#ddne

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: Rafe finds out about some of your darkest fantasies and decides to bring them to life.

— warnings: smut! 18+ non/dub con, kidnapping, rafe chases reader through the woods, bondage, open-mouth gag, breath play, edging, fingering, ass play, biting, forced blow job, knife play, forced unprotected sex, forced creampie, spitting, slapping, spanking, branding, hair pulling, choking, degrading, praise kink, sir kink, possessive!rafe, sub!reader, dark!rafe. (is this considered DDDNE?)

— note: my book series has sparked the DARKEST parts of my mind… please read all warnings carefully! this is a work of fiction! if you’re uncomfortable with anything in the warnings, DO NOT READ. DO NOT READ UNLESS 18+ !!

likes, comments + reblogs are appreciated <3

❥ run, little one— r.c

Y/N

“Run, little one! ‘Cause when I catch you, you’re going to wish I hadn’t”

Rafe’s voice booms through the dark woods, my pulse is racing, blood rushing to my ears, nothing but the sounds of my heavy breathing and ringing fill my ears. My eyes scan the length of the woods, I have no clue where I am, and i’m terrified, but i’m also soaked.

Thoughts of what Rafe would do to me when he catches me have my panties dripping with my arousal, pussy pulsing with need. It may be fucked up, but the fear of the unknown, the thought of the pain he’d bring me is what got me excited. The pure rush of adrenaline, not having a choice in anything, him being forceful and rough with me— it excited me.

The sound of a branch snapping behind me makes me gasp, my feet taking off through the woods again, running, hoping I can find anywhere to hide. I take a turn, thinking i’d finally lost him but a loud scream is ripped from my chest when I run into something hard, the impact knocking the breath out of me and making me fall right on my ass.

“Shhhh, don’t worry princess, ‘m gonna take good care of you” Rafe whispers in my ear.

I feel something slapped over my mouth, preventing me from screaming and then my vision goes black. My eyes rip open, realizing i’d been dreaming, but now i’m not. My face is covered by a black hood, duct tape over my lips, making unintelligible noises fall from me. I hear the sound of metal clanking, and Rafe roughly forces my arms behind my back, crossing them before slapping handcuffs on and tightening them so tight they pinch at the skin of my wrists.

Rafe lifts me from the bed and tosses me over his shoulder. I begin pounding at his back as best I could with my restrained fists, screaming into the duct tape, trying to fight for him to put me down, but it’s useless.

A harsh slap is landed across my ass cheek, exposed by the short sleep shorts i’d put on before my nap, making me whimper from the contact.

The sound of a door opening and closing makes me jump, the cool fall air hitting at my skin and sending goosebumps up my body. What is he doing? Where is he taking me? I was terrified, but I was also ashamed at how soaked I was, my pussy throbbing as he carried me outside and to God knows where.

I hear him open a car door, my body being tossed into the back seat before he slams the door shut and hopping into the driver seat.

I hear the truck pull out onto the road, the windows rolling down and letting the cold air slap at my bare skin. I try my best to roll onto my stomach in the seat, my handcuffed wrists pinned underneath my back uncomfortable and making me whine.

I try and shout through the tape some more, wanting answers as to what was going through Rafe’s mind, but my body sags into the backseats, remembering it’s useless, my mouth is literally taped shut.

“Don’t worry, little one. We’re gonna have some fun”

I whimper at his words as he turns the radio in his truck up, “Church” by Chase Atlantic the last thing I hear before my mind goes blank.

-

RAFE

I pull down the long and over grown driveway, the large cabin that’s sat abandoned for few years finally coming into view. I smirk to myself, my eyes glancing up into the rearview mirror to see Y/N laid still in the backseat. She’d finally stopped whimpering and squirming about thirty minutes into the drive, probably made herself pass out, she was exhausted, and I had woken her from her nap to have some fun.

My girl doesn’t know it, but i’ve been reading her dream journals, her diaries, getting an inside peek at her dark and dirty mind. My girl wants to be chased, wants to be bound and gagged, having any choice or control taken from her. She wants me to be forceful with her, she wants me to hurt her, make her cry, make her beg me to stop— when her mind and pussy are really begging me to continue.

She has no idea what I have in store for her tonight, and the thought of her whimpering, unable to see, speak, breathe, tell me no. It had my cock straining against the fabric of my jeans.

I pull the truck to a stop, shutting the engine off and hopping out to open the back seat door. “Time to wake up, little one. Let the fun begin” I whisper in her ear, the weight of my body pressing down on her bare legs.

She begins squirming in the seat, the sounds of her muffled cries filling my ears, blood rushing to my already painfully hard cock. She must have thought she was still dreaming this whole time, and waking up — completely stripped of her ability to see or speak — She must be terrified again, exactly how I want her.

I carefully scoop her body into my arms, her head and legs trashing from side to side as unintelligible noises fall past her lips. I walk us into the cabin, glancing around at everything i’d set up, i’d been planning this for weeks, getting everything i’d need to have some fun with my girl. There’s a large mattress sitting on a metal bed frame pushed against the wall, laid out on it are ropes, an open-mouth gag, a silky red blindfold, various toys, and a long paddle whip that has the word WHORE engraved into it.

Smirking to myself, I continue walking through the old cabin and out the back door. When I finally decide we’re far enough into the woods, I set her body down on the ground, removing the black hood from her head and yanking the duct tape from her lips.

Her eyes rip open, going wide as she whips her head around, taking in her surroundings. “R-Rafe? Where- Where are we? Why did you fucking kidnap me?!” She shouts, a small look of fear in her eyes.

I smirk, “You’ll get a five minute head start, little one” I pause, watching in amusement as her chest heaves up and down, my eyes scanning over her plump breasts as they threaten to spill out of the small top she’s wearing. “Hope you can run fast, and hide well. Because if I catch you, you’re mine to use however I want”

She begins struggling to stand, her wrists still cuffed behind her back making a fairly simple task more difficult. I watch her struggle for a moment before I bend over and grip the inside of her left arm, jerking her to her feet. She winces when rocks and twigs begin stabbing at the bottoms of her bare feet, “Rafe! This isn’t funny, undo the cuffs, I wanna go home”

“Now, now Y/N.. I’ve read your dream journals, your diaries. I know all of the sick and twisted dreams and thoughts you have. I know exactly what you want me to do to you, why should I deprive you of what you want?”

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head, her face turning a deep shade of red, shame taking over her features when she hears the words that slip past my lips. I take a step toward her, and she flinches back, but it doesn’t stop me. I reach my hand out, the pad of my thumb running over her mascara stained cheek, “No need to be ashamed, we all have our kinks baby” I pause, placing my hand on the back of her head and pulling her forehead into my lips, kissing softly at the skin before I pull back and whisper, “Now run”

-

Y/N

“Now run”

His words make my heart begin hammering in my chest, my body turning as I begin running through the dark woods. I’m dodging trees, trying not to scream out in pain as twigs, and rocks and God knows what else stabs at the bottom of my feet.

My ears begin ringing, my head throbbing when I come to a stop, trying my hardest to catch my breath. My head whips from side to side, trying to find anywhere to hide, but all I see if acres and acres of woods. The sound of a twig snapping close by makes me take off running again, I run and run, afraid to stop. I shouldn’t be so turned on, but I am. Part of me wants to get caught, wants to let him use me however he pleases, but the smallest part inside me that says to keep running wins.

I come to another stop after what felt like hours of running, my back pressed against a tree. My throat is sore, lips and mouth dry from my heavy breathing. I peek around the side of the tree, but all I see if darkness. I let out a sigh of relief thinking i’d lost him for the time being, but that thought is quickly gone when I feel rough hands grabbing the backs of my arms, twisting them in an uncomfortable way, making me scream out in pain.

“Caught you” I hear Rafe say, voice low and raspy.

I begin kicking and screaming, trying to push myself out of his grip, but it’s no use, he’s got me in a tight hold. He lifts my feet from the ground, tossing me over his shoulder as he begins walking through the woods. I don’t stop fighting, my body thrashing in his hold. “Rafe! Rafe stop!” I shout, but he ignores me, continuing his way through the woods until he finally comes to a stop.

“Time to have some fun, yeah?” He asks. He lands a harsh slap across my ass again, making me whimper from the contact, the sting his hand left behind making my pussy throb.

He walks us up some stairs, and into an old house. The house smells musty, the air stale, and the floors are covered in leaves and trash. “Where are we?” I ask softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“This, little one, is our playroom” He says simply, tone of voice void of any emotion.

I let my eyes trail upward, finding a large bed on a metal frame pushed against a wall. My heart begins pounding, the loud thump of my own heart the only noise I can hear in the moment. He has the bed laid out with ropes, a wooden paddle, a few toys, an open-mouthed gag, and a red blindfold.

My mind tells me I should be afraid, but my body doesn’t react that way. My nipples harden underneath the thin fabric of my small shirt i’d tossed on earlier, panties now soaked, likely dripping with my arousal.

Rafe uses one hand to tightly wrap around the underside of my knees, keeping me in place on his shoulder while his free hand begins moving the things on the bed, clearing an open space for me to be laid down.

Once satisfied with the now open space on the bed, he flips me off his shoulder and onto the bed, my still handcuffed wrists pinning beneath me on the bed, making me wince in pain. I watch him intently as he makes his way toward a small table that’s off to the corner, grabbing the rope he’d just removed from the bed.

He makes his way to the end of the bed, grabbing my right ankle and tying the rope around it before securing the other end to one end of the metal bed frame, moving to my left ankle and repeating his actions. Satisfied with my bound ankles, he digs into his pocket, digging out a key that I can only assume belongs to the cuffs that restrain my wrists. He grips my by the top of my head, fingers tightly fisting at my hair and yanking me into a sitting position, sticking the key into the lock of the cuffs and undoing them.

I bring them to the front of my body to rub them. they’re now red and sore from how tightly he had them on my wrists, but he quickly pushes me onto my back, “don’t get too comfortable, little one” he says, a smirk plastered on his beautiful face while he climbs on top of me, straddling my waist. He harshly grabs my left wrist, pulling it above my head and reaching over to the table to grab the other set of rope he had. He pins my wrist against another metal bar, tying my wrist to it before moving to my right side and copying his actions.

He climbs off of me, his bottom lip between his teeth as his darkened over eyes scan my body. “Fucking gorgeous” He whispers, and my body jerks. I instinctively try and yank my wrists down, making the rope dig into them, making me pathetically whimper.

Rafe walks back over toward the table, pulling his tightly fitted black shirt over his head and tossing it down. I can’t help but let my eyes trail over his perfectly sculpted chest and abdomen. He grabs the open mouthed gag off the table before slowly making his way back over to me. I try and fight my restraints again, but stop when he harshly grips at the back of my head, yanking my neck up and forcing my eyes on the ceiling.

“Don’t fight this, princess. Okay?”

I whimper out an “okay” before he lets my head go, my neck returning back to a normal forward facing position. He brings his fingers to my slightly parted lips, pushing them inside my mouth and down my throat, making me gag around the thick digits before he pulls them out. “Keep your mouth open”

I obey, keeping my mouth open as wide as I could get it while he places the circular part of the gag into my mouth and behind my teeth. He pulls both sides of the leather straps around my head, buckling it together and tightening it so it’s secure. He pulls back and admires his work, my mouth spread wide open, hands and legs bound to the bed frame, spread open wide for him to use.

“Perfect” He says, the corners of his lips pulling into a smirk.

-

RAFE

The sight before me is like something straight out of my dreams. She looks so fucking gorgeous like this, her arms and legs tied to the bed frame, spread wide open for me to use, her mouth gagged, but still open wide for me, allowing me access to shove my cock down her throat, spit into her mouth, shove my fingers into her throat. I trail my eyes from her beautiful face down to her glistening cunt, she’s fucking soaked for me, ready to be fucking used.

I climb myself onto the bed, her arms and legs jerking, pulling the ropes tighter into her smooth skin. Drool is running from her mouth, down her chin and onto her plump breasts, whimpers and whines falling from her as she continues to try and fight the restraints.

“Keep fighting Y/N/N, I want you scared. I prefer it actually, it’ll make forcing my cock down your throat and in your cunt that much more fun”

I reach over onto the small side table and grab the blindfold, the sounds of her whimpers bouncing off the walls of the old cabin, making my hard cock pulse. I crawl up the bed, sitting between her spread thighs and bringing the blindfold up to her face. She whines, shaking her head from side to side, but I grip her cheeks harshly with my left hand. “Stay still” I demand, and she quickly obeys, stopping her movements, her beautiful, wide eyes staring back into mine.

I quickly place the silky material over her eyes, bringing the two ends around the back of her head and tying it as tightly as I could.

Her breathing picks up, chest heaving up and down rapidly once i’ve taken away her sight once again. I smirk to myself and reach into my back pocket, pulling out my phone and turning the back camera toward her trembling body, snapping a quick picture of her before locking it and tossing it to the table.

I reach into my other back pocket, pulling out a pocket knife and flipping it open. I hear her whimper at the sound of the knife opening, her arms jerking downward some more as she spews unintelligible words from her drooling lips. I bring the blade down to her inner thigh, running it up the length of her leg until it reaches her clothed pussy. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” I say lowly before bringing the blade to one of the leg holes of her shorts, slicing upward until the material pools by the sides of her legs.

My eyes find her cunt again, staring at the wet spot that’s soaked through the pink lacey material. “My girls fucking soaked, you like having no control?”

She whines, her head slowly nodding. I bring the blade back up to the waistband of her panties, running the sharp end across her stomach before I cut her panties off of her body as well. I tap at her thigh, ordering her, ���Lift your hips, little one”

She quickly does as I say, lifting her hips as best she could off the mattress, allowing me to pull the now ruined shorts and panties from underneath her. Tossing the shredded material to the floor, I bring the blade back to her pussy, flipping it so the blade is in my palm. I run the handle of the pocket knife through her slick cunt, running it up to her clit and applying a small amount of pressure. Her hips buck forward and I take my free hand, pushing her hips back down and holding her in place. I run the handle back down to her folds, slowly pushing it into her pussy, stopping when the entire handle is inside of her.

She begins whimpering, her chest heaving and head rolled to the side as I begin pulling the handle from her cunt, pushing it back inside of her just as quickly. I love the way her body reacts to me, the way she’s letting me fuck her with the handle of my knife, my filthy fucking girl loves this shit.

I continue to fuck her with the handle of the knife and her body begins shaking, her legs tensing as her restrained fists ball above her head. “That’s it baby, let it out, cum all over the handle of my knife”

She begins panting, drool running down the sides of her mouth and down her chin, soaking her chest as she comes undone, her cum soaking the handle. I slowly pull it from inside her, bringing it to her open mouth and shoving it inside, running it up and down the length of her tongue, coating her mouth with her juices. “Good girl. Taste yourself, you did such a good job f’me, little one”

I pull the handle from her mouth, her head flying forward and chasing it, making me breathe out a laugh. I quickly flip the knife shut and sit it on the small table. I stand from the bed, and my hands pop the button of my jeans before moving the the zipper. I slide the rough material down my legs and to my ankles before kicking them to the side. I palm myself through my boxers, trying to relieve some of the pressure I felt from just staring at her like this, thinking of how she just came from the handle of my knife, it has my head spinning, my cock throbbing.

I shake my head, shoving my boxers down my legs and kicking them to the side as well before climbing back into the bed, her breath hitching in her throat when she feels my presence on the mattress again. I bring my hand to her face, wiping at the fresh tears that have fallen down her face, smearing more of her mascara on her face. I run the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip, it’s soaked in her drool. I push my thumb into her mouth, and she instinctively tries to close her lips around it, but fails, the metal part of the gag keeping her mouth open wide for me.

I lean myself into her, my lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “‘M gonna fuck your throat now, little one, and you’re going to fucking love it”

-

Y/N

His words whispered in my ear send goosebumps down my body, my more breathing erratic than it had already been. I try and swallow, but fail, the gag in my mouth making it difficult to do anything but drool all over myself. He’s barely touched me, and I can guarantee I look like a fucked out mess.

I feel his hand on my cheek again, his waist now straddling my chest as he runs his thumb over the length of my face and lips. He shoves two fingers down my throat again, holding them there as I gag around them. Pulling them from my throat, he demands, “Stick your tongue out” and I quickly obey, sticking my tongue out for him. I feel him spit into my mouth, the saliva hitting the flat of my tongue, and sliding into the back of my throat. I bring my tongue back into my mouth, and wince when I feel a harsh smack landed across my face.

“I didn’t say you could do anything, tongue back out. Now” Rafe says, tone harsh and demanding. I quickly push my tongue back out, the swollen head of his cock slapping against it as he groans.

I feel him slide his head into my mouth slowly and he moans, the feel of the circular metal part of the gag in my mouth squeezing at him tightly. He continues to push himself further into my mouth until he finally reaches the back of my throat, his swollen tip kissing the back of my throat making me gag. Saliva pools in my mouth, drool running down the sides of my lips when he begins slowly pulling himself back out, slamming his hips forward again. I gag around him, trying to swallow the saliva in my mouth, but I can’t, the gag makes it hard to do anything.

He places one hand on my cheek, his free hand moving to the back of my head and gripping at my hair, his grip tight and bruising. He quickly settles on a harsh and quick pace of his hips, pulling himself back and slamming his pelvis into my face. My mouth is forced open wide for him, allowing him to fuck my throat with ease. He begins grunting loudly, his hips stuttering before he quickly pulls his hips back, spit flying from my mouth as I cough and gasp, trying to catch my breath.

