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gurokiitty · 5 days

Note

hii could I get somnophilia with lawrence, maybe some stockholm syndrome too?

a/n: ooo sure!! i luv writing somno :3c

MYCELIAL

{ lawrence oleander x f! reader }

word count: 1.0k

warnings/tags: NSFW, noncon, somnophilia, stockholm syndrome, somewhat obsessive reader, touching, kissing, grinding, brief mention of necrophilia, violence, choking, ambiguous end.

There was something magnetic about the daylight—something that transformed the ordinary into the extraordinary, casting a golden hue over the mundane. It was during these hours that Lawrence found respite, his nocturnal nature demanding slumber while the sun soared high in the sky. His apartment, bathed in warm light filtering through the windows, seemed a world away from the darkness that usually enveloped him. And it was during these stolen moments that you found yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the pull of your twisted fascination. With his guard down and vulnerability laid bare, he became yours to touch and explore.

As he slept, the rise and fall of his chest had a slow, hypnotic rhythm. His face was serene, softened from the sharpness that defined his waking hours. You watched him, heart pounding, a mixture of fear and longing swirling within you. The morning light caressed his features, turning them into something softer, almost gentle. The blanket laid just below his ribs, revealing his bare chest, where the sun painted shadows across his skin. And his long, golden hair fanned out across the pillow, framing his face in a halo of gold. He was a beautiful, ethereal being, lying there and vulnerable—you couldn't help but reach out.

You started with his hair, running your fingers through the soft strands, marvelling at how different he seemed when he was asleep. The detachment and unpredictability melted away, leaving behind a man who was sensitive, reactive, and utterly receptive to your touch. It was intoxicating.

You traced the lines of his face, your touch feather-light, afraid to wake him but unable to stop yourself. His skin was lukewarm, the stubble on his jaw rough against your fingertips. You moved down to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. The sensation sent a thrill through you, a reminder that, despite everything, he was still human—tender and unknowing. Even in this state, you craved his touch, his attention; just as much as you feared the consequences.

Pressing your lips against his neck, you kissed him softly, his sweat lingering on your tongue. His scent, earthy and sickly sweet, grounded you; tethered you to this strange, dark reality that you had come to accept—even crave. You were like mould, thriving in the shadows of his world, clinging to him, and feeding off the dark corners of his existence.

Lawrence stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping him. You froze, your heart hammering, but he did not wake. Emboldened, your hand wandered beneath the blanket, trailing down his torso, fingers ghosting over the taut muscles. He was so responsive in sleep, so different from the aloof man who held you captive. His gentle breaths sent heat pooling in your core.

You slid closer, your body moulding to his contours. His warmth seeped into you like a silent invitation, enticing you to nestle along his side. Carefully, you pried the thin blanket from him, exposing the smooth expanse of his skin and the subtle rise and fall of his chest. You then draped a leg over his, your thigh brushing against his hip. Slowly, you straddled him, positioning yourself above his crotch, your heart pounding with a dangerous thrill.

As you settled your weight onto him, your breath caught in your throat at the sensation of his bulge against the thin fabric of your underwear. You began to move, your hips undulating in slow, deliberate circles, feeling the heat of him beneath you. His breath hitched, blending reality with whatever dreams he was lost in. His pelvis then bucked softly, a subconscious response to the friction.

A flush spread across your skin as you bit your lip, stifling a moan. The sensation was almost overwhelming as you ground harder against him, your underwear damp with arousal. Your palms found his chest, resting gently on his muscles for support. The softness of his skin, the gentle rhythm of his breathing, and the intimacy of the moment created a heady mix that left you dizzy with desire. You leaned forward, your breaths mingling with his own, as if this closeness breathed life into you.

Lawrence's face twisted in pleasure and confusion, his brows furrowing as his subconscious grappled with the unfamiliar weight of your body. He was accustomed to partners who were cold, unresponsive; but you were so warm and wet—a cadaver in waiting.

