#tw asphyxiation mention
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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 1 year ago
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Pairings: None
Word Count: 1,207 Word Count
Summary: Stitchwraith has a way of breaking his new soon-to-be allies. Blood Moon gets the unfortunate result of being the main victim.
Warnings: Injury, Mild Gore, Torture, Controlled Shocks, Mind Control, Separation, Asphyxiation, Near Death Experiences, Cannibalism, Blood, Blood Loss, Angst, let me know if I should add anything else.
Ghost Of You: Chapter 1
“Get in!” The tangle of wires and metal somehow had beaten them. Dragged to the ground with blows and damage inflicted to their newly fixed body. A few error messages flashed in their eyes of the damage.
It was mainly cracks and holes etched into their outer shell but one blow had severed the inner endo of their right arm from its circuit, warping the metal that now poked out of their shoulder in a twisted spike of metal through their shoulder. The other major injury was their left foot that had been crushed under the Stitchwraith’s foot.
“No.” They spat at him.
“You’re going to be difficult?” The being growled, yanking them up by their thin neck.
“Of course!” They laughed at the prospect. They didn’t fear him, they didn’t fear death even.
“Then I will put you in.” The Stitchwraith picked them up by their neck frame and shoved them into the tube, a sort of machine, the twins didn’t exactly know what it did but the way they floated in the tube brought to mind a test tube. “And you two will know how it feels to truly lose.”
The machine stuck out a mechanical arm and put something on the back base of their head, under where their hood usually hit but it had fallen down in the fight. Blood Moon’s vision gained a black aura, like the room was closing in.
Something felt painful enough to scream but Blood Moon wasn’t sure if he was actually screaming or not. He heard someone screaming but he wasn’t sure it was him or his twin. Could it be them? It might be with how painful whatever Stitchwraith was doing was.
“See? This isn’t all of it.” Stitchwraith growled at them, almost tormenting them. What even was ‘this’? What had he done? Their body felt weird and different! Was he fixing them? He couldn’t be, it was too painful to be ‘fixing’.
Suddenly a splitting migraine began and both twins screamed, their screaming bouncing off each other’s voice, frying their voice box since both of them didn’t use it at the same time ever, they’d been careful of that because it could overload. But the pain caused them to break it.
High whirs, loud rattles, and deep glitching noises let out of their damaged voice box as the migraine continued to grow and suddenly Blood Moon couldn’t feel his twin, he could hear his twin screaming but he couldn’t feel him there. He took rattling breaths as the migraine settled and looked up at the damned Stitchwraith.
“What? Scared?” The thing chuckled.
“Why the fuck would I be afraid of you?” Blood Moon spat at him.
“Because I own you two now. You’re mine. My personal little slaves.” Stitchwraith chuckled at them.
“Like hell we are!” Blood Moon screamed back.
“It seems this one needs some reformatting. Hold still.”
“Huh?” Blood Moon looked up as Stitchwraith hit a button and Blood Moon felt agony through his endo, like volts running through his body but it wasn’t normal controlled shocks, it felt…different. His body felt different. It felt weird.
Once the jolts ended, Blood Moon looked down at his body and screeched at the flesh he could see, covering his arms feeling the skin on his arms and stomach. He was fleshy! He was human!? Why could he feel hair falling into his eyes!?
“The other one, don’t have too much fun.” The tanks suddenly released the both of them, Stitchwraith nowhere in sight, the devices on the back of their heads disappearing and Blood Moon fell over himself and knelt on the ground, huffing and confused. He looked up to see his twin standing before him, still a machine, still animatronic.
“Brother?” Blood Moon asked his twin’s attention but his twin didn’t respond, eyes blazing a glow of black unlike the usual white his twin’s eyes were in their mind. But his twin’s eyes glowed down at him.
“Target. Devour. Consume.” Harvest Moon spoke unlike himself, he sounded different, devoid of emotion. Blood Moon couldn’t move away faster than his twin reached down and grabbed him by the neck.
Blood Moon tried to yelp or scream, but Harvest Moon’s hand was tight on his neck, slamming him into a nearby wall and Blood Moon felt the air knocked from his lungs, struggling to get it back with the hold on his throat.
The feeling of the lack of air was dizzying and he felt his heart beating what felt like far too quickly. Harvest Moon was looming over him like some kind of demon, like he wasn’t himself anymore but a monster and Blood Moon was scared. He was actually afraid of his own twin.
Then Harvest Moon seemed to glitch a second, eyes flashing between white and black, hand releasing Blood Moon’s neck and dropping him to the floor gasping and choking on air, holding his achy throat.
But then Blood Moon have a scream as Harvest Moon sat on his stomach, the weight of it feeling painful on his insides. It felt like his twin weight thousands of pounds right now. Did he? Probably not, they weighed several hundred pounds of machinery but not thousands.
Black glowing eyes stared into his with a manic look, this was his twin, but warped and twisted, more dangerous to Blood Moon himself now, especially because Blood Moon was human now.
“W-What are you doing?” Blood Moon whispered.
“Consume.” Harvest Moon’s voice came out as some form of demon, mouth opening and Blood Moon gave a scream as he felt Harvest Moon’s teeth sink into his neck, hands gripping at his twin’s head and trying to pull it away to no avail, shivering as Harvest Moon sucked at and swallowed down the blood that was flowing from the bite.
“Please stop!” Blood Moon hiccuped.
“No.” Harvest Moon’s voice was dark and twisted, something about it was malicious unlike his twin brother was to him.
Harvest grabbed his hands and slammed them into the floor, making them ache and his wrists hurt at the hold. Blood Moon shivered at the feeling of being bled and fed from like they used to for their victims. He was getting lightheaded and dizzy, eyes glassing over and simply staring at his twin, breath shaky. He couldn’t fight back, he was trapped here and he couldn’t get away from his twin.
“Blood is sweeter than any. Keep you.” Harvest Moon growled, seeming to have some form of self-control as he drew back with blood on his face and Blood Moon shuddered shaking with blood loss. He felt cold, everything felt cold.
“Sleep.” Harvest Moon demanded, throwing a blanket haphazardly at Blood Moon. Blood Moon shivered under the blanket and held it close with his fingers as tightly as he could. Blood Moon could feel arms under him but he could barely move so he simply accepted it being moved.
He looked up to see Harvest Moon but his twin’s heaters were so warm, it felt so comforting when he was so cold and he couldn’t really struggle at the moment either way. So he let Harvest move him into a nearby half-broken bed and Blood Moon curled up and quickly fell asleep.
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enderthevulpix · 9 months ago
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Headcanon: The corpses in Anomaly Found died from a combination of asphyxiation, excessive bleeding out of orifaces, and lacerations.
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citricacidprince · 3 months ago
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...Mable stuck with bill timestuck, you say? I wonder if that would go better or worse than dipper being alone with bill.
Here to mention that I somehow only noticed your signature when it was next to fiddleford, and thought you were (rightly) calling him a prince. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to connect the dots.
Haha you’re not the first person to mistake my signature for actual writing so dw you’re good lol!
And as for my thoughts of Mabel and Bill in a Timestuck AU,,,
I may or may not have written a drabble in a mutuals DMs a few years back about a confrontation between Mabel and Bill and the aftermath of it! I also may or may not have just fixed it up and straight up doubled the word count haha-
Since I’m feeling a tad bit brave I’m gonna post the drabble under the cut for anyone to read along with two doodles I’ve done for it, I only ask that yall be nice to me since I don’t write very often and know I ain’t that good at it hehe-
Also I’m not lying this is like,,, 4707 words… I got possessed to write this haha
Before I begin!!! Important!!!
Trigger Warnings: Choking/Asphyxiation, harm to children, minor descriptions of small cuts and minuscule amounts of blood, verbal planning of commiting a murder/killing
(if I missed any please tell me!)
With that out of the way here's my stupidly long Timestuck AU drabble that's been on my back burner for years! The only thing you really need to know is that the twins time-traveled back after Weirdmagenddon of their own volition. Dipper is with Stan and Mabel is with Ford and Fiddleford. Mabel has been staying with the two for almost a month now and Fiddleford is the only one who knows she's a time traveler.
With the stage set, please enjoy!
��—————————————🚩
It’s late into the night, Mabel is tossing and turning and can't go to sleep. Her mind is spiraling as she overthinks and worries about Bill, her brother, her Grunkles, everything. So at about 1AM she decides that she’s not going to bed anytime soon and gets up off the living room couch which she has called her new bed while staying with her younger Grunkle Ford and Fiddleford.
Despite it being the dead of night Mabel thought it’d be a good idea to just make something food related in hopes it would tire her out. Also, she figured it would be a fun idea since she knows Stanford is most likely still awake and probably hasn’t eaten in a while. She could make him something easy and sweet, like a batch of cookies, and give them to him as a gift! Who doesn’t like 1AM cookies?! If she doesn’t have the stuff to make that, eh, she’ll figure it out and make something else!
A bonus to this is that if Ford says he’s not hungry, a bold faced lie, she’d use her sweetest and biggest puppy eyes until he ate some. Maybe she could even convince him to go to bed and not stay up till 4AM!
The brunette starts making a batch of cookies in the cover of night, making sure to have plenty enough for Fidd's in the morning, and putting her entire heart and all her worries into the mix in hopes the oven would ease away the stress weighing down her mind.
Sure it took a while, but it would totally be worth it to see her young Grunkle's face light up in shock at the sight of a warm batch of cookies shoved into his face and getting crumbs on his nerdy notes!
Right as she was finishing up wrapping up three separate plates worth of cookies in a napkin with a pretty little bow, for the ✨aesthetic✨ she happily told herself, she hears a pair of heavy boots walk into the kitchen.
The voice of her, now young, Grunkle Ford calls out her name in the quiet kitchen. Just as she had expected, he was awake.
Before the excited brunette could whirl around and surprise Ford with the 1-2 AM batch of cookies she lovingly went and made by hand, his low voice rumbled out, “Could you grab me a mug? One from the cabinet.”
He sounded a little funny, like he just woke up. Mabel smiled as she could already picture Stanford’s bleary and tired face as he goes to make a cup of coffee with the mug he’s asking for. She lets out a small sound of exertion as she pushes herself onto the counter since she’s too short to reach the cabinets otherwise and gingerly opens the cabinet so it doesn’t squeak and pulls out a mug. Based on the small cracks and worn paint on the ceramic it seemed a tad old, the faded words of ‘Backupsmore 1973’ barely legible.
Just as Mabel turns around, about to lightly scold her young Great Uncle for drinking coffee at 2 AM instead of getting some rest, a large hand wraps around her little neck. She didn’t even have a chance to scream as she’s suddenly slammed into the now closed cabinet, the air knocked out of her lungs and her head spinning from the impact, a loud sound of ceramic shattering on the wooden floor echoing through the kitchen and Mabel’s ringing ears
A fearful confusion consumes her mind as she, unsure of what’s happening in her dazed state until she catches a glimpse of Stanford. Gone were the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to, in their place were the sickly yellow slit eyes of a monster she knew all to well.
Bill Cipher.
“Shooting Star, there you are! I think you're getting a tad too comfortable around here! Let's fix that!"
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Malice built in her throat as she spat out, her brows furrowed and her brown eyes glaring down his yellow ones, “Bill! You-”
“Ah, so you do know me! I assumed so, but wasn’t quite sure!”
The six fingered hand around her neck pressed a tad harder against the wooden cabinet behind her, making her wince from the pressure.
“Here’s the deal, Shooting Star, you’re being a massive thorn in my side.”
Her back was already aching from the impact of her getting slammed against the cabinet.
“Making Sixer second guess his trust in me with your insufferable kindness and child-like whimsy.”
Her sock-covered feet were slipping and sliding on the wooden countertop, legs uncontrollably trembling as her fingers gripped at Stanford’s large forearm in hopes of steadying herself.
“It was amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. So I need you,”
His hand tightened even more, making Mabel let out a sharp hiss of pain.
“Out of the picture.”
Mabel’s feet no longer are touching the countertop as Bill suddenly pulls her away from the cabinet, easily dangling her little body in the air and effectively hanging her. Panic instantly shoots through her and tears well up in her eyes as her airway is suddenly completely cut off, her little hands grabbing and clawing at her possessed great uncle’s forearm while her legs wildly kick at the air, too short to even graze against Bill’s chest.
Bill’s free hand raises up and idly taps his chin, as his musing over something indecisively, an wide and uncanny grin stretched across the possessed scientist’s face as he loudly questions, “Hmmm… how about… throwing you in the lake! If the water doesn’t kill you the cold air will!”
Mabel started to thrash around even harder, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coursed through every nerve in her body, her flight response in full gear as she tried over and over again to get out of Bill’s grip with no avail.
“Oooh! Or I could just tie you up and bury you in the snow! I hear frostbite is real killer these days!”
Blood was rushing to her ears; she could barely hear a word he was saying. All she could focus on was the panic bubbling in her chest and adrenaline pumping in her veins, screaming at her that she didn’t want to die.
It didn’t take long before her vision began to blur, her clawing hands and kicking feet getting more and more numb and slow with each passing seconds. She could faintly hear Bill say something about ‘throwing’, ‘roof’, and ‘classic!’ before she could feel herself almost completely clock out, vision fluttering in and out as her hand weakly claws at his arm one last time.
Just as she was about to give up completely, the polydactyl hand around her neck suddenly let go, sending Mabel unceremoniously crashing to the floor. She let in a large gasp of air, coughing her lungs out as air desperately tried to fill them once more. The brunette doesn’t even care about the small shards of broken ceramic cutting into her hands or shins, she was trying to make sure she didn’t accidentally start hyperventilating as drool and tears drip from her face to the floor with every sharp breath.
Mabel, disoriented and dazed, manages to glance up through strands of her long and curly brunette hair to see Ford still standing there with those disgusting yellow eyes, which were now staring off to space with annoyance clearly visible in his gaze.
"Geez Sixer, you chose the worst time to want your body back to 'test a new theory' huh?" He quietly mumbles under his breath, looking upset that his fun was being rudely ripped away from him.
Suddenly he stares down at Mabel, who was clutching her throat and panting heavily, brown eyes unable to stop crying. Despite this, despite all the pain and numbness that ran through her, she still found it in her to glare at the dream demon with as much animosity as she could muster while surrounded by ceramic shards and small prickles of blood.
"Well… we’ll just have to pick this up another time, won't we Shooting Star?"
The possessed body of Stanford Pines strolls towards the archway leading out of the kitchen, however before he leaves completely, he stops and whirls around with that same twisted smile Mabel vividly remembers seeing on her possessed brother’s face just a few months ago. "Oh, Shooting Star? Would you be a doll and clean up this mess? Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now, would we?"
And with one final cackle he left, making his way back downstairs to Stanford’s study, presumably to make it appear like he never left in the eyes of the oblivious scientist, leaving the little brunet alone on the floor to lightly grip her neck, wincing at the bruise that's bound to appear the next day.
She stayed there silently for what felt like hours but was only just a couple minutes, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly but surely fading away as the feeling finally came back to her numb fingers and toes, relieved that she isn’t hyperventilating anymore and she can actually breathe.
She eased herself off the cold wooden floor, her little body trembling the entire time.
Despite the feeling of spite coursing through her veins for that awful dream demon, he was right…, she really didn’t want anyone to get hurt… So instead of immediately going to fix herself up she spent the next 10 minutes sweeping up the broken mug and getting all the broken shards of ceramic into the trash.
Curse her and her big heart…!
When she was done it was about 2 AM, and it was now officially time to check the damage.
Before she left the kitchen she made sure to put the plates of cookies into the fridge.