“Goddamn. You took me so well, such a good fucking girl…” He rasps, his left hand finding my cheek, stroking down the soft skin. He takes his free hand and brings it between my legs, running his fingers through my arousal slick folds, sucking in a sharp breath when he feels just how soaked I am.

“You’re soaked, sweetheart. You like being forced to do things? Like having your body used?”

I whimper at his words, every single one of them were true. I hated my body for reacting to such vile things, such forceful and disgusting behavior, but I couldn’t help it. Was there something wrong with me? Surely it’s not normal to get aroused at the thought of — or the action itself — being used, hurt, given no choice in the matter. But I could no longer deny it, my body craved the unknown, craved the fear and the pain, I wanted to be used, forced to do whatever he wanted me to do. I loved being his good girl, and I loved being his whore.

Rafe reaches behind my head, fingers grabbing at the buckle that strapped the gag to my face. He quickly undoes it and pulls the straps down the sides of my face before reaching inside my mouth and pulling the circular metal part out. I snap my mouth shut, swallowing thickly and licking at my lips. My jaw and throat hurt, but it was well worth it.

He leaves me blindfolded, but I feel his hands moving to the rope that bound my legs to the bed. I hear his pocket knife flip open, the ropes being cut from my ankles and allowing me the slightest bit of freedom. He moves to cut my wrists free next, but before he does, he orders me, “Don’t move, i’ll reposition you, alright?”

I nod my head, forgetting I have the freedom to speak now. His fingers tightly grip at my cheeks, squeezing them tightly and I feel tears begin to fill my eyes, “When I speak to you, you answer me. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, sir” I manage to choke out, my fresh tears finally falling and soaking into the blindfold.

He finally cuts the ropes that bound my wrists, my arms falling limp by my sides. I quickly bring them up, rubbing softly at the skin of my wrists, trying to ease the pain i’d felt, but the action is short lived, a high pitched squeal emitting from me when Rafe yanks me from my sitting position, tossing me onto my stomach.

-

RAFE

“Hands behind your back, knees underneath your stomach” I demand, and she quickly does as I ask. She places her arms behind her back and crosses them over one another before she brings her knees up and tucks them underneath her stomach, letting her ass sit up in the air, giving me a perfect view of her soaked cunt and puckered ass.

I land a harsh slap to her ass, leaving a perfect handprint on the skin and causing her to cry out from the sting. I smirk to myself before I reach over and grab the cuffs again, placing the first cuff on her right wrist and locking it tightly in place, moving on to her left and doing the same. I smile once I have her wrists tightly locked in place, moving to grab the now cut rope from the bed and placing on the undersides of her ankles, wrapping it around a few times before pulling it up the underside of her body and through the chains of the cuffs. I pull the excess rope back down to her ankles and tie them tightly together, making it to where her cuffed wrists are bound together with her tied ankles.

“You look so goddamn beautiful like this” I say while my hand lands another harsh slap to her ass. My hands fly to her ass, gripping the plump flesh tightly and spreading her cheeks for me. I gather saliva in my mouth and spit down onto her untouched hole, moving my thumb to it and rubbing at it slowly, spreading my spit around. I slowly shove my thumb into her ass, making her hiss. “R-Rafe?” She cries out, her body rocking back and forth as I slowly push my thumb in and out of her.

“You want me to fuck your ass baby? Hmm? Would you like me to claim this hole too?”

She whimpers, her body tightening as she tries to fight her restraints. I pull my thumb from her ass and run my index and middle finger through her cunt, she’s soaked. “You’re so wet, princess. I think you want me to fuck your ass” I tease, before saying “But that’ll be another time. ‘M gonna stretch your ass in time, make it ready for my cock. For now, ‘m gonna fuck this sweet cunt, and you’re gonna take it”

“R-Rafe… Please?” She begs, the sound of her sweet, pathetic voice makes my cock throb. I run my fingers through her slick cunt again, pushing them inside of her and scissoring them to stretch her open. I begin pushing them in and out of her slowly, adding a third to stretch her more. Her body begins rocking back and forth, fucking herself onto my fingers, “That’s it baby, fuck my fingers, show me how badly you want me”

Weak whimpers and moans fall from her lips as she continues rocking her hips, fucking herself onto my fingers. I feel her pussy clamp down around them, her body tensing as she’s about to cum and I quickly remove them from inside her.

She whines at the loss of my fingers, “Rafe. Please?” She begs, and I let out a dark laugh. “Please what? Gotta tell me what you want, princess”

I hear her sniffle, “Want to cum, please? Let me cum” I slide my tongue across my top teeth and smile to myself, “Well, since you asked so nicely” I grip the base of my cock, stroking it a few times before pushing it inside of her wet cunt. I groan, throwing my head back when I feel her warm, wet walls grip my cock tightly.

She’s whimpering, unintelligible words falling from her beautiful mouth as I continue to fuck into her. She tries to fight the restraints again, body thrashing every time the head of my cock hits at her sweet spot. I lean my body forward, pressing my weight into her back as I slowly pull out, slamming my hips forward again and making her cry out.

I slap my hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, her tears falling down her face and onto my hand has my dick twitching, but I try and hold out. “‘M gonna take your air away now baby, try not to pass out on me” I whisper in her ear before my index finger and thumb pinch over her nose. She begins fighting me and her restraints hard, trying to fight my hand that’s over her mouth and pinching her nose closed, but I wrap my free hand around her waist, hand splayed across her stomach and hold her still.

Her pussy pulses around my cock, making me growl in her ear, “Fuck, you’re cunt is squeezin’ me so tightly baby, lack of oxygen turns you on?”

I chuckle when I hear her mumble into my hand, leaning my head down to her shoulder and sinking my teeth into her smooth skin. She stops fighting, her body growing weak from the lack of oxygen. Her pussy clenches around me tightly, her body beginning to go slack in my arms and I release my hand from her face. Her head shoots up, the sounds of her coughing and gasping for air bouncing off the walls.

“You did so good, little one. So good. Cum all over my cock and we can go home” I whisper in her ear, my teeth nibbling at her lobe. She lets out a loud, pornographic moan while her pussy clamps down on my dick, her body tensing and toes curling as she comes undone around me.

I pull myself back once more, slamming myself inside her while my dick twitches inside of her, my cum shooting inside of her and painting her inner walls white. I slowly thrust myself in a few more times, shoving my cum deep inside her cunt before I slowly pull out. I watch my cum slowly drip from her cunt before I drop to my back on the bed, chest heaving as I try and catch my breath.

Rolling my head to the side, I take in her exhausted body, limp and breathing heavily. I grab my pocket knife from the table, cutting at the rope around her ankles before cutting it free from around the chains of the cuffs. I toss my knife to the side, grabbing the key and undoing the cuffs, removing them and tossing them to the side as well. I scoop her limp body into my arms, running a hand across her cheek before using my free hand to pull the blindfold up and off her head.

Her eyes spring open, blinking a few times to try and adjust to the dark room. Her beautiful eyes find my blue ones and she weakly smiles up at me, making my pulse race and heart hammer in my chest. She’s always been so beautiful, but something about her fucked out look, mascara stained cheeks and heavy eyes has me falling more in love with her.

I lie her body onto the mattress, placing a soft kiss on her sweat slick forehead before standing and grabbing my boxers from the floor. I pull them up my legs and rush out to the truck, having one more thing I want to do before we go home, one thing that will let her, and everyone else know she’s mine, forever.

I open up the driver side door, grabbing the blow torch and tongs from the passenger seat and rushing back inside. I find her lying still on the bed, the sound of her even breathing filling my ears, and for a moment, I almost feel guilty that i’m about to wake her up again.

I slowly walk toward her, sitting on the bed, my weight making it dip in. “Baby, wake up. There’s one more thing to do, and then i’ll take you home and take care of you”

Her heavy eyes slowly open, blinking a few times before she whimpers, “Please, Rafe. I can’t. No more” I smirk to myself, she thinks i’m going to fuck her again, but no, no what i’m about to do will be more permanent than anything I can ever give her with my cock.

“‘S okay baby, just gonna do something to remind you and everyone else who you belong to, then we’ll go home” I whisper before quickly lighting the blow torch up. Her head shoots up off the mattress, eyes wide as she shakes her head from side to side. I remove my gold signet ring with my initials on it, and grab the circular end with the tongs, sticking the bulky end that rests on the top of my finger under the blue flame.

“Rafe, what’re you doing?” She asks, her voice shaking as her eyes dart from the ring under the flame to me. The corners of my lips lift up in a grin, “Marking you. You���re mine, and everyone will know it”

I use my free hand to reach over and grab a piece of rope from the floor, handing it to her and ordering her, “Bite down on this”

She hesitates, but ultimately does what I ask, placing the rough material between her teeth and biting down on it harshly. Once I feel like i’ve held the ring under the flame long enough, I shut off the torch and sit it at my feet. I turn my body to face her, and her eyes are swimming in unshed tears, “It’ll only hurt for a second” I tell her, and her head slowly nods up and down.

I spread her legs with my free hand, slapping harshly at her inner thigh before I bring the hot ring to her skin. She cries out in pain, body shaking as I hold the end of my gold ring to her skin. Her body goes slack, tears rolling down her cheeks when I pull it from her skin. I can’t help the large smile that spreads across my face when I look down and see a perfectly shaped small square with the letter “RC” branded into her soft skin.

Her body is still shaking, tears falling uncontrollably down her cheeks as she lets out choked sobs. I quickly stand and dress myself before tossing the hoodie of mine i’d brought over her weak body, lifting her into my arms and carrying her out to the truck.

I runs hand through her sweat slick hair, pushing it back from her face as I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead, “I love you, Y/N. You’re mine, now and forever. Let’s get you home and cleaned up”

She lets out a soft whimper, her face buried into my chest as she manages to whisper, “I love you too”

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[barleyo]

Heiress.

Father! Sukuna X Daughter! Reader (smut)

A/N: i got this idea in the middle of the night and i had to write it. the thought of it gave me so many damn ideas, a lot of which i couldn't include in this particular work!! obviously i don't condone what is written. obviously ^_^

Tags: incest (father-daughter), misogyny/sexism, heian era sukuna, p in v, creampie, breeding

Wordcount: 1.7k

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

Sukuna may have been a very, very proud man, but he was no fool. He knew that eventually both his name and power would need to be passed down. An heir, he would need. A suitable, strong, merciless heir to take his place. The strategist he was, he decided to start sooner rather than later. 

He had the finest women taken from the surrounding villages. Vetted for imperfections, all of them. Those who were not up to his scathing standards were promptly discarded. Those who passed his tests, which were few, were used as his concubines. 

Women from far and wide were gathered. He would call them into his private quarters, one after the other, every so often. It was a race, of sorts, to see who took first. One woman was lucky and fell pregnant quickly. The baby, however, was not so lucky and was never born. Another had successfully given birth, but the child had physical imperfections. Not suitable.

Damned women, he had often thought, with their cursed, weak bodies. What good were they to him? Residing on his land, getting fat off of his food, coaxing weak, unsatisfactory orgasms from him. Yet none could do him the justice— the service— he deserved of providing a successor?

Yet again, another whore of his fell pregnant. His hopes were never quite high, but he was less than optimistic this time around. For good reason, it seemed, for you were the product that came from your mother. 

A female. 

Bless the poor servant who delivered the baby. They were met with a cold, scornful face when Sukuna heard the news. 

A female.

He scoffed, watching your mother hold you in her arms. The room reeked of tinny blood and afterbirth. 

What good was a female? What would that leave him with? An heiress? The thought was laughable, though hardly humorous. A daughter. Pathetic. Leeching. A daughter could not carry forth her father's legacy. A daughter had no place in a strong lineage.

A daughter had no right to bear his name. 

He felt betrayed that his seed could produce anything but a powerful, fierce warrior. Left with a delicate, shivering babe of the inferior sex, he fell into deep thought. 

A female. What good could you be, indeed? You were born healthy. No defects or deformities. Your heart was in your chest. You had only two eyes and one nose, thankfully not some other ungodly combination. 

"What shall we do with her?" a servant asked, kneeling beside your mother. 

"Leave the child. Dispose of the woman. No use in keeping two of them around, is there?"

Weak as a woman may be, Sukuna would be damned if something usable didn't earn its keep. He would find something worthwhile about you.

You had cursed yourself many times for not being the son your father always wanted. It was glaringly obvious, he scolded you often for your gender. 

"What am I to do with you, girl? Weakness is not something you got from me. Your whore mother must have—"

A constant degrading voice in your ear. Ever present was your father. You could never resent him for it. He was right, after all. His harshness did not take away from his truth. You were female. You were weak. Delicate. Gentle.

And in a stroke of good luck, beautiful. 

There were times where you held value to your father. You rationalized that those times were why he kept you around. 

You spoke well of him. You were a treat for an already conceited man's ego. You were subservient. No task asked of you was denied. Most importantly, you grew into your body well. 

Sukuna hadn't much interest in you, wether positive or negative, until you had matured a bit. The birthday when you had received your first suggestion of curves was when you first remember him paying you any mind. He had asked you what you had wished for on your day. You said that you had everything you wanted. Your answer pleased him.

When you grew taller, he had less room to look down on you. The year you had grown a woman's face, his eyes started to linger onto your lips when you spoke. 

When you hit full maturity, your year of eighteen, you felt a rush of what was as close to approval as you would ever get from your father. 

"Your weakness dishonors me," had slowly changed into "your figure will fetch a decent husband." Slowly. 

"The lord sends for you," Uraume said blankly, standing ramrod straight at your door. 

Odd. Your father had never once sent for you. Even in his best of moods, he had no desire to see you more than necessary. In the home, you were akin to a piece of furniture. Not expected to move and used as pleased. Nobody sought out a sofa, it was a permanent fixture. Not thought of for longer than a few regarding seconds. 

You passed Uraume with a stiff nod and padded down the cold, wooden floors below your feet. Your father, as usual, was in his quarters, silently looming. 

"Father." A simple greeting. He was not one for niceties, you knew that well. 

Sukuna shot his eyes over to you. Not bothering to turn his head, he let his eyes trail you. He examined you like a microbe under a scope. 

He finally spoke. "Woman."

He had taken to calling you that recently. You weren't quite yet a woman, yet not a girl either. You were teetering two lines precariously, and he decided to push you over to one side. Not one for indecisiveness, either.

"Yes, father?"

"You are no heir of mine," he said. "You are not fit to succeed me. Ever. The family name should sooner die with me than travel to the incapable hand of a female."

You braced yourself for another deep-cutting spiel of how you would never take over in his place. Of how a woman's job was to submit. Of how your very birth was a disappointment. 

"However, I do find a certain value in you. You will prove yourself to me, indeed."

"How?"

Sukuna rose to his full height, straightening his back as he glided towards you. He yanked at the outer sash of his robe. 

"What other womb more better suited to give me the perfect heir," he started, silk sliding down his arms as he discarded the kimono that had draped his form, "than that I sired myself?"

"I have planned this out for a long time," Sukuna said, pushing your legs to your chest. "I have no doubt that this will be fruitful."

You had hoped the same. If you could not be what your father wanted, would giving him the solution not be the next best thing? Truly, you were relieved that he had found purpose for you. Perhaps this would save you from marriage to an unbecoming man of lesser means and power than your father. Perhaps this was a saving call being made. 

You had listened to many attempts made by your father to bring about a son. The concubines were tired, certainly, of the nonstop, pointless breeding. The walls were only so thick, and your father was never quiet.

They weren't getting any younger— the women. Their youth had faded, right along with their chances of children. Young women were hard to come by nowadays. 

Just another downside of the sex, your father would likely say, they've got a clear expiration date.

"Quiet now. The pain will fade." 

The stretch of his cock would be uncomfortable enough, naturally, but the first time brought about a special type of stretch. A virgin cunt being broken in. An old wive's tale said that a young girl was the most fertile during her first go-about. Something about the blood from a punctured hymen carrying seed upwards. 

To you, it felt as though the blood slicked you up more. Maybe the old wives knew a thing or two. Red smeared over your inner thighs, but the way it coated your walls helped you hold the weight of Sukuna's cock. An equal trade off, for the most part. 

"I was right to keep you," he continued, slotting himself into you with measured strokes. "I knew that eventually I'd find use for you. Look at you."

Look at yourself, you did. Your surroundings, your bloodied legs. Where you and Sukuna met, somewhere in the middle. Connected by thin, gooey ropes of slick and crimson. 

It didn't feel nearly as clinical as you knew it did for the other women. The thought stirred a bit of pride in your chest. Father tried with you. Other women seemed to be pump and dump. And rough. Though "gentle" was not a word you would use to describe what was happening, it surely was not anywhere close to "rough." There was a touch of passion. What felt like love. Father had even kissed you once, twice. His lips were chapped and he bit yours, but not hard enough for blood to peek through. 

You tried for another, with great success. You leaned your head forward, eyes glazed with tears, and pressed your lips against his. From pleasure and pain, you surmised. A fair mixture, since Sukuna seemed to hit spots you couldn't place your finger one, and since the pinch of your hole accommodating his size was still stinging. 