You flinched at the thought, a gentle pressure building in your core with each, desperate roll of your hips. You could feel him hardening beneath you, his soft moans and gasps spurring you on as you rubbed needily against him. With one final grind, you felt the wave of release wash over you, your body shuddering as you came. A strangled moan escaped your lips, the sound raw and desperate, waking Lawrence from his slumber.

With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, his eyes flew open, confusion clouding his gaze. A deep crimson heat flushed his cheeks as his expression shifted to shock, then anger. His hands shot up, gripping your hips with a painful intensity before jerking your pliant body off his own. You hit the floor with a sharp thud, the impact knocking the air from your lungs.

As you lay there, dazed and disoriented, Lawrence loomed over you, his features contorted with disgust and embarrassment. His chest heaved as he glared down at you, his grip on your hips now replaced by the cold, suffocating pressure of his hands around your throat.

"W-What the hell were you doing!?" his voice was low, trembling, as his fingers tightened behind your nape. The edges of your vision blurred, but amidst the fear, there was an undeniable thrill—a twisted fulfillment. With a weak, shaky breath, you managed to smile up at him, your lips curling in a fragile, almost serene grin.

You couldn't help but notice how he was still hard, his erection straining against the fabric of his sweatpants, creating an unmistakable outline. The sight only intensified your delirious contentment, as if his body's betrayal filled the void left by your captivity. Despite the constriction, you felt euphoric, basking with Lawrence in the sun's warm, golden embrace.

#yyyyyyhyhhhh finally done sorry #btd x reader #lawrence oleander #btd lawrence #btd2 lawrence #lawrence oleander x reader #anon requests

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gurokiitty · 5 days

Text

Local German man should be in prison

#he's so yummy #canadian psycho #big thighs... straining against his khakis #... WOOF

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gurokiitty · 9 days

Text

haiii, everyone!! i'm slowly working through the requests, i took a little break after buying bg3 (lol), but i will gradually finish them all! thank you for your patience and kind words <3 they're very encouraging!

anyways, here's my tav, she's a wood half-elf druid <33

#law fic upcomig!!!#sorry for the long wait for those of you who sent requests 2 weeks ago #i will finish them! i just didn't want anyone to feel that i was ignoring their request #buuuut... anyone else play bg3??#bg3 dark fics ? 🧐#nashie's updates

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gurokiitty · 13 days

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hii!! i love all of ur writing and headcannons so much, would there be any chance you could write about strade kidnapping reader who just so happens to be a virgin? he knows about this thanks to some talking beforehand at the bar and later brings it up. he ends up taking their virginity (unwanted hehe) thanks a lot if u write this !! 🙈🙈🙈 feel free to change the consent !!

a/n: tysm! as a certified virgin™️, yes i can!!! <3 hope you enjoy :3

IN THE WOLF'S DEN

{ strade x virgin! gn! reader }

word count: 2.2k

warnings/tags: NSFW (graphic), NONCON, build-up, brief alcohol use, kidnapping, violence, knifeplay, blood and injury, licking and biting, mild corruption themes, loss of virginity, creampie.

Your fingers glide along the rim of your glass, tracing patterns in the condensation that pools beneath your touch. Amidst the cacophony of voices in the bar, his presence stands out, a solitary figure who commands your attention. He emerges from the crowd, his sharp features softened by the warm lights, and his eyes gleam with a dangerous allure, drawing you in with each step he takes. He slides onto the stool beside you, effortlessly claiming the space as his own.

"Name's Strade," he offers, his voice smooth and accented. You introduce yourself in return, feeling the weight of his gaze as you shift nervously in your seat.

"You look like you have something on your mind," he observes, taking a sip of his drink. You're taken aback by his directness, but something about him draws you in, a magnetic pull you find impossible to resist.

You swallow, nerves dancing beneath your skin as you meet his gaze. His presence is overwhelming, yet oddly comforting. "I guess so," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, "but it's nothing I'd share with a stranger."

