#cw darkfic

[iamnmbr3]

Do you have recs for really well written dark voldemort-centric fics. can be ship or gen tho i somewhat prefer ship. I'm looking for fics with really good and powerful writing that are really good on the character and characterization and character study front and have really interesting and creative premises. i want fics that don't woobify him and are more focused on dark elements. dark or horror elements are fine. thank you. i love your recs.

Sure. These fics are all extremely well written with very interesting and creative plots and outstanding characterization and all explore/contain dark themes and/or horror elements. Blanket warning to mind the tags on all of these!

Ouroboros by Metalomagnetic (words: 258,416 | rating: E | Voldemort/Tom Riddle)

A strange man adopts Tom Riddle and it is not his father, as Tom desperately wants to believe. Stranded in the past, Voldemort once again comes to the conclusion he's the only one he truly needs.

the pleasure, the privilege by asterismal (asterisms) (Words: 19,901 | Rating: M | Voldemort/Harry Potter | CW: dark themes, horror elements)

It begins with Vernon Dursley's body, dead across the table.  In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

Omnipotent to Arms by tenrousei_kuroi (words: 6,441 | rating: E | Voldemort/Regulus | CW: dark themes, horror elements, noncon)

For the 2021 Regulus Black Fest. Prompt: The dark lord decides that the youngest Black is to be his for the night. Regulus is mortified, but saying no is hardly an option. He hopes that compliance will be enough to live another day as unharmed as possible. (You can put a dose of Bellatrix getting jealous and being another menace to Regulus or not, as well as another DE romantically interested in Regulus and potentially helping him in some way, your choice.)

Snake Charming by Blood_Stained_Fingers (words: 8,207 | rating: M | minor Harry Potter/Voldemort | CW: dark themes, horror elements)

Voldemort smiled. It was a cold, creeping thing. Truly human despite it being on a serpentine face. And it was then Harry could see the real Lord Voldemort. Not the madman throwing curses around indiscriminately, but the man who had lured legions of purebloods to his cause, Tom Riddle who had blinded all his teachers bar one. It was calculating. The long-game personified. -- Harry would never have guessed that his animagus would have been a snake. Nor the trouble it would bring when Voldemort found out. After all, who needs to kill an enemy when you can keep them?

[toxicanonymity]

DOMESTICATION

MR. GHOSTFACE x F!READER 🔪 1.8K WORDS SUMMARY: He has his way with you while you're stuck. WARNINGS: 18+ Noncon, unsafe PIV, knife/blood, collar. Inspired by this scene and ask 🔪 Divider 🔪 MY FICS

Down on all fours like the prey you were, you tore the cloudy, plastic flap off its hinges and began to squeeze through the little door. You thought to scream but choked on the air you drew in. With your head through the hole, you coughed and glanced around. No one in sight. Fallen leaves tumbled and scraped across the driveway over the muffled sounds of the party.

No one was coming to save you.

You managed to wriggle halfway out, but no further. In the process of trying, your skirt got all bunched up. The cool air of the garage was hitting your ass, and your lace panties with their heart shaped cutout were doing nothing to help.

He had to be enjoying this. Probably admiring his knife with a smug tilt of his mask. Why was he so quiet?

You stopped struggling, taking a moment to catch your breath and think. He should've caught you by now. Was there any chance he left the garage? Any chance he wouldn't kill you?

He didn't have a habit of leaving them alive.

When you began to struggle again, a weak motor droned awake, making your stomach drop. The garage door began to lift, and the bottom edge of it dug into your stomach. Your heart sank with dread. Within seconds you’d likely be dead or mangled. Seconds, IF you were lucky. The thought of him dragging out your demise was even worse. You had seen his crime scenes.

Your knees lifted off the ground as the door made its ascent.

“Please,” you begged, shoes sliding against the floor.

The garage door creaked as it came to a halt. Your feet pedaled in futility, searching for the floor. You lifted your chest, trying to wriggle backwards. The only way out of this cursed little door-–if there even was a way out-–led right to his knife.

“Please, please, I won't run. I'll be good,” you begged through tears.

Silence. Unlike him.

“I'll be good,” you repeated quieter. "Please, Mr. Ghostface."

The motor started again, and you winced. But the door began to lower, allowing you a moment of relief as your bare knees met the cool, smooth floor.

His footsteps got louder and clearer as he crossed the space. Despite being unable to see him, you knew his presence loomed behind you-–you could feel it in your bones.

Sure enough, two gloved hands gripped your thighs, lifting your lower body for a moment and spreading your legs before setting your knees down further apart.

He made a place for himself between your knees, spreading them even wider. The smooth fabric of his robe pooled over your legs with him between them. He ran his gloved hands up your torso from your hips to your waist, pushing your skirt up further so it was up around your navel. Then, two satin thumbs lightly brushed your skin, tracing the heart-shaped cutout of your underwear.

After a moment of rustling behind you, a gloved finger slotted between your panties and ass. He pulled the garment out from your body, then the elastic tension released with a slice of his knife.

More rustling. His movement made the robe graze your butt. You weren't sure if you were imagining the sound of his belt coming undone behind you, but the thought of it made your face heat up.

The heavy fabric of his robe lifted off your calves, removing any doubt about what he was about to do. You tried to ignore the way your pussy throbbed.

The smooth head of his cock nudged your entrance, then slid wetly along your slit, forward and back. You hadn't realized just how aroused you were until feeling cock glide so smoothly against your well lubricated cunt. The head lingered at your front, nudging just the right spot. Your hips tilted all on their own, and he paused before sliding back to your wet little hole, resting the curve of his tip just inside.

He gripped your hips and pushed forward, intruding into your tight, warm sleeve with his thick, hard cock. Inch by inch, his stiff manhood pushed its way into you, the pressure of his girth pushing the breath out of your lungs. He slid all the way in without much difficulty and paused after bottoming out.

You took a much needed breath.

The skin of your chest radiated warmth. Your whole upper body was hot, despite the cool air.

Your lower body was warm and stuffed.

Two big, gloved hands wrapped around your thighs, then lifted. Your body lurched forward as far as it could, then he pulled you back on him, bottoming out deeper before he let your weight back down.

You braced your forearms on the driveway and he moved his hands up to hold your hips. He withdrew most of his length then squeezed your hips and pulled you back again as he slammed all the way back in. This wasn't bad… he was slow, almost careful.

Almost as though he could hear your thoughts, he seemed to drop all restraint. He buried his cock in you at a steadily increasing pace. You were shaken by just how good he felt inside you.

You bit your arm to stifle your moans, but it was no use. He'd have to hear your sounds of pleasure, as humiliating as it was. You removed your mouth from your bicep, leaving a string of spit as you took a deep breath.

As you inhaled the night air, it smelled like someone was having a bonfire... Someone, somewhere had come outside. Maybe even the neighbors.

But you didn't cry for help.

It was as though the cock in your cunt had gagged your throat, paralyzing you. It couldn't be that you didn't want him to stop, could it? No, you told yourself.

With every thrust, it felt more like a lie.

The rhythm of his pounding made your breasts jiggle. Your arms and wrists rubbed against the driveway, but you hardly felt it. Any discomfort was drowned out by the pleasant stretch of his girth, and the grip of your pussy clinging to his length as it pushed through you.

You closed your eyes and went somewhere else, giving into the feel-good chemicals coming to boil in your blood. You couldn’t tell how much of it was the rush of survival and how much was his dick, but the combination had you hurtling toward the stratosphere. Full, you were packed full. God, it felt good. Even better, the more you let yourself feel it.

There was something freeing about completely submitting to his will. Letting him use you like a fucktoy. Giving in, letting him win, you could relax and let it all wash over you. With your body held in his hands and wrapped around his cock, you felt weightless. There was no longer pressure to fight back or flee. The only pressure was low in your gut, building toward something unthinkable. Closer with each heavy stroke.

You spasmed with a whimper.

He abruptly sped up to jackhammer pace, pushing you to the brink within seconds. You rode that edge for longer than you thought anyone could keep up that pace. You remembered to breathe, and then you saw stars. The hair on your neck stood up as you clung to the ethereal force that rippled through your loins. Pleasure shot through your core to each limb.

He slowed down as you clenched around him, then bottomed out deeper. It was like he’d created more space in you and packed it with more cock than you ever thought you'd take.

Until the warmth began to spread inside, you didn't realize he was coming. He had given no outward indication of it. You could hardly distinguish your throbbing from his, until yours faded and he was still twitching.

The grip of his hands eased up as he finished. He held you with your ass flush against his wiry hair, anchoring you. Plugging you.

After a minute, it started to feel colder outside. You felt more exposed, vulnerable, but still dared to imagine he might leave you alive.

One hand let go of you, and his robe shifted, brushing the back of your thigh. He pulled back your ruined underwear again. This time, he cut through the side and took it all the way off. Then, the surprisingly warm flat of his blade pressed against the side of your butt cheek. It slid up over the curve of your flesh.

Your heart pounded, reminding you to fear for your life.

The metal left your skin, only for the point of the blade to then prickle the center of your lower back. He held you still, and his cock twitched inside you as he began to draw blood.

You pleaded, “don't," but your insides throbbed.

A sharp, white heat followed the blade, curving upward, out, and down toward your crack. He repeated it on the other side to complete the heart. Your ears burned and pounded with their own pulse. Your inner ears began to ache.

Finally, his cock slid out of you, and after a moment of jostling, he got out from between your legs. Then, facing your side, his robe grazed your back as he hovered over you and grabbed hold of your waist. He tugged gently. You extended your arms in front of you and held them together as he pulled you back into the garage. warm blood trickled into your crack as you sat up. His gloved thumb smeared it upward.