"I have raised such a greedy thing," he mused, huffing a breath through his nose as he complied and gave you another kiss, this time with tongue, as you had silently demanded with your own weak tongue trying to force his mouth open. 

"Oh, gods," you groaned in a hushed tone. 

You felt a coil snap in your body, and suddenly the heat of a thousand suns crashed through you, starting at your melted brain, and leaking down to your cunt. Whatever essence that managed to slip from the suction you had around Sukuna's length soon mixed with his own cum. 

Milkiness dripped down, a visual confirmation of a successful mating attempt. Sukuna's head tilted back triumphantly. Now it would take, he knew it, and the results would be as he hoped.

"I do not know why I hadn't thought of this sooner," he said, keeping you plugged with his cockhead. "My seed belongs in only the purest of wombs. Yours."

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ghostbuster. || kidnapper!Simon "Ghost" Riley

[ FIC MASTERLIST ] || [ CHAPTER 2 -> ]

Rating: M + Dark Fic + DDNE Words: 4.2k~ Pairing: Serial Killer!Reader x Serial Kidnapper!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark fic, serial killing, serial kidnapping, torture, body disposal, death, murder (purposeful), murder (accidental), mentions of rape? (neither Simon nor reader rapes anyone!!!!!), blood, knife/weapons, gross abandoned buildings, police verbage. tags: dark fic, serial killer AU, no smut (for now), OOC Simon, you/your pronouns, afab!reader, reader & simon terrorizing the city of Manchester, Manchester geography/accuracy?. a/n: fully inspired by the post below, by @moongreenlight ; also fully a gift for @superhero-landing

"This marks the 7th body found in the Greater Manchester area in the last 6 months."

It's dark outside. Eerily so. Probably because, although the moon is high in the sky, full and bright, plenty of clouds hide it from view. The weather forecast speaks of heavy rains for the next few weeks, but you got lucky... It's not currently raining. It leaves the night feeling weirdly still and quiet, the roads long empty after people retreated into their homes after work.

But not you. Never you.

You turn your head to peer at the old box TV in the room over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed in on the screen where the news anchor talks about the police investigation at hand.

"The victim, a 24-year-old university student, residing in Wythenshawe, had been reported missing last month, on the 18th, after having not come home after a nightout with friends."

The old shop is dark too, barely illuminated by a camping lantern you've brought inside when you first broke in. The air is stale, almost unbreathable from all the dust; the floor, and counters caked in a layer of dried particles, courtesy of the decades' long abandonment the shop has suffered, as well as the ceiling panels having come loose, knocking down concrete dust all over the shop.

Shaking your head, you carefully click your tongue in displeasure, while you clean the tool in your hand with a rag, keeping your eyes and ears still honed into the broadcast. "Poor thing." You comment to yourself.

Your head slumps forward to reach your arm, and you rub the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and forearm, sniffling a bit to clean some of the snot dribbling down your nostrils due to the overly dusty air.

"The Great Manchester Police HQ has issued a warning on the brutality of the recent string of murders and their commitment to find the people responsible. The Police Chief urges that anyone who might have any information to please come forth."

Sighing, you turn your head away again, as the news anchor drones on about the funeral for the young girl who was just found. You step away toward the array of tools displayed, for your convenience, on one of the old counters, laid neatly across a black tool roll bag and carefully set the knife atop it.

The shop smells. It's not entirely unpleasant, but you've gotten used to it either way. You're pretty sure if you weren't, it'd smell horrendous, like it did in the beginning. Stale, dusty air, old blood caked into the gashes and knife cuts on the wooden countertops, tools that were abandoned and grew colonies of bacteria after enough time went past, old vent systems that haven't been cleaned, meat display cases that didn't get disinfected before the butcher shop went out of business.

Tossing the rag aside, atop the butcher's block countertop, you run a finger over the wristband of your black cooking gloves, the latex feeling sticky and damp due to the fresh blood caked onto it. Turning on your heel, you return to the center of the room and look down at the body slumped on the chair before you.

"That guy is a fucking sicko, isn't he?" You complain and crouch before the man tied to the chair, raising his bruised and bloodied face by gripping him around the chin.

The man before you looks like the rest of them, balding and with a 5-o'clock shadow of a beard. He was greying as well, as most of them tend to be. Old, perverted bastards... He's slowly paling before your eyes, the blood slipping down his abdomen, soaking through his clothes and flowing onto the drain below his rickety chair.

"You know, you've gotta be a particularly... Nasty bastard to kill women that young... To bathe and redress them post-mortem..." You trail off. The man before you doesn't reply. He looks groggy and languid, blinking irregularly, and his chest heaving. Barely aware of anything as his life, much like his blood, drains from him.

It's almost poetic to watch his blood stain the white tile of the backroom of the shop, the walls lined with racks and hooks meant to, in the past, hang carcasses from... Almost like this old cooler room is finally fulfilling its role again, to cool and drain a dead body of its blood, all of it flowing down the incline toward the drain...

"I believe I saw in a few Criminal Minds episodes that those types that... clean them afterward feel 'regret' for what they did." You shake your head and kiss your teeth in annoyance.

"They feel regret after it's done, but not while they do it. 'es it mean they gain a conscience after the fact?" You ask him. "Monsters, the lot of them..." You chide and scoff, letting go of the man's face.

Then, you smirk as you notice his breathing get shallower, his head going a bit more limp, hanging low, his chin pressing over to his chest. Leaning forward, you bring your mouth close to his ear, your lips almost grazing his ear. "Don't worry, I won't clean you up once I'm done."

-

Sitting in your dark bedroom, you lounge back lazily on your desk chair, chewing some bubblegum and tapping away at your mouse before scrolling down a forum page.

The room, much like the rest of your flat is dark, only illuminated by the bright blue-toned light emanating from your computer screen, even in dark mode.

The best part of the internet age is the fact people share, comment and gossip about everything. It makes your research so much easier. Though, you suppose it's human nature... to be curious and gossipy. Social creatures and such.

Clicking on one of the posts on the subreddit r/ManchesterCrime, you skim through the post, where the OP is mentioning how they live nearby to the location where the new body was dumped: the southside of Manley Park.

Grabbing your pink fuzzy-top pen and a couple of highlighter markers, you get up from your desk chair and lean over your desk to the corkboard hanging behind it.

You take your writing materials to the printed map of the Greater Manchester area which you had pinned to the cork slab, tracing the information you have so far:

Resident of Wythenshawe.

Captured somewhere between The Three Pigeons and home.

Dumped in Manley Park.

You set down your pens and grab some pink wool string and a couple more pins, using them to rig up a new line to connect the dots over the map.

Taking a step back, you look up at the map and sighed, shaking your head, feeling anger flowing through your veins.

You have been trying to figure out the killer's area of operation for months... Trying to triangulate it, find a pattern...

But nothing.

No convergence point for the lines; no silly little connect-the-dots shape being formed; no secret message being shared... Or maybe there is and you just suck at reading it.

So far, all you have is 7 pieces of string of different colors... 7 victims. All over Manchester, with no overlay.

Just... 7 young girls taken for weeks at a time, killed and then dumped like rubbish.

Has he been taking them to different secondary locations all over the city before slaughtering them?

Has he been driving about, passing by schools and homes and banks and shops, on his way to the dump sites... with a body in his car?

Allegedly, they were all bathed and redressed, with no signs of sexual trauma or abuse, other than a stark loss of weight and some rope burn around the wrists and ankles...

But who really knows?

You are no PI or constable, just a sleuth. Whatever information you have, you got from the internet and from the news... You have no way to be sure of anything.

It angers you to imagine what he had been doing to those poor girls while keeping them to himself.

The poor, terrified girls... someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's girlfriend, someone's friend... And he had been plucking them from their mundane, safe lives and murdering them?

Throwing yourself back down onto your chair, you stack your fingers together, elbows on the armrests, and swiveled side to side as you looked at the corkboard map.

You hate men like this.

Predators.

Taking and hurting and killing with no issue or hesitation... Sure, psychologists might allege that he feels regret and expresses it by caring for them after death... But you disagree with that interpretation.

You've never met a man who regrets hurting a woman.

-

It's almost funny how easy it was to play with a man's emotions.

They see a pretty face marred by running mascara and red, swollen tear-filled eyes, holding a thumb out for a ride on the side of the road, and they always stop.

From then on, you can just spin whatever sob story about needing a ride...

Men love to play the hero... and oh, how idiotic they are.

They always let you in, and within an hour you have a new warm body to tie up and toy with.

In a way, you are actually surprised by how long you've been able to get away with this for.

You're secretly thankful your murders have not been given any attention so far.

You suppose that's one thing you could thank that... killer for.

You hate how the internet had given him a name already:

The Ghost

because someone allegedly witnessed him dumping a body in Heaton Park, and then vanished into the shadows of the night like a spectre.

Don't they know what happens when they give these types killers nicknames?

How that embiggens and emboldens them?

Have they never watched a true crime show? Or even a fictional one?

But... regardless... as long as young women are being slaughtered by a maniacal monster of a man, and, therefore, kept in the eyes of the world... No one is going to notice the missing middle-aged men you'd been consistently murdering for the better part of 3 years.

Yet another way where men have the upper hand over women. Lady killers just don't get taken as seriously.

You think of that as you watch the body disappear under the water, the cinder blocks you had tied to his feet dragging him under.

You wait a few minutes after his bald head vanishes from view, making sure it doesn't re-emerge, your hands tucked into the pockets of your parka, dead leaves crushed under your hiking boots.

-

Another body; the 8th one.

This one got dumped much quicker.

A 26-year-old till clerk at a Tesco had been reported missing only 36 hours before her body got found.

The news spoke about the incident and the GMPHQ deemed it a separate occurrence. An accident. The girl had been a Type 1 diabetic and seemed to have had a fatal sugar crash.

But you know it has to have been 'The Ghost'.

You don't know why. But you can just tell.

And, for the first time, as you draw up the line over the map, to signal where she got picked up and where she got dumped... there's an overlay.

The pick-up site, somewhere between her job, and her home... and the dumpsite.. Alexandra Park, near Oldham. Both those locations were mere minutes away from where the second victim had been picked up months ago.

Has he gotten sloppy?

Has her sudden death thrown a wrench in his plans and caused him to panic and pick somewhere nearby?

Your eyebrows twitch and a smirk takes over your lips as you finally find something you can exploit.

"Got you, you fuckin' knob'ead." You say and can't help the proud chuckle that escapes your mouth.

-

Simon's pissed off.

He feels like shit after having gotten that girl killed on his watch.

Not that he hadn't gotten the other ones killed either, but this one had truly been an accident.

Between the stress and the fear, her blood sugar had dropped and Simon hadn't noticed before he left the house to pop to the shops and get them both some food.

And by the time he got back and made her dinner, she was just... gone.

It startled him.

Startled him more than when the other ones died.

While looking in her purse for a justification as to why she passed... like any medication he failed to give her, he found the insulin pen and the sugar monitor.

So now, here he is. Back on the street. Back on the prowl. With 8 accidental kills under his belt and a desperate need to fix his streak.

He drives aimlessly. It's a Saturday night and Simon was sure he was going to find some young, vulnerable girl wandering about and stumbling over her own feet, too drunk or high to even walk in a straight line without stumbling or having to lean on street lamps and walls for support.

He hates seeing girls in that state. Young, vulnerable, alone... Left to be preyed upon by some creep in the shadows... Their support systems having failed them...

What kind of friend leaves a drunk girl to find her way home alone when she can barely stand?

What kind of manager lets an employee walk home after dark?

What kind of parent, or sibling, lets a girl walk home from the bus terminal during a storm?

And then they wonder why girls get raped or murdered senselessly by dirty bastards in back alleys.

That only happens because no one protects these vulnerable girls.

They protect them as children, but not as adults? What kind of world does such a thing?

Probably the same world that misinterprets his actions as senseless killing.

He's not a killer.

He's... just very bad at taking care of the girls he... 'helps'...

He never means to hurt them. He's no monster. He just wants to protect them.

-

For once it's actually raining. Heavily so. The water has soaked through the slinky mini skirt and spaghetti strap top you're wearing, your heels are open-toed and slippery, and each step you take feels like you're about to fall face-first into the mud.

You've had your arm out-stretched and your thumb up for the better part of an hour, trying to flag down any car driving past, only to get no luck.

You're at your wits' end, and so so close to calling it a night and trying to stop baiting a driver into taking you in. It's that bad tonight. You can't seem to reel anything in.

The cold wind nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs, and you know well you'll spend the next week in bed with the nastiest cold of your life.

A car zooms past you as you walk and show your thumb, only to groan and protest when it doesn't stop...

But it does slow down to a stop not far ahead of you, having turned on its blinkers after spotting your outstretched arm and thumb up.

Rushing over to it, you stumble a few times and trip and slip with your heels on the wet tar of the road, before you come up to the passenger side door.

Look in the window, you find a young-ish looking bloke behind the wheel, looking at you with concerned eyes and knitted brows. He leans over and pops the door open for you.

"Get in, get in!" He tells you urgently when he notices you shivering like a wet dog in the rain.

Climbing inside the car carefully, you close the door behind you, hearing how the rain and wind turn muffled once you do.

It's surprisingly clean inside, the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror smelling of pine. It's also warm, so warm, the heater running at max temp and making the car so much more cosy.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for stopping!" You whine, forcing yourself to sniffle and hiccup as tears pour down your face. They're fake ones, warranted by you watching a handful of soldier-coming-home videos on youtube and using some menthol-infused stick in your undereye.

"You alright, sweet'eart?" The man asks as he looks at you with worried eyes. "Are you all alone out here?" He asks and glances out of the window.

He's younger than most of the men you usually bait out, but he'll do. He's also... more handsome than most of them too. Long, prominent nose, a long jaw and chin, pouty pink lips, and the biggest brown eyes, not to mention a crew cut worth of blonde hair.

"Yeah..." You sniffle. "My boyfriend he... we were coming back from a birthday party and we... he... we were arguing and he tossed me out of the car and... and...!" You explain. The practiced lie slips through your teeth quickly. It's been used on about 7 of the 20 or so men you've wiped off the map, and you say it as if you truly believe it, which helps sell it.

You also stumble over your words, as if you're starting to choke up, to make sure you sound even more distraught. Men love when you're hyperventilating.

"Alright, it's alright-!" He tries to reassure you and sets a hand on your shoulder. "God, you're freezing. How long have you been out there?" He asks you, concerned.

"I- I don't know! An hour?" You answer with a whine, your lip quivering as more sobs rack your body.

Your eyes are sharp, though. You're noting his every movement. How he quickly pulls away from the backrest of his seat and shrugs off his coat and wraps it around your bare shoulders. "Here. It's alright. You're alright."

You continue softly sniffling, tucking your legs to the side toward the door, while hiding your face in your hand.

"Where can I take you?" The blond man asks gently as he glances at you and slowly leans closer, resting an arm on the steering wheel, the other on the centre console.

"I don't... I don't know..." You whine and sniffle. "I can't... I can't go home... I can't face him right now..." You trail off. "I can't believe he'd toss me out of the car like that...!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, love, but he sounds like a right knob'ead." He says and carefully pats you on the shoulder. "How about I take you to the bus terminal? Or the station?"

"I don't know...!" You whimper. "He took my things with him... I can't even buy a ticket home to my mum..." You hiccup and try to clean the tears off the corner of your eyes.

He's handsome, he speaks calmly, hasn't tried to touch you longer than simply patting you for reassurance, and even gave you his jacket... You almost feel bad about doing this to him. Almost.

"Tell you wha'." The bloke says as he leans a bit closer, tilting his head to look at you in the eye. "I'll take you to the bus terminal and give you a couple more pounds so you can call your family or a friend to come get you, yeah?"

Sniffling, you shake your head. "No... you're already... doing so much! I can't... I can't even pay you back!" You add.

You really should earn an Oscar for this performance. The damsel in distress who's actually such a good girl that she doesn't want to impose on this man's money or take too much of his help.

"Don't worry about any of that." He tells you and waves his hand to dismiss the point, before leaning over and fixing the direction of the air vents on the dash, making sure they point at you to keep you warm. "You don't have to pay me back, alright?"

Nodding a bit, you try to stop crying and rub your eyes with your hands, causing an even bigger mess within your make-up, your fingers now also stained with mascara.

"Here. It's alright. No need to cry anymore." The driver says affectionately as he offers you a tissue from a pack, before he shifts in his seat and starts driving forward.

-

Simon watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives. Poor little thing, all alone, abandoned by her boyfriend, left on the side of the road...

It's like the universe had handed you to him on a silver platter. He couldn't not take you in! And, this time, he's not going to let anything happen to you.

He's not risking it.

And so of course he's going to soothe you, to calm you down, you, the poor little thing, that got left on a side road by your awful boyfriend, like a stray cat no one wants to feed...

That's the thought in his head as he drives down the wet roads, the windshield wipers working overtime to beat the pouring rain that decided to attack the city of Manchester even more aggressively than usual.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, making sure to drive carefully and steadily, and trying to spot the look in your face as he does.

You still seem stressed, frazzled, worried. The tears haven't stopped despite your breathing having settled...

He wonders if you've had anything to drink. You're definitely not drunk, but the amount of tears... maybe tipsy?

Maybe you won't even need to be threatened. You'll just... let him take you into his house, gently guide you into the bathroom and let you wash off the mud and rain...