His chuckle ripples through the air, a low sound that sets your pulse alight. "Ah, but aren't strangers the best confidants? No judgments, no preconceptions."

His words resonate within you, coaxing a nod of agreement. "I suppose you're right," you concede, turning your gaze back to him.

You begin to open up, sharing things you've never told any stranger before. You tell him that you're alone, that your family lives in a different city, that you feel the most lonely you have in your adult life. The words spill freely from your lips and he listens with an intensity that both unnerves and excites you. And then, almost as an afterthought, you confess a truth you've kept hidden for so long— the truth of your virginity.

Strade's reaction is immediate, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. "A virgin," he muses, his voice edged with amusement, "how intriguing."

A flush blooms across your cheeks, a blend of embarrassment and exhilaration at his reaction. Your fingers linger on the rim of your near-empty glass, his gaze holding you captive.

"In what way?" you ask, a small thrill pulsing through your veins.

Leaning closer, his smile widens, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "It's not every day you find someone so… untouched. It makes you unique, like a rare gem."

Your pulse quickens at his words, but before you can respond, the bartender interrupts; a temporary reprieve. You hastily order another drink, the liquid a balm for your nerves.

As the night wears on, you lose yourself in conversation, the sounds of the other patrons fading into insignificance. Only when the bar begins to empty does reality come crashing and you realize it's time to part ways.

"I should get going," you say, pushing yourself away from the bar. "I have an early morning." Before you can take another step, he's beside you, his hand grazing yours in a tantalizing caress. "Allow me to walk you to your car," he offers, his eyes twinkling with a dangerous glint.

There's part of you that hesitates, a silent warning echoing in the recesses of your mind; but the pull of his presence is undeniable, drawing you into his orbit once more.

The streets are quiet as you make your way through the night, the only sound is the soft shuffle of your footsteps on the pavement. You steal glances at him out of the corner of your eye, his silhouette a dark shadow against the moonlit sky.

As you round a corner into a dimly lit alley, the air suddenly thickens with an ominous tension. Your heart quickens its pace, a silent drumbeat of warning, and in an instant, he's upon you, pinning you against the rough surface of the alley wall. His grip is firm, almost bruising, as he leans in close, his hot breath fanning across your face.

"Don't make a sound," Strade whispers, sending shivers racing down your spine. His smile, once charming and enticing, now twists into something dangerous; like a predator revelling in its prey.

Panic surges within you as you struggle against his hold, your pleas swallowed by the gaping alley. With a sickening thud, your head meets brick and stars explode behind your eyelids as darkness descends like a shroud.

You awaken to the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights, your head pounding with a dull, insistent ache. Disoriented, you blink against the harsh brightness, your surroundings slowly emerging from the haze. No longer are you in the alley; instead, you find yourself in a musty basement, the air thick with the scent of damp and decay.

Your heart lurches as you shift, feeling a cold metal pole press into your back and your arms bound tightly behind it. Panic claws at your insides, fueling a desperate struggle against the restraints.

"Ah, you're awake already?" Strade's voice cuts through the silence like a blade, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn your head to see him descending the stairs with an unsettling grace, his silhouette looming like a spectre in the dim, flickering light.

"Wha— What's going on?" you stammer, your voice trembling with fear.

He chuckles, a sound devoid of warmth, as he crouches to meet your gaze. "You don't remember? Our chat was going so well... You opened up to me about so many things,"

Dread coils in the pit of your stomach as your naivety sinks in like a lead weight. "Please, let me go," you plead, shrinking back against the cold metal pole, trying to distance yourself from him.

But he only smiles in response, seemingly unmoved by your desperation. "I wanted to get to know you on a more... intimate level," He explains, his tone disturbingly casual. "So I took you home."

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves closer, the heat of his body an unwelcome presence. With a swift motion, he withdraws a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming in the dim light.

"Please," you whimper again, tears clouding your vision. "I'll do anything, just let me go."