She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.
With a couple of winces and hisses of pain she managed to tip toe herself up the stairs and to the bathroom, making sure she didn’t accidentally wake up Fiddleford by stepping on a loose plank or opening the door too loud. Once inside she gingerly pulls out the old timey medkit from under the sink and sits on the floor.
Well, technically the medkit was modern since it was the 80s…
Wah, Mabel! Not the time!
With a deep breath she gingerly treats the tiny cuts gracing her hands and shins, trying not to cry as she disinfects each cut just like Grunkle Ford taught her to at the end of the summer, plucking out mini pieces of ceramic embedded in her skin with a pair of tweezer like how her Grunkle Stan had taught her at the beginning of the summer (note from her past self, splinters are never fun).
Cleaning and applying band-aids to the cuts was the easy part, most of the bandages would be hidden under her sweater and the winter pants Fiddleford had gifted her during her first couple days staying at the shack.
It was her neck that was going to be hard to hide.
Mabel stood up and got on a step stool to look into the minor, immediately wincing at the sight of her bare neck, dark purple was already creeping in and bruising every bit of her neck. The brunette leaned closer to get a better look and almost whispered out one of the many swears she had accidentally learned from Stanford while living here.
There was a hand bruised into her neck, and it encompassed her entire neck.
She gingerly touched her neck and winced at the dull pain. Guess she wasn’t going to take off her sweater for about 2 weeks now… just 1 week if she was lucky enough…
She tentatively took a step outside of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway again, trying to not make a single sound. Just when she got to the steps she heard a door open behind her, causing her to instantly crouch down and hope that she was far enough down the stairs that her body was hidden from sight.
She dared herself to peek just above the top step to see Fiddleford standing outside of his room, stretching and yawning before closing his door and walking towards the bathroom Mabel just left, making the 13-year-old let out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to see her like this.
She knew she should probably tell Fiddleford what happened, but she just couldn’t. Maybe it was that childish fear of getting in trouble over nothing getting to her, or maybe it was the fear that her young Grunkle would be blamed for what Bill did.
Regardless, despite her better judgment, she kept her mouth shut and decided to hide her bruises from everyone else in the house, silently thinking of a way she could somehow protect herself from Bill.
She could practically hear Dipper yelling at her about how bad of an idea this was, but she was too shaken up to think of anything else…
So, she kept with the plan even as she shakily slipped a sweater over her large t-shirt she wore as a night gown and fell asleep on the couch, huddled in the corner in a ball as vivid nightmares haunted her fitful sleep, showing flashes of a possessed Stanford Pines throwing her off either the house or a water tower.
She woke up the next day to the warm smell of breakfast and the soft tones of Fidd's humming a tune in the kitchen, her body absolutely aching and a tad sweaty from the combo of the sweater and the fireplace keeping the room warm.
Mabel winced as she got off the couch. Yep… her back is definitely bruised.
She tentatively walked towards the open archway leading into the kitchen, silently calming her nerves and trying to put a smile onto her face. It helped that Fiddleford is making breakfast, she loves his food.
The kicthen was so empty when she first arrived but the southern man immediately starting keeping the place stocked when it was clear that she was going to stay there for a while. He also insistent on making her a meal 3 times a day since she was a ‘growin’ lil’ girl’. Because of her memories of Fiddleford being ‘Old Man McGucket’ were much more prominent in her brain it was easy to forget that he was once a father, but in those domestic moments when he doted and fussed over her it was clear that he was a good one.
Well, when he was sane that is…
She quickly shook off the bleak memory.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…
She let out a low breath as a wide smile covered her face, her round cheeks rosy as she happily skipped inside.
Fiddleford perked up at the sound of Mabel walking inside, smiling as immediately spoke with a fond voice, "Ey there sweetpea, sleep well?" He idly glanced behind to see Mabel in her baggy t-shirt/sleep gown as well as a sweater on top of that, making him raise an eyebrow as he playfully asks, "Did someone get' cold last night?"
"Just a little bit." Mabel playfully replied back, unable to stop the wince that crossed her face at the sound of her hoarse voice.
Fiddleford, who was already done making breakfast, immediately whipped his head around at the sound. "Honeybee, are ya' alright?"
She lightly coughs into her fist a couple times and passingly remarks, “I’m fine, it's just morning gunk! Just need some water, haha!” Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
Fiddleford still had a suspicious look in his eye as he looked over the little lady before deciding to let her off easy with this one, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands while replying with a quiet, “Alright, if ya say so, sunshine…”
He quickly pours Mabel a glass of water and then grabs a plate of bacon and pancakes. “Fer you, made just how you like it,” Mabel sits down in her chair as Fiddleford places the glass of water in front of her and a plate of pancakes and some bacon that is extremely burnt. “Burnt in a volcano.”
The brunette drinks some water first, happy to note that it actually does ease the pain in her throat! After that she eagerly grabs a burnt piece of bacon and shoves it into her mouth, loving the way flakey black residue smears onto her fingers and the overwhelming taste of what can only be described as ‘BURNT’ fills her mouth. She muffles out, “It’s perfect!” In between bites as Fiddleford chuckles at her antics and makes himself a plate. “Yer such an odd lil’ duck, honeydew! Only kid I’ve ever met who wanna me ta’ burn their meal!”
Mabel immediately shoots back, pointing at Fiddleford with a mouth full of bacon, “Tahts cause ohther peowple are COWERDS!!!”
The lanky man lets out a full on belly laugh as he grabs his plate and sits at the table, the two beginning to talk about anything that crosses their mind.
Stanford wasn’t going to join them for breakfast. He’s usually asleep at this time or buried in whatever notes he was currently writing.
…Mabel feels a little bad that she's kinda happy he wouldn’t join them… Her throat feels like it’s constricting all over again at the thought of those sickly yellow eyes and horrid laughter…
At some point while eating, Fiddleford makes a joke that makes Mabel loudly laugh, the sudden shout of laughter causing her to wince and try to grab at her throat. She stops herself a couple inches short of the grab and quickly puts her hand back down, but the damage was already done.
Fiddleford, concern coming back at full force, puts down his fork and immediately asks with a concerned tone, "Honey, is ‘ere somethin' wrong with ‘ur neck?"
Sweat began to bead on Mabel’s forehead and she tried to immediately brush off the concern with a not so convincing, "Whaaaaat, psh, nah!"
He raises an eyebrow at the clearly nervous little girl. "Mabel, if yer' hurt I'd like to know."
She starts to fidget in her seat, fingers wrapping together and her brown eyes darting away. "Look, it's not thaaaat bad you don't gotta worry about it-"
At the confirmation that she is indeed hurt makes him sit up and shoot back, "Well tha' just makes me MORE worried bout it!"
Unable to come up with anymore excuses Mabel plays with a fork in front of her, eyes locked with her plate. Fiddleford let out a soft sigh and leans closer to the brunette across the table and rests his hand on hers, a kind smile on his face as he gently adds on with that fatherly tone that immediately made Mabel feel better, "Darling, it ain't gonna get better if ya’ don't lemme help. I promise I ain’t gon’ get mad, ya hear?"
Mabel tentatively glanced up at the southern man’s soft green eyes and could tell he meant every kind word.
So, despite her promising to keep her injuries a secret, she takes a deep breath and nods her head, gingerly taking off the thick hand-made sweater to leave her neck and bandaged up arms exposed to the world. The lanky southern man’s eyes seem to grow more horrified every passing second.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"
Fiddleford jumps up from the table, almost making his plate fall off while doing so, quickly rounding the table and crouching in front of the brunette with green eyes filled with so much worry and horror.
He found himself fussing over the girl who had easily wormed herself into his and Ford's hearts and found himself growing even more sickened at every bruise and cut he found, though nothing could compare to that sinking feeling of dread he felt looking at Mabel's bruised neck.
He cupped the brunette’s face and could feel tears well up in his eyes as he stuttered out a confused, "W-wha'..., Mabel wha' on earth happened-" His heart breaking trying to even comprehend what could have happened to her.
On the opposite end, Mabel could feel her heart swell at Fidd's fatherly fussing, but tried to brush it off the best she could, not wanting him to worry about her.
"I'm fine really! I just, uh… tripped down the stairs…? …Yeah! Didn't want to worry you, haha!"
Fiddleford, who suddenly stopped paying attention to what Mabel was saying, let his eyes looking closer at the girl's neck before they widened in a horrifying realization.
"I… Is tha' a hand…?"
A rush of panic suddenly runs through Mabel as she tries to come up with some excuse to throw him off, something, anything!
"Fidd’s it's FINE! I just… uh… wore a sweater that was too tight…?” Goodness she’s screwed, even she was aware of how unsure she sounded.
Fiddleford still wasn’t paying attention. Instead one of his hands lowered from her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly touched her neck with the lightest of touches. His green gaze was analytical as finger traced down the bruised skin, talking to himself so quietly that even Mabel almost didn’t hear him as he quietly began to count.
“One, two, three, four, five, s-”
The blond cut himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose as the look of worry that had previously graced the southern man's face suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a look Mabel had never seen on his face before.
It was a quiet anger. The kind of anger that's terrifying to witness as it bubbles from deep inside but you refuse to let it show on your face, even as your hands begin to tremble and your vision goes red.
Without saying a word Fiddleford stood up and stayed completely silent, unable to say a word for about 10 seconds while his face was blank and unreadable. Finally, Fiddleford looked down at Mabel and gave a kind smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.
"Sweetie, could ya' stay here a sec? I have something importan' I need tha’… discuss… with Stanferd."
After finishing that statement he gently patted the top of her brunette head and walked out of the kitchen archway, turning the corner and heading up the stairs that lead to Stanford's room, walking with such silent intensity that it kinda frightened her.
After a couple moments of staying frozen in her chair she finally managed to shake off the feeling, realizing she had to stop Fiddleford! As scary as it would be seeing Stanford again after last night's… incident… she couldn't just let Fiddleford go confront Ford without the full story!
She sprang up from her chair and winced at the pain radiating from her back. Yep! Still definitely bruised!
Mabel rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She stumbles to a stop at the end of the steps as she sees Fiddleford standing outside Ford's door, just as quiet as he was downstairs. He raises his hand and gives a firm echoing knock and she could faintly hear her young Grunkle respond with a strong, "Come in!"
She hates that she shivers a bit at his voice.
She hates that she's a little bit afraid of him.
Fiddleford doesn't respond and instead just opens the door and then quietly closes it behind him. The door doesn’t close all the way which makes a sliver of light from Ford's bedroom/study shine against the floor in the hallway.
Well... Fiddleford hadn't broken any windows or started yelling, so maybe, just maybe, he's going in there to calmly talk out the problem with Ford? Well, that was more wishful thinking on Mabel's part. She HOPES they will just, talk it out, and no one will get hurt...
A loud crash and shout echoed through the hallway.
A girl could dream can't she?
Mabel sprints to Stanford’s door, tripping over herself the whole way, and yanks open the heavy wooden door as quickly as she could.
When she finally pries it open she’s greeted with the sight of Fiddleford in the middle of trying to choke out Stanford, while Stanford is leaning against one of his smaller wooden cabinets, pushing Fidds away (to the best of his ability) with his foot, clutching his very bloody nose in confusion.
Mabel rushes in and pushes the southern man away from her bleeding Great Uncle to the best of her ability but Fiddleford upon seeing Mabel finally backs off from trying to murder Ford, but the look of pure anger firmly remains on his face.
Ford looks at Fiddleford with pure confusion as he pushes himself off the small wooden cabinet, clutching his bleeding nose all the while.
"F, what on earth has gotten into you!"
Fiddleford stared back with his mouth agape, absolutely gobsmacked, before finally yelling back, "Wha'- what's gotten into ME?! What's gotten into YOU Stanferd Pines!"
Fidds pushed past Mabel and jabbed his finger into the brunet’s chest.
"She's a lil girl?! How DARE you even lay a FINGER on her!"
"F what on earth are you talking about?!"
Fiddleford roughly grabs Ford's shoulders and pushes him to look towards Mabel with a surprising amount of force.
"SHE'S what I'm talkin' bout! Stanferd Filbrick Pines who gave you tha' idea ya' had tha' GODDAMN right to even lay a FINGER on her-"
Stanford couldn't focus on the rant Fiddleford poured into his ears instead his eyes state frozen on the disgusting purple mark staining Mabel's neck.
"Mabel… who-"
Stanford knelt next to the sweet girl who reminded him so much of Stanley in his youth and felt a familiar pang in his chest. That feeling he'd feel whenever Lee came home covered in bruises. That feeling to protect… and to hurt anyone who dares to hurt them.
"Sweetheart… who did this? What happened?"
Fiddleford scoffed. "Ya should know."
Ford shivered at how cold F had sounded. Out of all of his years of knowing him, Fidds had never sounded like this.
Then the meaning of those words finally hit him.
Stanford rushed to stand up and looked back to Fiddleford's furious eyes with his own look of disbelief.
"Y-... You think I did this?"
Fiddleford's eyes didn't change in the slightest.
"Ya'. Ya' I do."
"We've known each other for years, we went to college together, I went to your wedding, you are easily my best friend. Do you honestly think I'm capable of doing something like this?!"
"I used ta'," Fidds crossed his arms. "Now I ain't so sure."
Ford didn't know HOW to feel. This felt like a betrayal but not in the way Stanley's felt. He also felt offended. And hurt. And so many other emotions that were swirling in his chest.
"How? How did you even get it in your head that I had something to do with this!? How could you look at me and even IMAGINE me hurting her?! I can't even imagine myself hurting her! She's-"
"Hand."
Ford froze from his rant.
"What."
"Yer' tha' only one who coulda' done it. How do I know? Hand."
"Ya' always go on an' on about the statistics of someone' being polydactyly. About how different ya' are."
"I want ya' to look at how many fingers are on that handprint on 'er neck, look me in tha' eye, and tell me who's most likely tha' guilty party."
Stanford froze, his face turning white at the realization. He didn't need to turn around and investigate the bruise on Mabel's neck. He now knows it had 6 fingers. When you put all the facts together, one thing is clear.
He IS the most likely person to have done it.
But there's a problem with that.
He DEFINITELY didn't do it.
He glanced back at Mabel, who seemed to be nervously pulling at her nightgown the entire time. After a moment she finally glances up, but after looking into his brown eyes for less than a second she quickly looked back down.
He didn't do it. He knows he didn't.
But if he didn't, why did she look so scared of him?
He didn't do it…
…Didn’t he…?
❔—————————————❓
Now this is a bonus doodle based on an idea I had for the aftermath of this! Stanford is stuck mulling over this in his room and when he finally leaves he notes that Mabel isn't asleep on the couch like usual. So of course he freaks out and assumes she ran away, running all over the house in hopes of finding her. He runs upstairs to Fiddleford’s room and knocks frantically on his door to get him to help him find the missing girl.
Fiddleford opens the door looking annoyed and tired. When Stanford says he can’t find Mabel and that he’s looked everywhere the southern man cuts him off by instantly replying “I know where she is.” That instantly calms down Ford but he looks confused as he asks “You do?” To which Fidd’s opens the door a little bit more to show Mabel asleep on his bed.
Stanford lets out a soft ‘Oh.’ And just stands there, looking awkwardly at Fiddleford for a moment before trying to break the tension with a weak chuckle and asking “Did she want to have a sleepover?” The blond doesn’t even hesitate to reply back, “Yeah. Because she’s scared of you, Stanford.” And closing the door on the brunet’s face.
Stanford doesn’t move for what feels like forever before he heads back to his room, feeling a little sick.