He'll give you clothes, and food, and let you watch tv with him... And he'll keep you warm and safe, like everyone in your life has failed to, that got you to the moment you were now in...

Alone.

Afraid.

Abandoned.

He wants to tell you not to worry, that he's here now... But he holds his tongue. You'll hear it later.

-

"You should've kept going forward instead of turning right..." You say aloud, forcing your voice to still sound soft and meek, as you look out of the window.

You've been driving for a while. You've kept your head low, enjoying the warmth coming from the A/C, which helps with the genuine cold wetness of the rain that settled on your skin and bones.

You're not stupid. You know the way to the bus terminal and to all the train stations in the area...

He's not taking you to either. In fact, you're pretty sure you've taken 3 rights in the last 5 minutes, and are, in short, going back the way you came.

"Sorry. It's easy to get turned around with this rain, I'll go back to the main road." He replies. His tone apologetic, and his brow scrunched in concern... But his eyes... his eyes are hard.

It sends a tingle down your spine. For once, you actually baited out a man that has nasty intentions with you.

Had he not tried to do that, you would've considered letting him live... But no, of course, he's actually a creep...

What a shame... He's actually kind of cute. In a blue collar sort of way.

It gives you some weird sense of satisfaction, the realization in the back of your mind that you might have succeeded... that you might have bated him out... The Ghost.

Your hand carefully slips into the left side of the waistband of your slinky skirt, the side closest to the door, so he can't see, your fingers already wrapping around the handle of your pistol.

Your eyes remain on the street, the road, keeping an eye out as he returns to the main road and goes back over the area he has just driven past. A closed down shop, the post office...

And you wait.

You wait patiently for the next time he tries to turn right and put you back on course toward the area you had triangulated for The Ghost to live in or work out of...

And he does. He does just that.

Within a minute, he turns right again...

And you don't hesitate.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol handle and you rip it off the confines of your skirt, your arm hurling itself toward him, steadily pressing the barrel to his temple...

Only for you to notice his arm moving sharply at the same time and, you're suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

His eyes are wide, his brown irises nearly invisible from how wide his pupils are blown and he stops the car suddenly with a hard brake that jostles you both forward.

Looking each other in the eye, over the top of both your pistols, you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

The look of surprise, confusion and pure dread painted in his features, the way his brows knit together and furrow in displeasure, his lips already twisted into a scowl...

It's a sickly sweet pleasure, to spot the way that, just like the other ones, he's scared of your pistol... It's likely his first time... But an unfamiliar warmth forms in your tummy as you stare down his pistol too... It's also your first time...

"Well, well, well... Would you look at that?" You quip as a smirk takes over your lips. "Looks like I've busted myself a Ghost."

You don't miss the way his brows go from concerned and fearful to dropping low onto his eyelids, and his jaw clenches in disgust.

Got him.

[lolliepuff]

lord tartaglia spoils his siblings too much, he even brings his one sister around teyvat, they even share one bedroom despite his budget allowing for them to take separate rooms. — i wonder if people prefer second pov or third povs in x readers. — big brother!childe x little sister!reader. DRABBLE

you were adorable.

far too adorable that your older brother was WORRIED about the snezhnayan men (such as himself) who’ll ravage you senselessly.

worried enough that he brought you to diplomatic outings as an ‘assistant,’ when really you were just decoration meant to stand at his side.

after all, if ajax couldn’t control himself around you, what about other men? ajax trusts himself around you because unlike the OTHER MEN, he’ll fuck you with passion and love; not like the savage men who’ll fuck and dump you after cumming by themselves.

big brother is different, see? he’ll never leave you so don’t leave him.

“lord tartaglia’s younger sister barely looks at anyone else, no?” one cicin mage remarks, mistaking your refusal to look at other people for bashfulness.

“i do believe it wise not to speak about her, the lord wants made it clear not to approach her unless he’s given us direct permission to do so.” the mirror maiden replies as they all line up to greet the arrival of the eleventh harbinger and his darling sister. “even then, those granted ‘privilege’ to serve her are never of the lower ranking ones, much less a man.”

“she’s like an extension of the lord, no? almost never smiles without him. one might think she’s one of lady sandrone’s creations.” the cicin mage giggles to herself. “with an appearance like that, constantly groomed to perfection, one might actually mistake her for a doll instead of human.”

they spoke in hushed tones but that didn’t seem to mute their words from you, after all; having grown up with ajax, even your senses seemed to have sharpened. — you have no doubt your older brother has heard them too but he seemed to be too taken by something to even reprimand nor react to them.

he calls your name and you grow alert, “i bought you something.” he smiles at you with a grin you recognize to be one born of devious intent. most likely born with perverse intentions.

ajax brought you everywhere despite the protests of both your younger siblings who wanted to come with as well, but he reasoned with them he could only bring one. — in truth, he wants you all to himself, your relationship be damned. he poisoned your mind with ideas, that everyone except your family are all out to get you, wearing masks to hide their true intentions. and because you had no reason to not believe him, you considered his words law.

that’s why you’re too scared to meet anyone else’s eyes unless ajax trusts them, that’s why you refuse to speak with anyone unless ajax’ with you. that’s why your smile is saved only for ajax otherwise evil men will get you. — your world revolved around ajax, everything he said was the truth, if he says this was normal, it was. if he calls you his little wife, you are, if he tells you to keep it a secret from even your siblings, you will. after all, ajax knows best.

“what did you buy?” you ask innocently, turning to him with eyes that reflect nothing but trust.

he only smiled as you both walked towards the bedroom assigned for the both of you in the goth grand hotel. there was a box already placed on the bed, with a ribbon that he tells you to open, before closing the door and locking it.

opening it, you were greeted with two vials that looked to be similar to whopperflower nectar, lingerie and other accessories. glancing back at ajax, you find that he’s already taken off his snow cloak that all other harbingers wore, taking off his expensive outerwear then his red silk shirt. “what are you waiting for? put it on.” he gives you an innocent smile as if the underwear in the box didn’t barely cover anything that you might as well be naked.

but still, who were you to deny him?

what if i wasnt lazy and wrote the smut for this haha

[euphemiaamillais]

favourite crime - coriolanus snow

coriolanus snow loves you… but when he learns that he’s being sent back to the capitol—well, he can’t have any loose ends left back in district 12.

dark possessive!coriolanus snow x district 12!reader

cw: 18+//dead dove do not eat!!!//snuff//mentions of loss of virginity//mentions of murder//coriolanus snow’s disgusting inner monologue//murder//strangulation//piv sex//mentions of guns

reader discretion advised!! i do not condone any of these themes, this is merely a work of fiction

IB: @shellxrls

when you’d first laid eyes on private snow at the hob, you never would’ve thought you’d end the night with your lips wrapped around his cock. no, you were a good girl. you didn’t do things like that, and certainly not with strange men in darkened corners. but coriolanus was different. he made your core burn with desire, and your heart skip a beat every time his icy eyes flicked over you.

you spent many evenings with him—friday nights especially—legs spread, letting him touch you in ways you’d never known before. he liked that you had been a virgin; the thought of corrupting this stupid little district girl and turning her into his whore. you belonged to him now, and he’d have you whenever he pleased. you were nothing more than a hole to fill his desire with.

you were head over heels for him—so when he told you he’d been given a discharge to return to the capitol, he’d thought his pretty little doll would be delighted for him. you’d had fat tears streaming down your cheeks, mascara running—you’d worn it just for him, to look pretty—clutching at his arms and begging him to stay.

you couldn’t leave district 12, no. you didn’t belong in a place like the capitol.

the way you were begging was so pathetic; getting on your knees, weeping, voice strained with frustration. he couldn’t believe how he’d done this to a girl—lucy gray was never like this. when he’d left her for you she’d simply resigned herself to singing not-so-subtle tunes about how much of an asshole he was. well, at least before he killed her.

you were different. you were his little doll. his and his only. that’s why you had to return to the capitol with him—he’d have packed you into his bag if there had been enough room. it was a shame they didn’t allow for pretty whores to travel with the peacekeepers.

‘please, coryo,’ you cried out, hands clutching at his trousers. ‘don’t leave me, i- i love you!’

your attempts at flattery were ridiculous, but in a way he knew that you did love him. he didn’t love you, exactly. he loved knowing that he possessed you, that your heart entirely belonged to him. but he could never love a whore from the districts—especially not 12 at that.

‘is my bunny sad that i’ll be going home?’ he cooed, clutching your chin with his large hand. you were so small. he could break you if he wanted to…

‘mhm. gonna miss you so bad, coryo,’ you gazed up at him with wide-eyes—they looked so innocent as they glistened with the tears of your upset.

‘gonna miss your cock, and your tongue…’ you sighed wistfully. ‘gonna miss riding you and having you fuck me full of your cum.’

your lips are turned into a pretty pout, and he wonders then and there whether or not he should get his cock out and shove it past them. make you drink up his seed one last time. or perhaps he could bend you over his bunk and put a baby in you—then you’d always have something to remember him by.

no—that would make you a loose end. and he can’t have loose ends. you can’t know that he shot the mayor’s daughter because she pissed him off too much—or that his songbird, lucy gray, now lay somewhere at the bottom of the lake by the cabin.

he decides he can spend one last night with his little bunny. just one night. but then he’s clearing up loose ends. you’d never assume what he had been planning, no, you’re far too dumb to understand that. you see the good in everyone; and that made his chest burn with fury. how could you be so fucking innocent?

‘bunny…’ his voice trailed off. you nod, awaiting him to tell you something, anything—did he love you too?

‘i’ve got an idea. one last special night, just the two of us, hm? down at that cabin by the lake,’ he stroked your cheek. how sweet you looked like this, all red in the face. ‘i’ll give you a night worth remembering. let you sit on my face.’

you gave him an eager smile, and he knew his little bunny was just too stupid to know she was falling into his trap.

—

this was where he’d killed lucy gray, too. that had been a cold, rainy day. just like this one. you’d been so easy to lure into his trap; meeting him by the hanging tree in your prettiest dress—one with tiny pink flowers that came just above the knee. you’d even tucked a flower behind your ear. how sweet.

you couldn’t wait to spend your last night with coryo. you’d been singing all day, and practically skipped to meet him with a little bag full of some food and your toothbrush. you’d flung yourself into his arms, not caring about the consequences of being caught with a peacekeeper. he’d be gone by tomorrow morning anyways.

the walk to the cabin had tired you out considerably, and so you clung to coryo like a pathetic little bunny, letting him lead the way. you’d miss clutching his biceps, feeling the taut muscle beneath his shirt, the way his dog tags slapped against your face as he pounded your cunt raw.

he delighted in the way he’d get to have you one last time, tonight. that at some point, the only thing warm in your body would be his cum, leaking out of that tight cunt of yours. even though you were stupid, he did have to admit that your willingness was something he adored. the way he could just fill you up at any time, and in any hole—you never complained.

he’d corrupted you, watched you bleed as his big cock stretched you out that first time. he loved the way your eyes swelled up with tears and you begged him to stop—‘it hurts, coryo!’ you had clawed your nails into his back. ‘too big!’—but he didn’t stop. he knew you had to learn to take it, and that you did. you had such low self-esteem, you would practically grovel at his feet everytime you so much as made him frown. you’d do anything for him, and that was the way he liked it.

complete control.

the cabin was warmer than the tender breeze outside, and you were so grateful to get in there, shivering in your little dress. coryo had dressed more appropriately, in his day clothes, and he watched as you shivered. god, you were so helpless.

he set his things down, and when you had laid down on the bed to rest your eyes for a while, bundled up in the ratty old blanket, he checked under the floorboards. there it was—one last gun, wrapped in a green cloth. if you tried to run, he’d use it on you. he’d deliberated over which way to kill you, which way wouldn’t damage that pretty little face of yours.

he thought that one simple shot to the chest would do it—it would be instant too. but he wanted to watch the life drain out of you, watch as you whined and begged for him to save you. watch how your brows would furrow and your eyes would grow wide with fear and realisation that you were just another loose end to him. he’d never loved you. he’d loved the control.

but coriolanus had also debated choking you out—maybe he wouldn’t remove his cock from your throat while he fucked it, and pinch the tip of your nose so you’d stop breathing. how pretty you’d look, trying to take his cock and at the same time, fight for your life. he’d shoot his hot load down your dead little throat once you’d stopped breathing. a reminder that you were his, and no one else’s.

no, he couldn’t let you live.

he shut the floorboards when he heard you stirring—you must’ve fallen asleep. how sweet. in a few hours you’d go to sleep one last time—but it would be an eternal slumber. he wanted nothing more than to bring you back to the capitol and make you his little whore—you couldn’t be his wife; think of the shame and embarrassment that would bring. but you could be at his every beck and call, be there to relieve any tension he had. it was just so unfortunate that he wasn’t allowed.

he’d put your body to rest with lucy gray’s, down in the lake to let your pearly white bones be the fishes’ dinner. he couldn’t bury you out in the woods; they’d find you there, one way or another. instead, he’d let them think you’d just disappeared. people disappeared out in the districts all the time. especially stupid little girls. who would care if a pathetic runt who took peacekeeper cock vanished? he doubted you had many friends, and your parents were both dead.

you wouldn’t be missed.

it was some time later that you woke, and your stomach grumbled. coriolanus was sitting in the rickety old armchair, carving what looked to be a spear with his pocketknife. you watched his muscular arms move back and forth as he stripped the stick of its bark. something about his strength made your thighs burn.

you got up, bare feet cold against the wooden floorboards, and peered into your bag. you’d made enough food for the evening; you had even splurged and gotten yourself a precious block of cheese. you figured it was only appropriate, what with it being your last night together and all.

he looked up from his makeshift weapon—though it wasn’t all that, really—and gave you an award-winning smile. your heart leapt at his sweetness. you couldn’t believe he wanted to spend one last night with you.

‘you’re so pretty, bunny,’ he remarked, watching as you laid out the food.

there was bread, a few flimsy butter knifes—you’d not be able to defend yourself with those; besides you were just so weak. you’d even snuck a bottle of wine at the market when the peacekeepers weren’t looking. you wanted it to be special, to send him off happy and thinking of you.

your chest twinged with a heavy sadness. you wished you could go with him, follow him to the capitol and maybe, stupidly, marry him. you wanted to be his forever. you’d give him lots of children and they’d have white-blonde hair and icy blue eyes. you’d make sure he was satisfied every day, and cook and clean and whatever he required of you.

but you were to remain here, in district 12. marry a man covered in coal who worked himself to the bone in the mines. have skinny little babies who starved from the lack of food, struggle tooth and claw just to put dinner on the table every night. your time with coriolanus had been your only taste of luxury, of richness. he’d told you how in the capitol, there were buildings that reached the sky, and that every night people would feast on the finest food from the districts. you were reminded, with your own hunger pangs, the sacrifice that you had to make.

no, you’d never be good enough for him. future president of panem.

‘coryo, come eat,’ you said, standing proudly beside your food which you’d laid out neatly on the table.

he obliged—he was hungry, after all. he’d not eaten since last night. the food looked tolerable too, and the bottle of wine tempted him to be more considerate. just so his little bunny wouldn’t be suspicious. he doubted you were clever enough to figure out his intentions anyways.

‘i hope you like it,’ you remarked meekly, sitting down beside him and beginning to devour the food.

he opened the bottle of wine, and although it was completely uncivilised, he took a large swig. it was terribly sour, not like the good stuff they had in the capitol. he reckoned you’d never even tasted real wine. how pathetic.

‘how lucky did i get, with my little bunny,’ he smiled, stroking your head fondly.

‘i’m the lucky one,’ you said in your saccharine tone. he wanted to roll his eyes—you were so sickeningly sweet. ‘you’ve been so good to me, coryo.’

‘yeah?’ he asked. he liked how much you sought to stroke his ego. it made his cock hard the way you were just so utterly desperate to please him in every manner.

‘mhm,’ you said, chewing on a piece of bread. the cheese made it taste so delicious; sweet and creamy.

‘does bunny like the way i always give her whatever she wants? fill her up with my cum just like she asks?’ he watched as your cheeks burned red with abashed shame.

‘coryo…’ you whined, pressing your thighs together.

he loved the way you were already squirming, just from the mention of being fucked. what a fucking slut. he bet you had soaked through your panties, just waiting from him to bury his cock deep inside you as you whined for him to go harder. he’d show you harder. perhaps he’d wrap his big hands around your tiny, little neck, and squeeze too hard. god, you’d look so pretty with the air sucked out of your lungs, gasping and panting as he filled you up one last time.

‘oh bunny, don’t tell me you’re wet already?’ he cooed, standing up from his chair.

whatever, he didn’t really need to eat anyways. he couldn’t possibly be hungry when he’d been feeding himself with the own sick ideas in his head. food could wait—he’d need to tend to his little bunny first.

you nodded dumbly, clenching your thighs as the slickness pooled in your panties. you couldn’t help it, it was your last night with coryo. you wanted him more than anything else, more than you ever had done before.

‘p-please,’ you whimpered pathetically.

‘does bunny want me to fuck her? make her cum?’ he laughed, stroking your smooth arm. you were so warm. so full of life.