Strade laughs, the sound echoing in the confines of the basement. "Anything, huh?" he muses, that menacing smile still etched on his face. "Well then."

He places the knife on the floor and leans into you, his body pressing intimately against yours. He's so close you can smell him— a dreadful blend of sweat and petroleum invading your senses. Rough hands reach for the ropes binding your wrists, causing you to flinch. With deft movements, he begins to untie the knots, his fingers brushing over your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn.

The ropes fall away, and you gasp in relief, only to feel his hands seize your shoulders, shoving you back against the pole. Strade retrieves his knife and kneels before you, his bulky frame illuminated by the overhead lights.

"Now," he commands, gesturing with the blade, "strip."

You swallow hard, bile rising in the back of your throat as you meet his gaze. Slowly, with trembling hands, you begin to remove your clothes, the fabric rustling loudly in the silence of the basement.

Strade watches you intently, his eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin. You strip down to your underwear, your clothes a crumpled heap at your feet. The cool air of the basement chills your skin, and you curl into yourself, attempting to shield your body from his invasive gaze. He steps closer, his free hand brushing across your cheek.

"Have you ever stripped naked for anyone before?" he asks, almost tauntingly, his face mere inches from yours. You shake your head, your voice barely a whisper. "N-No," you manage to croak out, the response hanging between you.

Strade chuckles as if amused by your innocence. "I figured as much," he sneers, "A virgin in every sense."

He watches your reaction with a sadistic delight, savouring your fear— your vulnerability, as you shrink further into yourself.

"Aww, you're trembling," he observes, his eyes raking over your quivering form. "Niedlich."

With a sudden, brutal motion, he grabs your ankles, dragging you forward until you're sprawled on the ground before him. He crawls over you, his weight pressing heavily, the knife still firmly in his grasp.

Strade brings the knife to your chest, the cold steel kissing your skin before biting in with a sharp sting. You gasp, a cry of pain escaping your lips as the red line blossoms with warm, crimson buds. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight, his thumb pressing into the wound and smearing the blood across your skin.

"So cute," he repeats, his lips curving into a predatory smile. "I could just devour you whole!"

His tongue flicks out to trace a wet, humid stripe along your jaw, his putrid saliva mingling with your tears. "Hah... You taste sweeter than I imagined, Liebling," he purrs, and you shudder beneath him, the sensation both revolting and terrifying. His fingers then trail down your stomach, his touch like a brand against your skin.

"But you forgot something," he breathes, forcing your trembling knees apart.

Your blood runs cold as he carves a delicate line along your abdomen with the knife. He stops just below your navel and flattens the blade against your stomach, sliding it beneath your underwear. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can feel the blade prodding the delicate skin of your groin.

Strade's breathing is quick and shallow, his breath warm across your face as the flush of excitement tints his cheeks. "Don't squirm too much," he whispers, his voice trembling with anticipation.

Without looking down, he begins to slice through the fabric of your underwear, the knife gliding effortlessly through the thin material. The sound of ripping cloth fills the silence, mingling with the rapid beat of your heart. As the last shred of fabric falls away, your body is laid bare, exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

He runs the flat of the blade over your abdomen once more, a sadistic smile spreading across his face as he revels in your fear. "So rein," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "So unbroken. It's almost a shame." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, "but not quite."

As Strade sheaths the knife, you attempt to pull yourself away, the concrete chafing your palms with each drag. He follows close behind you, his cruel smile unwavering. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you desperately try to crawl faster, but it's futile. His hand clamps down on your waist with a bruising grip, yanking you back towards him.

You cry out in terror and frustration, the sound echoing in the desolate basement. He flips you onto your wounded stomach, your skin scraping painfully against the floor. With a sadistic grin, Strade forces your head down, pressing your cheek into the rough concrete. It bites harshly into your skin, and you can feel your tears mingling with the grime.

The metallic clink of a belt buckle sends a fresh wave of fear through you, and the sound of a zipper follows soon after. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he positions himself between your legs, his weight pressing down on you. His hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading, leaving blooms of purple on your tender skin.