Clear snot was coming out of your nose. You sniffed and he wiped that too, with a knuckle.

Holding his knife, he showed it to you as he stood up. He crossed the garage in just a few strides while you obediently sat back on your knees, adjusting your bra and fixing your hair.

He returned with his hands full.

Your face fell blank when you looked up to see a collar with a leash hanging off it. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He tilted his head, then stooped down to reach around your neck and fasten the it. The arms of his robe created a curtain of darkness as he adjusted the buckle and tested the tightness with two fingers between it and your neck.

He stepped back, holding the leash, and tilted his mask, waiting. There was something else in his other hand. He clicked it, then tossed it aside as the garage door began to rise. He reached down and helped you up. Then, he walked you down the driveway and into the night, with a warm mess trickling down your thighs.

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thank you for reading 🖤

and tysm for your comments and asks 🙏the feedback and encouragement really helps me.

[syoddeye]

price x f!reader. ~400 words. idek. cw: stalking, noncon, sensory deprivation

do not talk about your sleep routine with your friends in public. do not mention your eye mask. your dual white noise machines. your earplugs. the blackout curtains.

do not mention that you’re trying that viral beauty trend from tiktok, that you’ve started taping your mouth shut.

because the man at the next table may not look interested. he may appear absorbed in his book. but he isn’t. you got john’s attention the moment you joined your table, and he’s been stealing glances and listening in since.

you are a chatty thing with your walls down, chirping freely among friends. you’re generous with your support and sympathies, which endears you more to him, but it’s when you chime in with your own little stories about your family, work, and love life—that’s when john really listens. he bites his cheek and adjusts himself when you lament the fact that you’ve been single for almost a year, with no successful hookups. how lonely you must be.

the decision is made as you politely decline to continue the night with your friends. you live only a few blocks away, and you’re exhausted? how could he resist?

he doesn’t hide when he opens your bedroom door or flinch when he turns the bedside lamp on. not with the eye mask on your face.

he isn’t completely silent when he toes off his shoes and unbuckles his belt. not with the persistent drones of the noise machines or earplugs.

you do try to scream when your shorts slide to your ankles and a knee slots between your legs. john chuckles at your muted screams, at how your lips desperately try to part under the ridiculous pink thing adhered to your mouth.

you do try to fight, but he’s already gathered your wrists together in one hand. he squeezes your cheeks with the other, thumb and forefinger digging in, and warns you he has no qualms about making it hurt.

you do try not to hate yourself when you come instantly after he slaps your clit. try not to whine too loud when he calls you good girl, says let's go for four, and pushes a leg up to hit deeper. try not to feel good while he fucks you into the mattress, giving you something you’ve needed for months. 

at some point, the tape comes loose from sweat and spit. you poke it off with your tongue and get one embarrassingly breathy shriek out before his palm smothers it. he just laughs at how big your eyes get.

“shh, pet. your neighbors are trying to sleep.”

[auspicioustidings]

Savage

Summary: Request for some Scottish warrior Soap taking an English maiden as a prize.

Words: 3.7k

CWs: Violent non-con (I am so serious, do not ready this if it's not your thing), hardcore smut

–

Authors Note: This is very much a rape fantasy. Traditionally rape fantasies have historical grounding in minorities who felt ashamed of their own desires so had to fantasise a situation in which they were blameless for engaging in a stigmatised action because it was forced. It’s sort of where a lot of the noncon trope in bodice rippers comes from because women in unhappy marriages need a fantasy in which they can get rid of the shame for wanting passionate or rough sex because they imagine they fought against it. A lot more people have rape fantasies than people generally realise and truly a miniscule barely there number of them would ever think it was ok to actually assault someone. All that to say, this is not me condoning anything in real life. If you find fantasies like this don’t do it for you, then do not read it, but don’t then shame people who do. There is psychology behind why people fantasise about these things, it’s pretty normal and you don’t need to be worried that it is some moral failing. Mind your business.

It was a miraculously good match for you, a high ranking soldier of the King’s army. You were technically of noble blood, but just barely. You lived simply, not in a large house but in a small village where you held no sway over anyone else and were treated as common. But the village was close to the border between England and Scotland and every day it became more tense as whispers of raids from villages to the West skittered between houses like rats.

You didn’t know how your uncle had made arrangements for this beneficial marriage for you, but it would get you moving South in a few days time to marry and then you would finally be able to relax with this war much further away from you. You had heard horror stories of what happened to young maidens when savages came pillaging. They said that they didn’t wear anything under those kilts, they said it was to make it easy to bury their cocks in any hot hole they could find. They said they didn’t have any tame qualities, not like the English. Scottish men were feral, the comparison to dogs not holding water because at least dogs could be trained. 

When you retreated to bed you got on your knees to say your prayers. As always you had to beg forgiveness for the licentious thoughts that sent thrills straight to your cunt whenever you thought about the images all those rumours put in your head.

–

The noise of chaos woke you in a panic, heart hammering against your ribcage as the smell of smoke drifted on the air and war cries sounded. You recognised your own kinfolk of course, the battalion of soldiers stationed here to keep eyes on the border. But it was the cries of those animals from the country to the North that sent you scrambling out of bed in only your chemise, knowing you had to run and hide before they could see you.

You slipped out of the bedroom, a frightened little rabbit looking for a burrow to hop into. The smell of smoke was stronger in the main room and you could see the orange glow of flames through the window. Going outside would be a risk, but hiding in here may get you burned to a crisp should this building be lit up. You did not have time to make the decision as the door burst off of its hinges, a muscular man in a blood spattered kilt with a warrior's mohawk and wild eyes panting like a dog as he caught sight of you.

You were frozen, unable to even breathe. And then after a beat his mouth stretched into a horrid manic grin as he bounded towards you. That finally shifted you from freeze to flight as you scrambled back through to the bedroom, trying to get to the small window. You threw the top half of your body through the gap but his rough hands grabbed your naked ankles and yanked you back, hard. You felt the chemise catch on the window frame, the fabric bunching up to completely expose you to him before he let go of your ankles letting you crash to the ground. 

Your knees throbbed from the hard floor and by the time you were trying to crawl away he had his hand in your hair, brutally pulling your head up and craning it to look at him leaning over and getting into your face.

“Hear I have a wee noble bitch on my hands.”

Of course he would know. There were families here who would tell them anything to save themselves and pointing them in the direction of a noble maiden, one who was betrothed to an English soldier at that, would certainly be information that could spare them. The shouts outside sounded more heavily weighted towards those in his own gruff and growling accent now. The English soldiers were losing.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about ser” you cried gently, not knowing how else to save yourself. 

“Bonnie words” he growled, pulling so sharply at your hair that you thought your scalp might be bleeding and using his other hand to grope meanly at one of your breasts through the rough fabric of your nightwear.

You cried out, feeling the tears immediately spill over and stream down your face. He was so strong, you could barely budge against his hold, and he reeked of blood and fire and sweat and hot arousal. You squeezed your eyes shut and he only growled at you.

“Ye’ll keep those eyes open, yer going tae watch yer wee English cunt take me like a whore or I’ll take yer tight arse instead.”

You choked on a sob and opened your eyes, seeing that his were full of sick glee and heat. The hand groping at your tits moved under the chemise to cup roughly at your sex and he pulled you to your feet by that hand. You screamed at how it felt as he abused you with his hand, grinding the heel against you. You felt a hot flood of bitter shame as he swiped a finger violently through your folds. What he found there made him pause for a moment, his face lighting up in unrestrained glee.

“Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

You had heard women who said it would be better to be wet if they were to be taken against their will. You did not agree. Him knowing that your traitorous body found his rough abuse of it arousing was so humiliating you felt you would rather die. He was so oppressive in his demeanour, so big and aggressive above you that you imagined he may break your bed with what he was about to do to you. How foolish of you to think he would have that level of mercy.

“Going tae show all those bastards how their women take Scottish cock” he laughed, spearing two fingers inside you to their full length with no softness at all and pulling you by them.

You could not breathe. You had never had anything inside you and those two fat fingers felt like they were stretching you so much you would tear. He walked backwards so he could keep them firmly inside you and you stumbled pathetically after him, needing to keep as close to him as possible to stop the painful press against your walls that came from him pulling if you did not move. 

The shame was overwhelming as you emerged, full of his fingers and stumbling after him with tears streaming down your face, to find that your country's soldiers had been defeated with the survivors on their knees, hands bound. You were being paraded in front of them you realised, they had been put right here in the town square so they could bear witness, the Scottish soldiers standing behind them feral and full of lust as they took in their leader pulling you in front of them by the cunt. 

When he ripped his fingers out of you, your knees buckled and a high whine left you. You had went from feeling too full to feeling far, far too empty. You could barely hear anything but the blood rushing through you as your heart hammered. That and him as he taunted the soldiers on their knees. 

“Our women would ne’er let ye touch them, they’d die first. Yer clean wee English princess on the ither hand?” he said, planting a booted foot to your chest and pushing until he had you pinned on your back underfoot, “she’s gagging fir it. Foaming at the gusset tae take strong Scottish cock, put a real warrior in her belly.”

His own men cheered at that and you watched on with horror as he cocked his head at one of them and he began to approach you. 

“Naw a monster though am I my wee slut? Ye’d be wet enough fir one of their small English cocks nae doubt, but fir mine? Going tae need something to help me sink in good and deep.”