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Anywho, I’m done now!!!
I’m happy and sorry you read through all of that, you can leave now! 💥💥💥
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otter-chaos-violence · 4 months ago
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mining but whump (especially pre-industrail safety guidelines)
black lung, silicosis, falling off the ladders, carbon monoxide poisoning, mayve whumpee's the bird they bring down, cave ins, electrocution, axphyxsiation, trapped under rubble, boss is working Whumpee until they die, dynamite accidents, amputation.
so many flavors
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surplus-of-sarcasm · 2 years ago
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Romance Your Demons
TW: Blood, bruises, asphyxiation attempt, gun mention, violence
Happy late birthday, 🎂 @thelazywitchphotographer
"Darling," Villain growled, baring their teeth in a predatorial fashion.
"Dear," Hero replied languidly, although their eyes were glued to the criminal's balled-up fists, to their arched body, ready to pounce.
They were far too reminiscent of an old, married couple, something everyone and their mother never ceased to point out, much to both the crime-fighter and the evil-doer's chagrin.
The villain rammed into them, the hero's body slamming into the wall with an audible thud, the force just shy away from breaking something.
"Well, this is intimate," the hero scoffed, swinging their leg and slamming it harshly into their adversary's ribs, letting the criminal fall to the ground, spitting blood and a flurry of filthy curses out of their mouth.
The dagger-sharp smirk on the hero's smug face was arguably a more painful blow than that merciless kick. Villain had always been told that their pride would be the end of them.
Well, now it would be the end of Hero too.
Wiping the blood from their mouth, their fingers clawed around Hero's neck, digging into their skin, leaving scratches and bruises in their wake, ripping out shallow breaths from the hero's lungs as their pale face slowly turned a sickly shade of blue.
"You're not laughing now, are you, sucker?" they seethed, loosening their death grip around their enemy's throat by a mere fraction.
Gasping and taking greedy breaths of air, the hero still had the audacity to flash a dirt-eating grin. "No, I s'ppose not."
It made the villain wish to squash the life right out of the crime-stopper's body, to beat them to a bloody pulp on the sidewalk, to empty a gun (that they unfortunately lacked right now) into the jerk's head.
But it also made them want to pull them up against their chest and kiss the hero's cheekbones and bring that oh so pretty blush to their face and neck, one that they'd only seen because Hero was exerting themselves and not because they were flustered.
The hero had dark circles under their eyes and dry skin. They'd lost weight, and not in any way that was healthy, dropping muscle from what was once a gorgeously lean figure. They were young, but their eyes were a hundred years older.
But they were struggling in the criminal's vice-like grip, still fighting for what most would deem a lost cause, still grinning in that stupidly carefree way they did when they were just starting out, barely in high school and nowhere near as broken. And it was beautiful.
The villain wanted to curse themselves, so they did.
"What? Are we just gonna keep cuddling here together for all eternity?" Hero supplied in a mostly sarcastic tone, but the strange edge it had could almost be read as flirtatious.
Villain released them from the bruising grip on their neck, their nemesis took in great breaths of air, their body shuddering as they almost fell to the ground, only for the evil-doer to catch them with a steadying arm wrapped around their waist.
They couldn't even tell when the hero's face went scarlet.
"So, where's the part where you commit homicide?" they asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll save that for later, dove. Right now, you're all I can think about," they admitted, almost guiltily.
Surprisingly, they weren't met with another infuriatingly attractive, lopsided smirk. The look on the crime-fighter's face was nothing, if not utterly dazed.
"M-me? But I'm a mess. Like that one article so eloquently put it, I'm a cocktail of problems in a spandex suit with a few witty catchphrases," they replied, laughing humourlessly.
Villain's grip around their waist tightened subtly. "You're just tired. Sure, you could find great use for a physiotherapist, a haircut, a whole, new diatery plan, some basic skin care an-"
"Yeah, a whole makeover. No need to rub it in, though," they attested, only mildly irritated.
The villain rolled their eyes. "My point is, even through all this, you still manage to shine like a diamond in the rough."
"Oh so personality over looks? Got it," they chuckled slyly.
The criminal paused in their walk and pulled their enemy forward by the collar, "Do I have to spell it out for you? You're so goddamn hot even when you're not supposed to be, so awfully dishevelled, and yet here I am," they whispered, their lips almost brushing the hero's ear.
A tense moment of awkward silence passed as the crime-fighter pulled away from them, their eyes wide and their lips parted, trying uselessly for a few false starts. "So, where to now?" they said, straightening their posture gracefully and attempting to regain their composure, like the flustered mess of emotions from just a moment ago had never been.
"My place. We'll fix you up a little, and then we can go get something to eat," the villain replied, failing to keep the smile out of their voice.
"What happened to me being all glowing?" the hero teased.
"You're very lucky you're pretty," Villain snarled through gritted teeth, their hand resting on the back of Hero's neck.
They quickly tensed up, until the villain started to rub their neck, as though apologising for the damage they'd previously caused. The dark scowl was quickly wiped off their face as they watched the tightness dissipate from the hero's form. How had they not taken that adorable, little idiot out before?
"You're still good-looking, Hero. But you owe it to yourself to at least take care of yourself. Live a little." There was no mocking or cruelty, no sharp edges to their smile and nothing but gentleness in the villain's golden, honey brown eyes, making the hero's own hazel ones go as wide as saucers.
No one's ever talked to Hero like that, cared about them this way, or looked at them like they were a treasure. So, they nodded, hooked their hand into the villain's, placed a quick kiss on their forehead and allowed themselves to be lead forward.
The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. Strong emotions often find themselves mixing together, melting into one another. The fine line between love and hatred defines itself by desire, a treacherous walk to make, but all the more worth it. And the heart can so strangely burn a different flame, beat for a whole new cause, adore what it used to despise, and admit what it so vigorously used to deny.
✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @catsarecool00 @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69
Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!
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willtheweirdrat · 6 months ago
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the REAL question is how the actual fuck do people enjoy neck hickies
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seafavoured · 11 months ago
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@pyratezlife / ned.
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𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐓𝐔𝐁 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. edward couldn't begin to describe what had possessed them into it. what terrible force had shrouded their mind and taken root. spread its tendrils throughout, to wrap 'round his heart and squeeze it black. they had stood vigil, motionless, staring into the depths of that porcelain deathbed. thick and crimson still. the paramedics had pulled the old man free of his grave but none had yet tarnished the scene.
none but edward.
it seemed a distant memory already. the way he'd shed his housecoat and stepped, bare, into the bath. submerged himself into the sickly red water ( baptized in the blood of jesus christ ). still warm. well, it had long grown cold by now, and they hadn't moved an inch. they laid within, a mockery of his father's corpse when they'd found him. spread long and languid and swallowed nearly whole by it, made one with the remnants of carnage. only their face from the nose up remained unsullied. long, dark tresses of black swirled out around him ; a terrible halo formed from the wet waves of their hair.
they had fallen asleep like that and awoke with an odd, lazy sort of contentment at odds with the context. some sordid voice in the back of their skull whispered about freedom : from expectation, from responsibility, from his father. edward was free to do whatever they liked now. lips curled slow to a grin, teeth white against their scarlet backdrop.
just as lazy, as casual, a hand drifted down the flat plane of his stomach and abdomen. a thrill took hold of them, heart racing, breath hitching, as their fingers curled about the hard length of his cock. no reservations struck him as they might have weeks ago, no cause to stop, to judge his motives. he could do whatever the fuck he liked now. hadn't they just thought that? an idle stroke pulled a moan from him. their very skin felt alight, buzzing with electricity, sensitive to touch. his grip grew firm, jerking himself off in earnest, slow but deep, thorough. languid rolls of their hips and an arched back. muscles of their arm rippling with the movement. he held a breath and dipped the last of himself beneath the waterline. stayed down as long as he could. whose hand did he imagine held him down beneath the surface? whose fist that they thrust their cock into?
they reemerged, birthed anew from the blood of their holy father. free hand wiped the blood from his face, enough to blink his eyes open and gasp a stuttering breath in the same moment he came. orgasm tore through them like a fucking hurricane, shook him bone deep and left him trembling. god, it felt like it would never let up. wave after wave, whimpering, whining through it. their father had always called them a whore. the memory struck and he began to laugh, light and breathless as the afterglow hit. only then did they hear shuffling at the entryway. big brown eyes blown wide and cast to ned, leaning against the doorframe. innocent, euphoric, ❛ hi. ❜
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nobully · 2 years ago
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' So where's a good scenic spot to suffocate someone in private... '
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' Does it matter if they're good murder spots? I guess Nicolette can take care of any guys that try to mug us in the middle of it. '
Gotta get the first date right.
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nashvillehotchicken · 1 year ago
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since my mom has some trauma from being ex-mormon and ex-nazarene and there have been a lot of issues between us both in some held-onto beliefs and triggers, i've not been wanting to tell her explicitly that i'm converting until i'm able to move out and have a bit of stability and a better sense of safety
i do still want to be at least slightly open about this and sort of sneakily educate may family for the better so i've been using the "my friend" rule to talk abt my studies and its working hilariously well lmao
#granted i have no idea if i'm just a better liar than i think i am or if she's just that oblivious#i mean i did this before i came out as trans and i got hit with “if you said anything earlier i would have believed you :/”#and then she straight up refused to believe me for 3 years. during which i was comlpetely out to her and the rest of the family lmaoo#so theres a lot of ways this could go#also it'll be easier to actually go about the conversion process if i have my own kitchen and am not stuck in a teensy 3person split level#idk#i would also be safer in general once i'm able to get out-of-state bc as ive mentioned a few times before my extended family fully believes#-theyre the hillbilly mafia#i am literally named after my gay uncle who they brutally murdered & got way with it bc we have relatives in the wisco courts and a few cop#it was ruled an accidental suicide by auto-erotic asphyxiation and my granma told everybody he was in a motorcycle accident#he was covered in bruises and broken bones! the end of the rope was outside the room!#sorry i know that's triggering im just really anxious abt the whole deal#esp since when i came out as trans to them i got very underhanded deah threats for like a year (i was 15)#so i really DO NOT feel safe#my mom isn't like that and she loved my uncle but she's a sucker for the family and very easily manipulated#so i cant be sure she wouldn't tell them without my knowledge just out of guilt and traumatised co-dependancy#also i have an aunt and and unle who're avid collectors of Some Not Great Shit#like indigenous stuff and ww2 memorabilia#fuck i should tag all this#antisemitism tw#abuse tw#religious abuse#murder tw#homophobia tw#sorry abt the overshare i just gotta get it outta my head#but yeah the lifestyle freedom id have as well is gonna be a bigger plus. my own kitchen and safety from having to explain the cultural dif#theyve not spoken to us in a few years so i think (?) its not too much to worry abt now at least#im just paranoid lmao#rn since i live like 2hrs away from the nearest synagogue im just stuck doing some self study anyways#i found a few union 2nd shift jobs for good money i can apply to soon so im good there. i just gotta get my car situation worked out first
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the-great-donatello · 2 years ago
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Fuck I miscalculated where the cookies should appear. They should've appeared in front of the anon not in them! It was supposed to be a good curse!
-🍪
Keep their airway open, we can get there in around twenty minutes.
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ofmythsandfables · 1 year ago
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the lovely @ghostofaformerself liked for a starter with Charlotte!
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❈ — "The victim was dead before the gunshot wound."
Using both her index and middle fingers, Charlotte was able to point out purplish blotches around the nose and mouth areas. "These indicate asphyxiation. There was also some hemorrhaging in the lungs to help back that up as well."
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The pathologist sighs and looks at Rayne standing on the opposite side of the body. "The gunshot wound wasn't due to suicide. It was made to look as such, which means you're for certain dealing with a homicide."
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wickedusername · 9 months ago
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Apple Red
Curse!Reader x Mahito || 18+ MDNI
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Synopsis:
In which our favorite shape shifting psychopath discovers the wonders of sex with someone equally fucked up in the head, all under a philosophical motif of the Knowledge Argument/Mary's Room, a thought experiment posing that certain mental states can't be known unless you experience them yourself.
A/n: Bringing this over from AO3! It was brought about in my annoyance at every Mahito fic being non-con and others yet thinking the man is illiterate. Listen, he may have been born yesterday but he's read more philosophy than you and me. This has an overarching Mary's room motif, skim it over, your enjoyment will be increased threefold. Just like your cl- Wikipedia article if you can't watch.
Tw: dead dove: do not eat, body horror, sadomaso, asphyxiation/choking, blood kink, double penetration, p in v, anal, murder kink, necrophilia mention, shapeshifting. However!! praise kink, body worship, dirty talk, consensual sex, size kink, no actual murder takes place.
Word count: 6,1k words
Epigraph:
He lowered his abs over your back again and got close to your ear. Licks, pecks and bites peppered your back, popping up in places you know mouths shouldn't be. “The pleasure of your wet, gorgeous pussy, deep and clenching for me… No dead or unwilling thing has it. You'll come for me again, won't you, dearie?
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"Absolutely feral” is not enough to describe what was going on between you and Mahito. He groped every part of you, your ass, your thighs, your breasts, the fat on your hips. Arms scratched and pinched at the muscle and fat on every part of your torso with his fingers. All while his tongue licked all over your mouth and lips, swirled around yours, elongated down to your throat. His jaw took in more and more like he would gobble you up. You had your hands way up under his poncho, scratching his back to raw flesh.
This had started as a conversation. You were barely a sketch of a curse, not rivaling the strength of the other ones you knew, but shapely enough to pass as human to those who could see you. You tried your best to mind your own business and stay in hiding, fully aware the persecution of sorcerers could end you in one fell swoop. The unfinished subway station you liked to call home was where you spent most of your time. Nestled between the decaying scaffolding, the staff room was where you sat with him, the only furnished room among the many half-finished nooks of the construction site. The bare surfaces didn't bother you, and the room had remained thankfully untouched in the two or so years since construction was halted and abandoned.
You, however, neglected none of the room. Whenever you had the chance to be around humanoid curses, you made a point to invite them over. You loved to banter and befriend, but just as much as you loved to occasionally hit the jackpot for one that you could sleep with. You didn't care to investigate your origins, but you weren’t born of anything family-friendly, you knew that much.
You'd known Mahito for a while. He was introduced to you by Kenjaku, an annoying body-hijacker who'd seeked to recruit you for his revolutionary cause. You wanted none of it, especially keen on self-preservation, but the two of you had hit it off. Two curses of the psyche had plenty to commiserate about, so you often hung around each other. And you'd just now managed to have him in your nest. Of course it wasn't every time you dragged someone to your staff room that you wanted to fuck them, and you certainly wouldn't mind if it led nowhere. But he was the most human of all curses – maybe of all there were – so of course you wanted to ask him about sex. To your surprise, his opinions were less than satisfactory.
“It's not as good as murder, to be honest.” He tapped the arm of the couch he was slouched on, staring you down with conflicting feelings. It was definitely not what he was here to talk about, but it did leave him curious.
“Are you serious? You've been doing it on things that don't move, haven't you?” It was the explanation you could conoct for why he would think that.
“I can make them move, you know? I've put the parts together, it's just not all that.” He retorted.
“It's about more than the parts. It's the entirety of the person you're with.”
“I've tried full, intact humans. The first one I, uh… killed them by accident. Another one I killed beforehand and they start going cold and don't feel as nice. I kinda gave up after that, I really don't see how it's so hyped.”
“Yeah, that's not the fun way to do it. You're trying to get on the level of fragile, puny humans.” You looked to the side in pure contempt.