‘mhm, yes,’ you moaned, slipping one hand between your thighs to rub at your aching clit.

seeing this, coriolanus yanked your hair, causing you to gasp and sputter. how dare you touch yourself? you were his! his to have and do as he pleased with! you felt a few tears spring to your eyes, and he laughed, seeing how stupid you looked, weeping because he pulled your hair. he wondered how much you’d cry when he squeezed at your airways; watching them constrict between his big hands.

‘you know my rules, bunny,’ he clucked his tongue in disapproval. you glanced up at him, his icy eyes singed with coolness.

‘i’m sorry, sir,’ you replied. that name made his cock stir. he couldn’t keep himself from devouring you for much longer.

he dragged you from the chair and shoved you down against the bed. you were giggling and gasping like a little fool—it made his blood boil. you wouldn’t be laughing when your heart pumped with its last beat and your legs went still.

‘be a good girl, bunny,’ he commanded, trapping one leg between your thighs to stop you from grinding against the mattress.

you watched as he unbuckled his pants—he was never one for dawdling, preferring to get straight to the point—and eyed his bulge hungrily. you wanted to use your mouth on him, feel him stretch your lips out and fuck your throat as you gagged on his length. you’d miss how big he was—so big that you often ached for days after he fucked you.

he cupped your chin in his hand again, and pressed a kiss to the corner of your jaw. he had no intention of being gentle with you, this final time. you were merely his to use for pleasure. a little fuckdoll to fill up with his cum.

you moaned as he pulled his boxers down and his cock sprang free. you would never get used to the sight of it—the huge, throbbing thing. you couldn’t wait to have him bury it inside of you, feeling it nudge against your most sensitive spots.

‘need you, coryo,’ you panted. ‘need you in me.’

you pulled your panties off, feeling your own slickness pressing at your inner thighs. coriolanus grabbed the base of his cock with one hand, and pushed you down against the bed with the other. he wanted to take you like this, so he could watch the life drain out of your eyes, one last time.

‘gonna fuck you so good, bunny,’ he mused, hiking your dress up and sighing at the sight of your wet cunt. he would miss it, he did have to admit. what a shame it wouldn’t get wet for him anymore in a few hours. but if he couldn’t have you, nobody could.

‘mhm,’ you gasped as he pressed the tip of his cock at your sopping entrance.

god, you were so pathetic. so wet for him, so fucking desperate for his cock. he knew you probably wouldn’t have even let anyone have you, after he left. but he couldn’t bear the thought that somebody could take advantage of you, coax you into their bed and let them bury their cock in you. no, your cunt was his only. nobody else could dare touch his bunny.

he groaned as he pushed himself all the way in, feeling your walls stretch around him. you were still so tight, even after all the abuse to your hole with his big cock, the way he stretched you out, you were still tight as the first time he’d had you. you didn’t complain as much anymore though, not like you had that first time—weeping for days after with the dull ache of being fucked.

coriolanus began to thrust, grabbing your hips with firm hands, bucking into you with lusty vigour. your tits bounced in your dress, and you couldn’t help but gasp and mewl each time his cock bucked into your tight hole. his cock throbbed, feeling you clench around him, the way you sucked him in with your slick want.

he’d never forget this night. the last time he’d have you. the way you were so utterly perfect.

‘taking me so well,’ he grunted, watching as you moaned at the pleasant feeling of his big cock burying itself deep inside you, brushing against your cervix.

‘harder,’ you gasped, clutching at the sheets. you wanted to know you were his.

coriolanus couldn’t resist this, of course. he wrapped your legs around his waist, and plunged himself deeper into you. his balls were slapping against your perineum now, and the cabin filled with the reverberation of skin against skin.

you kept gasping and begging as he drove himself into you. you could feel yourself edging closer—you’d been so wet the whole way here, you were soaking at the thought of him having you one last time.

it was beginning to piss him off, though, the way you were being so loud. normally, he loved it, your moans letting everybody know how well he was fucking you, branding you as his own with his cum. he wondered what you’d do if he choked you right now—would you attempt to run? if you did, he’d get that rifle and shoot you. he couldn’t risk having you running about district 12 when somebody else could get their hands on you.

no more loose ends, he reminded himself.

he reached his free hand out, caressing your cheek, and then trailing them down to your neck. you giggled as he wrapped his fingers around your neck—it was so little that his whole hand could fit you inside of it. he’d choked you before, and so you didn’t assume anything of it. he pressed lightly, and you let out a sigh, body humming with want.

‘good girl,’ he mused, pounding you with his cock at the same time.

you let out a pretty moan, pussy clenching just right around him; he couldn’t help but grunt at how pleasant it was. you’d probably still be tight for a few hours after he kills you. maybe he’d fuck you again, but you wouldn’t be warm, or wet. just cold. he decided against it. he’d fill you up with his cum just as the life drained out of your eyes.

he pressed harder, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. it hurts, and you glance up at him with a worried look, eyes stretching wide. he doesn’t pay heed to this, and merely keeps thrusting, moving your hips closer to his to hit at a new angle.

he saw your breathing go rapid, and your eyes dart about the room in panic. poor bunny. he really didn’t want to have to kill you, but you can’t be his forever, and how can he accept that? if you’re dead, you’re nobody’s but his. especially since he’ll fuck his cum deep into your stiffening body; you’ll have part of him in you forever.

he could hear the sounds of your vocal chords straining as he clasped tighter at your throat. it would be a shame that you’d be left with a rosy imprint of his fingers around your neck, but it made him smile a little, that you’d be branded with his mark until you rotted.

‘coryo!’ you whimpered, clawing at his chest.

‘shhh, be quiet, bunny. take my cock like a good girl,’ he murmured, slamming into you.

it hurt—the way he was crushing your neck, your tendons beginning to strain around his touch. it felt like there was no air left in the world; you were beginning to grow tired, your breaths haggard.

‘p-please,’ you felt tears spring to your eyes, and watched as he laughed, a maniacal grin creeping across his lips.

he shook his head, grunting as your walls contracted around his cock. he was so close, but you were being a bitch and taking too long to die. he clamped down on you harder, causing a gasp to escape your lips. you couldn’t speak—your hands were clawing about desperately, legs flailing about.

you were terrified—what was he doing?! why did he want to hurt you? just minutes ago he was telling you how much he wished you could come back to the capitol with him and be his wife. he wanted to dress you up like a pretty doll and make you grow fat with his children.

‘don’t cry, bunny,’ he laughed, watching as your legs stilled.

you were so tired. it felt like there was no blood in your legs; they grew stiff and numb. your head spun.

‘you’re all mine bunny, forever,’ he smiled as your body grew limp.

you were terrified—eyes beginning to lose their shine, lips trembling with fear. you couldn’t feel your arms now, or the way he was bucking into you. his thrusts were slower now—he was close. watching the life drain out of you made his blood course through his veins with a delicious speed.

you mouthed out a ‘why’ as your body went completely frail. in one last act of betrayal, your cunt gushed around him as he squeezed your neck; airways completely constricted. your lips were beginning to blue now, and he frowned—he had really liked how plump and red they were when you sucked him off.

coriolanus felt himself finish; cock shooting thick loads into your still-wet cunt. he couldn’t help but grunt as he spurted himself into your pretty hole. the way you’d finished just as your heart had stopped beating and your lungs had given out. your final breath wasted on cumming. you really were a whore.

he ran his hands over your body, frowning at the ugly ring around your neck. at least he didn’t have to deal with your blood. that would’ve been so fucking messy. having to mop it up, and the way you would’ve screamed. at least you couldn’t scream when his hand was clamped around your neck.

when he pulled out, he watched with sick delight as his cum spilled out of your pussy. the thick, pearly loads trickled down your thighs. your limbs would be pliable and floppy for another two hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to fuck you again. that was too far, even for him.

he looked at your face, which was stretched into one of fear. your eyes were still, but wet with the tears. so were your cheeks—they still retained that innocent rosiness which he so loved.

he wished lucy gray had looked so pretty when he’d killed her. she’d screamed when his bullet pierced her chest cavity, and she’d bled all over his jeans as he’d held her. you were so docile, even in death. you’d given him one last thank you when you’d came, and he knew you’d be his forever.

darling, dearest, dead. the words rang clear in his head. he’d read them in an old novel. they were fittingly appropriate for the situation. it was so sad that he had to kill you, but it was a bitter and necessary pill to swallow. he had to return home to the capitol, marry that bitch livia cardew, and set his sights on what mattered most.

you were just a little doll he’d had his fun with on his summer vacation—you were just a poor district girl. what did you matter? nobody would miss you, and when he became president, nobody would know that he’d watched the life drain out of three pathetic girls.

that would be terrible for his image. he did what needed to be done. his pretty bunny would be his forever, and he’d secure his place in the world.

no more loose ends.

[devil-in-hiding]

the 141 all collectively stalking you. You’re just the sweetest thing they’ve ever seen, they NEED to have you all for themselves! So they make a plan to kidnap you, keeping you locked up in their shared home. They take such good care of you though! Eventually you don’t even wanna leave anymore. You just get to relax all day, having orgasm after orgasm, and being dotted on by the four men. You don’t have to worry about anything else ever again, no job, no school, no taxes, nothing. Sure your holes are nearly constantly sore, but the pros of your situation definitely outweigh the cons.

-🫧

*coughs* this is tickling my stockholm syndrome idea i’ve been kicking around in my head for awhile so like

[mellowwillowy]

..you once said you like extreme yanderes hear me out- yan darling putting Jade to sleep with a nice mushroom, cutting Jade's legs and saving them on a freezer that'll keep them intact along with breaking his hands, wrists and fingers, all before tying him to her bed in a far away cottage on an inhabited mountain's forest, darling is ready to cook, clean and go practically everything for Jade ofc they'll have to cut his hands off if he tries to use them even if broken <33 the hands breaking would be done everytime his hands look like they're at mid healing (half healed half not) but at least they'll bandage him and if very good willl bring him a weelchair and give him some 10-15 minutes time with them where they'd show him around the mountain and let him choose which mushrooms to use for the next meal, if very very very good they'll let him choose some wild life and darling'll make a terrarium for him he can watch an indicate darling how to take care of, though darling will make sure he's not too much of a smarty pants and chooses a mushroom or wild life that'll help him, with the addition of darling not minding if Jade bites them after all they'll enjoy anything that comes from their love <33 the good thing is that they wouldn't force him to kiss them or be intimate not even hug, darling only would do it if Jade asked for it or if darling asked and Jade replied that yes, they can do it...........how do you think normal Jade would react? how about ***yandere*** Jade?

CW: Gore, cannibalism

The thoughts of having Jade in a wheelchair without legs... his hands always broken because you just can't trust him at all. What kind of scheme could your beloved Jade have pulled if you didn't break his hands?

You'd rather be safe than sorry. In this case, if Jade was normal then he was most likely to be seething in rage all day all night. His mind was filled with how he would leave you toothless and all limbs torn apart with his own teeth and healing hands.

He'd make you eat part of yourself, gut you, and make you eat the limbs inside your guts. He'd make sure you were all hydrated from how much you were choking on your blood when he slit your throat open like a pig.

Jade had always been someone who could control his facial expressions well but when he was faced with a demon, he just had no facade to put up. He'd have you live in this rotten hell for as long as he could have you alive, all sorts of torture would be tested on you while he injected adrenaline into you.

Yandere Jade was also displeased by the fact his condition was far from optimal. The one who should be wheelchair-bound was you, not him.

Without his lanky legs, he could no longer entertain the idea of chasing you. He wished he could skin you alive and make you learn your lesson if not for his terribly wounded hands.

At this point, he had no hope that he would be able to have his hands looked at or functioned normally. If he couldn't win against you physically then he'd do it mentally. He'd have you ruin yourself with the very blade you used to ruin him.

He'd have you cut yourself bit by bit until there was nothing left. He didn't mind dying in this lone cottage if it meant he'd bring you to hell as well. You could prevent him from doing active actions but never passive actions from his insane mind and sharp tongue.

[writr4luvrs]

He's a sick man, honestly.

Perv!Step!Nanami Kento

tw: (pseudo) inc*st, toxic relationship, taboo relationship, grooming, power dynamic, not proofread

What kind if man becomes a little too fond of his niece? Catching himself when his eyes are draging up your soft legs, having to pull himself back to reality when he peaks that your skirt is too short. He has to chant prayers in her head when he feels swelling to his head that you don't notice when you jump to hug him. Your cherry sweet scent making him hum when you pull on him to peck his cheek.

He couldn't possibly damage his reputation or hurt you for his own sick thoughts, but how could he justify listening you hum in the shower as picked up and examined your panties, bringing the pretty fresh thing to his nose. Or closing the door behind him to convince you to sit in his lap and steady yourself as he's bouncing his leg, showing you pictures of his vacation of his phone. Making his brain melt at the damp spot you left on his pants thigh.

He was so tender and caring when convincing you to stay at his place, paying attention to your every need. "Is this okay?" "This feel okay?" When his massages on you waist or squishes your inner thighs. Don't you feel lucky that a man like Nanami finds a little thing like you attractive? He's serious and charming, who would think he'd do such a thing? Besides, he loves you. "So, so pretty.." he hums into your neck.

[keter-kannot]

AAAAAA it's been awhile, I know 😭 BUT the world's loveliest anon gave me a kick in the ass by commissioning this absolutley banger piece of f!TavxMizora. I hope you freaks enjoy 😌

Coms are still open btw!! Prices pinned :)

Word Count: 6.5k

tw: noncon, dubcon, Resisting, implied abuse, blood, breath play, gagging, basically just s*x slavery lmao DDNE you've been warned !!!

Mizora’s words rang through your skull as you mulled over any and every possible option she’d be throwing your way once you made it back to camp. 

You see, she'd purred, Gortash has had Wyll's father… relocated. 

No matter how hard you thought, you couldn’t think of any ways to combat her. It was useless; this wasn’t your first time fighting a devil, a demon, the utterance of the very word unholy… You knew it wouldn’t be as easy as a counter-plan. She must truly want something from Wyll–from you–to be playing such a game. 

You were so damn tired of all their games. Your blood ran hot through your veins, the anger rising up within you making you scowl, muttering under your breath as the small group of you marched back to camp beneath the watching eyes of Lathander’s setting sun. 

These were games created with the sole purpose of making sure the other players couldn’t win, yet you kept finding yourself falling into one after another. Between Raphael’s constant pop-ups and requests, and all of Mizora’s other demands, it truly made you wonder whether or not you had any free will left in you.

That was a little wrong of you to think, though, considering Wyll’s plight and Karlach’s… well, Karlach. And, for what it’s worth, you’d managed to wiggle your way out of making any deals with them so far. For all the anxious nerves bouncing around inside you, you still tried to calm yourself. 

How bad could it be?

—

You paced the hard ground of your camp, waiting. Wyll watched from the corner he sat in, while the rest of the camp made themselves busy with some miscellaneous task or another. When you met Wyll’s gaze, you sighed, shaking your head and looking away as you continued your relentless steps across the trodden soil. 

“If… we have to do everything we can to save my father,” Wyll muttered, standing to join you in your pacing. 

You nodded, rolling your eyes. “Obviously, Wyll,” you shrugged, “but what is it that you think she’ll ask for in return?”

There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere of the darkened room, the warm light of the flickering candles suddenly turning to the cold of smoking ash. Sweat beaded at your brow as you all turned to face the inky black circle forming itself in front of you, its gentle ring of searing flame lighting the room with a devious glow. The air buzzed with electricity, Mizora's dark form emerging from the entrance to the hells. You watched as the oozing black facade receded, revealing the wide smirk adorning her pronounced lips. 

The theatrics of her entrance had you rolling your eyes, but then you heard the uncouth words falling from her lips with bold purpose. They weren’t in any language that you could understand, her breath hot as she boasted her arms forward, beckoning two more small black portals to grow from the ground behind them. 

“Come, Sisters, be my testament!” she called, more dark words of mysterious meaning falling from her tongue, her sharp teeth on display as she smiled into the darkening night sky. Two forms began their ascent from the depths of the world, their figures matching Mizora’s in the way they demanded your gaze to drink in their entire presence. 

You’ve heard of such devils; Sisters of Justice. Adjudicators of devious contracts and bargains. You thought of all you knew of them as you watched their winged forms spread themselves out before you, their eyes meeting yours with a fierce, raging hunger that you couldn’t quite stomach. 

Wyll let out a ragged breath as he looked from one demon woman to another, his chest heaving with fear as he took in the supposed severity of a deal he was dreading to make. “Holy Hells,” he breathed, clenching his jaw as he took a step back, taking in the image laid before him. 

“Interesting,” you quipped, “I didn’t remember sending out an invitation to the Sisters of Justice.”

Mizora’s smirk only grew at the playful tone in your voice, her eyes shining bright with newfound vigor and curiosity. “Oh, you curious little pup,” she tuted, clicking her tongue as she shook her head and crossed her arms, “We’ll be making an important bargain. It’s only right the Sisters bear witness.”

There was a tug deep within your core as she spoke, anger fueling you as you clenched your fists and looked from Wyll back to Mizora, then watching as the Sisters of Justice hovered above the ground. 

Mizora continued to speak in a language only she and the Sisters understood, beckoning the despairingly frail parchment of Wyll’s contract to her perfectly manicured hands, relishing in the feeling of power as she held it before them.

“Your contract, Wyll,” her velvet voice wrapped itself against you, “signed in blood, forged in fire, bound in bone–”

There was a brief silence, the Sisters’ wing’s flinging open as they revealed themselves to the chill night air. Mizora’s words sent shivers down your spine as you looked to Wyll, who was trying to hold himself firm where he stood. 