The other soldier went to his knees between your legs and you watched as he pulled his throbbing cock from under his kilt, jerking it violently. You tried to move away, his cock so close you could feel the heat of it between your legs, but the boot on your chest held you still. When you tried to close your legs the man touching himself used his other hand to wrench one of your knees until it was touching the ground, using his own knees between your thighs to help him keep your glistening cunt fully on display.

When the head of his cock stroked through your folks, slicking you with his pre-cum and bumping at your clit, you were so overwhelmed that you didn’t quite manage to bite back your moan. They laughed meanly at you as the man found his release, spurting hot cum all over your pussy, smacking his cock against your stomach when he was done to shake off the last drops.

It was filthy, you felt sticky and like you were on fire. The next soldier took his place and spat right on your already disgusting cunt as he began to stroke himself. By the time he had painted you with his seed and the third was started, the man above pressed his foot harder to get your attention and all you could do was stare up into his taunting eyes, trying to focus on him so you could not think of what was going on between your legs. You cried up at him, trying to find any level of sympathy in him.

“Keep crying and I’ll gie ye something tae cry about princess.”

Oh you hated him calling you that when you were pinned down in the dirt, defeated soldiers of your country watching as their enemies smeared their cum all over your exposed body. Watching as they made a sloppy mess out of you in preparation for their leader to shove his cock deep inside and pump you full of his savage children.

You did not know how long you stared up at him, not able to look away as you felt the heat of his men on your body, your own body getting hotter and hotter with each slide of velvety throbbing skin against your own. He had started to talk to you, his eyes not budging. It wasn’t the defeated soldiers he was taunting, it was you, ruined and disgraced under his boot.

“See how good I am tae ye little whore? Letting my men make ye flush wi pleasure. Don’t deny it, think I cannae see yer face whenever ye feel a cock on that wee untouched pussy? Like a fucking bitch in heat. I’ll fuck ye like one. Get ye on yer hands and knees so ye can look yer precious King’s soldiers in the eye when ye fall apart on my cock. When ye’r fucking begging for my cum. Wilnae even have tae dae any work, ye’ll be fucking yourself back on me ye needy slut.”

You shook your head in horror at his claims, the true fear being that he would make them true. Already you felt in a daze, felt empty and desperate. But you felt fear as well as he put his arm under his kilt, rucking the fabric up to grab at his cock. It was huge and you found yourself panicked and squirming as the last of his soldiers grunted and slapped the meat of your thigh to get you to stay still. You were rambling incoherently as the man above stroked slowly at himself, causing that thick weapon between his legs to throb and seem even bigger. 

“It won’t fit, it’s not going to fit, please I’ll die, you’ll split me open. It’s so big no no I can’t, I can’t!”

You didn’t even feel the last of his soldier’s loads splatter onto you, didn’t notice when his hands left your flesh. You would have rapidly purpling skin in the shape of fingerprints all over your thighs from how you had been held still by all of them, but you could not feel the dull pain of it through your fear of what was to come.

“Ye’ll take whit I gie ye and ye’ll fucking thank me princess.”

He removed his foot and it was only then you realised that he had been pressing down hard enough that your breaths had been shallow. The rush of oxygen from being able to fully expand your lungs again made you horribly dizzy, but it also flooded right down to your clit and made your body jerk violently with the sensation. 

He didn’t take his hand from his cock and he bent so he could use the other to grab your ruined hair again, yanking your head up and shoving himself into your mouth. You choked, legs scrambling to get underneath you to give you some stability with which to batter your fists against his thighs, trying to pull away. He laughed meanly at your attempts, moving the hand that was touching himself to join the one tangled in your hair on the back of your head and pulling your head at the same time as he thrust forward, settling himself fully in your throat. 

You were gagging around him, tears really streaming down your face now as you begged him with your eyes to let you breathe. He held you there, his own eyes glittering with satisfaction, until your muscles started to give in and you felt your eyes dropping closed as your brain became cottony. Then all at once he pulled you off and you were gulping in oxygen around your coughing and sputtering, the rush much more intense this time. 

He held your head tilted up at him so he could watch your face as he shoved his boot between your legs and got you over the edge. Oh weren’t you a delicious little thing for him, getting off so hard on how he used you, moaning shakily and wantonly in the dirt beneath him in front of his triumphant soldiers and your defeated ones. 

“Good fucking girl” he growled with a feral grin, letting you ride it out with little aborted thrusts on his boot, unable to control your body. 

You looked gone, eyes glazed and body slack. Couldn’t have that, he needed you screaming for him. He needed your blood fighting between being frozen with terror and boiling with need. And he needed you full of him, needed to be able to feel his own cock through your stomach so fucking clearly that he could jerk it. 

You were thrown forward, top half of your body collapsing pathetically into the dirt right where it was covered in the sweat and cum of his soldiers. He manhandled your hips up, leaving your face crushed into the dirt and your ass up high for him, cunt presented. You felt his hot breath at your ear and it was a sudden shock when you realised he was growling lowly into your ear, his words for you and you only.

“S’going tae hurt, yer going tae scream yerself hoarse for me and then I’ll get ye tae milk me when I rip pleasure out of all that pain. Will treat ye right after little princess, like one of my good Scottish lassies, but right now ye’r my fucking English whore.”

The confusing mix of sentiments cleared some of the fuzziness from your mind but you had no time to dwell. He was right, it did hurt and you did scream yourself hoarse. He had lined himself up and plunged into you, cock coated and slick from the cum of his soldiers but no less huge inside your tight virgin pussy. He had split you in two, you were sure of it. His cock must have broken through you, was sitting in your ribcage and punching all the air from your lungs.

You blacked out for a moment, coming right back to when he pulled out to fuck brutally back into you again, slapping your ass so hard that you felt the sting all the way up to your fingertips and making you choke on the sob that fought through the screaming. He ripped at your hair, making you look at the defeated soldiers on their knees. Making you watch their own cocks swell at your treatment. Your utter ruination was making them hard. Your head being wrenched back meant you had to go to your hands as he pounded you, and you saw how they looked as one of your breasts was fucked right out of the chemise, bouncing lewdly for them to see with every hard thrust.

The humiliation had you digging into the dirt like you had claws, feeling the bite of the earth pushing under your nails. It sparked something in your brain, almost like you could see them sharpen. Like you could feel your shoulder blades become more pronounced, become something sinewy and sleek and animal. He was fucking you like a predator and you were drooling and howling and panting like his prey, back bowed as he pulled your hair harder and had to staring at the sky babbling prayers into the night air. 

“S’too much, can’t, I can’t. Full, too full.”

“Ye fucking can. Yer tight fucking cunts trying tae strangle me, wants my cum so bad naw? Perfect English pussy, so slutty and needy for a real cock” he growled, hand letting go of your hair and smacking your ass right over where he had before, causing you to howl at the pain. 

The pain and something else, something that had no place here and yet had been lingering from the moment he had caught you. Something that had been getting closer and brighter and more insistent with every abuse you were subject to. Something that he invited in when your arms collapsed beneath you without him holding your heads weight anymore and he ground your face into the ground before bringing his hand to your clit and pinching. 

Your scream was raw and hoarse, throat well past being able to produce a clear sound. The orgasm was blinding and every bone felt like it had liquified. You saw white and then you saw hardly anything, only vague shapes and colours. The only thing now was how his cock filled you. The shame was gone, replaced with the truth that you loved this. You loved how he used you like this, how he violated you in front of these soldiers just because he could.

“That’s it princess, fucking take it” he hissed, stopping his thrusts and letting you do all the work.

You didn’t even realise now how you wildly fucked yourself back on his cock trying to chase the pain of overstimulation, addicted to the way it made you feel some sick hazy pleasure. You were drooling onto the dirt, tasting the earth mixed with cum and finding the disgust of it only felt right now. When his hand came to your stomach and pushed to feel himself bulging there you came again, harder, babbling thank yous to him.

He bit out a string of curses above you as your pussy squeezed so hard it was forcing him out, but he was strong as he forced himself balls deep and held there, finding his release as you milked everything out of him and into your womb. The liquid heat of it was the last thing you felt as you passed out, blissed and fucked out of your mind. 

–

John MacTavish allowed himself a moment to lean his body against your back, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt and cum and fear and lust from your limp body. So good for him, took it perfectly. He hissed when he finally pulled out, resisting the temptation to just keep going beyond what would feel good because fuck, being inside you had been a religious experience. 

He was nothing if not a man of his word though, and he scooped your body gently into his arms to get you onto a horse and ready for him to take over the border where he could give you that princess treatment he had promised. The surviving soldiers they would leave beaten and bloodied but not dead. After all, someone had to tell your betrothed all the details.

-

“Fucking MacTavish” he hissed after excusing the man who had given the report.

He had made him give it in full detail, told him to leave nothing out. 

“Kept her alive by the sounds of it, maybe looking to get a bastard out of her” Garrick mused.

“Knowing him he’ll keep her near the border to taunt us instead of moving her further up North” Price added.

Simon Riley would not be letting his betrothed get away with allowing MacTavish of all people to take the maidenhood that rightfully belonged to him. She needed a proper punishing fuck from an English man to learn better.

“Doesn’t matter where he keeps her. I’m going to take her, and she’s going to learn what happens to sluts who spread their legs for those Scottish bastards”.

[slaughtershrine]

Words said once before.

(The Dark Lord/Dracula x Reader)

Summary: You had worked so hard for everyone all trial. You did gens, avoided the killer and even saved your teammates at the same time, wanting everyone to get out. Only to be betrayed at the last moment, your escape not nearly as important to others as theirs had been to you, hit and pushed down as nothing but bait for The Dark Lord. Word-count: 865.

Warning(s): Mentions of blood.