The disgust for human weakness nearly seeped out of you. You'd tried humans, and as good as sex was with anyone, you also boasted similar results. You had no need to kill or force, like he likely did. They flocked to you. It was easy, it was your nature. But it always ended in a body to discard. You did wonder, partly, if it was in the inherent fact of being a curse that your drive to fulfill your desire ended in human death. But killing wasn't the drive you yearned for, and you were more than happy to have something that would live to fuck another day. It was the whole reason you enjoyed other curses much more, anyway.
“Alright, I'll bite.” Mahito smiled. “What's the fun way?”
Your lips curled into a smile worth a hundred bucks. Now here you were, gripping his hair, licking his teeth and waiting eagerly for what came next.
Mahito lifted you up into his lap with what seemed like two arms wrapping around your thighs like thick belts. Two others squished and pulled on your asscheeks, torturing them, digits slipping forward to tease your clothed entrance from below. You wrapped your legs and arms around him, even though you didn't need to make much strength to be carried around. Against your belly, his hard-on pushed a tent on his leather pants. He pulled away from you with a laugh.
“This really isn't bad!”
“We haven't even started.” you leaned into his ear, scraping your lips against it before biting hard at his earlobe. “The fun part is that you can fuck me up”.
His eyes gleamed with fun and desire.
“How?” He pinned you against one of the walls. His smile was unnaturally wide, tugging at the muscles of his cheeks, pushing them up against his lower eyelids that squeezed against his fiery wide glare.
“However you want.” Your own stare burned with passion, knowing the idea of destroying you would fuel his fire to the maximum.
His dick twitched in his pants, achingly hard. A fifth arm stretched out of his stitched, toned right shoulder. His hand caressed the side of your face, combing your hair slowly back, tucking it behind your ear, before gripping your face roughly and pushing your head against the wall. He deformed it, veins and muscles bulging and pulsing in waves through your face and down your neck, while you healed up, undoing his damage and rolling your eyes back into your head. You savored his torture. His mismatched eyes burned with glee and he laughed, near maniacally, at your enjoyment.
“You-! You are too much fun!” He licked his lips and continued to cackle, like he had a front seat in the world's best joyride.
“More from the inside.” You teased. You lowered your hand to his pants and wrapped your fingers around the outline of his dick. He hissed as you stroked him, making you bite your lip at the sound.
The hand that was deforming your face stopped its transfiguring and moved to the top of your head, where it pulled your hair. He pressed your body further against the wall, giving you enough stability to bring both your hands to his pants, unzip them and allow his cock to spring free from the leather. You wrapped your hand around it and stroked him. Starting at the base, where it sprouted through the patch of brown fur that framed it, all the way to its pink round head. Your other hand caressed his abdomen, circling and clawing at the stitches in his cum gutters.
Mahito moaned and bucked his hips into your touch, squeezing your ass and thighs harder, pulling on your hair tighter. His eyes fluttered and his mouth hung open, before his sight landed on your chest, rising and falling under your tight fit shirt.
You encouraged him with a hum and the hand that was pulling your hair moved downwards, where its forearm split into halves. They promptly scrunched the cloth at the neck seam, one on each side, and ripped it apart, turning it to a cluster of circular tatters hanging from your waist and arms. His lips let out a long loud breath with the aftersound of a suppressed moan, almost like he was trying not to drool at the sight. He buried his face in your chest with nothing but nirvana in his mind.
You held the back of his head and nuzzled his hair as you kept stroking him, his pleasure-filled expression hidden between your breasts. Your breaths were heavy, and he would not stop letting out quiet grunts at your handjob. His hands roughly massaged your ass and the flesh belts around your thighs cut circulation to your feet, making them tingle. The arm that had split in two reunified, being joined by a sixth on the left side, and they both fondled your breasts. Mahito squeezed his face between the mounds and placed unrestrained bites and licks on them. When he felt himself getting close, he placed his lips against your ribs and muttered into them.
“You were right. I need the rest of it. I need to get in you.”
Mahito gripped your shoulders and slammed you against the wall once again, making you fumble the stroking rhythm you had. With the other pair of arms he gripped your asscheeks like rough dough and pulled you against him, rubbing his dick over your crotch. His nails dug in to the point of piercing cloth.
He brought his arms down from your breasts to fumble with the string of your pants. Unable to pull them or rip them away because of your legs around him, he turned around and let go of your ass, making you fall head-first into the floor. An unpleasant cracking was heard and blood splattered in a beautiful halo around your head, and you just healed the concussion shut. The only thing off the floor were your legs, still held at the sides of his hips. He stepped back and pulled your pants off with two hands at the rim and the two belts at the thighs, now sliding down to your knees and shins. When the pants were off, he tossed them to the side and recoiled the belts back into his body.
With now four arms, he crawled over you and pressed your legs apart. Mahito ripped the underwear you had like it was made of paper, throwing the pieces to the side. He held his dick in one hand, gently rubbing the head against your labia.
“God, I'm going to ruin you.” He grinned with a sing-sing tune of pure glee.
You grabbed him by the poncho and pulled him down to your level so you could talk.
“Think I'm not already rotten?” You whispered into his ear and licked your bottom lip, awaiting his response.
Instead of a witty remark, he just buried himself into you until bottoming out. He bit his lip and swallowed a big gulp, and you salivated with lascivious anticipation watching the stitches on his neck rise and fall from the movement.
“Fuck… This is good.” He muttered almost resentfully.
He threw his head back and enjoyed the feeling of your warm cunt. It was slicker than whatever he had before. Deeper. Warmer. Everything about the real thing, with the wetness and interaction of a willing participant, didn't compare to what he had done to transfigured humans, or to corpses, or to himself. Snapping back to reality, he started moving, and without much buildup he went right to pumping into you repeatedly. He was not at all mindful of still having his clothes on, of being on the cold floor, or even recalled being able to transfigure you while he was at it. All he could enjoy was the feeling.
You gripped the cloth falling over his back and started bunching it over his stitched shoulders, tucking his hair out of the way. When you got to the rim, you pulled the poncho over his head and he carelessly shoved it aside, shaking it off of the single arm that was stuck in its segmented sleeve. His hair fell forward with the movement and it now hung over you, grazing and tickling your chest. The view of his abs over you as he pounded was significantly better than a damn windowpane poncho.
Your own hands were busy as you tugged forcefully on a strand of his hair and decided to touch yourself, bringing about the familiar buildup of heat and electricity in the pit of your stomach. He noticed your hand and soon had it joined by an extra mouth, sprouting comically forward from his lower abdomen, right through his treasure trail. The mouth licked right with and over your fingers, and soon you were holding your pussy open for him, pressing down on your labia with your fingers. Their occasional twitching, your body's way to dispel some of the tension it was building.
“Do you want to feel what it's like when something comes around you? When they squeeze with you inside?” You teased, coaxing dirty talk out of him.
“I do… Come and scream my name. Fuck, I want to watch your face while you do it.”
“Then fuck me harder…” You mewled. His thrusts got stronger and he brought one of the arms sustaining his torso to grip your shoulder and push you harder against him with every pound. Your back chafed against the concrete, ripping at the skin of your scapulas. The mouth on your clit latched on and flicked its tongue around, catching the bud repeatedly.
Mahito lifted the last arm that sustained his torso from the floor, putting his weight on your thighs with the other pair. It forced them higher. It made your muscles sting. You unfolded your knees and placed your calves on his shoulders, and the position was riveting. He placed that hand on your mouth, where he pulled your lips, pinched your tongue, enjoyed the drool. Mahito straightened his back, lifting his torso away from your face. He ended up gripping your lower jaw like a handle, his knuckles under your tongue and thumb pressing into the soft spot under your chin. His nails cut the bottom of your mouth and he probably dislocated your jaw a couple of times with his thrusting, but fuck if you cared.
Your eyes rolled over as the heat built up higher and your toes curled around nothing. You thrashed your feet about in restlessness and the hands holding your thighs apart just tightened their grip, wavering with the movement of the muscles underneath them. You called out to him as promised and came around him. The pressure washed away in waves, rolling over you one by one in electric spasms. The tongue in the abdominal mouth flattened against your clit and you let it lick a trail slowly upwards. He could barely process his thoughts when the first spasm jolted your lower region.
“Ma- a- Ah!!” you fumbled your attempt to utter his name a second time.
“Ah...! Shit!” His eyes shot open and his mouth hung agape as you clenched around his dick.
He lost the regularity in his thrusting and let his sight glaze over, twitching at the feeling of your slick. The pulse brought him over the edge, and before your orgasm had fully waived he was moaning and pumping sloppily into you, spurting warm cum through your insides. His moans were even louder than yours, and his arms shook from the pleasure. Your half-lidded eyes framed by sweat met his and he had to shut them and turn his head away so he wouldn't be distracted. He moaned with the shivers that ran down his legs, his abdomen spasming and clenching. The abdominal mouth hung and drooled against your crotch, devoid of mind.
“Shit… you got so tight.” Mahito sighed, catching his breath, still coming down from his high.
“Isn't it so nice? You'll have to make me come again if you want more of that.” you giggled, partly trying to convince him to please you harder.
“Oh, I'll do so much more than make you come.” The man shook his head softly and looked down on you with a grin.
He didn't have such an issue as a refractory period. As soon as his dick went soft, he just made himself a new one and pushed that within you instead.
“Ah… More…” you cooed after his first few thrusts and it gave him a brand new idea.
Without ever pulling out, he made his cock a full double its volume. It shifted with delicious waves to the length of his foot and the thickness of a wrist. You bit your lips feeling its growth inside you, expanding your walls tighter. He pulled it out just to tease and even pushing it back took a little effort. The member stretched you open, the friction helped by all the wet and seed already inside. You felt a tinge of pride in your own pussy for taking it. He went right back to fucking. The pounding of this new dick made you feel so delightfully full, and the mild pain of his tip hitting your cervix was nothing but seasoning to your masochism. He wouldn't slide all the way in, instead he just pushed against the spongy back of your pussy until he felt too much resistance and slid back out, again and again.
The hand he once had in your mouth slithered down to your neck, where it was soon joined by the one that held your shoulder. He now had two hands on your thighs and two on your neck. He put his full weight on your trachea, and he seemed to love the feeling of wrapping his fingers around your small chunk of spine and muscle and grip it tight, with full suffocating intent. You couldn't breathe, but you didn't need to. His rhythmic slams against your cunt translated to his fingers digging harder and harder into your flesh, unrelenting as tugs on a zip tie. Pump after pump after pump, the pressure on your neck and on your cervix mixed in your head. They fought for your attention in turns with whichever felt strongest at any given second.
“Ah… I want to kill you so bad. I wanna blow you up into pieces.” Both arms pressed into your neck hard enough to scrunch it thin, folding the skin into rolls. He admired it as its color transitioned in a spotty gradient from pale to pink to red, to near grape under his fingers.
You couldn't talk, but you ran your finger under his chin and up his cheek, up to the stitches near his ear. You gripped the hair at the back of his head with both hands and held the blue-gray strands tight while he rolled repeatedly into you. He hissed in contentment at the feeling of you around him, at the sight of him around you, at the collapsing of your trachea under his hands. It made him way too aroused.
His gaze dropped slowly to your abdomen again and, with an intrusive thought, he decided to push into you until the base of his shaft. The pain stole your attention fully to your nether region. He pushed past any point of comfort into your cervix and gawked at the sight of your abdomen bulging ever so slightly to accommodate him. The sight made his dick twitch with the will to release. The feeling of pushing into your cervix past its intended size put wonderful pressure against his head. He pumped again and immediately had to stop himself because his stomach was coiling in pleasure against his will.
“Shit… I don't wanna come again already.” He let go of your neck and pulled out of you with haste, leaving with a loud sigh.
The curse panted loudly and stood up with laborious effort. He used this break to get his pants fully off. Both gasped for air, though you had much more of a reason. He wormed his legs out one after the other like boneless noodles and threw the pants in roughly the same direction where his poncho sat on the floor.
“You've made yourself such a gorgeous body.” you sat up and reached forward to grip the stitches in his thighs with admiration. You ran your digits over the raised clamps along the scar lines and resisted the urge to lean forward to kiss them. Mahito had kept human legs, even if the hairy patch around his base was still more like fur than pubes. Everything about his body was perfect to you. He snorted.
“You like it?” His smile widened. “How about this?”
With that, he split the dick mercilessly in half and reshaped both semicircles to the same girth as the first. He now had two wonderful shafts of exquisite size hanging from the soft brown fuzziness of his crotch.
“Fuck…” You whined, wordless except for the blushing in your cheeks and the glistening in your eyes. You scooted closer to him and sat up on your knees to get your mouth to the height where it could ghost over the shafts. You held them and fidgeted with their shapes, occasionally running your tongue along them, kissing their sides and cupping his balls. You looked up at him as you placed a hard lick over one of the tips and then the other in succession, tasting the precum that seeped from both. He could swear his balls ached at the sight.
“Get up and turn around for me?” Mahito grabbed both shafts and stepped back to keep you from worshiping them any longer. You bemoaned the loss, but got up and turned your back to him.
He embraced you with care and placed pecks on your neck. Mahito stretched an arm to the side and pushed the small wooden table that sat in the middle of the room against a wall. He walked forward with you until he had your legs pushing against the table’s edge and both of you faced the wall. You watched with wonder and a tinge of horror as a bramble of independent limbs split from his own and wrapped around the table.
Mahito placed a long, breathy kiss on your nape before putting his palm on your back and bending you over. You let him hold your wrists delicately and put them together above your head. He guided your forearms to lean against the wall, where he gripped them tight, making sure your hands wouldn't go anywhere. Two hands stretched from the table only to hold you by the lats, steadying you. Still carefully, the curse rubbed your shoulders and bent over you. He kissed your back and ran his other three hands down your sides, squeezing your anatomy and rubbing gentle scratches on the fats he could grip.
“You are being so wonderful, sweetheart.” Mahito placed kisses all over your back, his hair dragging ticklish paths along your sides. You looked back at him. The mood seemed to shift to something more loving than you ever expected.
“So caring all of a sudden? What's the matter, are you insecure about the b-- ahh?” He immediately shoved the top shaft inside your pussy until the base, shutting up any cocky comments coming out of you. The pain devolved your words into incoherence.
“You don't think I'm some kid, do you? I enjoy your teasing, but I'm inexperienced, not stupid. I'm being nice because I need you to relax if I want them both in.” He patted your butt and rubbed it in circles with both hands. “So you'll just enjoy it for me, yes?”
“I will… Mahito.” The line left you breathless. He was suddenly so much hotter than you'd thought. So far you thought you'd been commanding him, but it hadn't crossed your mind that he knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing.
As he was standing behind you, he had a perfect view of your entrance dripping for him and he gripped your asscheeks and hummed while looking down at it. The way your back arched so nicely against him when he rolled his hips into you was almost as riveting and the feeling of the bottom dick rubbing against your clit with his back and forth. He pushed a few times, letting his cockhead rub on the hood of your clit, before he reached one hand around your thigh to your crotch. The man felt for your clitoris and then gave his palm a mouth to eat you out with. His fingers sprawled under your entrance, where he kept slowly rocking against you.
“Not that you don't have something I didn't know, but the missing piece was feeling it. I know plenty. It's… a Mary's room situation.” He kept talking, earnest and lost in thought while his hand sucked and licked your clit, mindlessly rubbing and patting your curves in admiration. The second shaft twitched and smeared precum on the back of his hand. “I guess it's just that… I can be too rough for humans to have any of the good stuff, I assumed I just couldn't get it.”