“–But not unbreakable.”

You glanced at Wyll and watched him stutter, his mouth opening and closing as he looked up at Mizora, then over at you. 

“What are you proposing?” You asked, eyes growing dim as they met Mizora’s, trying to fight the flames in her own as she stalked you while she spoke. 

“No contract is ended without sacrifice,” she lulled, flashing a smile at you both as you seemed to grovel below her. “A cost must be paid.”

Ah, and here it is. 

You held your breath as she ascended with a heavy flutter of her wings, the tension in the room thick enough to cut making you feel claustrophobic under the she-devil’s gaze. 

“Wyll Ravengard,” her voice boomed, a foreboding ethereal light capturing her essence as it rose around her. “A choice is before you.” 

For as much as she spoke to Wyll, you knew she was addressing you in this choice to be made; she understood who’s decisions would matter most, who had the most at stake left to lose. While rebuilding a city without a Grand Duke seemed all but impossible–stopping the Grand Design even more so–Wyll was already in Mizora’s grip, presented as the perfect plaything to run her errands. There wasn’t much more she could get from him, besides enjoying his pain and suffering for eternity.

“Option one. I show you the way to your father. I guarantee him no harm except that from you and your allies. With this, you pledge your soul to me and the archdevil Zariel in a pact eternal.” 

You could hear Wyll’s heavy heart sink deep within his chest, a stark resolve trying to mask the fear raging through him. It seemed he’d already made his decision, all but pulling you deeper into the rage you felt for Mizora and her brethren. You turned towards the Sisters of Justice, their smiles otherworldly in their lack of grace. 

“Option two,” she said, watching him quiver and you broil, “I break your pact, and you are freed from your duty. Your father dies by his enemy's hand, and Baldur’s Gate loses its greatest champion.” 

A murmur graced itself throughout the camp, everyone taking in the demands of the she-devil, waiting to hear her final option, her final offer. 

But none came. 

“Mizora, you arsehole,” Wyll muttered under his breath, hating himself for contemplating what held more value to him. 

Karlach’s engine roared as her chest flamed. “Bloody Zariel, I won’t let her take Wyll!” She swore, stomping herself over to where Mizora had the two of you surrounded between herself and her Sisters. 

Her wicked grin only grew as she watched you almost break under the pressure of it all. “Oh, my dearest pup,” she said, her voice like thick honey as she spoke  to Wyll, but directed her gaze at you, “Choose your sacrifice.” 

The anger grew and grew, the sensation of the electricity running through you with a current you didn’t recognize and a ferocity nothing has ever matched before. Wyll’s choice seemed to be clear to him as his brows furrowed even more, a deep breath taken at the expense of his composure. 

“Choose,” Mizora said again, the irking pull of her voice causing the hair on your arms to stand on end. You watched as the fire upon the rings of the portal entrances seemed to grow more furious with life, licking up the suspended legs of the three women, waiting to consume them. 

Wyll straightened himself where he stood, looking towards the rest of his companions with a small, sad smile. Shadowheart shook her head with a frown, stepping closer as Karlach started to plead with Wyll to think about himself–his eternal soul–forever indebted to Zariel and her demon’s war. Even Astarion, who’d seemed unfazed by the idea of an all-powerful demon woman, had peeked out from his tent to watch the drama unfold. 

Mizora’s lip twitched as she watched you. 

You felt the words leave your mouth before you’d thought of saying them. “No. I know that’s not what you want.” 

The flames roared further as the colors of their tongues changed and grew, feeding off of your deliberate deference. Mizora’s brow rose, her eyes finally seeming to burst with her inner flames as her tongue licked across her lips, nodding slowly and with intent. 

She clicked her tongue again, relaxing the hulking mass of her wings behind her as she allowed her feet to finally touch the trodden ground. Shadowheart took a step back as she started her approach towards the group of you, Wyll flinching with each step she took and Karlach gripping the handle of her ax with battle-worn knowledge. 

Mizora stood before you, her visage bringing a sense of dread that seated itself so deeply in your core that you could all but taste the souls she reaped, the deals she’s made and those she’s damned to an eternal strife. 

She continued her slow nod, her supple skin seeming to suck in the unnatural light of the portals around you. She leaned her cold lips near your ear, the sound of your teeth grating together meant to steady your mind but only bringing you closer to that violent edge. 

“And what, my dear pup, is it that you think I want?”

There was a sudden shift to the tone of the room, a harsh darkness consuming you as you felt the last bits of heat left in the air being sucked away. The stark stillness of the space around you–the feeling of life between you and your companions all but missing as you wished yourself to look towards them, but couldn’t. The feel of Mizora’s lips against the skin of your ear had left you breathless, completely left in the mercy of a power you didn't understand. 

Your words caught in your throat as you struggled to answer, knowing exactly what it was that she wanting, but not daring to admit it. You couldn’t help it, though; there was no way you could settle for less, for Wyll’s sake. 

“Me.”

Her throaty laugh veiled your thoughts like a thick snowfall, drowning out the world around you as she took a step back, allowing your eyes to track over her body and think of every possible way you knew she’d make you suffer. The bounce of her chest as she hummed her low laugh made your hands twitch as you fought to restrain yourself from killing her, knowing it’d do no use in your predicament. 

Karlach’s pleas got louder as Shadowheart continued to back away from the scene, Wyll’s mouth agape as he watched the two of you converse before him, unsure if sacrificing himself would be worth the horrors to come. 

“Very good,” she nodded, her smile settling upon her face once again as she rocked back and forth on either foot with excited anticipation. “It seems you’re rather… observant,” she mumbled, snapping her fingers and keeping her eyes glued to yours as she flicked her wrist and sent Wyll’s contract away, a new one manifesting in its  place. 

Mizora’s fingers twirled around the smoke ridden air beside you, the deep red ink of this new contract glowing amidst the darkness. 

“A third, and final, more… experimental choice, perhaps, but you couldn’t help but to pull my deepest desires right out of me, Tav.”

The Sisters of Justice seemed to stir where they hovered, their fangs glinting in the dim light of the dark red ink as they fought against seemingly invisible restraints. 

Your heart thumped heavily in your chest, the sound of it ringing in your ears as you heard Wyll’s gentle pleading. “No, no, Tav, you can’t–”

“This contract I’ve so graciously written has a viable end date,” she started, a soft lilt in her voice as she paced with ease amongst you, “whereas Wyll’s does not, you understand,” she flicked the terrified man a wink, “so I feel as though when it comes to your fate, I’ve been countless times more generous.” 

You lifted your chin, bringing your face to meet that of the written contract. Your eyes scanned over words you didn’t understand, jumbles of text becoming sentences that made no sense to you until Mizora spoke them. 

“For the next hundred years, you remain obligated to…” she seemed to falter, if only for a second, the deep glare in her eyes telling of her intentions being purely her own desire. “Well, to me. To serving me.” She gestured at the contract as it wafted its way towards you, and she continued. 

“In body, mind and soul, but only temporarily, mind you,” she tutted, letting a hand fall gracefully upon her hip as she looked towards you again. “And you’d be under my sworn protection. No harm will come to you, and I’d be an alliance in your cause.” 

“You’re hiding something from me,” you stated, shaking your head. “What? How will I be serving you? Through blood? Battle? I’d be useless in Zariel’s war.” 

She chuckled, a soft and arduous laugh meeting your ears as her smile seemed to grow. “Sexually, dear pup, however I’d dream it to be.”

What?

The silence was just as heavy as the tension, blanketing the camp like a nervous fog. Everyone’s ears seemed to perk, brows furrowing as it took a moment for them to fully understand  what Mizora had proposed. 

After a moment, it was Astarion’s heinous cackle that finally broke through it all. All eyes snapped towards where he stood outside his tent, all but doubling over in tears from hysteria. You felt your cheeks flame red with embarrassment, grinding your jaw as your eyes flicked from one of your companions to the next, willing yourself to think of something to say as Mizora continued her chortling. 

She clicked her tongue again, shaking her head with the slow sort of seductiveness that only she had. “You don’t have much time to make a decision, hun,” she all but hissed. 

You and Wyll locked eyes, unsure of how to feel. It’s as if he was begging himself to choke back his wordless pleas, wanting to  be free of his pact and save his father, but never daring to ask you to condemn yourself to such a fate. 

“Oh, Gods,” Astarion quipped, catching his breath as he leaned against the small stool beside his tent. “Absolutely priceless…” he laughed to himself. 

Karlach shook her head and stood beside you as Jaheira finally made a hungover appearance from her own quarters, seemingly interested in the active display of power, wanting to see how it’d all play out. Shadowheart stood with a solid frown about her face, shoving Wyll with her boot as she urged him to say something. He remained silent, eyes wandering as if they were searching for something they would never find. 

“Priceless for Wyll, mayhaps,” Mizora chortled, “Is that not what you were asking for?” she continued, gesturing to you in your stupor. She wafted the contract over to you yet again, letting it gently flutter into your hands. 

“Consider yourself a lucky one, pup,” she hummed, lifting a nail to the tip of her lips, “So many would find this sort of proposition as a gift.”

You slowly began to shake your head, going over all the possible pros and cons of the different choices, barely able to understand the thoughts flying through your mind. Astarioin’s voice snapped your gaze back towards him. 

“If it were my choice,” he started, strutting towards you, “It’d be an easy one. The idea is to destroy the would-be Illithid empire, rebuild Baldur’s Gate, and keep us all alive to see the end, is it not?”

You scowled at him, the rest of the camp all listening to his protests with adept ears. “Besides,” he continued, “What’s a short century of fun sex compared to Wyll’s eternal enslavement in the Blood Wars?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’d condemn the Hero of the Sword Coast to such a fate?” 

You could all but taste the sarcasm in his voice as he fell into another fit of laughter,  but he wasn’t wrong. You looked back towards Mizora with a mix of embarrassment and rage, still unable to trust her, but understanding that, at the end of the day, this truly would be the best of the worst–the most viable option, for Wyll’s sake. 

You cleared your throat, trying your best to ignore the glaring eyes of your companions around you. There was a slowness as the nod approached you, a deep chill running through you as you dared to finally meet Mizora’s eyes with a new understanding within your own. 

“If I sign,” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, “Wyll’s pact is done? And his father saved?”

Mizora held her hand to her chest, mocking the gesturr of clutching a necklace of pearls as she looked sarcastically shocked. “My dearest pup,” she gasped, fanning herself as she smiled, “My word–these contracts–are the only form of respectable currency left,” she chortled, summoning a deep red quill to match the ink of the contact now glowing with deep desire as it sat amidst your palms. She gestured to the Sisters of Justice, your gaze following  her hand as their feet met the ground, their wings stretching wide as they urged you to sign.

You looked up at her, heat rising in your cheeks as her gaze burned into you. Her smirk grew with each uneven breath you took, eyes flicking back towards Wyll, who’s eyes were full of tears as he watched you sign away the next hundred years to keep him–and the city at large–safe. 

The quill seemed light in your hand, as if it held no physical form, willing itself to move the way your fingers told it without any thought. The longer you hesitated the faster the quill seemed to move, sensing the fear flowing through you as it scrawled itself across the page, the blood-red ink seeping deep into the parchment with a beautiful flourish of your name. 

Your breath caught in your throat, the heavy sound of flames licking flesh overcoming your senses as Mizora’s smile widened, the newly sealed contract vanishing to mist with a quick snap of her fingers.

The Sisters of Justice nodded their heads in reverence before raising them to meet your eyes, the devious grin of a devil’s game well-played and won clear on their lips. 

A new sort of heaviness hung over the camp. Your companions watched Mizora quietly, waiting with a breath held in their chests as she approached you. 

You jumped as she clapped her hands together, a quick jolt of fear running through your spine as you felt something within you change; something within your very being had been altered, a connection created where there wasn’t one before. Mizora’s smirk spoke clearly. 

“Now!” she yelped, her own excitement building as she lifted a gentle hand and laid it on your arm, trailing her perfectly kept claws over your skin, your shoulder, collarbone, neck…

“My sweet, sweet pup,” she cooed, giggling at the trance you tried to resist, “I’m not known for my patience.”

There was a sudden piercing cold in your core as stiff fabric was torn from unseen flesh, the dank air of the tragic night hitting the bare skin of your exposed body, shivers rising on your skin as you looked down at yourself with shock written clear in your expression. 

You raised your shaking hands to wrap your arms around your exposed and hardening nipples, holding your breath without intent as you struggled to maintain some sense of composure. 

You faltered over your protests, feet glued to the ground as the words struggled to fall from your mouth. “This isn’t… you never said–”

There was the hard feeling of heated metal clapped on either wrist. As you looked down and struggled against your newfound restraints, the Sisters of Justice only hardened their grip, already leaving a deep red mark of a bruise as they gripped tighter with each tug. 

Mizora stood before you, sauntering back and forth as she watched you struggle against the strength of two ancient devils, delighting in the sureness she saw on your face that this was a fight you could win. They couldn’t be more wrong, she thought, the maniacal laugh of a lust-driven force emanating deep from within her as she continued to feast upon you with her eyes.  

You could hardly concentrate on the mutter of the voices of your companions shooting through your mind as you continued your fighting, huffing hot breaths of anger as the embarrassment and shame started to work its way between it, another cold breeze swirling around your naked body. Mizora’s gaping, toothy smile was all but revealing a small bit of hungry, primal, animalistic drool. 

The chattering turned to screams and pleas as your companions began their full protest, yet none were able to reach you to help. You couldn’t bear to meet their eyes as you continued your reeling, their shrill cries all but building up that pit of shame and rage in your core. The harder the Sisters gripped, the more willed you were to fight. Yet, no matter how hard you pulled, your feet remained planted firmly to their place in the ground.

The tips of your fingers started to go numb as the red bruising of the Sisters’ grip on your wrists tightened yet again, a grunt of pain falling from your lips as you pleaded, “This isn’t what I agreed to!”

Mizora’s laugh echoed throughout your flooding skull, mingling with Wyll’s desperate chokes of a once damned soul. 

“You bitch!” he raved, fighting against Karlach’s gentle hold as she shook her head, doing her best to hold him back from what would be an assured death if he threw himself upon such an exalted she-demon. She pulled her eyes away from the scene, averting her gaze to the ground as she tried to calm Wyll amongst his screams, unsure of what she could possibly say or do to fix it. 

With another wave of her wrist, Mizora had a rough gag woven around your neck, between your lips. You choked at the texture against your teeth, gagging as your tongue was pushed against it. 

“Oh, my pup,” she muttered, the same hand she summoned the gag with now running gently through your hair, across your chin, down your chest, finding herself one of your nipples to play with. 

You mumbled hard against the restraint, unable to keep yourself from biting against the hard rope and grating your teeth against it. Your throat was going raw as you screamed against it, unable to spit out anymore words. 

“You are so beautiful when you’ve been shut up,” Mizora smiled, continuing to let her hand trail down your body; across your waist, against your supple skin. She left shivers in her fingers wake while you continued to thrash against your restraints.

Jaheira approached the devil with purpose, her eyes slitted and brows furrowed as her voice boomed. “This has gone far enough!” she announced, unsheathing her sword from where it sat against her back. 

Mizora paid her no mind, merely rolling her eyes and gesturing in her direction. Your eyes followed in perfect time, watching as Jaheira’s weapon was flung from her hand and she was brought to her knees with the same force that kept your feet planted on the ground. 

Shadowheart ran to her side, falling to the ground beside her as she tried with everything she had to lift her up, but failed. Jaheira’s screaming became incoherent swears as her eyes were trained on Mizora’s fingers, ever so slowly making their way to find themselves between your legs. 

Your eyes shot wide as you felt the sensation of her hot skin against your own, bucking your hips in time with the gentle touch of her fingers in protest. You whined and yelped against your gag with no relief, your words lost amongst it. 

As your companions watched you devolve upon Mizora’s hand, the final realization of just how much you’d given up to her had set in. 

Wyll’s screams and protests became throaty sobs as curses were thrown at a devil who wouldn’t hear them, Shadowheart finally devolving to leaving Jaheira where she sat amongst the mud and dirt to hide her own tears of fear alone. Eyes averted from your pleading gaze, seeing them all finally turn away as it was all too much to bear, bringing shame to your own eyes as a hot tear found its way down your cheek. 

Astarion had stayed where he was as the scene began to unfold, but this had become something even he wouldn’t witness. Somehow, though, he couldn't look away. The searing heat of rage in his chest drove him deep into his own memories, unable to find the motivation to fight for you as he succumbed to the feeling. 

The taught muscles of your legs shook as three fingers were plunged deep within your folds, a screech of pain eminating from behind your gag as she stretched your walls apart between them. 

“Ahh,” she hummed, leaning her face down in front of your own, taking a moment to revel in your relentless fighting and rage before letting her tongue flick across your cheek, licking away the tear trail before another started to fall. “Who thought a whore like you could have a cunt so tight, hmm?” she purred. 

As you devolved further and further into knowing you wouldn’t escape until Mizora saw fit, the fear welled up further within you. Your breath raced, matching the unrhythmic beat of your heart, unable to staunch your flow of tears as you understood all you’d lost. You heard Shadowheart’s quiet cries from her tent ruminating behind Wyll and Jaheira’s pointless screams, Astarion lost in watching. 