Everything spins as you lay nauseous on your aching back. Hunching over generators has been bad enough, the pulsing burn that had started at your lower spine has been making it's way to your shoulders throughout the whole trial. But the ache couldn't compare to the resentment you feel. You had done nothing but worked so hard on gens the whole trial — and such a good job at avoiding the killer not to mention saving your teammates, only to have a locker door slammed in your face, when one of your teammates jumps out, right as you made a break to open the exit gate. Mistakes happen, especially under fear and pressure during trials... But the feeling of them pushing you down, using you as opportune bait so they have a better chance to escape — it was smart. Such a painfully good advantage for them. But, the betrayal and embarrassment you feel couldn't have come at a worse time, looking up to see the new killer, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow at your pathetic downfall. Fuck he's tall. You had barely seen him, not a single chase — only a few split-second glances as you hid between pallets.

He's intimidating, just his atmosphere feels dark and suffocating. It's not hard to imagine freshly bloomed roses dying — wilting instantly from his gaze. You can feel his eyes scrutinizing every attribute you have, and you know what's coming next. A deep, low chuckle leaves his lips as his large hand reaches down toward you. "You are quite a pitiful thing, aren't you?" he mockingly asks. "Working so hard to help the rest, only to be left to die. How typical." You stare up at him with a more feeble expression than you would have liked, dreading as his hand comes closer and closer. His fingers long and pointed, with sharp nails to match. Thoughts of those claws tearing through your skin and toying with your muscles overtake you. It's impossible to fight off your body's reflex of screwing your eyes shut, and fearing for the worst.

Though you don't get lifted by your throat and held at arm's length, dragged to a hook like your fellow team-mates. Instead four cold finger pads drag down your cheek, a thumb on your opposite cheek to firmly hold your face in place during the action. "I can practically smell your blood rushing through your veins, and it is quite lovely." he purrs each word with intensity. His nails feel so sharp, like a painful itch under your skin. Leaving a horrid tingling, sting trailing down your cheek. When he pulls his hand away you feel a warm, liquid drip down your face. Blood. It's a slow trail, with not much blood, but it still leaves you stunned. You hear a deep growl come from his chest, you can feel it even, vibrating through the floor to your own chest. It has your eyes shooting back open, up to his face in panic. He looks down at his claw-ish nail, a small bead of your blood teetering on the tip. A sadistic smile spreads across his lips, he doesn't move his gaze from yours as he brings the digit to his mouth, licking the droplet of blood from it with a pleased groan. You feel sick, you can only think about gagging. You want to run, you want to leave.

The exit gate you had planned to open, sounds an alarm as it creaks open behind the killer, but he doesn't budge, he doesn't even break eye contact. You can hear someone's heavy panting and the stomps from their sprinting. You don't need to look to know that your teammate has left, and they aren't coming back for you. Besides, your eyes seem to be playing tricks on you, distorting your view, making it seem as though he is leaning in. Or is he leaning in? Why is he leaning in?? You can feel his breath on your face, cold, stale, dead. It feels wrong, unnatural and your stomach can't handle the scent of iron — from your own blood no less. He watches your eyes scrunch close again, the way your body sinks back from him as he leans in, the way he can smell the fear radiates off you. It's absolutely perfect. You're more appealing than the other human monsters. "What's the matter, pet?" He asks, his tone thick with amusement. His breath tickles your cheek, as he leans in closer. "Are you afraid?" His question is followed by a muffled, throaty chuckle, a sound you weren't expecting to hear. His hand finds its way back to your face, under your chin, pulling and forcing you to look at him again. You worked so hard to help the others, it reminds him of someone.

His fangs are exposed and prominent as he slowly drags his words along, savoring them as he talks, like they hold a meaningful memory, like they were only said once before. "I think I might like you."

[the-bar-sinister]

Whumper who is a smoker

Whumper who enjoys a smoke after ‘working on’ their whumpee.

Whumper who sits in a captive whumpee’s room and smokes.

Whumper who blows smoke in their whumee’s face.

Whumper who leaves a pack of cigarettes on the same table with the tools they use on whumpee.

Whumper who offers whumpee a smoke.

Whumper who smokes big, fat, smelly cigars.

Whumper who smokes a specific brand of cigarettes that their whumpee will later associate the smell of with them.

Whumper who burns whumpee with the tip of their cigarette or cigar.

Whumper who sets their whumpee on fire and lights a smoke off of them.

Whumper who always talks about quitting, and no one is sure if they mean the cigarettes or the whump.

[ephemerasnape]

Welcome to Hogsmeade 🔞

You've just finished collecting all your supplies during your very first excursion to Hogsmeade when you are suddenly apprehended by a handsome dark wizard. RAPE

Victor Rookwood x You/MC

"Aw... Aren't you just darling with your little spells."

DARK & DISTURBING THEMES

EXPLICIT AUDIO 18+

F!Listener / Rape / Age Difference / First Time / Loss of Virginity / Excessive Talking During Sex / Daddy Kink / No use of Y/N or MC but you are MC / Dead Dove

[pricegouge]

thinking about Gaz in Haul

what are some of his favorite ways of fucking with dolls head?

-🫀

>:)

non-canonical//different doll. also they have a hospital bed in this one. don't think too much about it.

cw: f!reader. amnesia trope. implied kidnapping, ga(z)lighting, and fraudulent identities. object insertion. dubcon/noncon. MDNI

he insists you've had him - many times over. you don't remember, but then, they say you don't remember much. dr. garrick said it would come with time, encouraged you to partake in physical activities; something about sensory memory - or maybe muscle. that your body would remember before you did, basically, but long weeks later and you still couldn't remember the men that surrounded you. not dr. garrick with his charming smile and quick wit; nor overeager johnny, who always acted the most hurt when you woke up each day still not knowing his last name. you certainly don't remember the terrifying skull mask and no amount of patronizing smiles from john would help to remind you how he preferred to be addressed but he steadfastly refused to tell you, an unwinnable game which only ever resulted in him tutting at you, the pit of disappointment in your stomach just as unfamiliar despite dr. garrick's insistence that it were these reactions - the instinctual fear, the curl of anxiety - which would bring about clarity eventually. he says you should lean into them, embrace the adrenaline drop and the tension which leave you wrecked at all hours of the day, a sweaty, limp bundle of nerves confined to your bed after long weeks of aimless panic attacks.

"it's normal. you must be so confused, poor thing. let me help, luv."

he had to tie you to the bed after a few too many false starts, your natural instinct to fight him off hard to override. the bracelets clatter against the siderails of the hospital bed whenever you test their limits now, the same contraption you've seen in ER shows or cop dramas when the patient is a risk to themselves. a risk to those around them. the lack of control dials the low simmer of panic in your belly up to the limit, a physical thing you can taste in your throat, but it's good - a better shot at recovery - so you keep your mouth shut, biting back tears as he stretches you on a clinical, bland-looking dildo. it would all be so very clinical, above board, if not for the sheer size of the thing, the way it stretches you much too far, much too fast.

garrick moves with impersonal efficiency, ignoring your cries as he coaxes slick from you with metronome-consistent circles on your clit. you're not even properly engorged, each rasp of his nitrile-gloved thumb over your flesh a harsh drag, but he gets his way regardless, the head of the toy slipping past your rim when his patience finally stretches too thin and he forgets the level of professionalism he'd adopted for your benefit - talking to you like you're her, that person he used to know before the accident that took your memory. that person he used to fuck, evidently.

it starts with whispered promises - how he knows you can take it, how he knows how to take care if you if you let him. he knows a lot about you, more than you do even. it's why you don't feel so bad when you start feeling good, back arching off the bed when he forces you to hilt the toy. it's too stiff, too straight, battering the very end of you ruthlessly. but it's hard to mind so much when kyle's dark eyes stare down at you like that, glittering in hunger.

his professionalism ends when he spits on your cunt, snapping like the thin trail he dangles from his lips to your own.

you don't remember him even as you beg for his cock, though he insists you must, the way you know he can fix the ache for you. you think he may be right when he gets his cock out and your cunt aches, that spot deep inside you throbbing as if your body already knows exactly where he'll bottom out. certainly, his palm finds the spot on your belly easily enough, pushing until he can feel himself through the layers of plush and abdominal wall. your body reacts familiarly, the roll of pleasure that takes you when the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock rubs against your poor abused clit natural. automatic. instinctive. you're too far gone to catch the filth he rumbles off at you, how he's never had pussy like yours.

you only put it together when johnny's voice cuts through the lingering fog of your pleasure, manifesting over garrick's sweaty shoulder to leer down at you while he asks if it worked.

they both look at you expectantly for a moment but when all you can manage is to gape at them like a fish, dr. garrick just sighs. "unfortunately not. wanna give it a try?"

johnny's eager when he takes the other's place, manhandling you back under him when you scoot up the bed as far as your manacles allow. dr. garrick asks what's wrong, asserts he thought you wanted to get better.

johnny talks over your protests. "sure ah can jog yer memory, bonnie. ye don' remember him?" normally, he pouts at your indifference, but when the slip of his cock into your stretch cunt elicits nothing more than a panicked whine, johnny's moue clouds in anger.

the surge of fear is familiar, at least. instinctual, cellular memory.

"dr. garrick, please -?"

"if this doesn't work we'll try ghost next. tight little cunt will remember him, i'm sure."

"but i thought we -?"

"oh, luvie. you've had all of us, of course."

"little whore," johnny adds, grunting as he snaps his hips up hard into you. it jolts you across the bed but you can only go so far, and johnny doesn't seem to mind chasing you.