He placed one palm on your back and you felt the most sensitive spot of your clit peek out and expand, becoming bigger, more sensitive. Within your muscles, nerve endings branched and reached, making the pleasure increase threefold. If before you were casually enjoying his eating out, now you spasmed and lost breath as the feeling moved you dangerously up the drop of a roller-coaster. You whined incoherent.
“But you… You've shown me the pleasure in them.” He lowered his abs over your back again and got close to your ear. Licks, pecks and bites peppered your back, popping up in places you know mouths shouldn't be. “The pleasure of your wet, gorgeous pussy, deep and clenching for me… No dead or unwilling thing has it. You'll come for me again, won't you, dearie?”
“Mahito- I'm- Ah, I'm-!” Your breath hitched with the building electricity.
“That's just what I wanted to hear!” He chuckled with a genuineness that felt out of place.
The roller-coaster stopped for only a second at the peak of chilling anticipation before dropping you into a storm of pleasure, washing away. You moaned without thought, the sound echoing against the walls and bringing heat to your cheeks with the embarrassment of your pathetic noises. Your legs shook and threatened to give in, but he had more than two arms holding you tight. As you came off it your heartbeat thumped in your ears, in your chest, in your clit.
He praised you as you came, closing his eyes to enjoy your spasming velvet walls around his dick. You felt like heaven, tight, swollen to all hell, plush, malleable as a squishy toy. He couldn't believe he'd willingly discarded it as literary hyperbole. It could be as good as he'd imagined, and it was breaking him. The red of Mary's apple, sitting right in front of his eyes.
Before your mind was back to the present, he pulled out his cock dripping with slick and pressed the tip softly against your ass. With the hand that ate you out, he gathered as much wetness and he could on his fingers by rubbing them between your folds and brought that hand to your anus, where his fingers entered you to spread it all around.
He now had one hand holding your arms and one in the small of your back angling your ass up at him, another one that thrusted softly into your anus and a final one held his top shaft, preparing it to enter. You had just come off your orgasm when he pushed the shaft inside, slowly against the resistance of your ring. The burn reminded you, what you'd almost forgotten by now, that his dicks were still unpleasantly too big.
You whined and he reassured you with shushes and pats until he was in to the hilt. “You said I can fuck you up and you can't take this much? You're disappointing me…”
“It's not- a complaint.” You clarified. It really wasn't, the noises you produced were entirely reflexive.
Mahito hummed in agreement and held the bottom shaft that peeked between your thighs. He pumped it with his fist to spread the excessive precum that seeped from the tip. It had been dripping, neglected since you last licked it. He curved it towards your pussy and pushed in. You felt stuffed, entirely full, with no space left for yearning, no matter how much arousal had deepened your canal. Especially with both their sizes, it was entirely too much.
“This… is so crazy good. Even when I'm not doing anything else…” Mahito sighed as he slid leisurely back and forth into the holes, fully devoted to feeling. The pleasure of a slick recipient was doubled, occupying more of his mind than anything else had. He gripped the back of your head without looking and felt the sticky matted dirt of blood on your hair.
“Hm? What's this from?” He removed his hand in surprise.
“You… when you got my pants off.” You murmured.
“I like it.” He brought the hand to his mouth and licked the blood off it. “I think I know what I want to do…”
“I don't care what you do, just fuck me… please…” you whimpered, growing desperate at his stalling. You tried remove your hands from his grip, but they were well secured above your head. He ran that thumb over your knuckles in consolation.
“Hm, like this?” He pulled back and slammed into you in mockery.
“Yes! Please…!” you nodded vigorously.
“Is that so? I think I would rather…” He vexed and extended two of his arms forward, where they wrapped around your neck and forehead to pull your head back as far as it could bend. Your neck ached and your mouth opened wide in an effort to relieve his grip on your neck. “Even like that?”
“Anything… please-!” You begged, filling up his sadistic ego.
“Aye aye then…” he cheerfully agreed.
He held your hip with his only free hand and pounded you, over and over, without restraint. The arms that held you stretched unnaturally long to allow him to straighten his posture and pound with his full body. Grunts left his lips that sounded entirely too hot to be caused just by effort.
Mahito kept a steady rhythm and pulled your head back with his hands, forcing every muscle in the front of your neck to stretch taut. Your sight was confined to your forearms rubbing against the unpainted cement wall. His grip on your wrists turned your skin white, outlined by a flurry of red streaks. You spread your pinkies apart, trying to place your fingers on the wall, but barely achieved it, still restrained by his fist.
The hand on your neck twisted your anatomy, sending bulges of vein and muscle through you like shivers, pulsing your entire body with gross transfiguration. Not only that, but it sharpened, the web of this thumb thinning into a blade's edge and piercing into skin with his grip. You gasped in desperation as it started to dig into muscle and tried to heal the cut shut against his hand. He tightened his grip and shook your neck, back and forth, to dispel your effort.
“No.” His hand pierced further. “Let it run.”
Blood dripped down your torso, tickling your chest in its path and leaving sticky ruby trails in its wake. Drips ran down his arm and over your collarbones, contouring the mounds of your breasts, until they could reach your belly and fall to the ground, heavy with accumulated volume, unable to reach any further down and losing their grip on skin from the shaking of his pounds.
The cut burned like fire, stealing your attention from anything else. To get your focus back down, Mahito slammed into you hard and started sliding the shafts in alternating paces. He didn't need to thrust his hips: they pumped autonomously. The feeling was like nothing you'd ever had, either. You attempted to force words out of the hyperstimulating cacophony of sensations he was putting you through, shaking your attention away just to call his name. You bucked your hips backward into his thrusts, helping his movement in the only way you could.
He wrapped two more arms around your waist, gluing his body to yours again, and gripped the softness right below your ribs. You lost count of how many he had. He curved his fingers inward into the middle of your abdomen, sharpening his fingertips into precise blades, piercing at the skin and gripping as if he were going to pull out chunks with his bare hands. He gripped your fat and rammed his hips deliciously as blood ran piping hot down his forearms. The curse moaned and let his mouth hang agape, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, as the inherent eroticism of entering flesh turned him on so bad he thought he might come immediately. The pained cry that left your mouth went from his ears straight to his dick.
“Fuuuuck.” He leaned down and breathed hard against your back. The shaft in your ass twitched, bringing too much tension to his lower belly, relaying the message that with another second his balls would turn blue. You clenched your hole around it, milking it for release, and he couldn’t hold anything back. It pumped your ass full of seed, spewing jets of white inside you. Mahito placed his forehead against your spine and whined, his mouth ghosting over you with a small string of drool below. His fringe caught on beaded sweat and stuck to your back, but still he never stopped pumping. It was all only from the dick on top, the one that had been in you the longest. The one in your pussy still hurt for release, winding a fiery coil in his stomach.
His palms distorted you, shifting your insides so your flesh would compress and release against him. He was using you, making you a flesh toy, providing squeeze in his own terms. It peeved him for being too little effort from you, too close to what he already knew, but just the puffiness of your cunt against him was novelty enough. He didn't care now that he was in despair, pining for a second orgasm that didn't delay much further.
He came for the second time with cries that seemed almost painful and whipped his spine straight, carelessly forgetting himself and pulling on your head enough to snap it backwards. He moaned pathetically with the shakes of every muscle and attempted to rock his hips with faltering success. He let go of the grip in every hand and dropped his sweat-covered frame over you, pushing your body down into the table.
“Ah… ah… are you- alive?” He asked meekly at your limp, unmoving frame. He'd done things that would kill a human a few times, but he wondered if this had been too much.
“I told you I would be.” You replied with equally breathless lilt from underneath.
Happiness painted his perspective in pink and he recoiled all but two arms back while the main pair slithered underneath to hug you tenderly. The sticky layer of blood made his hug that much warmer in the literal sense, giving tangibility to the figurative warmth of his thanks. He pulled you tight into his embrace, and you folded your arms over your shoulders to pat his head on your nape, both waiting for their breaths to settle.
“I know it's been dragging out for long, but still… I don't want it to stop.” Mahito turned to nuzzle the side of your head. “I still wish I had more… more of the things only you can give.”
You pushed yourself off the table, forcing him to slip out of your holes and lift himself off as well. You turned to him and cuffed his chin to bring his lips down on yours, kissing him with sloppy nods, which one could almost mistake for a loving trade of affection. He wrapped his bloodied hands on your back, dragging trails that mixed with sweat to smear more than they should. Your lips separated and your eyes met his mismatched pair, half-lidded and full of wonder.
“Tell me…” you whispered into his lips with confidence he had expected to have snuffed out after all this.
“I want to experience your body more…” He licked his bottom lip, unable to divert his eyes from yours. “Let me find out how much I can dismantle you before you break”.
“If you still have the vigor, I'll give you something that you really never had from your attempts.”
You pushed him backwards, making him stumble with crooked steps and fall on his ass. His smile spread further than humanly possible when you got down and crawled over him, dressed in a stained scarf of blood that licked your entire torso in red.
You kneeled at the sides of his hips and reached down to ride him.
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rizsu · 5 months ago
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+ love, ‘su: he's so crazyyyy!!! can't take him anywhere lol XD ── tw. mentions of murder (not u)
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yuta’s been acting weird, but you can’t put your finger on it. you’ve this aching gut feeling that something’s off with him, but he hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary.
he’s still acts like your loving boyfriend who refuses to sleep unless his arms are wrapped around you. each time the thought of yuta suddenly changing crosses you, a pang of guilt hits you.
you don’t want to doubt him, but it’s getting difficult to not suspect him. he’s no longer punctual — you can’t predict his timing anymore. even the hour he returns home is now a guessing game.
what happened to him? something’s weird — no, not just weird. it’s terrifying. physically it’s your yuta but is it really? why are his eyes unfocused all the time? is something or someone bothering him?
questions after questions swirl through yet there isn’t an answer that can satisfy you. you need yuta to speak, but he dances around the questions, refusing to give in.
the more you pry the more he gets annoyed. he doesn’t show it, but his firm answer never fails to stop you.
“baby, i said nothing. is. wrong.” he’d insist, warmingly smiling at you before he follows up with a question. “don’t you trust me?”
like usual, you’d remain silent, unable to drag it on. the conversations continued to run in circles. soon you gave up.
you can’t shake off the feeling, nor can you make him talk. as unfortunate as it is, it’s better to go with the flow. it’d be meaningless to anger him with butting in his business.
as for yuta, it pains him that he’s acting so cold, but that’s the only way to get you to stop. he loves you — worships you — but it’ll be detrimental if you were to find out that he isn’t your sweet boy.
you shower him with praises everyday, he can’t imagine what life would be like if he loses you. you’ve always said his hands are your favourite, which is why he bought multiple pairs of gloves. he can’t have the hands you adore be tainted. it’s a bit sloppy to cover his traces, but it’ll do.
after all, he’s not skilled in killing humans yet. his expertise is knowing how to murder curses, but maybe he can transfer those skills to humans too.
truth be told, this has been going on for some time. if he were to recall correctly, it’s been approximately twenty-three days since his first killing. he didn’t plan for it to happen — heavens, no! it just… did.
yuta’s self control is something worthy to be jealous of, but he lost every ounce of it that night. he gifted you a new dress, one that’s perfect to be dolled up in an expensive club that’s part casino. so said, so done.
you were his woman, ever so beautiful, but like moths to a flame, you attracted unnecessary attention. the amount of men that attempted to whisk you away exceeded the number ten. he couldn’t keep count on his fingers anymore. of course, you never hesitated to reject them. you even went as far as to slip in “i’m here with my boyfriend” whenever they approached.
but they were filthy flies. flies aren’t able to read the room, nor can they handle rejection. they’ll always come back to the meal — even if all they got was a whiff of the scent. flies are known to be pesky, greedy animals. unless you see them to their death, they’ll never leave.
the night played out smoothly, but yuta’s annoyance wasn’t soothed. he wanted to relieve it physically. he needed absolute dominance over something — something that’ll be easy to register a power imbalance with. what’s better than to overpower one of the flies? they’d be drunk and yuta happened to have held his alcohol, so he’s quite sober.
once he’s assured you were in deep sleep, he quietly left to set his plan in motion. he never thought that he’d feel ‘the hunter and the prey’ emotions against a human, but here he is. life is truly unpredictable. it’s unfortunate the random fly that was singled out couldn’t predict his murder.
a death by asphyxiation. the easiest way to kill someone if it’s your first time. yuta didn’t bother to clean up, simply opting for dragging the body in a back alley. there’s been a number of violent crimes the past week, he was sure it’ll be played off as one of those crimes. in that way, he won’t ever be suspected, and he was correct.
however, yuta, too, fell to greed. the adrenaline rush, the feeling of seeing someone struggle, the continuance of the life of someone being his decision to make — he wanted more. he couldn’t settle for just one. with long eyes that yearned for more than he should’ve, yuta’s killings didn’t stop. it soon became a pattern: every two weeks he’d kill someone — it didn’t matter who, as long as they did something he deemed wrong. yuta believed he acted on justice, but he knew he was just as wrong.
he became a vigilante to some, and a serial killer to others. regardless of what the public viewed him as, it caused unrest. the only time he stopped was the day you refused to go out in fear of the increase of murders in your city. your pain is his pain, he couldn’t bear to watch you cower in fear at the thought of becoming the next addition to the kill count.
the stop only lasted for one scheduled killing. he returned to his usual activities, becoming more and more skilled. with each murder he became braver — sometimes taking a limb off depending on if he liked the person or not.
but every secret was bound to be revealed, and his almost got caught when you found a patch of blood on his sweatpants.
“yuta, did you injure yourself and didn’t tell me?” you asked him with a disappointed tone, holding up his sweatpants to show the blood.
his heart stopped, a sick feeling in his stomach bubbled up. he didn’t injure himself, but he injured (killed) someone else. it’s not like he can say that and hope you bypass it.
“oh — i, i did,” he answered, nervously laughing. “i accidentally dropped the knife on my leg, sorry baby.”
it was a half-assed excuse, but since you trust him, you’ll believe it.
“then you should’ve told me!” you pouted, jokingly thinking that he didn’t trust you.
“sorry, sorry. but next time, don’t wash my clothes. i’ll do it.” it was a sudden demand, subtly killing the mood.
your eyebrows furrowed. you found it weird, but didn’t question it. yuta knew how absurd he sounded, but he can’t have you connecting the dots. sooner or later you would’ve realised his lies.
however, even without the clothes, you still found holes in his behaviour. you kept quiet about it until you couldn’t, but that resulted in him redirecting the conversation.
you’re too smart for your own good, if you were to cast aside your trust in him and realise your worries aren’t insane, you’d leave yuta in a heartbeat. he can’t have that. he won’t settle for it. heavens know what he’d resort to just to keep you in his arms.
yuta’s your sweet boy, and he’ll continue to be. if it meant giving up the killings, he’d do it. it won’t be too hard to find a replacement to satisfy his needs. but, would he need to give it up? if you find out, can’t he keep you tied down with him? he’s the hunter, after all.
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hollowfaith · 1 month ago
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𝔓𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔰.
「✧」 She's slipping from him, he sees.
A little too quickly, so he imbibes her with his own divine energy the next second: warm, rich, soothing, enough to close up the hole in her back and partially mend the tear in her chest—more to keep it in one piece, for what happens after.
The disgusting mix of bones, blood, vomit, and feathers is pulled out of her mouth—not by hand, naturally—and tossed in a heap with her discarded wings, still burning languidly on the ground. Holy fire would take more time with her special constitution, but at least it wouldn't go out.