Mizora’s wicked smile only grew as she watched you making peace with your fate through your raging, tear-filled eyes, her own hunger growing stronger within her. 

“The sniveling of your companions is rather distracting, dearest,” she muttered, leaning her lips right up against your own as she pulled her fingers from your aching cunt, “Let me move us to someplace a bit more private.” 

The open expanse of a camp under the night sky became a void of dark, inky black. You felt the hard earth turn to cold stone beneath you, a pedastool keeping you risen above the void. Mizora’s eyes glowed with the same fireceness as the solid red ring of hellfire around the stone slab you stood upon, keeeping you and your three captors perfect sat in the middle of it. 

She sighed, pushing a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face back behind your ear with a seemingly gentle touch as she let her other hand find its way back to your cunt. 

“Let’s put that quick tongue of yours to use, hmm?” she sang, pinching your clit between her sharp claws before taking a step back. 

You yelped out against the gag yet again, helpeless against the pain. 

“Sisters,” she purred, laying her orders out with the slick sweetness of her words as she snapped her fingers, her intricatae gown disappearing into mist the same way your contract had. “Let’s make sure this first round is a perfect example of what our dear pup has in store for the next century, shall we?”

There was a shift in the pressures against you as your body was laid upon the hard stone with force, your ears ringing from the impact. You choked another pained sobbed from behind the gag, squeezing your eyes shut as more hot tears made their way to the cold stone beneath you. There was a hard tightness as your wrists were bound together yet again by ties you couldn’t see, your legs held apart by another restraint. 

There was the warm sensation of Mizora’s hand lifting your shuddering chin, the soft feel of her thighs pressing themselves against either side of your head. Your gag suddenly vanished, causing you to suck in a hot breath, tasting the scent of Mizora’s cunt on your swollen tongue. 

“P-please!” you choked out between a gasp for breath, “It hurts–”

She breathed out a hot laugh, stroking your hair as you tried to pull your head away from her wet sex and failed. 

“Tsk, tsk,” she tutted, her gentle stroking of your hair becoming a tight grip, yanking your head as far back as it would go. “Enough with the protests, dear. Lets get to my pleasure now, shall we?”

As she took her handful of your hair and pushed your mouth hard against her throbbing cunt, you felt the sudden pressure of a searing hot tip rubbing quickly between your folds from behind. You struggled against Mizora’s hand as you felt the ribbed cock throb against your abused folds, sobbing into her cunt as you thrashed, barely able to move. 

As the one Sister wasted no time in pushing her length deep into your cunt, the other climbed atop you, straddling your back as she quickly shoved her own cock into your ass with enough force to give you a small tear. 

You gritted your teeth and continued your useless thrashing against the sudden pain, your eyes wide with shock as Mizora shoved your face harder into her cunt, cooing about how perfect you looked while being broken. You felt a small, hot trail of blood work its way from between your legs amidst the relentless pounding you were struggling against. You screamed against Mizora’s dripping sex, begging for air with your pleading, tear-filled gaze as you saw her smile down at you. 

You were completley at their mercy; your will stripped from you in the most pirmal form. The growls and grunts of the Sisters of Justice seemed to mingle with your thoughts of desperate prayers to Gods that wouldn’t listen, the broken feeling of your very sould falling apart around two ribbed cocks and bewtween Mizora’s searing cunt. You felt yourself succumbing to the chains in which you’d been placed, merely wishing for a quick end and hating yourself for not wanting to keep fighting.

The Sister’s moans mingled throughout the empty void, the sound of their cocks smacking against your bruising skin creating an unholy rhythm that seemed to harmonize with your sobs. The more you resisted, the further you felt yourself approaching your own orgasm. The constant pain of the ribbed cambion dicks pushing against each other through your walls had you squeezing your legs together, your sharp restraints the only thing keeping them apart. 

“Eat, pup,” Mizora demanded, snapping her fngers again with a dark glint in her eyes. Your mouth seemed to open on its own volition, her slick quickly seeping into your mouth, against your tongue, down your throat. 

She rocked her hips against your mouth, pressing your head against her harder with the grip she had on your hair. Your body trembled and shook as the Sisters continued to slam into you, their own moans and grunts of pleasure mixing between their soft giggles and laughs. 

When you gagged at the slick building in your mouth, Mizora tugged your head back and delivered a swift smack to your cheek. You shrieked with your raw throat before she pushed you down yet again. The Sisters seemed to find great pleasure in your plight, their paces quickening with the more frustrated Mizora seemed to get.

“I said, eat.” 

Your tears mixed with the wet slick of her cunt, your tongue working circles between her folds until it found its way to her buzzing clit. You swallowed, closing your eyes as another broken sob fell from your lips. You were pulled back and forth against the hard cold slab which each thrust from the Sister’s behind you, your skin starting to chaffe and blister the more they chased their own highs. They pulled your skin with a harsh vigor, sinking their claws deep into your soft skin to get a better grip as they pulled and pushed you across the floor.

“Perfect, my dear,” Mizora purred, sighing as she leaned herself back and letting out a deep moan of pleasure, “Just like that,” she said, giving your hair another tug. 

Your body was starting to burn and go numb all at once, the nerve  you’d been giving all but being sucked from your body as you ran out of energy from fighting for so long. You gasped against Mizora with each painful thrust, diziness starting  to set in with the lack of breath. You heaved, your weak fingers gripping at smooth stone, nails pulling against it as you lazily racked your fingers acrossed it in a final attempt to fight against the building pleasure in your core. 

You squeezed your eyes shut with the last bit of strength you had left, a solitary tear hitting the cold stone as it dripped between Mizora’s thighs. There was a numbing heat that threw you higher than you’d ever been, the weightlessness of it all leaving you breathless and twitching. You felt yourself float against the grating roughness of the stone, a pool of your own pleasure spilling between your legs as the Sister’s started pounding you harder. 

“Oh, how sweet,” Mizora praised you, “cumming with your face between my legs.” She laughed softly, guiding your head back and forth as your tongue pushed harder against her clit. With each tug, she groaned, her toes curling with each little whine and plea that left your lips sending a jolt into her. Your eyes rolled deep to the back of your skull, your mind pounding with blank bliss as they all continued to fuck you through the high.

“Keep cumming, my sweet,” she hummed, rubbing her cunt against your chin, “so perfectly pathetic as your body shakes for me.”

She writhed against your crying lips as one Sister of Justice began to falter with her pace, her rhythm becoming sloppy as the tip of her engorged, ribbed cock throbbed hard against your cervix. You barely felt her load coating your insides, consdiering they wouldn’t let up relentlessly fucking you through your forced orgasm. 

Your body twitched with each quick thrust of the second Sister beneath you as the first stilled her movements, shoving her length deep inside as to not waste a drop of her spend on the cold, hard stone. 

Mizora gripped your hair tighter as she watched the second Sister approaching her own climax, gently praising her as she filled your second hole. Her cum mixed well with the trickle of blood running down your thighs. You hated yourself for loving the feeling, for having gotten off on the ruthless abuse of your holes. 

She wasn’t far off from her finish herself, but Mizora couldn’t help but relishing in the way you looked all fucked-out and useless beneath her. 

You felt the hot spend of thick cum dripping down your legs, blending  with your own pool of pleasure you were laying in. 

“Bathed in filth,” Mizora quipped, hissing as she sucked in a hot breath. “my disgusting little pet,”

Her coos of detrimental praise began mix with her own sounds of pleasure. She pulled you tighter against her cunt, your tongue finding its way deep inside of her sopping entrance. She held your head in place, riding your face and grinding her cunt against you while your tongue swirled, her clit pushing up against your nose as you gasped for air, all but unable to breathe.

“That’s it, my pup,” she huffed, throwing her head back behind her as she came undone within your mouth. Her wanton moans of pleasure filled your head as you lost yourself, the gentle black haze of losing consciousness finally claiming you as you blacked out.

—

You don’t remember coming back to yourself, only the feeling of the hard earth against your cheek as your vision began to swim again. You could just barley make out the first rays of the rising sun peeking over the horizon. 

There was a soft mumble of paniced voices rushing closer, vague shapes appearing in your vision as everything slowly started to come to you. 

As you came back to yourself, so did all the hurt. You were painfully aware of the sharp restraints still gripping you together, sharp barbs digging deep into shredded, bloody skin. Your entire body throbbed with bruises, skin marked red and yellow and blue and purple from the constant beating and pounding. You gagged as you swallowed, choking on your spit as you raged to catch a breath. 

You fought against the first touch of a soft hand on your back, shrieking and thrashing as Shadowheart spoke with firmness to try to calm you. She gently worked at the bonds holding you restrained, hands shaking as she mumbled about rusted wire in an open wound. 

You choked on your breaths, sucking in the air as your chest heaved. As she worked your wrists and feet free, the rest of your companions slowly made their way over to where you’d been dropped, gasping and shaking their heads as they worked in tandem to silently tend to your broken body. 

You could feel the hot stains of tear trails still fresh on your cheeks, the dirt of the stone slab and the hard ground sticking to where they’d fallen from your face. You could focus on nothing but the numbing sensation ruminating through your brain, Shadowhearts gentle healing words barely enough to soothe the searing pain. 

A hundred years, you thought, another tear making its way to the cold ground beneath you. 

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🖤 Dark, Cathartic Whump 🖤

I just want to talk about the stuff that feels almost too dark to write yet so important. It feels like an actual drug sometimes. It hits so hard that you feel dizzy for a second and then you feel such a sense of urgency that you can hardly sit still - at least, I do. These are the kinds of whump that leave me thinking afterwards, wanting to go hug my real loved ones, and reflecting on what makes this life good even though it contains so much suffering. (Spoilers: the answer is genuine love and connection.) It makes my brain start screaming, "LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! LIFE IS WONDERFUL!" to both myself and everyone around me.

TW: physical abuse, emotional abuse, drugs/OD, SA aftermath, suicide, sh, passing out, rocky/difficult recovery. DDNE

Whumpee being flat-out beaten within an inch of their life, especially by a parent, and not even fighting back.

Whumpee being emotionally abused or gaslit, especially by someone they trusted. Being told the worst possible things about themselves until they're reduced to a sobbing mess.

Whumpee caught in a suicide attempt and fighting back against those who try to stop them. The agonizing conversations and suicide watch that follow.

Whumpee openly sobbing in genuine despair or grief. Inconsolable, yet someone is trying to console them anyway, and it DOES matter.

Whumpee overdosing in an attempt to feel something good when they've been addicted for so long that nothing feels good anymore.

Whumpee facing the aftermath of assault and dissociating violently. The desire to leave the body at any price.

Whumpee severely self-harming in a blind rage that looks almost like a tantrum. Needing to be restrained or calmed down.

Whumpee passing out from shock after something traumatic happens. No time to process, no copings skills that can keep up with how bad that was. They're going to wake up with PTSD.

And rescue. Rescue from all of that. A rescue that involves freedom and trust and long term solutions as much as dependence. A rescue that puts Whumpee's needs above everything, including Caretaker's concern, and demonstrates trust in their ability to heal and live independently again. It would be so easy to incapacitate Whumpee "for their own good," to place blame on them and to expect a lot from them during recovery. Because this hurts to watch. But Caretaker loves them and will make every effort to respect their will and their consent. Caretaker knows it will be necessary to face extreme empathetic pain for Whumpee's sake, and just share that pain with them, and listen. It will be hard. Good. That's an outlet for the vengeful protectiveness that is quickly becoming uncontainable.

[cameronsprincess]

another teaser for my dark!rafe🤭 i’m hoping to have it done sometime this week <3

edit: i noticed in error in this, and it will be fixed in the fic readers arms are tied above her head and onto a bed post 🫣😅 so she cannot ball her fists at her sides, lmao, oops.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Bait and Switch. || Scammer!Reader x Victim!Ghost

Rating: M Words: 2.6K~ Pairing: scammer!Reader x victim(but not really)!Ghost CW: phone scams/conning (reader never actually cons him), financial issues?, threats (Simon threatens to find reader), degradation?. other tags: crack, OOC Simon., you/your pronouns (gn!reader but uses a female fake name), obviously fake names (pun/funny), lying, joking, the weirdest meet cute? a/n: this started out as a joke/crack and turned serious/dark at the end? idk how i did this.

Simon Riley would say that being legally dead is the best thing to have happened to him and that's because it allowed him to escape a bunch of responsibilities that regular men have to uphold.

He gets paid covertly, in full, and does not have to pay taxes on his income.

He rented a flat from a sweet ol' lady, who didn't run a background check or ask for a copy of his birth certificate (terrible choice on her part), and he pays her by dropping an envelope of cash in her mailbox on the 1st of every of the month.

He not only is old enough to drink but also sounds and looks old enough as well, which means he doesn't need I.D. to buy alcohol (not that any shops or bars really care enough to check).

He doesn't have a credit card. Or a debit card for that matter. Hell, he doesn't even have a bank account, so he doesn't have to pay maintenance fees.

He doesn't have a smartphone. And up until recently he only had a pager. In fact, the only reason he doesn't have a pager anymore is because it got shot in the crossfire during a mission... so Price forced him to get a jitterbug.

In short... Simon Riley can escape a lot of things (death, taxes, Philip Graves...). But telemarketers and phone scammers are not one of those things.

That's how, on a boring Wednesday afternoon, his new phone ends up ringing, like it had been doing multiple times a week for the last four weeks.

Telemarketers.

He never got telemarketers on his pager.

He hated telemarketers.

But that didn't mean he blocked them-

"What?" He answered as soon as he picked up the phone.

An automated voice came over the call, one of those typical Siri-esque robot voices, delivering a prepared speech: "Congratulations! You've won a free cruise to the Bahamas! To claim your prize, press 1."

Oh, now, this was different. He didn't need to hear more to know it was a scam call. But that didn't mean he was going to hang up.

So Simon pressed key 1, which caused a beep to sound over the call.

"Thank you!" The automated voice continued. "We are now connecting you to a live operator to claim your prize!"

Barely a millisecond went by before you took over the call. "Good afternoon, this is Stella Gormoni with Blissful Blessings Inc.! Who am I speaking with?"

As stereotypical as it is, Simon had expected a different voice on the other end of the line... maybe from a scammer in a foreign country who'd speak heavily-accented English...

But instead, he got a sweet and professional sounding person... It almost made him second-guess the scam that was being pulled on him.

His mind moved quick at coming up with a fake name. Not just a fake one, but a pun one too. "Wanh'a, first name Aiden." He replied, his gruff voice reverberating on the call.

"And how do you spell that?" You asked him politely, and, through your headset, he could hear your keyboard keys clacking in the background.

"That's A-I-D-E-N." He replied as he entered his kitchen, spelling his first, as if that was somehow what was causing you difficulty.

"Uh-huh!" You acknowledged in a peppy tone. "And... your surname?" You asked him.

"W-A-N-H-'-A." He continued spelling as he crossed the small kitchen, hearing your fingers tapping away at your keyboard in his ear.

For a moment, you didn't talk, as if stunned into silence. Had you just picked up on the fact he was trolling you by giving you a name that, phonetically, sounded like 'I Don't Wanna'? Probably. But you hadn't hung up yet.

"Well, congratulations, Mr. Wanh'a, you just won an all-inclusive, two-week long cruise to the Bahamas!" Your peppy tone made him bite his lip to contain a laugh. Well, at least you were dedicated in continuing the scam. "How are you feeling?"

"Very well, and yourself?" Simon asked casually as he leaned himself against the door of his refrigerator, leaning down to look inside and find a snack.

"I'm doing very well, thank you, sir." You replied in a cheerful tone. "So, let's process the information so we can get you your prize, shall we?" You announced in a polite tone.

"Go right on ahead, sweet'eart." He murmured as he grabbed a yogurt and closed the fridge with his hip, sitting at the table and peeling open the lid.

"Well, for us to start, I'm going to need your-"

"Actually, I have a question, before we start." Simon interrupted your speech, cutting off your silver-tongued lies.

You went silent for just a moment before you replied with a sweet little: "Of course, what can I help you with, Mr. Wanh'a?"

"I want to know how exactly I signed up to receive this prize." Simon replied before he placed a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth.

He was trying to accomplish two things by doing this: 1) throw you off your game and make you stammer and stutter, and 2) see how long it took for you to get annoyed, and hang up on him.

"Well, that's what I was going to explain, you see-" You replied, a smile behind your voice, but his trained ears could pick up the slight frustration. It made Simon smile.

"Oh, then, I'm sorry for interrupting you, sweet'art, please go ahead." He replied and gestured with his spoon, as if giving you the stage, unnecessarily so, because you were not there to watch it.

"As I was saying... You were entered automatically into the draw by buying a cereal box of any Kellog's cereal at Tesco. I'm sure you saw a 'Win a free cruise!' sticker on yours?" You asked in a professional and sickly-sweet tone.

He could see right through your scam, he had already done that. You name a famous brand, one people trust, to trick naive or impressionable ones into believing you...

Normal people would tell you they no longer have the cereal box, many of them naive enough to believe your scam despite the fact they hadn't even bought one of those boxes in the first place...

Next, you'd ask for the card used to make the purchase, and some people were dumb enough to read their number aloud to you...

Oh, how he hated scammers. Even more than telemarketers.