"like you haven't," you hear garrick snipe good naturedly. it's an odd contrast to the simpering way he talks to you next. cloying. hair raising.

he was right after all, there are some things the body doesn't forget, instincts you can't train your way around. it had never occurred to you you could be re-conditioned around them, though.

"can't wait until you're better, luvie. you'll see. you love us. always have."

[sugoi-and-spice]

Ask of me debauchery....

...and you shall fucking receive.

Step by Step: A Gecko’s Guide to Becoming a Really Bad Person

Part One

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI!!!

Summary: In which, Bully!Reader manipulates Step-Bro!Spinner sexually in increasingly demeaning ways. And eventually, he asks his good ol’ pal Tomura Shigaraki for help.

CW:  Step-brother, Dub-Con, Blackmail, Bullying, Mean Reader, Male Masturbation, Oral Sex, Spinner has two dicks, Step-cest, Monster-fucking, AU - No League of Villains

A/N: I predict people are gonna be maaaaaad about this one and I'm all for it lol

Like my work? Please consider commissioning me or contributing to my Ko-Fi!

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[excerpt]

Her step-brother, Shuichi Iguchi, was a fucking loser. She knew it from the moment she saw him. And not in a prejudiced way or anything, it wasn’t because he was a heteromorph. After all, she has plenty of heteromorph friends (none quite as extreme as him, but still!)

No, it was all the other things she noticed about him when he walked into the family restaurant with his Dad the first day they met. The way he carried himself, slouching and fidgeting endlessly, unable to decide if he should cross his arms, put them in his pockets, or keep them at his side. The way he dressed, a ridiculously faded crewneck, baggy cargo pants, and a freebie League of Legends snapback that only served to further curtain his greasy long hair in his face. When she actually managed to grab a glimpse of his eyes through the locks, it was only for a second, and they were constantly shifting, dropping, unspeakably nervous.

Even in a casual setting, he looked completely out of place. He practically jumped anytime anyone asked him the most basic of questions like “how’s school”, “what do you want to drink”, “can you pass the soy sauce”. It was like he’d just been dragged out of his bedroom for the first time in five years — and she wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case.

She also wouldn’t have been surprised if this was the first time he’d ever been this close to a girl before, as he always looked especially panicked anytime he realized she was glancing at him, so she didn’t even really bother trying to talk to him that night, focussing instead on getting to know he future step-father — who seemed like an overall decent guy.

At the very least, Iguchi seemed to understand his status well. When she entered high school — the same one as him — he didn’t try to walk with her to or from school, didn’t try and talk to her, basically pretended like they didn’t even know each other, which she appreciated. She would’ve hated to have to be a bitch and tell him to get lost in front of all her new high school friends and potentially be reprimanded by her Mom to prove a point (of course, she would’ve if she had to).

Yes, her new step-brother was a fucking loser, someone she wouldn’t be caught dead talking to, let alone spending any meaningful time with in public. 

And yet somehow, she was completely infatuated with him.

She loved the way his skin looked, the different viridescent shades it took on depending on what angle or lighting she saw it in. She loved even more the way it felt, the times when his hands brushed against hers when he handed her a bowl or she bumped shoulders with him, cool and impossibly smooth with a texture so different from her own. She’d wanted to run her hand across every inch of it, to feel every difference. Just imagining it pressing and rubbing all across her own body had her gasping into her pillow for hours.

She didn’t know how the fuck it happened. It would’ve been great if she did, because maybe she could make it unhappen then. But nope, the harder she tried to understand it, the further away the answer seemed to get.

Maybe it was because he was so different from her or anyone else she would ever actually consider dating. Had their parents not gotten married, she never would’ve let herself give Iguchi the time of day. But within the walls of this family home, she was able to enjoy and explore him to her heart’s content. She was inquisitive by nature. Her friends called it sadistic, but she saw it as just wanting to see how far she could take things. And the desire to do so to Shuichi Iguchi was no different. He was so sweet and so shy, so eager to please or be invisible to everyone around him.

She wanted to see where that ended, what exact buttons she could press to get him to actually snap at her.

It started with little things at first, innocent things. Asking him to do her chores, her homework, even her shopping, yet he could never say no to her. Not even when she asked him to go buy her a set of lacy lingerie she was wanting. He actually fucking did it — handing the little pink boutique bag out to her without looking her in the eye, his skin flushed all the way down to his neck. Oh, she knew then that he was going to be fun . 

That with him, she could really get… creative.

Flirting with him shamelessly, hanging out on his bed in nothing but a pair of panties and a tank top she’d stolen from him while he played video games, throwing her legs over his lap during family movie nights, pretending she didn’t notice how warm and fidgety it made him while she continued to move her calves back and forth across his crotch.

There came a point when she thought that maybe the guy was just unbreakable, that he really didn’t have a single impure thought about her in his head and that this wasn’t a game, but just an infuriating (not to mention insulting ) exercise in futility. 

But then, late one night, through the thin wall they shared, she heard it. The sound of flesh against flesh, muffled grunts.

Her name, breathy but distinctive, on his tongue. 

Shuichi Iguchi, her dear, perfectly behaved, and endlessly timid older step-brother, was in his bed, jacking off. 

Imagining her .

And it wasn’t a one time incident either. She listened closely in the following days, and discovered that it was a nightly occurrence, that she was a nightly occurrence to him. And it wasn’t long before she joined him in his fantasizing, spending night after night pressed as close into the wall as she could get, imagining that that stupid piece of plaster dividing their beds was gone, as she fingered herself to sleep.

It should’ve gotten easier after that, she should’ve been able to extend her patience knowing that it was an actual possibility now. But if anything, it made the burn within her even worse, knowing that it was so close yet so far out of reach. She didn’t just want this, she fucking needed this. But it’s not like she could let him know that. She couldn’t let him think that she wanted it, that she wanted him . She needed it to seem like mercy. 

She needed to have the upperhand.

So, she started setting traps. Things she could use against him, to get him into the palm of her hand, a place where he didn’t say no just because he didn’t want to say no, but so that he couldn’t say no. She asked him to get things from her room and left sex toys out, wore skimpier and skimpier outfits that she could catch him staring at her in, left her phone out so that he could read her lewd messages to other boys at school. 

Yet still, nothing.

Iguchi didn’t step a single clawed toe out of line outside of the four walls of his bedroom. He was the perfectly polite older brother that she knew and hated to love.

It wasn’t until she wasn’t even trying to trap him that he finally took the bait. 

Continue on AO3

[pockymorbys]

congrats on being another statistic u fuckign idiot 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

[fourse]

Me n the besty

also check out the image description I tried adding an id,, how’d I do

[toxicanonymity]

EVERY INCH 3.

4.4k words, m!ghostface x f!reader

Every inch 🔪 Every inch 2 🔪 MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Ghostface watches you and calls you. He gets bored, and one of your friends gets killed. You try to swear ghostface off, but he stalks you. You want revenge.

A/N: THANK YOU for all the love. Masked Ghostface, inspired by canon gfs & night walks. HC who you want. Enough recap in the first paragraph to read as a one shot.

WARNINGS: I8+ noncon p in v, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gun play, choking, degradation, slut shaming, drugs, creampie, noncon breeding, phone sex, masturbation, knife play, a modicum of canon-typical plot/violence. Gf calls himself daddy. DEAD DOVE. NO USE OF Y/N. Starts in GHOSTFACE POV.

You aren't doing yourself any favors by thinking about him every time you get off. You should get on tinder. Go on another date. Get a boyfriend. But there's too much now. You've got a video of him whimpering with his cock out after you had your way with him, and a picture of him with cum all over his robe a minute later. And then there's the mirror pic he took in your bathroom. He's behind you, holding you naked in front of him.  There's a look of arousal on your face, and you must be so ashamed, but you keep coming back to look at it every night. . .and you're not the only one. 

Ghostface air dropped it to himself right after he took the pic. You should really be more careful with your settings. And your blinds, and your curtains. But you don't wanna be more careful, do you?  You've got everything the cops could need to put him away. You even had his DNA, and you kept it to yourself. Allll to yourself. And you’d like to have more of it, wouldn't you? It's fascinating, really, how bad you want his cock. 

You haven't heard from him in weeks, but he still comes by every once in a while.  He sees your neighbor check in on you, and you keep looking at the time on your apple watch until he leaves.  He sees you try on your slutty Halloween costumes– your backside looks best in that tight ass nurse dress, but god damn, your tits in that pleather.  What a pretty pussy you are. Meow.  He sees you get dressed for bed, and just in time. 

You check your phone and glance out your bedroom window before you take out your vibrator.  Ghostface takes out his cock and lifts his mask to spit on it. This is his season, you know. You must think about him all the time. Every time you see one of those phony Stab costumes. Every time you carve a pumpkin.  He lets you get a head start building to your climax. God damn, you want that cock, and you do an awful job hiding it when you see the call from a restricted number.  You look at your phone, biting your lip, and let it ring for a few seconds before you wet your lips and answer it. But you don't say anything.  Ohh, playin’ hard to get, are ya?

Ghostface admires the stiffness of his cock in his hand and strokes it while he watches you try not to speak first.  It's quite the game of chicken–at least a full minute of silence. He breathes heavier as he strokes himself, and then he hears the buzz of your toy. 

"Mmm, good kitty."

"What do you want?" Your breathing is heavy, too. 

"Wanna know how bad ya want this cock."

"Is your cock all you think about?"

He breathes a laugh. "That'd make two of us, wouldn't it?" 

You scoff, still touching yourself, teasing your clit with your vibrator.  