Leaving the disgraceful things behind, Aurelius holds onto the body and soars into the skies in a golden arc, deserting the streets behind them. It crosses wards and graces roofs, getting briefly mistaken for a shooting star, or a flash of the aurora lights, before Aurelius lands on the banks of the Broken Glass River in Twilight Tundra. There he drops the semi-conscious bundle in his arms onto the snow, watching her stain the ground bright pink with her skin and dark purple with blood, and silently waits for her crawl into position as she certainly must have been taught.
"If you're alive, surely you still have a voice."
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"Speak then, before I inflict my trial upon you."
❝ hope is humiliating and exhausting the soul is humiliating and exhausting the body is both but louder— they call it longing because it takes forever ❞
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   since her first death, fiyero has not changed her form once. she has the spells for it, could do it at any moment if she wanted to. parts of her journey would have been easier, certainly, if she was willing to compromise even an inch.
   she isn't. her body, sanctioned and holy to her. something she would never allow to be tainted if she can help it.
   what aurelius is doing to her now, it's so intrusive that it goes past destroying her body. he says he's not interested in her soul, but the sentiment rings hollow with a sword halfway buried in her chest, gobs of blood slipping through the broken feathers and bones in her mouth. as much as he wants her quiet, she's still screaming. half-aborted wheezes and groans and yelling.
   she's always been noisy when she's dying. gasping for breath even when her lungs fill with blood, when she's sputtering red liquid between the whining and begging. but this is different, isn't it? the last time she died ... she had friends with her. she had to keep a clear mind even as consciousness slipped from her, instructing wyll to press down on the wound, telling gale where to find the potion in her bag. so that they can bring her back, once she's gone.
   will she come back this time, once she's gone? at nobody's mercy other than the stars. and the angel, tearing into her.
   it's almost calming, if she could feel anything at all other than pain. to not have her mind racing with a million things at once. to simply surrender to it. to give up.
   he rips open her sternum to reach inside and it's once she can feel him pass her spine that something in her breaks. there's no linear thought anymore, no thinking at all. she loses herself in the agonizing slowness of it— the tearing that starts to heal only to be torn back open. she feels her stomach convulse when she finally does throw up, bitter acid and metal liquid coating her tongue, her teeth, the feathers and bones, her lips and chin when it all spills over.
   part of it gets stuck in her throat with no place to go and fiyero makes a horrible choking noise, the first thing that actually makes her heart stop with pure fear.
   she's crying. no sobbing to it, there's no room when her chest is open, when most of it is exposed to more of that blinding light. her heart stuttering in her chest, trying to keep up, pumping more blood through her veins that inevitably gets spilled. aurelius reaches all the way through, until he can grasp two more wings and pull them through. the hand at her side, balancing her, is a laughable softness. to puppeteer her around only to make it easier for him to ...
   the tears spill without her input. she's nothing. she's not even a person anymore. a bag of meat that reacts only to the horrible sensations, a display for him to satisfy his anger.
   she can't hear her own screaming anymore. can only feel that she's still doing it by the strain in her throat, a rattling noise that echoes in her mind. or his words, so awfully put together in the face of all this violence. the wings discarded, he burrows into her chest once more. a hand around her heart, its beat irregular, faint. it's not a strong grip yet, simply resting there.
   fiyero, who leads with her heart first. fiyero, who makes it a point to love, no matter how undeserving those receiving may be.
   nobody has ever gotten this close. nobody ever will again.
   she slumps against aurelius when he releases his telekinetic hold on her. there's no resistance, no stubborn fighting. like the skin of a slain animal, she's slung over his body. her vision is barely there, swimming with tears and fading with blackness at the edges. she's not looking at him, she couldn't— if it weren't for the regenerative powers of a seraph, she'd be long gone.
   cradling her against his chest intimately. between the nothingness in her mind, the pulsing in her ears and mind, the pain so unbearable that she's growing numb with it. there's a flash of a thought manifesting barely, before fizzling out again—
   maybe if she closes her eyes, she can pretend she's cradled against zevran.
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kachowden · 2 years ago
Text
Yandere Ex & Reader? Hell yeah.
Tw: Harassment, physical assault (not towards reader), weirdo behavior, Chris is a dickhead, suggestive mentions.
His skin prickled aggressively. Teeth clenched together, grinding against their own enamel.
“Christophe? man? You seein anyone new recently?”
His eyes trailed listlessly to the right of him. Nick wasn’t anything special in his mind. Average teen with slightly above average looks in the eyes of the campus. A constant pain in his as, but- useful. Very useful.
“You know I’m not. And don’t call me Christophe.” His tone did little to hide his irritation, though Nick seemed oblivious to it. Or maybe he just didn’t care.
“Yeah yeah whatever man. Does that mean you’ve gotten over that Ex of yours?”
Christophe’s shoulders tensed violently.
“So they’re on the market then right?”
“Fuck yeah dude!”
Two other members of their group laughed crudely, their names so insignificant that Christophe hadn’t made the effort to remember them. They weren’t useful.
His brows furrowed deeply in agitation, and he was quick to shoot the two teens a burrowing glare. “You shut your fucken mouth.”
Nick laughed awkwardly, patting the fuming blonde on the back. “Now now Chris…they’re just messing with ya…”
One of the other members didn’t seem to agree, his own confrontational personality showing light as he crossed his arms moodily. “I don’t see why your panties are in a twist. Last time I checked you two broke up sophomore year. Don’t you think it’s about time you move on and let the rest of us have a taste?”
The moronic teen made a crude hand gesture towards his friend, who seemed to recognize the tension in the air, and made the wise decision to glance away from the act.
Smart move on his end.
The thud of a body against tile echoed the empty corridor, the perverse male choked and sputtered against the hand that crushed his throat.
“I’d watch my tongue if I were you. With all the shit you spew I’m surprised someone hasn’t cut it out yet and saved the rest of us the headache.”
Blue eyes stared at brown eyes, so dark they looked black, and made quick work to try and wiggle his way out of Christophe’s hold.
“F-fuck Off-!” A fist in his gut made him nearly hurl, his eyes straining and bugging painfully in his sockets from the blood rising to his face. His stomach heaved incessantly, and at this rate he found he might die from asphyxiation on his own bile. Not that he knew what asphyxiation was.
Christophe watched boredly.
“D-dude chill out-“ the other nameless tried to de-escalate the situation, but was quick to stop when he saw the look in Christophes eyes. “J…just say sorry man..” that was directed at the pinned idiot, his smart mouthed friend.
The blue faced male was sane enough to try and spew out an apology, it sounding disgustingly gurgled, though it was the best he could manage while on the verge of passing out. Christophe sneared, dropping the male to the floor.
The blue eyed teen landed to the floor with a heaving thud, his body contracting in its vicious attempts to breath again, his buddy sliding next to him and trying to keep him alive.
“Let’s go.”
Christophe’s indifferent tone was appealing at best, as he made his way down the corridor.Nick was quick to follow.
“You think they’ll snitch?”
A scoff.
“No. He’s stupid. Not suicidal.”
————-
There you were. Mindlessly reading. Fitting, since you were in a library.
This had become routine for Chris.
He found it in himself to admit he could stare at you for hours. And he had before.
It wasn’t hard too. What drew him to you now was the same thing that drew him to you before.
You were so….you. It was weird in a painfully charming way.
You were such a normal person. You had your own quirks, like everyone did. But you didn’t stand out. You weren’t popular. You weren’t a social outcast either. You were just…kinda there.
It was enthralling at the best of times. Irritating at the worst. Perfect at most.
He could acknowledge that your normalcy was intoxicating. Especially in his day to day life.
Christophe would never acknowledge however, the way he still clung to the sight of you after all these years. That your departure from him had affected him as much as it did. That would be soul crushing. Because it meant you still had power over him, which he very much knew you did. But he’d never admit it. Even to himself. He’d die parading it as some morbid interest in your breaking point. In his desire to study you like a lab rat. Someone he’d poke at until he got the reaction he wanted.
And he always got what he wanted.
But even then. Even if he claimed that, his interest in you was not romantic. Was not what it once was years ago.
Your skin looked so empty now, and he physically ached with the desire to leave marks on it like he once did.
He knew deep down he was lying.
The staring quickly became unsatisfactory, and with little hesitation he made his way over to your table, his hand slamming beside yours as he hovered over you, a cruel grin stretched on his lips.
“Looks like the nerd decide to hang out in its natural habitat today.”
“…..”
He fucken hated when you ignored him.
“Your friends finally ditch you Y/n? Surprised it took this long.” He didn’t mean that. If your friends had any sense they’d never leave you alone.
“Go away Christophe.”
Fuck.
He loved it when you said his name. Something primal always sprang forward, and you were none the wiser to being the only one who could call him that without getting a broken nose.
“Why? I just wanna hang out with my favorite person in the whole wide world~” his expression was pulled into a pitiful frown, though he knew you could see through his bullshit. You always could.
“……”
He growled deep within his throat, hand darting forward and snatching the book from your own
The sudden grin on his collar didn’t register until it was choking him, and his eyes were met with the sight of your scalding glare. Your noses bumped together, and it took everything in Christophe to not look at your lips, otherwise he knew he’d try to kiss them. He had very little self control in moments like these.
“Fuck off Chris. Give me back my book.”
Fuck he wanted to listen to you so bad, his thighs were quick to clench together in anticipation, licking his suddenly chapped lips as he trembled in your hold. Though not from fear like you probably suspected. If you were even paying attention to details like that, which- god he prayed you were.
“Careful-! Wouldn’t want the faculty seeing you manhandle their favorite student” He tossed the book to you, and once you caught it you dropped him to the ground.
His eyes darted upwards, the visual of you above him, staring at him like the filth on your boot was burned into his retinas.
Fuck fuck fuck.
“You’re pathetic Christophe. When are you gonna get over me.”
Never. Never, he would stay hooked on you for the rest of his life and he’d known that even before you both broke up
He’s craved you for years. Ages. You’d never know the true extent of how pathetic he was.
“Like I’d still be interested in someone like you Y/n. The end of our relationship was like a blessing. I’d never felt so alive.” Liar. Liar liar liar. It was painful saying these things. Even if your expression was exciting, the way he got to see it almost wasn’t worth it. They burned his tongue.
Being away from you was like being wrapped in heavy cuffs and weights. He felt more suffocated then ever. He needed you.
“Whatever. Just leave me alone this week. I have enough bullshit to deal with right now.”
He had so many questions. He wanted to ask what was wrong. To hold you and tell you that you could talk to him. That whatever, or whoever was bothering you, he’d beat the shit out of them if you asked. He’d do it even if you didn’t too.
But he stayed quiet. And he watched as you left him their on the floor. You cared so little for him.
He savored the backwards glance you threw his way.
Fuck.
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ophelia-writes-fics · 1 year ago
Text
i like when you get mad (i guess i'm pretty glad that you're alone) [kilgrave x reader - 18+]
You're a dancer at a club, and your shift just took a weird turn.
Tags (please read!): fem!reader, degradation, some mild praise, spanking, oral sex, face-fucking, cum swallowing, penetration, choking, erotic asphyxiation, unsafe/unprotected sex, face slapping, clit slapping, masochism (reader), sadism (kilgrave), humiliation, biting, scratching, bruising, some minor blood, threats, condescension, painplay, pain kink, minor bondage, edging, orgasm delay, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, mind control, mention of voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight dacryphilia, overstimulation, hair pulling, posessiveness
Word count: ~7.7k
CWs/TWs:
super dubious consent (reader likes him and consents to everything/is into the things they're doing without being compelled to, but some orders are given that can't be resisted and it's not pre-negotiated, so proceed with caution)
un-negotiated kink and unsafe choking/breathplay (i know you guys know but please don't choke anyone like this and please ask for consent in general but especially with kinks)
it's kilgrave. he's a walking red flag.
i'm not condoning anything irl, but this is fiction and i'm a kinky bitch, so i'm sexualizing this absolute maniac and i am having a lot of fun doing it lmao
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You were leaning against the bar, scanning the crowd as you took your first shot of the shift. It was Friday night, with most of the crowd being well-dressed men who looked like they’d just finished with a long day of work, which meant you’d be going home with enough tips to pay your rent early. 
The most eager members of the crowd were seated near the stage, where your friend had them utterly captivated with an elaborate pole routine, so you began to search the back of the house for customers who might want something more private. A group of college girls already drunk off Red Bull and vodka, cheering and shouting compliments at the dancers with the kind of unbridled joy and solidarity that only drunk girls can summon…a man who’d clearly been dragged there by his friends, his eyes glued to his phone, his blush visible even in the dimly lit club…a bouncer pulling a particularly belligerent customer towards the door…
There. On the other side of the room was a tall, sharp-featured man in a dark purple suit, sitting alone, looking thoroughly bored with the performance onstage, glancing over at you every now and again with what appeared to be a look of interest. Perfect. 
You quickly ran a hand through your hair, took a deep breath, and plastered on your most winningly seductive smile before strolling towards him with as much ease as you could muster in six-inch stilettos. 
“Hello there, love,” you purred, leaning forward against the table he was seated at. “Is there anything I can do for you tonight?” 
You thought you’d gotten every possible response to that question before. You’d seen everything from polite rejection to aggressive groping to desperate requests for friendship or conversation, but what you’d never experienced and certainly weren’t expecting was a glance up and down your body followed by a discontented sigh and a slight frown, then a “Fine. You’ll do.” 
You opened your mouth to tell the stranger off, but before you could, he held up a finger to silence you, then leaned in closer. 
“Take me to your most secluded room. Don’t ask any questions, don’t stop to talk to anyone. Go.” 
Your head immediately began to spin. Your brain felt cloudy, as if someone had swept every thought from your mind and replaced them with a thick, impenetrable fog. Before you could try to shake the feeling away, your body was already moving, walking briskly towards the back of the club, seemingly completely independently of your own will. Get to a private room echoed over and over, clouding all the other thoughts that you were desperately trying to muster. You felt wrong, like a puppet with your limbs being jerked around by some unseen controller, no free will of your own to be found. No, not a puppet, your mind vaguely registered. A doll. 
You heard one of your friends calling you, asking something or maybe just saying hello, but when you tried to turn your head to respond, don’t stop to talk to anyone pierced your skull like a shard of ice, ringing in your ears like an intrusive thought. You didn’t stop walking even for a second. You didn’t even look at your friend. Something was very, very wrong. 
Your stomach was in knots by the time you got to an empty room, your heart racing against your ribcage like a trapped bird against a windowpane. You leaned against the wall, trying desperately to steady yourself as the strange man followed you inside. 
“Lock the door,” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand. The door was closed and bolted shut before you even realized you’d moved. 
You tried to say, or even think What did you do to me? But the same cold, cloudy pain overtook your head. Don’t ask questions. You shut your eyes tightly and clenched your fist as your body swayed, shaken by the unfamiliar sensation, feeling your breath grow shallow with panic. When your vision refocused, you stared at the stranger, who was tossing his suit jacket aside, reclined lazily on the couch like he hadn’t a care in the world. He fixed you with an annoyed look. 
“God, don’t grimace like that. The least you could do is give me a smile.”
Your face rearranged itself into the same winning, seductively charming smile you’d had on earlier, but you could tell that your eyes weren’t engaged. He didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he didn’t seem to have noticed your fear at all, grinning back at you like the devil himself. 
“That’s more like it. Now, kneel for me. Arms by your sides, hands in your lap, chin up. There you are.” His smile widened as he watched your body automatically follow his orders. 
