idea?”

You nod again, weakly. “I do.”

“And on that note, I find you a remarkable project: you hardly ever scream, you hardly ever move, and your wounds heal beautifully. You’re just so perfect for me, aren’t you, Y/n? Just for me, right?” Dottore continues on, words honeyed and sweet, “oh, Y/n…” he strokes your hair gently, shushing you softly as little hiccups escape your lips. He thumbs at your waist, his face a breadth away, “you are so endearing. So flawless.”

Your skin is covering the empty hole in your chest. Dottore pulls you to the lap, steadying you, before he kisses your lips softly. His words are the knife — heaving, forceful, hungry. And when he kisses you, only then can you taste yourself, your shame, guilt, pleasure. You wonder if you taste as rotten as you feel — if there’s a part of you that can be cradled. You feel like an open wound, your guts ready to spill out. He continues to kiss you, and slowly, your body becomes the atlas of your twisted relationship with Dottore; marks and bruises scattering across your once unblemished skin, a map of what he has done.

Kisses.

Your creator has kissed you.

“My darling, my beauty,” Dottore smiles, crimson still staining his teeth, “is this not the most human action one can do?”

a/n: unedited, I apologise. sorry if it’s wonky or whatever I’m just experimenting lol || reposts, likes, and comments are always appreciated! leave a comment to tell me how it was :)

[erosiism]

Oh Eros, you have blessed me with dottore.

hope you enjoyed! was sleep deprived when I wrote it so could’ve been better

[erosiism]

love that dottore fic.. u characterised him so well wtf

LOL thank you haha I was scared of mischaracterising him

[erosiism]

hi there! I know that you write make reader only (which kinda makes this ask redundant lol) but would you ever write wlw? Just for the sapphics out there (me) bc it's so hard to find good wlw yandere

nope, I’m sorry — but if you are looking for good yandere wlw, you can search babylon on quotev or wp

[erosiism]

𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 | yandere!dottore x m!reader

warnings | torture, religious imagery (if u squint), psychological horror, gore (detailed), non-com/dub-con, human trafficking & experimentation, what do u expect its dottore, no beta we die like kdj | might contain some mischaracterisation or misconception somewhere or whatever because I stopped playing genshin in 2021 lol 

pairings: dottore x m!experiment!reader

summary: after creating you, dottore grows to be obsessed with the idea of you, and your perfection.

was requested by anon

THE FIRST THING YOU FEEL, is the absence of being.

It’s strange to feel so substanceless; so inhuman. When consciousness first awakes in you — when you feel the first rays of the glaring lights seeping into your eyelids — all you can do is blink your eyes, wincing. 

SUBJECT 094 HAS JUST BEEN CREATED.

Your body is shivering and naked and raw — you’ve just been created. Hands rove over your body, but they aren’t lecherous: rather, the way they touch you is purely clinical, like how a butcher would inspect meat. You hear bits and pieces of words you don’t know, floating over your head. You wonder if they’re any perforations in you — whether you’re another failed experiment, another creation to discard.

Your hands are without a single blemish. You’re new.

You hear them say you’re perfect.

An experiment. A perfect experiment, after ninety-three times. 

They call you 94. 

You long for a name.

Your creator has not met you yet: but you’ve seen people who look exactly like him, working on you — they knock you out with pills, drugs, serums — they give you injections with thick, blunt syringes and stuff your mouth with tissue when you want to scream. They ignore your convulses and your shrieks and the tears that roll down your cheeks madly — they too, are not human. They have no emotions to pity you: and you too, shouldn’t have the capability to feel, and yet you do. Shamelessly, piteously, and horrifically — you feel human.

That is the desired result, one tells you, when you spit those words out. They tasted funny in your tongue, sitting there and rotting until you finally tossed them out. We wanted you to be human. A perfect being. You will aid Fatui greatly.

Fatui? You had echoed.

Fatui, another murmurs, the order we serve. And our master, Dottore, who you are supposed to serve.

You learn that Dottore is away in a place called Sumeru. This place is Snezhnaya, and the place you’re in is Dottore’s lab. Dottore. The name drops down honeyed from your lips, and so you repeat it: Dottore…

The master you serve.

The master you serve is named Dottore. But you will call him Doctor, one warns you.

You tuck those words in your head, and they insert more needles into you. Your skin has become an atlas of thin, small holes — non noticeable to the human eye, but each pulsing and swelling beneath your skin.

You wait for your creator to come.

You wait for your God to come.

.

.

—

.

.

You see him for the first time when crimson and carmine is marred on his cheek, and when his eyes are amused and glinting. He’s beautiful, you note, terrifyingly so. He has red eyes: blooming crimson ones — and wavy blue hair. Half of his face is obfuscated by a mask, but still you can see his lips move as he speaks his first word to you: “Y/n.”

Your heart leaps. Your creator moves towards you, his eyes inspecting you, his deft fingers moving your face to the side, checking every part of you to ensure you aren’t damaged. His lips curl up into a satisfied smile, but your brain is still reeling from the name he has called you.