"I do remember seeing something like that..." He murmured, his voice deepening, before he popped another spoonful of yogurt past his lips, loudly smacking them right against the receiver of his jitterbug.

"Well, all I need is for you to get the box and read me the code that's imprinted on the inside of the flap!" You announced.

"Well, you see, I would, sweet'art... But my sight isn't so good anymore..." Simon replied. "I'm getting up there in age, you know?" He continued eating his yogurt.

"I understand, sir." You replied. "I'm sorry to hear that. One of my cousins also started losing his vision pretty early." You announced.

Huh.

There was no hint of forced sympathy in your voice.

No, you were being genuine. That was a real story of your life you were telling him...

But you had picked up on the fact he was trolling you, right? So why were you-

"Good thing though, about this system of ours, is that you can just confirm your credit card details so we can double check them and get you that prize!" You had, your tone right back to the scamming silver-tongue you had held until now.

Secretly, Simon had to admit that he admired your commitment to the bit. He couldn't help but smile a bit, amused.

"Oh, of course. Let me just set you down while I get my card." Simon replied and got up, finishing his yogurt and tossing out the plastic container, popping the spoon into the sink, and, after setting down his phone, he walked out of the room.

Simon glanced down at his wrist watch, noting the time on it, then, approached his bedroom door, grabbing his over-the-door pull-up bars, and began doing a quick set, leaving you to 'wait' for him in the kitchen.

After a few sets, he waltzed back into the kitchen and grabbed his phone again. "You still there, da'lin'?" He beckoned in a gruff tone.

You sighed, your politeness sounding slightly more forced. He had kept you waiting for over ten minutes after all. "Yes, sir, I am. Did you get your card, Mr. Wanh'a?"

"Oh, please, enough of this 'sir' thing, Mr. Wanh'a was my mother." He replied, then went silent for just a beat, almost like he could hear your frustration sizzling on he other end.

He was being more and more obvious with his trolling... And it pleased him immensely to imagine a parasite like you seething on the other end of the line, reaching your wits' end.

"You can just call me 'Ai', it's what my friends call me." Simon continued, a smirk forming on his lips. "And we're friends now, right? You're giving me a cruise and everythin'." He added, his tone just as charismatic and peppy as his had been.

"I guess we are!" You replied, returning the overly cheery tone. "So, 'Ai Wanh'a', then?" You asked, but he could hear the mix of frustration and amusement behind your voice.

"Yeah? What d'you want, babygirl?" Simon asked, unable to resist making a more impish remark. And, unfortunately, it had the desired result. It genuinely caused your brain to blue-screen for a moment.

Sure, you'd experienced plenty of people getting angry at you when you attempt to scam them, or even trolling you the same way this bloke was doing but...

It was definitely a first, to have someone flirt with you, even if it was still part of his trolling attempt.

"Your... credit card details?" You ended up adding, your voice still showing the surprise and light meekness that came from him catching you off-guard.

"Oh, of course. Are you ready? It's a very complex number." He replied.

"Ready when you are." You added as you steeled yourself for another smartass response or run around from him.

"Here it is: 1234-5678-9987-6543." He replied, reciting the numbers 1-9 in order and then backward. "And the three digits on the back are: 210."

Oh, he was so fucking annoying! He didn't get to troll you, even if it was pretty amusing of him to do so, then flirt with you, then go back to trolling.

"Sir, if you're not interested in the cruise, just say so. There's no need for this mockery." You replied, your tone serious and professional though you were definitely seething on the inside.

Simon could tell. And he reveled in it. "Oh, but I am interested!" He replied with a smirk behind his voice. "In fact, I want to know more. Will my cabin in the cruise have an ocean view?"

Simon heard you inhale aggressively on the other side of the line, steeling yourself not to hang up on him, or down right berating him on the phone. "Yes, Ai, of course!" He heard your fake cheeriness through your clenched teeth. "It'll be a luxury cabin, actually. Isn't that great?"

"No, it's not that great, actually. I get very seasick, you see?" Simon murmured. "Not to mention, ever since my pet goldfish died, I've just never been able to look at the ocean the same..." He added in a forced pitiful tone.

You went quiet again on the other side and Simon knew he had finally worn you out. He waited to hear the clicking sound of the call falling, but, instead, he just heard you let out a sigh.

"You're very frustrating." You murmured.

"Oh, my, is this how you speak to all your prize winners?" Simon gasped dramatically.

"Shut up... You didn't have to be a smartass, you know?!" You scolded him, as if you had any ground to stand on.

"No, I fear I did, sweet'art." Simon replied as he leaned casually against the kitchen counter. "You called me, interrupted my day, and wasted my time with a scam, of all things. I have every right to be a smartass and have some fun with it." He added, a smug tone obvious in the dulcets of his deep voice.

"Okay? You could've just hung up on me?" You were truly grasping at straws to justify your behaviour. It was comical.

Simon laughed dryly. "And waste an opportunity to annoy a parasitic leech like you?" He quipped.

That stunned you into silence for a moment and you couldn't help but pout a bit.

"Not to mention, what you're doing is illegal, you know that righ'? And I'm military, I could get you arrested for this." He added.

"For that, you'd need to know where I am." You retorted, maybe a bit bratilly. "Besides, I knew you were a soldier."

"And how did you know that?"

"You used the NATO phonetic alphabet while spelling 'your' name'." You replied directly. "Nobody spells 'Aiden' as 'Alpha-India-Delta-Echo-November'."

"So you knew I was military and you still went ahead with your little scam attempt? You're not that bright, are you?" He defied you, which earned him a scoff from your end.

"No, I already knew you were trolling me."

"Oh, so you just wanted to waste my time?"

"That's exactly it, Aiden."

"Sounds to me like you're just looking for trouble, da'lin'." He quipped, his voice having lowered to a gruffer tone.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. "Am not. I'm just enjoying myself. You're not the only one that can make jokes at people's expenses."

"No, you really are..." He tutted his tongue and shook his head. "Need I remind you you were trying to scam me, and other people?" He added in a tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I know what I was doing."

"Yeah? And are you proud of that? Proud of being a conniving little cunt who tries to take people's hard-earned money?" He taunted you.

You didn't reply. Of course you weren't proud. You still had a conscience! But you wouldn't tell him that. He wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing you apologise.

"I see. You don't like what I'm saying, so you give me the silent treatment, is that it, sweet'art?" He teased. You could hear the smirk behind his words.

"I wonder if you'd still act like this if you had to face me and had to answer for yourself."

Closing your fists tight, you steel yourself again to gain some edge and reply to him. "I guess you're going to keep wondering then. Because it's not happening."

"You know, it's a shame your little computer spat out my phone number for you to call..." He trailed off.

"And why's that?"

"Because instead of anyone else, you got me... And that's just... really bad luck for you. Any other service member, you would've been fine..." He trailed off.

"What, are you some sort of General-Major-Chief thing, super high up the ladder?" You taunted.

Simon simply chuckled dryly on the other side of the line. "No. But I'm definitely the worst person you could've tried to play with."

"Oh, big scary man, what are you gonna do? Gonna come teach me a lesson?" You added, taunting him some more, clearly feeling comfortable behind your laptop, with your smartphone, sitting at home, comfortable and warm, with your pet at your feet. "Oh, I'm so scared!" You added, feigning fear in a dramatic tone.

"Is that a challenge I'm hearing, sweet'art? Inviting me to come pay you a visit?" Simon asked you, his brow cocking, despite the fact you couldn't see it.

You don't know what it was about the way he spoke. The way he said that. The way his voice sounded.

It sent a shiver down your spine, a cold sweat, like he was, for the first time, not joking around anymore.

"No...?" You murmured in reply, feeling your shoulders tensing in an unpleasant way.

"Yeah... That's an invite I'm hearing..." He disregarded what you said and chuckled. "Maybe I'll come pay you a visit then, hey? How does that sound, little leech?"

[lolliepuff]

i should get back to writing. i finally have a bit of reprieve from med school but don’t have ideas to write other than my drafts which i don’t have the drive for. if anyone sees this and if they’re interested, please leave a character or a scenario you’d like to see. — preferably ones with cest but im happy to get an ask regardless.

[fbkprompts]

stocks - brothel queens belong in the town pillory

Summer of Dove is a prompt meme collection on AO3 established to encourage the creation of dead dove fanworks inspired by characters in George R.R. Martin's Fire & Blood and/or HBO's House of the Dragon canons. Check out the AO3 collection here!

[yoru-no-seiiki]

Soo yandere pulling out the ligaments from darlings legs so they can't escape? I have a thing for gore 😔

It might take a while cause my perfectionist ass would love to write it in a way that’d make a doctor cry but yes that’s fine. er- send in another, more detailed request so i can add it to my drafts.

[samrieimg]

This very late Monday drabble is from a later chapter of "Play Like You Mean it"

...

TW: Graphic descriptions of violence/some descriptions of nudity/abundance of pred/prey

...

He stooped next to George, his movements filled with the grace, yet laziness of a victorious old dog after it got the downed fowl. George acted his part of dead fowl. Dream trailed a hand down his face, his fingers tracing his jaw.

 “I think that’s enough for today, don’t you? You don’t do this is as much as I do. You’re getting all worn down." George bristled, but he only blinked slow, focusing on his breath rising and falling in his chest. "But you know, I love how hard you try. You want to own me so bad,” Dream trilled. “But you’re still too soft. You got so close, but you won’t kill me. You won’t cross the line.”

Dream cradled George's head against his shoulder as he scooped him up. Dream’s hoodie is soaked in blood, enough it smears on George's cheek. He can feel Dream limping, a jolt in every step as he carries George like a prized catch back inside. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, George.”

Cleaned up? George wanted nothing more. 

By his own hand. In his own bathroom.

George missed his bathroom. He missed the perpetual mildew on tiles too high for him to bother with scrubbing as hard. He missed the water stain on the wall near his shower. He missed his own soap, he hadn't thought the half-empty travel-size wash he'd used over a year ago and mildly disliked would feel so foreign, nor worse when nothing he saw or smelt in Dream's bathroom was like his own.

The little slice of agency a smell could give someone completely absent. 

Dream set George against the tub in the bathroom. He sat him up, making sure he was able to support himself before he dropped his hands.

George watched numbly as Dream tugged his bloody hoodie off and his shirt leaving his chest bare. The weak knife slash George had managed across his bicep was only skin deep at best but Dream traced it with his pinky. A small, awful little smile before he tended to it. George averted his eyes and Dream tutted.

"George, look."

George stared through his hair and eyelashes at him. 

 “I want you to see what you’ve done," Dream said, he rinsed his wound under water, letting the sink turn pink with watered blood..

“Why? So I can feel guilty?”

“Because I want you to be proud, George,” Dream corrected.  George shuddered. If he had pride, it’d dried up after that. 

Dream examined the knife wound, stretching the skin around it.  “I think it’ll scar. Both of these will.” He gestured to the burn.  It's a nasty thing for a stove top burn, the skin on his wrist is bubbling, and got uglier under the cool water, blisters bubbling up. Dream hardly winced, a testament to his pain tolerance. “You’re not much of a dog person, are you George? You're  more of a cat person.” 

George didn't answer him. His eyes lingered on Dream's injuries, willing them to be worse. He imagined the knife wound had been to the chest or the burn to the face. If he could break Dream…

Dream flashed that eerie private smile and began to strip off the rest of his clothes. He didn't bother with modesty and George averted his eyes to avoid staring at his flaccid cock. He'd already seen it before, but he wasn't in the mood. His eyes landed on Dream’s calves and with a small horror he saw skin gouged out around his ankles, like he'd been chained at some point. The more his eyes swept up the more scars he could find. A bite mark of a dog or something on his upper calf, flesh healed long ago, but badly. Dream wiped himself down with a rag, his hand lingering a minute too long on his cock to be accidental. 

“I can’t be your cat, George," Dream trilled, and he reached for George's face and tilted his jaw up. "But you—you could be mine. I like cats.” 

George stared into the green eyes. They reminded him of the woods, murky, familiar yet eerie. An uncanny horror lurking within. He shivered. Most people looked defenseless when naked, not Dream. George could see every hand that'd attempted to kill him, break him, and failed.

“I’m not your cat," George said.

“Not yet," Dream released his jaw and tossed the dirty rag on the sink. "Then again, what cat thinks it belongs to people, let alone belongs to a dog. Patches doesn’t think like that,” Dream hummed. He wrapped his arm slowly, firm gauze aroun. "No stitches. You'll appreciate I let this scar. You'll like looking at it," Dream said.

George swallowed. Rotten. He was rotten but he did hope it scarred.

“You are a cat. You certainly love knocking things over.”

George laughed, but fruitlessly he tried to muffle the sound, closing his mouth with a snap. Dream smiled, fond. 

“You know, you’re not half bad.” Dream said. “You’re such an oddity. For a cat person, coding does make sense. I checked if your little life story was true. I doubted. I used your fingerprint when you were passed out. You really are just what you said you are." Dream laughed a little.   "I’ve been wanting to learn to code." But—well, Sapnap and I keep busy.”

“If we were having this conversation before you tried to kill me…I'm sure I'd be more enthralled,” George muttered. He leaned back against the bathtub where he’d been set, onto his aching arms secured tightly behind him. “What now?”

“Well, we’re going to bed. And Sapnap will be here in the morning." Dream hummed in thought. “And then if this is all you have, you’ll die.”

“What more can I fight with. I tried.” George muttered, leaning his head back against the sill of the tub. “I admit it. I can’t fight like you. I can’t escape you. I tried. Can you just kill me in my sleep or now—get it over with? I’m tired.”

“…I could,” Dream says. “I wouldn’t even if I wanted to, I'm a loyal dog. But you’re forgetting, George.” Dream squat down, lowering himself to George. “Are you willing to own me?”

“I tried that too,” George said, but he narrowed his eyes,  his fatigue ebbing away. “But if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, you’ll convince Sapnap not to kill me.”

 Dream tutted. He stood back up. 

“No,” Dream said. He rubbed salve on his burn. “Not a chance. Sapnap’s thick in the head. No. If you want to survive, George, you’re going to have to convince me.” 

He finished his lazy wound care and squat over George, straddling his legs. “I don’t want to kill you yet, but the thing is, Sapnap’s my owner. If you want me to disobey him, you’re going to have give me a strong reason to obey you.”

George swallowed and composed himself, tilting his chin up. He looked to the side, considering it. “What doesn’t Sapnap give you? Are you trapped here?”

“Mmm.” Dream sounded thoughtful. “Now there’s an interesting word. ‘Trapped.’ ‘Broken-in’, more like, George.” Dream said. “But what doesn’t Sapnap give me? For one, he’s a little insecure. He wouldn’t want to emasculate himself. Everyone Is willing to call someone their bitch, but…” He gripped George’s jaw and licked his lips, his face inches apart. “You can see how it feels, can’t you? Would you willingly humiliate yourself?”

“Not my kink,” George said. Dream laughed, a musical sound full of delight.

“Hm, maybe it’s mine,” Dream said. “But see, the thing I’d like to see in an owner, is someone who knows we’re both just messed up, rotten little animals. And maybe George, you’re right. I don’t want this structure, these rules. Not anymore. But…Your pretty face isn’t going to convince me, because the one thing Sapnap has miles on you is blood lust and the ability to hunt things. If you can’t escape a hunter then—you’re no cat, George. You’re just a little bunny rabbit.”

Despite his pulse hammering heavily in his ears, George coughed and straightened. 

“I’ll escape him. I won’t need you,” George decides. “But if I did. You’d want me. I wouldn’t have to try. You want me to beg you for help, pretend I’m a bitch? A runt? Not a chance.”

Dream was salivating, his pupils blown. He gripped George's jaw tight. He licked George, trailing his tongue along George’s forehead, over his eye,  down his nose and to his lips. He licked at his mouth and grinned as George flinched, twisting in his grip. “You’re definitely a cat, George. All prickly. You fluff up. You think it’ll protect you. That I’ll see that big fluffy coat and tail and I’ll back down. But you should know, George, it does make me want you—I want to see you beneath me.”

George huffed, but he’s feeling his cock rise, a mixture of fear and the tension reaching his stomach. Dream’s naked body has been pressed against him far too long and he remembered this morning, Dream hot and tight around him. “Because George, I don’t want another Sapnap—I want you to become something more. I want you to be better. You made me realize I’m not happy, and I’m going to make you realize you’re not happy.”

“I was very much happy with my lifestyle before this,” George said but Dream’s mouth pressed against his. A chaste kiss. “Liked it a lot more than this.”

Dream let out a derisive, disbelieving snort. Dream kissed his mouth again, his tongue and teeth catching George's bottom lip. “Don’t worry, George, cats can get broke-in to a new house. It just takes a different hand,” Dream says. “Sapnap never liked cats, but you could fit right in.”

“I would never stay,” George said, huffing out breaths against Dream’s mouth. Dream rubbed his cheek against George's, nudging his jaw with his nose. 

“Well, I didn’t ever say I was the nicest to animals,” Dream murmured. “I never hurt Patches, but she’s a sweetheart. You, George?” Dream hummed. “If I like you too much, I’ll have to do what I do to the mice at the orphanage when I was a kid. I’d break one of their little legs, so they could be my pets. Mine.” 

George felt his blood chill and Dream pulled his head back to take in his expression. "Obedience is useful, George."

"I'd rather you break my leg," George said.