He stood up and began to pace in a slow circle around you. You felt his dark eyes piercing you, evaluating you, examining your body for any minor flaw or imperfection, even though your vision remained fixed straight ahead and your smile remained in place. The carpet dug into your knees, your stiletto heels stabbing the backs of your thighs. But still, you knelt, unmoving and obedient as he stroked your hair like you were a well-behaved pet. 
It felt good, you thought, feeling a knot in your stomach form at the realization. He was incredibly handsome, with fingers as long and slender as the rest of him. You might have invited him back here on your own even if he hadn’t performed what you were growing more and more sure of was mind control. The thought made your blood run cold, but at the same time, you could still feel how red your face was under his gaze. 
Your pulse quickened as he moved back around to face you, still with that same analytical stare. His eyes lingered on your chest as he bent down slightly, moving his hand to caress the side of your face. His thumb brushed your lower lip, still frozen in place from where he had ordered you to smile. 
“Open your mouth,” he said, and you obeyed, with another rush of arousal immediately followed by shame. He pressed his finger against your tongue, eyebrows raising as you moaned at the touch. 
He pressed harder, still keeping his hand firmly on your jaw. “You like this, don’t you? Tell me the truth, don’t hold back.” His voice was low, his tone vaguely threatening in a way you couldn’t quite place.
You nodded, mouth still agape. Your face flushed at the eagerness of your response, the embarrassment at finding pleasure in being controlled so thoroughly sinking deeper and deeper into you. You’d never felt anything like it, and the adrenaline from the initial terror of being manipulated was quickly turning into an aphrodisiac when combined with your attraction to him. 
He scoffed - a short, mocking laugh. “My god,” he grinned, straightening up. “Then you can consider yourself a very, very lucky girl.” The swell of pride in your chest wasn’t at all hindered by the way his tone darkened; you couldn’t even tell if you were genuinely delighted at having impressed him or if you were just following his orders and “considering yourself lucky.” From the way your brain clouded over and the way your cunt tightened onto nothing, it might have been both. You groaned slightly at the feeling, then quickly bit down on your lip to try and suppress the sound. 
If he noticed, he gave no outward expression. Instead, he reclined back onto the couch, his legs falling open slightly, and he beckoned you forward with a wave of his hand. 
“Come here. You can kneel at my feet where you belong.” The way he said it was so light, so casual that you could tell he wasn’t trying to be dominant or turn you on. He just genuinely believed it. God, the ego on him. Still, you started to climb to your feet to walk over. 
However, before you could even stand all the way up, he raised a hand to stop you. “Ah-ah-ah. No, none of that. You can crawl. You look ridiculous walking around in those shoes anyway.” 
You collapsed back to your knees, cringing slightly at the bruises you knew you would have tomorrow as you crawled towards him. 
“Good girl, so you do know your place,” he said, his tone taking on a thick layer of condescension as he patted your head. “Tell me, how often do you sleep with your clients here?” He barely even looked at you as he asked, staring off into the distance as if you were boring him. 
“Never,” you replied immediately. 
“Never?” He raised his eyebrows, sparing you a quick, scrutinizing glance. “Then what exactly do you do in little rooms like these?” 
“Private stripteases. Lap dances. I let some touch me if they pay me enough,” you answered truthfully, realizing only after you’d spoken that he hadn’t ordered you to do so. You prayed silently that your answer was good enough. A voice in the back of your head questioned why you were so desperate for his approval, but it was quickly overcome by another wave of lust. 
Despite the work you did, it had been far, far too long since you’d been fucked, especially by a man as pretty as the one seated in front of you. And as much as you hated to admit it even to yourself, whatever power he had was one that you desperately wanted him to use on you. You’d never been so scared or so turned on in your life, and your deep masochistic streak was begging for more. 
The man snapped his thin fingers an inch away from your face, snapping you out of your thoughts. You blinked hard, realizing you hadn’t heard a single thing he said since you answered his last question. 
“Hey,” he reprimanded sharply, punctuated with a hard slap to the side of your face. “Snap out of it. God, what’s the point of sitting around here with you if you’re not even going to listen?” 
“No, wait, I’m sorry, I just—“ 
He cut you off with a disgusted roll of his eyes. “Don’t grovel. If you’re sorry, find a way to make it up to me.” 
You swallowed hard, nodding your head, mind racing. Your eyes flicked down to his lap, then back up to his face. 
“May I…well…I mean, would you like me to…” you stammered, mentally kicking yourself for how timid you sounded. 
“What? Spit it out,” he snapped. 
“Can I please suck your dick, please?” The request was out of your mouth before you even had time to process it. 
He laughed again, the same sharp mocking laugh he’d given you earlier, fixing you with a self-satisfied smile. “Oh, you really are desperate, aren’t you? Fine. Hurry up and start. Make it good.” 
Of course, you followed his orders. The ice-cold feeling that came with trying to resist felt entirely foreign to you now, and the brain fog that set over you whenever he gave a command barely had time to take hold before you obeyed. 
You started slowly, gently licking the tip of his dick before gradually working your way down, letting your mouth adjust to the length, pressing your tongue against him as you gently bobbed your head. 
While you were still struggling to take even half of his dick in your mouth, he roughly grabbed your hair, and without warning, shoved your head down to the base of his cock. 
You choked hard, tears immediately streaming down your face, but you couldn’t get even a second of relief with the way he held you firmly in place. You took a deep breath in through your nose, but the air was immediately knocked from your lungs as he pulled your head back, then shoved you back down, thrusting forcefully into the back of your throat. You gave a stifled cry and frantically grasped at his leg, trying to get leverage to break away, but you felt him slap your hand away before pinning it against the couch cushion. 
“You can take it. You want to impress me, don’t you? Stop struggling and let me fuck your throat.”
Your body went limp, all reflexes to break away and gasp for air vanishing in an instant. You could feel yourself choking, your face dripping with spit and tears, but you didn’t care. Both his hands were twisted in your hair, pulling hard, shoving your mouth onto his cock over and over again like you were a toy. You moaned desperately, half from pain and half from delirious pleasure. After what felt like ages, he ripped you away, forcing you to look into his dark eyes.
“Put some fucking effort into it,” he hissed, releasing your hair from his wrenching grasp. “Show me why I shouldn’t get rid of you right now.” 
You immediately set to work, taking as much of him as you could in your mouth and stroking what you couldn’t take with your right hand. You didn’t know what “getting rid of you” would entail. You didn’t doubt for a second that he could kill you. You felt briefly concerned that this didn’t turn you off in the slightest before your thoughts were pulled back to the task at hand. 
You sucked hard, running your tongue against the most sensitive places you knew of, gently teasing him, just enough to hopefully make him feel as desperate as you did. Your efforts were immediately rewarded with a low moan that became an almost feral growl, feeling him thrust upward involuntarily. You doubled down, relishing in every sound you could draw from him. 
He exhaled sharply when you pulled back, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock and flicking your tongue, tasting the pre-cum that dripped from him. He reached out, hand tangling in your hair again, but not quite as hard as before. 
“Right there,” he sighed, holding your head in place, eyes shut tightly. “Fuck, there you go, right there, just like that, harder…oh, god, what a good fucking girl you are…” As you felt him get closer and closer, listening to the way he moaned for you, you felt yourself grow hot all over, more and more desperate to feel him let go, to cum down your throat.
 You whined sharply, pushing even further, your body aching all over with unfulfilled desire. You took every single inch of him, swallowing hard around his cock, pressing your nose to his stomach, ignoring the way your throat tightened and instead focusing on how badly you wanted him, how terribly you wanted to impress him…
Your efforts paid off immediately when he forcibly pinned you where you were, grabbing your hair as he came with a rough, broken shout, his cum hitting the back of your throat. 
After what felt like ages, you felt him collapse backward against the couch cushions. You pulled away, quickly swallowing the mouthful you’d accumulated, then opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to show him how well you’d taken it. 
He softly laughed, peering at you with a slightly unfocused look before closing his eyes again, still on cloud nine, chest rising and falling quickly as the overwhelming pleasure slowly subsided. 
You leaned your head against his inner thigh, gazing up at him with a lovestruck stare. He looked so vulnerable like this, open and overwhelmed with all the sensations flooding him, a slight smile on his lips.
 A man with all the power in the world, everything he could ever want only a few words away, everyone wrapped around his little finger, and yet here he was, your head between his legs, absolutely radiant in the afterglow of his orgasm. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. 
He really is cute, you thought, even if he is terrifying. You examined his face carefully, taking in every detail — his sharp cheekbones, his thin nose, his dark eyelashes, the soft pink of his lips, the curve of his jawline and neck. There was something almost delicate about him, hidden by how deeply intimidating he was, and you hadn’t noticed it until now. He was just…well, he was just so pretty. There was just no other word for it, even now (or maybe especially now) that his sophisticated appearance was ruffled. His hair, once perfectly combed, was messy, a few dark strands falling into his eyes. His pristine suit was wrinkled, jacket long discarded, his tie partially undone, his shirtsleeves hastily rolled up, his belt and pants unfastened, and to top it all off, his gorgeous cock resting against his stomach, still half-hard. He was a fucking vision. You could have stared at him for ages. 
You gently tapped his leg to get his attention. “You know, I don’t actually think I caught your name,” you said, batting your eyelashes a bit. Your smile faded when you were met with a cold silence. He shook his head, straightening up and brushing his hair back into place. 
“You don’t need to know my name,” he snapped, all the bliss from a moment ago having vanished as he pushed you aside, readjusting his clothes. 
You sat back, thoroughly dejected. You had thought you’d done well. You wanted to make him feel good, and you had, but it wasn’t enough. You shouldn’t have felt like this about one of your clients, but you’d never met anyone else like him, and you wanted more. 
Your heart sped up as he reached for his jacket. Gathering his things meant he would leave, and an impulse deep inside you was yelling at you to do something. This wasn’t a job anymore, you needed him. He’d gotten you in the palm of his hand, desperate and wanting, and now that you had done what he wanted, he was acting like you were invisible. You weren’t going to let things go that easily. 
You pulled yourself up onto the couch, ignoring the ache in your knees and the pain on the backs of your thighs where your high heels had dug into your skin. Before he could react, you climbed onto his lap, facing him, arms around his shoulders. You’d never broken your “no kissing clients” rule, but that rule was the furthest thing from your mind as you leaned in for a kiss, pressing your lips firmly against his. 
With your eyes closed tightly, you barely even realized he had shoved you away until you landed on your back against the leather of the couch. Your eyes snapped open, finding the man standing before you, with a look on his face that was a mix of anger and bewilderment and something else you couldn’t quite place. He opened his mouth as if preparing to ask you something, but he closed it again, turning away from you. You bit your lip as he paced slowly, his hand over his eyes. Had you read the situation wrong? Was he ashamed that he’d come back here with you? Did he not like being kissed? Had you come on too strong? Was it over the line? 
Your heart skipped a beat as he stopped, focusing fully on you. You felt cornered, like a prey animal about to be devoured. He looked angry, vengeful, his already dark eyes completely devoid of light as he approached you. 
“Strip, then bend over the couch, facing the wall. Now.” 
Chills ran down your spine as you quickly undressed. You hadn’t been wearing much before, but naked, you felt completely exposed under his cold glare. You reluctantly turned away, the brain fog coming back like a tidal wave in response to your slight resistance, and you bent over, just like he’d told you to do. You could feel yourself shaking, terrified at the idea of what he would do to you, but with a hint of anticipation that kept you from falling off the edge into panic. 
You closed your eyes tightly and tried to ground yourself in the brief moments of silence, waiting for whatever would come next, but they shot open as soon as you felt the sharp, unmistakable shock of his belt whipping you across the backs of your thighs at full force. 
You cried out involuntarily, from shock and from the stinging, nearly unbearable pain. You hadn’t even had time to compose yourself when the second hit came, the pain intensifying as he struck the same place even harder. Your skin burned and you felt your eyes well up with tears, but you could feel the heat of arousal inside you growing, your masochistic side alight with pleasure. You wanted more. 
“Fuck!” you gasped as he landed a series of quick, searing lashes across your thighs and ass. Your nails dug into the couch as you bit your lip, trying to stifle a scream as the metal buckle whipped into your skin. Your head spun. It stung, so badly you could barely take it, but it felt fucking incredible, endorphins and adrenaline coursing through your body, making every sensation electric as he kept going, relentlessly striking you over and over again. 
You were granted a temporary reprieve when he leaned in close to your ear, running his fingernails down your back, hard enough that you knew there would be marks tomorrow. 
“Don’t even think about holding back,” he hissed, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “I want everyone outside this room to hear you scream for mercy, and I want everyone to know you’re not going to get it.” 
Immediately he resumed his punishment, the sound of the belt hitting you again and again echoing off the walls. Your body instinctively followed his orders and you felt yourself cry out involuntarily, a broken sound halfway between a gasp and a yell. You barely even registered it as your own voice. 
Thwack. 
A particularly brutal hit made you cry out, arching your back in a desperate attempt to ease the pain. 
“Fuck, please…” you begged, feeling like you were on the verge of fainting. 
“‘Please’ what?”
Thwack. 
Thwack. 
The ice cold feeling shot through your brain like a lightning strike. Beg for mercy. Scream for it. You desperately wanted to, but at the same time…
“Harder, fuck, please, harder!” 
The words were out of your mouth before you even realized you’d spoken them. Immediately, the room fell silent. You gasped for air, still reeling from the searing pain and the frigid ache of trying to resist him. 
He took hold of your hair without warning, yanking your head around to look at him. 
“Repeat that,” he snapped. 
“I— I want it harder,” you panted, trying to force your blurred vision to focus. 
A long, tense pause. 
“You like this.” It wasn’t a question. 
“Yes, god, yes.” 
“Of fucking course you do.” 
He grabbed you, turning you around forcefully so that you were facing him, then without warning, his hands were wrapped around your neck, so tightly that you couldn’t even take a moment to breathe in, your windpipe fully constricted.  
“I bet you like this too, don’t you?” he muttered through gritted teeth. 
You nodded desperately, as best you could with your neck being held firmly in place. 
“Listen to me,” he growled. “You live and die by my orders. You have no other purpose but to please me, do you understand? Just look at you. I could do anything to you and you would love it. You get off on being whipped, you get off on being choked half to death…I could beat you senseless and you would cum from it.” 
You moaned in ecstasy, but it came out as barely a whimper. You could feel your heartbeat in your temples, your vision going dark around the edges as his fingers dug into your neck. 
“I’m going to do whatever I want to you. That’s all you’re good for. Do you understand?”
You tried to answer, but you couldn’t move. Your head was pounding, your throat feeling like it was about to be crushed. You saw stars, multicolored lights popping in and out of your vision. The darkness around the edges was rapidly expanding, bleeding further and further into your line of sight until you couldn’t see at all. 
At the last possible moment, before you could feel yourself slip over the edge into unconsciousness, he let go, dropping your limp body and watching you gasp for air, coughing and retching as you struggled to breathe in after being deprived of oxygen for so long. 
“Pathetic,” he scoffed, glaring down at you like you were nothing more than dust. 
You lowered your head, thoroughly humiliated, pressing your forehead against your knees as you gulped in mouthful after mouthful of oxygen, mind racing. He could have killed you. He could have choked you to death without a second thought and you wouldn’t have been able to stop him, you told yourself, but still, in the deepest parts of your mind, the danger thrilled you. 
You needed him to touch you, to hurt you, to ruin you. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted to you, and the thought made your stomach ache with terror as much as it turned you on. 
He caressed your hair in a way that would have almost seemed tender if he hadn’t just strangled you half to death. You looked up slightly, and he tilted your chin up so you were face to face. He moved your head slightly to one side, then the other, examining you carefully, and smiled with a sick satisfaction. 