Almost like he can read your thoughts, your creator grins. “Y/n,” he says in a lilting, falsely warm tone, “that is the name I give you. But the minute you step out of line, I’ll be ripping that away from you. Remember that, pet. Remember that, alright?” His touch is gentle as he thumbs at your hips, tracing circles around your skin. You swallow, nodding your head.

I’ll be ripping that away from you.

Essentially speaking, the moment you misbehave, you’ll have your own chance at humanity taken away from you.

“You will call me Doctor,” Dottore speaks slowly, his words like music to your ears, “you, Y/n…you must remember that you are incredibly special. You are the first successful weapon I’ve made. The word “human” will have to be earned — but for now, be good, alright?”

You drink his words up. By the side is a cart filled with more medication — more knives, more needles, more syringes. You’re sitting on a white bed — everything around you is white. The different clones have started to look like smudges of white to you: blobs moving and shifting around in a distance. You can’t tell if your reverence for the Doctor is programmed, or if it’s because he is your creator — but it doesn’t matter. You want him to praise you. You need it. If he likes you, he’ll give you your humanity — and you want that.

“Y-yes,” your voice wavers as you speak, “y-yes, I’ll —”

“Ah…the first order of business,” The Doctor — Dottore — says, “stitches. It appears that the ones who have finished creating you have lacked something: an organ, if you will. It isn’t something a human would necessarily have, but well…” His red eyes study you, and there’s almost sadism rampant in his eyes — “you aren’t a human, are you?”

You stay silent.

“Well, Y/n, what do you think? I’ll make it painless,” Dottore smiles, “why aren’t you giving me a reaction? It’ll be simple. I’ll cut you up, insert some things inside you, stitch you back up,” he says carelessly. “Hm. Perhaps it will be painful…but good things come at a price. With this, you’ll be a better prototype than anything else. You’ll be special — to me. You want that, don’t you?”

What is my purpose? You want to ask, why am I different from the other people?

“And on that thought, I suppose you can withstand pain. You’re a robot — a false creation. I might have programmed you to make you feel pain, but now a new thought has occured to me: I certainly can’t have any painkillers messing up the careful system in your body.” The Doctor stares at you, hard, “but you’ll be willing to do that, right?”

Pain, you think. The word explodes in your brain. You don’t know what that word is. It’s strange to think that you understand human language: that you can somehow articulate it out, like it’s been annotated in the blood of your veins — but you can’t live it. Words have no meaning to you: after all, you have not learnt or earned them. Is pain the feeling of aching when you feel blood burst from your body? You are a machine, but yet you’ve been gifted flesh. So what exactly are you?

“I will,” you whisper, “I can.”

“Good boy,” Dottore hisses quietly, “now, be a pet and behave, will you?”

You nod your head.

.

.

—

.

.

For the next few weeks, Dottore indulges in you. He buys you sweet treats he knows you can’t taste, he comforts you when you cry, he makes you dependent on him. Soon, your whole world consists solely of him, just him, your creator. You wonder if he’s forgotten about his whole promise to “tweak” you, to perfect you, but finally, the day comes.

Dottore’s hands are gentle as he props you up the operating table. You look around, noticing that it’s just the two of you.

“The others —” you manage a shaky sentence, “they aren’t helping?”

“As advanced as they are, they aren’t me. Now that I’ve laid my eyes on your perfection: your potential for perfection, that is: I cannot risk anyone else touching you, tainting you: destroying you…” Dottore shakes his head. “Now lay down, Y/n.”

You obey, lying flat down on the operating table. You expect a subtle, soft kind of pain — the kind that you’re accustomed to: but instead, he stabs into your jugular, and you scream. 

Blood — there was blood — that burst from your neck, soaking your skin. Your eyes started to tear, but still you lived.

“How interesting, right?” Dottore muses as he continues to dig the knife through your skin, “how strange. I needed to acquire quite a bit of blood to ensure that you functioned just like a human, while retaining the qualities of what a God would be like. So I imagine it’s quite painful for you. Right, Y/n?”

You’re convulsing now, screams slipping from your mouth.

“I forgot. You can’t exactly speak now, can you?”

“D-Doctor,” you rasp out, “will I be stronger after this? Will I be better?”

“Of course, my dear,” Dottore hums, “it’s just a slight tweak in your body, and you’ll be better than ever. Do you know what? I’m aghast, really, at those who call this human experimentation. I suppose in your case, since you aren’t quite human to begin with — well, you were made from human extracted parts — it’s not quite counted. But when I take little test subjects, there are some who mock me. I remember the ruler of Sumeru quite well: quite a pathetic Archon she was — saying, and I quote: experimentation is an insult to the very concept of life…do you agree, Y/n?”

Your body recovers frighteningly fast. The pain is there, but the wound closes as quickly as it has appeared. Dottore stares at it with fascination, with a small ah of gratification.

“No,” you say, words muffled with sobs, “I don’t agree.”

You feel another knife press into your skin — your belly this time. He doesn’t cut you up first — he carves into you, a bloody insignia on your skin. “With me, or with her?”

Your creator is never wrong. “Her,” you choke out.