"Yeah that's it," he pants, and you arch your back. "Come for daddy."  You come so fast it's pitiful. 

You're easy. Too easy. He's getting bored. 

You're a bad, bad girl, and he wants to find out how bad. You know, he's never much cared for your "friend" Marla. He suspects you don't either, based on the way you tense at her hug in the bookstore.

—-----you-------

A DILF cop comes by your house. Must be new to the force since you've never seen him. You're used to them checking on you. The COP asks if he can come in, probably trying to be thorough,  you think.  But he asks you to take a seat, and he sits down next to you on your sofa.  When he has trouble meeting your eyes, your pulse quickens. 

He knows. He must know somehow. He knows you're a sick fuck who has phone sex with ghostface and gets off to his dick pics every night. Maybe he even knows you fucked him. He might even know you forced him. You're blanking on excuses if they find the photos in your phone. The cop leans forward and his biceps strain the short sleeves of his tan uniform.  He wrings his large, veiny hands as he turns his head to look at you.  Finally, his big brown eyes meet your gaze, and he tells you, "He's back. Got a crime scene down the block"

The relief lasts about ten seconds, and then you don't have to feign your horror. The blood rushes from your head to your pounding heart. You foolishly thought his killing days might be behind him. 

"Officer. . ." 

"Call me Javi."

"How do you know it's him, Javi?" You challenge him. 

"You really wanna know?" He raises his eyebrows at you. 

"It's him, sweetheart." He puts a big, warm hand on your upper back, then slides it up to squeeze your shoulder. "Got someone who can stay with ya?"

You take a few seconds to answer, then whisper, “yeah.” 

"Well, if not . . . " he sighs and leans way back on the sofa to reach into his uniform pants for his wallet. "Got a pen?" 

He writes his personal number on a business card and leaves it with you.  As you let him out the front door, sirens are wailing. 

Later, you see the crime scene online. Marla isn't just dead, she's stabbed, slit, and bled dry. The water runs red in the fountain you pass every day on the way out of your neighborhood.  A needed reminder of the sicko you’re dealing with. 

Over the next few days, you delete the ghostface photos and the video. You get a call from a restricted number and don’t answer it. You get a text from an unsaved number: don’t tell me you thought I changed. 

You delete it. When you’re leaving the neighborhood one day, you spot Javi in an unmarked car. When you get to your destination, you text him “why are you following me?” 

Like a boomer, he calls you instead of texting back.  You don’t answer. Then he replies, “Why don’t you have company? You shouldn’t be alone.” 

You send back, “If I have company, will you leave me alone?”

“I can give you some space, sure. But I have a job to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Keeping you safe.”

—--

You’re not going to let ghostface control your life. You don’t know what would happen if you ran into him now, and you try not to think about it, although you do find yourself going into the trash folder on your phone to look at what you deleted. You make plans to go out with friends. It’s the first weekend of October, and there’s a huge Halloween festival. You put on your nurse costume.

An hour before your friends arrive, your doorbell rings. You look at your app and it’s Javi. Well, this is awkward, you think as you finish pulling up your black, thigh-high fishnets. You answer the door and let Javi in, trying not to let your eyes linger on the way his arms stretch his sleeves. You decline to sit down. 

“Look, if you’re gonna go out, you should carry this,” he says, then looks you up and down and his gaze lingers on your cleavage. You clear your throat. He swallows and gives a subtle smile like yeah so what?  “Gonna wear a purse?” he asks. 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” You roll your eyes. 

You reluctantly change into the cat costume and wear a bat purse. You go out with your friends and everyone gets way too drunk. Your friend Sam gets in an altercation after a frat party, and your other friends have to restrain her and walk her home. You’re tired and you don’t want to deal with it. You insist you’ll be fine since you’re armed.  You decide to walk a couple blocks before you order your ride home so you can wait somewhere with more people around. 

—--ghostface—-

You filthy little slut. Are you enjoying yourself? Ignoring him, playing hard to get, acting like you’re not flattered, then teasing him, prancing around Woodsboro looking like a handjob costs $20. Walking alone through an alley – you really are a dumb bitch, aren’t you? 

Ghostface knows where you’re headed. He’s seen you take this route before, so he gets ahead of you and waits.  He’s vaping in the shadows behind a fire escape in the alley. When he hears the click of your slutty boots, he hits send: a dark alley? lmao. He hears the ding on your phone and the click of your heels slows down right before you reach the fire escape.  no point running, he sends. Then he brings the vape pen under his mask and sucks in a mouth full of smoke, and your phone illuminates your face and your eyes widen.

—--you—--

The alley smells like weed. You’re reading the texts when ghostace appears from behind the fire escape, coming at you with his robe flowing behind him.  He only has one glove on. His gloved hand grabs your throat and he pins you to the wall. You choke and gasp for air. He tilts his mask and a small amount of smoke billows out of the dark mesh at the top of his long, black mouth. He eases up on your throat only to move his hand to your jaw and tighten his grip, squeezing your cheeks to keep your mouth open as the smoke billows thicker and closer. His mask is only an inch from your mouth. You close your eyes and breathe in, and as he releases the smoke into your mouth, your clit throbs.  You've got butterflies in your chest, being close to him again. You cough. 

"Good girl," he says as he relaxes his grip on your jaw.  Then his knee nudges your purse out of the way and wedges your thighs open. 

“Bet ya miss me more than Marla, don’t ya?”

If only he wasn’t right. There’s a fire burning in the pit of your stomach just being close to him. But Javi will probably be here any minute, and you need to put up a fight so they won't be onto you. You abruptly knee ghostface in the groin. He grunts and falls backward only slightly. 

"Bad kitty." He takes you by the throat again as you try to fight back. “Bad, bad girl.” He hasn't brandished his knife, but you know he has it. You can't get your gun out quickly enough. You look at your phone and it flies out of your hand as Ghostface grabs your wrist. 

He lets go of you and picks your phone up off the ground, then walks away, robe trailing behind him as he disappears into the night.  

You try to follow him, but he loses you. The audacity–he shotguns you, gets you all riled up, takes your phone, and leaves you, just assuming you won’t do anything about it. Assuming you’ll chase him. You think about the fountain scene. You think about him leaving you. Rage eclipses your desire. If you see him, you might actually shoot him.  Now all you have is your metro card to get home, and luckily you’re close enough to the train station.  

–-

Scattered groups of drunk college students stumble around, bicker, and laugh. 

The train doors are open and you jog to make it in time, just barely squeezing in before the door closes behind you.  The car is full, but not packed. A Freddy Kruger makes room for you, and you stand with your hand braced on the pole. You get a message on your apple watch, meaning ghostface must be in bluetooth distance. 

always wanted to see you on the pole. 

You look behind you, and there he is, sitting at the back of the car.  You should run, but you’re gonna get your phone back at the very least. There’s too much damage he could do with what’s on it.  As the passengers finish unloading, you discreetly open your purse and put your hand on your gun, then set your sights on ghostface, who’s manspreading and sitting back.  The only other company in the back of the train car is a Michael Myers who looks to be passed out drunk. 

You take out the gun and turn the safety off as you approach ghostface in your slutty cat costume. He pulls back his head and cowers in an exaggerated oh, i’m scared move. He stays quiet, for once. 

“My phone,” you tell him. 

He looks around, pretending like he has no idea what you’re talking about. 

“Now,” you order and put your finger on the trigger. He takes a phone out of his pocket, but it’s not yours. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you,” you ask. The train jolts and you’re propelled onto him.  You brace yourself with your free hand on his strong shoulder, and when you feel his hard muscle, butterflies swarm to your core. If he isn’t going to offer up your phone, you’ll have to find it yourself.  You press the muzzle of the gun into his neck, through the fabric of his mask. He freezes. You reach under his robe and pat him down, finding nothing in the front pockets of his jeans. You should check his back pockets, but first you grab his crotch while you’re at it and laugh when he’s semi-hard. 

“Cock’s the only thing you’re good for, and this is what you’ve got for me?” His mask tilts down, watching you grope him.  You savor the feeling of control. “Worthless,” you spit.  Desire bubbles between your thighs as you feel him harden in your grip. Fuck it, you’re gonna take him one last time. You don’t want the last memory of all this to be him dominating you in your bathroom. You wanna go out on top. You fumble with his button and zipper with your free hand, then command, “Take it out.” 

He tilts his mask at you, then looks behind you as though seeing who’s around. 

“No one’s looking,” you mutter. “Stop fucking around.” You hold the gun to his neck and he urgently takes his hard cock out. You reach down for it. It’s thick and warm in your hand. “Don’t feel half as big as ya look on camera,” you tell him. “Pretty sad.” You spit in your hand and reach for his cock again. “So desperate for my attention,” you mock him. “You’ll do anything, wont ya?”

This is fine, you tell yourself, You’ll tell the cops he forced you, and then you’ll even have his DNA, and they can catch him, and this can all be over. . .after one last ride. 

You put your knees on the seat on either side of him.  You hover over his cock and use your free hand to run the head through your dripping folds, then you sink onto him and bottom out with ease. His cock twitches against your walls, and a shiver races down your spine. Your nipples harden, visible even through your pleather top.  The sheer arousal pisses you off.  He feels too good. A man like this doesn't deserve to be so good at dicking you down, without even trying. Without doing anything.  You move up and down him, and he does exactly nothing. He knows it gets you off. You hate how full he makes you feel. You resent the incomparable pleasure that will linger in your mind, in your whole body, for days. Maybe forever. 

He moans soft enough that the voice changer doesn't pick it up. You wince at the sound of his humanity. 