“You’ll have bruises on your neck for a week,” he praised with a slap to your cheek. You moaned softly at the impact, closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling. 
He bent down, picking you up ever so slightly to rearrange your body in the position he wanted, laying you down and spreading your legs. You could see from your position how hard he was. Your pain had turned him on as much as it had done to you. 
You stared up at him as he admired his work, stroking his cock as he gazed at the bruises and welts and scratches he’d left on your skin.  
“Come here,” you pleaded, your voice still raw and hoarse from being choked, spreading your legs further. 
He was immediately on top of you, his thin hips pressed against yours, hands wrapped tightly around your wrists. “Don’t you dare give me orders,” he spat, but despite the venom behind it, you could tell from the way his hips rubbed against you that he was as desperate as you were. You felt his cock brush against your clit as he bit down hard on your neck, surely adding yet another bruise to the collection you’d accumulated. 
You bit your lip, wanting him to just stop teasing, to hurry up and fuck your brains out, but as you were considering whether or not to try and resist his don’t give orders command, you felt the tip of his dick press against your entrance. You’d known it was big, your aching throat was doing an excellent job at reminding you of that, but you still couldn’t stifle a gasp at the feeling. It was just a whole different experience like this. 
The beautiful man above you gave you a look that sent chills down your spine. 
“You want it,” he whispered, leaning in so close he could have kissed you. 
You nodded eagerly, fixing him with a pleading gaze. You hadn’t needed the command in the slightest. 
“Beg.” 
“Please…” you whined, your nails digging into your palms as you clenched your hands into fists, struggling to keep still. “Please, please…”
“Not good enough. Beg harder.” You had no idea how he managed to sound thoroughly indifferent, even while he was this hard.
Your already racing heartbeat quickened. “Please, I’m begging you, fuck me, take me, ruin me, do anything you want to me, I —fuck— I need it, I need it so badly, please, I’ll do anything…”
That same sadistic, terrifying little smile crept across his face. “Anything?” 
“Yes, anything, just please, god, fuck me!” 
“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmured, before roughly thrusting into you, as deep as he could possibly get, without giving you so much as a second to adjust. 
You couldn’t even try to hold back a scream, and he had the nerve to laugh in your face as he slapped his hand over your mouth. 
“Oh, careful, don’t shout like that! They’ll think I’m doing something horrible to you in here,” he grinned, punctuating his words with hard, deep strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside you. “It sounds like you’re in absolute agony. But we both know better than that, don’t we?”
He picked up the pace, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder to fuck you deeper than you’d thought possible. 
“You know, I really thought that you’d put up a little more of a fight,” he continued, almost nonchalant despite the grin on his face and the vicious pounding he was giving your sensitive cunt. “I thought I’d have to order you to get off on the pain, or that I’d have to bash your pretty head against the wall to get you to listen. But I got lucky, didn’t I? I just happened to come across the most disgusting, most depraved little whore in the city, so eager and willing to listen, to take whatever I give you.” 
The hand that wasn’t keeping you quiet brushed against a sensitive spot on your inner thigh and you all but melted, whimpering with pleasure underneath him as he fucked you harder. 
“Oh, that’s it, let me hear you moan,” he said, throwing his head back with a growl, pulling his hand away from your mouth. “You don’t care who hears, do you? I bet you like it. I bet you love knowing that all your little friends and all your clients are hearing you get your pretty cunt ruined by a complete stranger, don’t you? You like them knowing that I hit you and choked you and you still let me fuck you like this. You just love that everyone knows that you get off on me hurting you, that everyone knows you’re just a desperate slut for pain.” He punctuated the last word with a hard, backhanded slap across your face. 
You nodded frantically, moaning your assent, hands grasping at his arms, holding on for dear life as he completely wrecked you. You felt him grin as he leaned in to bite your neck, his tongue darting over your sensitive skin as he did so. 
Your hand wandered, finding its way to his dark hair, and you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers through it, pulling ever so slightly, not wanting to risk his wrath again but unable to resist the temptation. Your eyes widened with surprise when he gasped and moaned, his teeth temporarily leaving your neck before he recovered and bit you again, much harder, this time on a sensitive spot just below your jaw that made you cry out. When he was satisfied with the mark he’d left, he broke away. 
“You know what would be fun?” he teased, his tone menacing as he roughly grabbed your breast. You shook your head, unable to take your eyes off him. “I’d just love to see what it would be like if you weren’t such an easy little slut.” He paused, running his hand up your body, admiring the marks he’d left with a self-satisfied look. 
“Put up a fight for me. That way, I can show you exactly how filthy whores like you deserve to be treated.” He sat up, his fingers clutching your hips so hard that you knew they’d leave even more bruises on your already aching body, never once faltering in his steady pace. 
You flew into action immediately, frantically trying to push him away, trying to kick hard enough to get him off of you, despite the fact that your body was still aching for more. He laughed, a quick cruel sound, almost surprised by how readily you threw yourself into the role of his struggling victim, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them down above your head without missing a beat, leaving you even more helpless than you already were. 
You moaned, feeling the way his dick throbbed inside you when you struggled harder, trying in vain to remove yourself from his grasp. Fucking sadist. You thrashed harder, your body still reflexively following his orders, but to no avail; he had you completely pinned in place. 
Almost without realizing you were doing so, you jerked your head upward, biting the exposed skin between his neck and shoulder and digging your teeth in hard, barely even noticing how fiercely you had latched onto him until you tasted blood. 
“Fuck!” he shouted, letting go of your wrists, hands immediately moving to grab your shoulders.  You let go with a sharp inhale the moment you realized what you’d done, horrified at your own actions. He roughly shoved you down, forcing your mouth away, still fucking you harder than you thought possible. 
“God, I should fucking kill you for that, I really, really should,” he growled. He turned his head slightly to look at the bite you’d left, scowling when he saw the blood beginning to seep into the collar of his shirt. He let go of one of your shoulders to grab your chin, forcing you to stare at the damage you’d caused. 
“Look at what you did,” he spat through gritted teeth, with a wild, almost manic look in his eyes. “You think you have the right to do that? The right to defile me like that after I’ve taken such good care of you? Answer me.” 
You bit your tongue, wanting to point out that ‘taking good care of you’ had involved beating you black and blue with a belt, choking you half to death with his dick, and then strangling you until you were nearly unconscious. Sure, you’d enjoyed all of it, but still. 
“Answer me,” he repeated, harsher this time. “Or I swear to god I’ll kill you.” 
“You told me to fight back!” The words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, pettiness entering your voice despite the murderous look in his eyes that made it very clear he had been expecting you to beg for forgiveness. 
He stopped moving completely. He was still all the way inside you, and you could barely stop yourself from grinding your hips against him to try and get yourself off, but you didn’t dare move. The hand that had been gripping your jaw released, moving upward to pat your cheek gently. 
“I did tell you to fight back, didn’t I?” He was mocking you, his tone sickly sweet and condescending, like you were a particularly petulant child that he was trying to discipline. Against your better judgment, or maybe just to see what he’d do about it, you nodded. 
Before you could even realize what was happening, you were in terrible pain, a pain that knocked the air out of your lungs, your eyes immediately streaming with tears from the impact. 
It took you a moment to process that he had just punched you in the face as hard as he possibly could. 
You instinctively doubled over, curling into a ball, body and mind reeling from the blow. Your ears were ringing, your vision clouded over. It felt like your brain had been shaken vigorously inside your skull, nausea welling up inside you at the sensation, all of it so severe you were afraid you might faint.
In your dazed state, you could barely absorb what he was saying to you, only catching snippets here and there: “...didn’t fucking tell you to ruin my shirt…going to show you…disgusting girls like you…”
You felt something being wrapped around your wrists as he manhandled you so that your arms were above your head. He’d bound you up with his tie, you realized, feeling the delicate silk against your aching skin. You opened your eyes as you felt his hands on your ankles, roughly pulling you so that you were lying with your legs spread for him. There was, you observed as your vision refocused, a decent bit of blood on the collar and shoulder of his shirt, a stain that you were positive would never come out. What a shame. Probably a designer shirt, too. Must have been expensive. 
You were shocked back into reality by him throwing your legs over his shoulders, bending you in half, once again filling your cunt with a hard thrust. Despite the pain still throbbing behind your eyes, which was slowly receding, you were still so, so desperate for him. You’d been close when he’d stopped, and in your hypersensitive state, you could feel your pleasure building rapidly, and before long you were writhing in his arms.
“Please, don’t stop, please,” you begged, barely even processing the words that were coming out of your own mouth. “I’m so close, I need it, please, please, I need to cum, don’t stop…”
“No,” he snapped, giving you a furious glare. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You don’t get to cum. I wouldn’t have let you cum even before you bit me like a rabid animal. What makes you think you deserve it now?” His last word broke off with an involuntary groan, his pace growing erratic in a way that told you he was close to a second orgasm. He inhaled sharply, collecting himself before doubling down. “Don’t cum. No matter how close you get, hold it. Do you hear me? Do. Not. Cum.”
Despite his orders, you felt your muscles begin to tighten, your pleasure mounting in a way that normally would have sent you over the edge, but nothing happened. You physically couldn’t cum. The feeling just kept building and building, far past what you thought was your breaking point, never stopping, overwhelming you to near-madness and never giving you a moment’s relief, and you bit your lip to stifle a scream. 
“Oh, don’t try to act all pitiful now,” he growled, punctuating it with a hard slap to your already oversensitive clit that made you cry out. “You know damn well that you earned this. And if you ever try to bite me like that again, I’ll make this permanent, do you hear me?”
Your eyes flew open, widening in terror. He couldn’t do that. Could he? 
The look on his face told you that he absolutely could. 
“Oh, it’d wear off eventually,” he purred, leaning in closer as if he were about to kiss you, his fingers just barely teasing your clit, his delicate touch unbearable in your hypersensitive state. “But I could tell you not to cum, over and over and over again, and you’d have no choice not to obey. I could keep you this close for days, weeks, months, maybe years if I wanted to, and drag you around with me like a needy little pet. I could order you to follow me around, to never leave my side. I could put you on a leash. I could parade you naked all over town, let everyone see how badly you want me, even with bruises and cuts all over you.” The thought sent a painful jolt of arousal through you, your legs shaking as you tried desperately to keep yourself from moaning at the idea. He grinned at you, making it very, very clear that you were doing a terrible job at hiding it. 
“Oh, of course that turns you on. Fucking depraved, aren’t you? Are you like this for everyone you meet, or do you just want me that badly?” 
You couldn’t form a concrete thought, let alone focus hard enough to give him an answer, but you knew his monstrous ego would love it if you could. You just wanted him that badly. 
His hand wrapped around your neck, not quite enough to choke you but hard enough so that you felt the marks from when he had. “God, who would have thought that this would be so fun? Beating and fucking a pathetic little thing like you, I barely had to order you to do a thing,” he teased, panting as he fucked you faster. “I’m going to cum inside you, and you’re going to like it. Beg for it. Do it. Now.” 
“Please,” You gasped for air, voice coming out as a choked whisper. You were in agony, every inch of your body burning with pain and anticipation and need for an orgasm that kept building and just wouldn’t happen. Burning hot tears were streaming down your face; you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to. “Please, do it, cum inside me, I don’t care what happens, I need it, just…” 
Your pleading broke off into a desperate wail as he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. Even the gentle motion, combined with every other sensation you were feeling, was absolute torture, too much for you to bear. He grinned as you pulled away, trying to escape any more stimulation. 
“Oh, god, you look so damned pathetic…oh, god, fine, do it, cum for me, I want to see you break, just do it now--” His voice cracked, his hands desperately clutching at your hair as he came inside you with a desperate moan, feeling you tighten around him, burying his face in the crook of your neck.  
Your body went completely rigid at his command and you came hard, the feeling so intense that it felt like your skin was burning all over. You were vaguely aware that you were thanking him, over and over, unable to control the words coming out of your mouth. He silenced you with a forceful kiss, the first one he’d given you all night, and you melted into his touch, thoroughly overwhelmed. 
You felt his hips twitch, still riding out the last of his orgasm as you deliriously wrapped yourself around him, clinging on for dear life, moaning with ecstasy. 
Finally, he broke away from the kiss, and your body fell limp, overstimulated past your breaking point, so much so that you vaguely wondered how you were still conscious. Your legs dropped from where he had propped them on his shoulders and you lay there, trembling like a leaf, feeling the warmth of his cum inside you. 
When you finally collected yourself enough to see straight, you worked your wrists out of the now-loose binding of his tie, then raised your head to look at the man still lying on top of you. His head had dropped onto your chest, his eyes closed. He looked so still and gentle that you wondered if he was asleep.
You reached down, stroking his hair gently with shaking hands, remembering how much he’d liked it before. You wanted to have this little moment of vulnerability with him before he went all cold and ruthless again. He sighed, pressing himself further into your bare chest and wrapping his arms around you. You couldn’t hold back a smile as pride swelled inside you. You felt like you’d tamed some kind of monster, and really, you thought to yourself, you had. You could practically feel the bliss radiating off of him along with the warmth of his skin against yours. 
You leaned your head back, staring at the ceiling as you gathered yourself. You were sore all over. Your muscles burned from how tight they’d been for so long, your throat ached when you swallowed, and you still had a pounding headache from the punch to your face and the way he’d choked you. Your body had already begun to bruise, but you couldn’t stop smiling.
“It’s Kilgrave.” 
You looked up, vision still slightly clouded with pleasure. “Hmm?” His face was turned away, expression hidden. 
“My name. Kilgrave.” 
You grinned harder. You’d won.
“It’s pretty,” you giggled, giving his hair a playful ruffle. 
He quickly smacked your hand away, sitting up and pulling out of you with a scoff. Ah. There he was. 
“Shut up. Don’t even think about it.” 
“What?”
“You know what,” he snapped, reaching for his jacket. “Don’t play innocent now, especially not when you look like that.” 
You glanced down at your body. He had absolutely wrecked you, but your smile never faded as you looked back at him. 
He rolled his eyes, but there was no venom behind it, or at least none that you could detect. “Filthy little thing,” he muttered, re-buttoning his shirt. 
You sat up, stretching your sore muscles as he composed himself quickly. You were amazed at how he could go from looking absolutely delirious with pleasure one moment to looking like this the next, all put together and polished as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. 
“And where are you off to?” you said, glancing around the room, trying to find where he had tossed your clothes after you’d taken them off. 
“You don’t need to know that.” He walked quickly towards the door, but paused as he realized that you were still looking at him. He sighed with frustration, but still turned around to look back at you. 
“I’ll be back next week, if I decide you’re good enough for me to use again. In the meantime, don’t even think about opening your legs for anyone else, do you understand? I don’t want you catching anything and giving it to me.” His tone was bitter, but you could still sense something almost fond behind his words. “Now, once I leave, you’ll wait five minutes, then go out there and put on the best show of your life for all those sad desperate men out there, with my cum dripping down your thighs. Understand?” 
Ah, you realized. Not fondness. Possessiveness. Even better. You nodded, barely managing to suppress another proud grin. He gave you what you assumed was supposed to be a contemptful look before turning again to leave, but he might as well have given you a kiss on the forehead with how good it made you feel.
“Bye, Kilgrave,” you called as he left, giving him a playful wave. 
He looked back. He didn’t answer, but the facade slipped for just a moment as he blew you a quick kiss, and then he was gone, grinning like a man who had all the power in the world as he closed the door behind him. 
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A/N: this is the first part of a series! if there's enough interest, i'll post the next parts :) Like, rb, and/or follow if you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!
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