“Bingo!” Dottore hums in delight, “correct. I’ve always believed that there is potential for weaponization. Discussions of research on beings like you have to be increased in the future. Humans have unlimited potential. It may be foolish of me as a researcher to say this, but with enough input, I might be able to reach the level of a 'god', or so people might call it. Some say it’s heresy. I disagree.”

You splutter. The surgical knife has made it past the first layer of skin: he’s flaying you alive. 

Are you even alive? Can you be associated with the words of life and death, when you are not even human?

My name is Y/n, you desperately think. My name is Y/n. Y/n. Y/n…!

I’m human. Tell me that I’m human, please.

“And others say I blasphemous further against human life as a member of the Fatui, by creating clones or "segments" of myself. But really — I do have convictions. Just different from everyone else’s…” Dottore strokes your tear-stained cheek, tilting his head. “You’re such a good one, aren’t you? You aren’t even refuting what I say. The earlier ones before you — subject 43 in particular — kept making a fuss. You, however…” his eyes are gleaming. “Might be fun to play around with.”

You aren’t wriggling anymore. You aren’t shaking. You force yourself to be ramrod straight on the operation table. The knife is embedded in your skin.

“You are both machine and human, and yet you are too much and too little of both to be truly worth anything…but really, all you need to do is to stay loyal to me. When people like Capitano, Pantalone, or even Childe approach you — do not speak to them,” Dottore says softly, so softly you have to focus on his voice to hear him — “you understand that, don’t you? Because you are my perfect creation…no one else can tamper with you. Not even for a minute or second.”

You nod your head.

“Good. And now, for the matter of your heart,” Dottore tells you, “your heart, Y/n, is unlike any other. It’s an amalgamation of all the artificial blood vessels I’ve managed to make from other projects. But frankly speaking, I think you might be better without it: my clones have told me that you seem to feel too much. And weapons do not feel. They never do, Y/n.”

“I understand.” 

“So — I will do this —” in one quick motion, Dottore rips your heart from your chest, holding it as thuds in front of you. 

You freeze.

Your heart is there. There’s a gaping hole in your chest, and the presence of absence has made itself known. You watch as Dottore bites into it: in front of you he feasts; his mouth bloody and your heart rimming his teeth. There’s blood pooling in your mouth too, dripping onto the table. Your skull has never felt this light. Pain was present in every inch of your body, but still your heart continued to beat. 

“I might need to rewire your brain too,” Dottore looks at you intently, “if your loyalty is skewed. But if you prove that you’re loyal to me, then of course, that won’t be needed.”

All you can think about is: your flesh lines his throat. But you’re a dirty being. 

“I’ll prove it,” you gasp, “I’ll prove it. So don’t discard me.”

“Your desperation is adorable,” Dottore coos, “did you know I based your heart off a pomegranate? Delicate hands are required for it, to peel back later after layer. And it is red that dyes your fingers when you touch the juice sprinkling out — like blood. There’s concentration needed to break the surface, a certain strength needed to crush the seeds between voracious teeth and sip up the sweetness of the nectar. Then the juices will hemorrhage your tongue: it’s supposed to remind you of your actions. Similarly, you — Y/n — you have stained my tongue. Don’t you adore their idea?”

You nod again, weakly. “I do.”

“And on that note, I find you a remarkable project: you hardly ever scream, you hardly ever move, and your wounds heal beautifully. You’re just so perfect for me, aren’t you, Y/n? Just for me, right?” Dottore continues on, words honeyed and sweet, “oh, Y/n…” he strokes your hair gently, shushing you softly as little hiccups escape your lips. He thumbs at your waist, his face a breadth away, “you are so endearing. So flawless.”

Your skin is covering the empty hole in your chest. Dottore pulls you to the lap, steadying you, before he kisses your lips softly. His words are the knife — heaving, forceful, hungry. And when he kisses you, only then can you taste yourself, your shame, guilt, pleasure. You wonder if you taste as rotten as you feel — if there’s a part of you that can be cradled. You feel like an open wound, your guts ready to spill out. He continues to kiss you, and slowly, your body becomes the atlas of your twisted relationship with Dottore; marks and bruises scattering across your once unblemished skin, a map of what he has done.

Kisses.

Your creator has kissed you.

“My darling, my beauty,” Dottore smiles, crimson still staining his teeth, “is this not the most human action one can do?”

a/n: unedited, I apologise. sorry if it’s wonky or whatever I’m just experimenting lol || reposts, likes, and comments are always appreciated! leave a comment to tell me how it was :)

[erosiism]

can you tag the authors? I can’t find them :(

popoki’s wp

dilvei’s tumblr and wattpad

ascension

[erosiism]

do you have any recs for other authors on here? i can’t seem to find any !!

(NOT SAYING UR NOT GOOD, I LOVE YOUR WORK SMSMSMSM, i js am curious of ur suggested authors 🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️❤️😔😔)

vei, popoki (for male readers) LOL I can’t think of anything off the top of my head 😭 but those are the fics I keep up 2 — plus there’s this blue lock fic called ascension on wp that I’ve been reading