Something comes over you. “Shut the fuck up,” you tell him as you bring yourself down on his cock again. . “I don't wanna hear your voice." You raise yourself up. "I don’t wanna know who you are." You roll your hips into him.  "I don’t fucking care. I don’t care about you at all," you bite, fucking yourself on his cock, dripping wetter and wetter.  You keep degrading him as you fuck him.  "You’re nothing to me." In your lower belly, a climax is building.  "You’re a faceless cock. Always have been.” He sits motionless as you ride him harder. Maybe it was the weed, but you can’t get enough.

When the train reaches the next stop, you tug down your dress as much as you can and sit still on his cock. You hide the gun between your bodies.

Your watch dings with a notification–an unsaved number. 

how's the 🍆

A shadow eclipses you from behind, and you hear the snap of a picture. Your face goes ice cold. 

"Oh you're a reeeeeal bad girl, aren't ya?" The real ghostface says behind you. All the hair on your body stands up, and your heart pounds as you look at the costume in front of you. The lack of gloves, the quality of fabric, the jeans under it. The cock of a stranger twitches inside you and the gun shakes in your hand. "What the fuck," you mutter. You start to get off the man, but the real ghostface slams you back down on him. 

"Oh don't stop now, kitty. " 

He holds you down on the man's cock. "Lovin’ this Halloween special. sure he is, too. Ain't ya, buddy?" 

"What the hell’s goin' on," the man mutters in a regular voice.

You’re about to berate the man for deceiving you. "You let me,"  then you feel the heavy weight of the gun in your hand and stop short, shame rushing into every blood vessel of your body. 

"Better finish what ya started," the real Ghostface says. "A happy customer won't snitch, right brother?"

When you don't move, Ghostface says, "god damnit," then squats down and wraps his arm around you. "Do I have to do everything?" He lifts you up a little, so the man's cock almost falls out, then drops you back down. He lifts you up and down the man's hard cock, and it's horrifically erotic having Ghostface fuck you on another man's dick. The real Ghostface cock is hard against your back. 

Ghostface adjusts his grip and grabs a tit as he forces you up and down.  The man’s Stab mask tilts down, watching his cock disappear into you again and again. Your lips part, and a moan slips out. 

"Oh, you filthy, filthy girl," Ghostface chides. 

"Shut up," you snap as Ghostface sheaths the man’s cock with you again. 

"Gonna cum for him, pumpkin? Milk his cock?"  

No, God no, this random guy can't cum inside you. Your body stiffens and you shake your head no.

"Oh, c'mon, kitty." 

"No," you whimper.

Ghostface sighs in exasperation and one of his arms leaves your torso for a moment. Then he points his knife at the man you're riding. "Ten seconds." 

Ghostface holds the knife to your throat as he keeps manhandling you on the guy's cock, counting down, "ten," he lifts and lowers you, "nine," stuffing you with the man's cock, "eight,"  and he's only at "seven," when the man flattens his back and arms against the subway seats and shudders as he lifts his hips into you. Ghostface forces you down, and you cry, "no," drowned out by the man's groan as he cums.  You moan at his pulsations. It's sick, disgustingly hot, getting pumped full of this stranger's cum on a subway car with Ghostface holding a knife to your throat. Your spine arches and you begin to convulse, milking the stranger’s cock just like Ghostface told you to. 

"Hellll yeahhh." Ghostface gropes your tit. His cock twitches against your back. He addresses the stranger, "She's hot for a serial rapist, right?" as he lets your weight fully down onto the man. He lets you push yourself off the man, and ghostface holds you by your neck so you won't run.  As the man's cock flops sloppily onto his open jeans, Ghostface tells him, "now get the fuck outta here." The man in the ghostface mask is still zipping up his pants when Ghostface adds, "this one needs a real big cock." Then Ghostface asks you, "don't ya, pumpkin?" And takes the man's seat. 

The train comes to a stop and as the man scurries out of the subway car, he warns other riders not to board the car. He’s removing his mask as the train pulls away, but you don’t get to see him.  Ghostface takes the man's seat and hikes up his robe, revealing his pj pants.  He takes his cock out and manhandles you onto his lap.  You hover. You're not about to hop on his dick, but let’s face it, you’re not gonna put up a fight, either. You're tired. You're confused. You're horny as hell. There must be something in that weed. 

Out the window, everyone is staring as the train slowly pulls away. 

Ghostface hikes your dress all the way up and stares between your legs with the stranger's cum seeping out of you.  

"Look at this mess," he catches the cum with the flat of the knife, cool against your folds. He slowly drags the knife toward himself, then angles it up toward your mound. Then he takes the knife off you.  He wraps his hand around your ass and the handle of the knife rests against your skin.  “Now sit on daddy’s cock.” 

He lifts you onto his cock. He hesitates with his tip notched at your entrance, and you twitch with need. Then he pulls you down, and his thick cock stretches you – a pleasant, easy stretch – as you sink onto him. He's bigger than the cock you just had. 

"What's my favorite movie?" He asks, then begins to move you on his cock. He holds you still. You're dying for friction. "Strangers on a train," he answers for you, and you ignore him.   "Hitchcock's overrated,” Ghostface says. “Now I've got my *own*.” Great, he took a video, too.  This is bad for you, really bad, but all you can think about is the big, hard cock inside you.  He's still not moving, and neither are you.  Your clit is throbbing. You begin to rock your hips as the train slows down . 

Ghostface slaps your ass with his bare hand. "Made for the screen, baby." His hips begin to move under you, finally. You close your eyes, feeling his thick shaft pump in and out of you, sliding with ease through the other man's cum. "Sure can take a cock."  He feels so fucking good.  Why did he have to kill again? Why can't he just fuck you? God his cock feels good. "Bet ya coulda taken us both," ghostface says and his cock twitches inside you. "Ohh, fuck." The train stops. He puts down his knife and takes the gun from you. "Yeah, this hole could take two, no problem." His crude words are making you throb more. You feel people watching from the train window, and your face is hot, but you can't get enough of this cock. "Maybe that's what this filthy cunt needs. Two cocks." Your walls twitch around him. "Ooohhh, like the sound'a that, don't ya?"  You feel an orgasm building in your gut. "Hell yeah, dirty girl."  

The train leaves the station again. “Maybe next time I’ll bring a friend.” he brings the gun to your face. He prods your cheek with the muzzle. Then nudges your lips open and you groan in protest. 

"Give it a kiss, pumpkin'"  You pull your head back and turn your cheek. Your heart is beating out of your chest. Your vision is blurry. Your body is dizzy with pleasure and adrenaline. Ghostface gives up on putting the gun in your mouth. He drags the cool metal down your face, around your neck, to your back, then keeps dragging it down. Then he slouches down in the seat and adjusts your angle on top of him, pulling you tighter against his chest. 

His massive, ungloved hand lifts your ass cheeks out of the way and spreads you wide. He brings you upward, letting most of his cock out, then you feel the cool metal at your dripping entrance. He wedges the cold muzzle of the gun into your pussy right alongside his cock. "Yeah, take it, kitty." 

You groan as he pulls you down on his cock and the gun. What has he done to you? Why is this so hot? "Yeah, knew ya could take two cocks." To your horror, you find your hips rocking. "Fuck yeah," he growls. The barrel of the gun is cool against the back wall of your cunt, and your hole is squeezing his cock tighter now. He wriggles the gun around in a circular motion against his cock. "Ohh yeah."  The train speeds up. "Hold on tight," he warns. He begins to manhandle you on his cock and the gun. You're on the edge. Your asshole tightens and tension swells in your core. 

"Fuck," you whisper. 

He feels it. "Yeah, that's right." You hold your breath. "Cum for me, pumpkin, or I'll make you into pie." Your climax overtakes you and you wince as you clench around the gun and his cock. 

"Goooood giirl," he says with your body jerking around his. "There's daddy's little slut." Wave after wave hits you and your cunt squeezes him and the gun.  He holds you tighter against him and lifts you enough to slide the gun out, leaving your exhausted cunt looser around him. “Yeah, plenty’a room for two.”  You're still having aftershocks. They're not fading, like another one could build. You reach for your clit. "Needy, needy cunt." You rub yourself and he rocks you on his cock until you cum again. 

"Hell yeah," he moans when you clench around him.  Then he erupts inside you with a groan. His cock pulses against your walls as his warm spend mixes with the other man's. "Yeahhh." His cum goes on and on. "Fuck, yeahh." 

As soon as he's finished coming, he pulls you off his lap. He tucks his cock back in his PJs. The train rolls to a stop. 

He pats your lower belly.  “Won’t know who's the father," he chides, "but at least ya know who's daddy."

—

-

Next: EVERY INCH 4

May 2024 update - I have 3 more parts outlined.

-------------------

THANK YOU FOR READING. If you want more parts, reblogs and comments make all the difference.

Now that you know what happens, it's a solid re-read. Especially when reader is degrading him 😭 lmk your thoughts when you come back to reread lol.

if you liked this smut, you could check out raider Joel meanwhile.

Also BTW gasolinerainbowpuddles is responsible for giving me the kink of degradation about unknown paternity starting with the fic liquid gold which is amazing.

[auspicioustidings]

Cry, Baby

Summary: Serial killer Kyle takes you home, his room mate Ghost plays with you while he is away. Words: 1.7k CW: NON-CON/RAPE This is basically Ghost violently raping your throat. I cannot stress enough that if that makes you uncomfortable do not read it.

It had saved your life you think, how you looked when you cried. The Butcher is what the papers called him, but you knew him as Kyle now. He had broken in to your sister’s house which you were staying in while she was on vacation with her family a few months ago and you had been sobbing by the time he was stood over you with a cleaver. It was cruel how he did it all, stalking you through the building, little traps designed to fracture bones and rip open skin appearing, messages left on the exits about how he’d be so disappointed if you tried to get out (you had obviously and he was, enough that when he caught you he had carved his name into your breast while cooing at you that it was ok, he was doing this so you’d remember to be good, could look down whenever you felt the temptation to misbehave and remember who you belonged to).

He hadn’t ever left anyone alive before and you didn’t think he had intended to leave you alive either, but when you started sobbing he looked at you as if he was enamoured.

“Well fuck me, first little lady I’ve met that doesn’t look pretty crying.”

That’s what he had said and it sounded like “I love you”. He took you home bloodied and broken and wrapped in his jacket like he was saving you. He never physically hurt you again after that. Even when he was buried inside of you he was gentle and loving and couldn’t stop speaking words of adoration into your skin. He only ever touched you after he had been out hunting. You only ever felt his hands on you when they were covered in the blood of yet another girl. There hadn’t been much of a pattern before he took you, at least that’s what the news had said. It was fucking mean of Ghost to show you that had changed.

—

The blonde man with the scars was a mean looking motherfucker and he had looked at you when Kyle brought you home like you were less than nothing and then proceeded to ignore your existence with the exception of standing over you each morning to watch you swallow a pill. You hoped it was contraception. It was a bit of a shock realising that the Butcher wasn’t just Kyle, it was the man called Ghost as well. You were weary of him, but you never had to be around him alone. If Kyle was out, so was Ghost. Until the day he wasn’t.

“Knees.”

You were unsure if he was talking to you at first, but he rolled his eyes, sighed impatiently and threw you to the ground by your hair without any explanation. You tried to scramble away which earned you a boot into you ribs that took your breathe away.

“You fucking deaf girl? On you knees.”

You got onto your knees but it was difficult. Your head hurt from how he had thrown you by your hair and your ribs were on fire. Since Kyle only gave you pretty little white dresses to wear (it made it all the worse when he came home after a kill to fuck you with how visible the blood was) your knees were bare on the floor. You hoped the boot mark would wash off. Kyle hated it when you were anything but his perfect little lamb ready for him to gently debauch. Last time you had bitten your nails a cage had appeared in the corner of the living room and you had spent days in it while he expressed just how disappointed and sad he was that you would do that to yourself. The plastic mouth guard he had forced onto your teeth ensured you hadn’t been able to bite you nails again while in the cage. The ever looming threat of disappointing him ensured you hadn’t bitten them since.

Ghost was looking down at you in disgust as he pushed his sweatpants down to hook the waistband under his balls with alarming casualness. Even soft he was big and the glints of metal running up the underside made you dizzy with panic. The beads weren’t round on the ends of the little curved barbells. They were spikes.

“S'not going to suck itself.”

“I… I don’t-” you stuttered, cut off as he grabbed your hair again and pulled hard to crush your face against his dick.

“Don’t need you to talk. Suck it or it’s going in your arse. You’re going to cry, baby. Doesn’t much matter to me where my cock needs to hit to make it happen.”

He was hardening beneath your cheek and one of the little spikes was scarily close to your eye as he forced you to hold your head there and ground forward before letting you go. A warning you thought. Fuck he was thick. He was getting so thick. He would tear you apart. So with fire in your ribs, a boot print on that pretty white dress and your strands of your hair hanging from his fingers from where he had ripped them out you took his cock in your mouth and sucked.

Your mouth had to stretch wide to accommodate him as he kept thickening up and your jaw ached. The first time you felt the scrape of metal on your tongue you jumped and tried to pull back but his hand settled on the back of your head and pushed you to take his cock deeper. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t taste anything but sweat and precum and metal, couldn’t feel anything but the throbbing of you head and your knees and your ribs and your jaw. The throbbing of his cock heavy and insistent on nailing your throat.

“Atta girl, cry. C'mon cry, baby!” he barked at you as he started fucking your throat like a pussy and your eyes started to water as you gagged around him. “Sallow. I said fucking swallow” he growled as you gagged again, pulling out to smack your face hard with his now solid cock.

“S-sorry!” you cried through heaving breaths and sobs, wondering if he was going to kill you.

“Dunno what he’s on about” he said, hand moving around your head to your chin so he could force you to look up at him. “Real fucking pretty when you cry.”

This time when he shoved himself down your throat you fought to swallow to stop the gags and he groaned when you managed it. He had his hands on either side of your head, keeping it tilted up so your eyes were on him and he could watch the tears streaming down your face. You were little more than a fleshlight for him as he bobbed you up and down on his cock.

“Your cunt this wet and tight? Starting t'see why he’s keeping you, maybe a little house pet isn’t such a bad idea.”

Your look of horror, your ruined face and hair, how your whole body was shaking with the strain, fuck, Ghost really could get into this. He was surprised Kyle hadn’t killed you yet to be honest since it was obvious he desperately wanted to. If he touched you without getting all that aggression out there was no doubt you’d be fucked to death, torn apart while he lost himself in the manic euphoria of it all. Ghost was surprised he had been so careful not to so far.

The feel of your abused tongue moving his piercings about was the little bite of pain he loved and he kept on moving your head just how he wanted. He experimented a bit, watched you closely to see which angles had that delicious spark of panic light in those crying eyes because you really could not breathe. He laughed when he got your eyes to cross by using one hand to hold your nose shut so you really started to panic.

It was the way you desperately started battering at his legs that made him groan as his balls tightened. No sense wasting his cum when you weren’t trained to swallow it all properly yet, although next time he’d make you try and then push your face in what you spat out to teach you to swallow every drop. Instead he pulled out violently, kicked your chest to have you go crashing onto your back and stroked himself off over you, aiming the spurts of creamy white right over Kyle’s name carved into the swell of your tit.

“Better get more practice in” he said, looming over you as he tucked himself back in to his sweatpants to stand completely unruffled and confident. “You give head that bad next time I’ll fit an o-ring in that mouth and knock you out so I can fuck it without all the fuss.”

You flinched and cried as his boot moved to the edge of your dress. He lifted it up with the boot, assessing your bare pussy. “Hm, might fuck that too.”

Just like that he walked off, whistling a tune as the sound of the kettle being put on indicated that he was making himself a cup of tea as if he hadn’t just left you ruined on the floor. You could hardly move, everything hurt and your whole system was traumatised by the lack of oxygen. He returned at one point sipping away at his tea and dropped a pile of photos on your body. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. All these girls looked like you. And all of them had been butchered but one. Only one photo of a girl who wasn’t dead, instead it was a photo taken through a window while she braided her hair. She looked like you too.

You closed your eyes, tried to just breathe. You could survive. You would survive. This wasn’t forever. They’d get caught one day and then someone would save you. Or maybe they’d never get caught and you’d have to save yourself.

-

A rough wetness on your chest jolted you awake from dozing. Kyle was over you, covered in blood. He was lapping at the cum drying on your chest and it was painful in the places it had dried as he scraped it off with his tongue. His hands squeezed you, moving fast to grip whatever part of your body they landed on before moving on, covering you in bloody handprints. You wondered if you were being painted with the blood of the girl with the braid. He was more excited than usual, trousers already haphazardly halfway down his thighs so he could hump your thigh with his bare cock.

“Don’t worry, Kyle’s home, your Kyle is here baby girl. Going to take such good care of you.”

You wished you knew which Butcher you hated more.

[slaughtershrine]

Hello hunnie welcome to my blog, I'll try to keep everything organised here for you! My posts will include mature (18+) themes and dark subjects and scenarios — all fictional of course but it's still important you take care of your mental health so please don't read if it may be damaging to you!

I promise I'm very friendly, don't be shy to message or interact with me, I love speaking with people and I'm sure I'll adore you! My requests are open, tell me anything you'd like to see or scenarios and ideas you have — If you prefer to be anonymous you're welcome here too, I know some people like to have an anon tag so they're recognizable, go ahead and nab one of them up, I'm happy for that to be used here!

(My masterlist and what I currently write for is under the cut!)

Dead By Daylight!

~ Character List! ~

Words said once before. (The Dark Lord/Dracula x Reader)

Cultivated Mind. (The Doctor/Herman Carter x Reader)

[color-coded-cryptid]

og post

cw yandere themes, guns, knives, minor color pencil blood

everybody give a warm welcome tooooo

!! Krazy Kyoya !!

also known as Krazy

Kanon Kyoya meets Krazy Kyoya

(yellow is a random person)

krazy got someone [left]

krazy admiring his love in a high school setting [right]

krazy holding Regular Ryuga hostage

(in the instance that “his love” is ryuga)

and here iiiiiiis

!! Ragged Ryuga !!

also know as Ragged

i don’t have any more art of ragged, unfortunately 😔

i might make ryuga’s eyes red to match kyoya’s blue idk 🤷

BUT i know that while krazy mains a knife, ragged mains a gun (or two!)

kanon kyoya and regular ryuga are opposites, blue and red

krazy kyoya and ragged ryuga are opposites, red and blue

so krazy kyoya and regular ryuga are red

while kanon kyoya and ragged ryuga are blue

it probably makes more sense to see it but my autism liked explaining stuff :]

it’s a struggle of mine to make things make sense for people that aren’t me

song👇

[the-bar-sinister]

Whumper's fingers around whumpee's neck. Digging in-- the start of brusies, nails cutting little half moons in soft flesh. Whumpee's breath--- desperate, ragged gulps that aren't enough, their vision swimming and knees weakening.

Whumper's look of satisfaction as whumpee starts to lose consciousness.