His grin widens as he leans in, panting. "This may... sting a little," he taunts, his voice sticky against your ear.

"No! Wait!" you cry, your voice cracking with desperation. Your pleas are met with cold indifference as he slams into you, his cock worming past the resisting tissue and resting deep inside. A searing pain rips through your body, and you scream, the sound raw and guttural.

"Mmm, perfekt..." he huffs, revelling in your agony.

You choke on your sobs, the foreign sensation warm and heavy, and tearing with force. Something warm and wet trickles down your thighs, coating them—and him— in a cherry-red sheen. With each brutal thrust, your cheek grates against the rough concrete floor, the blistering ache engulfing your pleas. Strade shows no mercy, his movements relentless and punishing, each gasp and flinch you make fueling his perverse excitement.

"That's it," he breathes, heavy and strained. "Scream for me."

The pain blurs into a surreal haze, your mewls crumbling into incoherent moans and whimpers. Strade's weight is suffocating and his flesh is damp against yours; a clammy, sweaty layer uniting you both. His breath is hot and heavy as it mingles with the nauseating wet slapping between you.

His teeth drag threateningly along your shoulder as his thrusts become more frenzied. He curses against your skin before biting down hard on your neck with a sudden, primal urge. You yelp in pain and he cums, the warm spurts seeping deep inside your body.

Strade chuckles breathlessly as he pushes himself off of you, his eyes heavy and pupils dilated.

Your own eyes flutter open, puffy and glossed with tears as you roll over, curling into yourself on the unforgiving concrete. Through the haze, you dimly register the traces of your spit and blood splattered beside your face; the rough surface glittering almost beautifully under the light.

#sssoooo sorry for the wait aaagggg #strade x reader #btd x reader #btd strade #ykmet strade #strade btd #joonsbagchaser requests #tw noncon #tw violence #tw blood

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gurokiitty · 17 days

Note

Strade weight gain/body worship? Focusing on how big and squishy he is :P

a/n: heheh yess!!! i love big squishy guys <33

INDULGE YOURSELF

{ strade x f! reader }

word count: 1.0k

warnings/tags: NSFW, mild dubcon, weight gain, body worship, thigh riding, reader is a feeder (?), stockholm themes.

You kneel between Strade's legs, your hands trembling slightly as they trace the contours of his body. Throughout the months, you've become intimately familiar with every crevice of his home, every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet; yet, it is the transformation of Strade himself that captivates your attention.

His clothes, once snug and form-fitting, now strain against his larger frame. The seams of his shirt stretch over his abdomen, the buttons threatening to burst, and his pants hug his thighs, outlining the swell of his flesh. When he pins you down, he is heavier and more imposing, pressing into you with a force that leaves you breathless. The added bulk makes him harder to resist, your struggles futile against his newfound size.

As your palms press against his stomach, the soft, warm flesh yields under your touch, bouncing slightly as you release. You take a strange pride in knowing your cooking has contributed to his transformation, each meal adding to his mass. A shiver runs down your spine, settling into a warmth in your chest.

Strade watches you with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He shifts slightly, the movement causing his belly to jiggle, and you can't help but follow the motion with your gaze, entranced. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his navel, your lips lingering against his skin. He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through you.

"How cute," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "All this extra weight is because of you, you know. Your cooking skills are to blame." His words are teasing, but there's an edge of truth in them.

You look up at him, your eyes wide and earnest. "I love it," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love how big you've gotten."

His laughter is louder this time, his hand coming down to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips. "How sweet, Liebling," he says, his tone mocking yet affectionate. "Tell me more."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to find the words to express the chaotic mix of emotions inside you. "I love how soft you are," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "How warm and... and squishy."

He hums in approval, his hand sliding down to rest on the back of your neck, guiding you closer. "Show me then," he commands softly. "Show me how much you love me."

You obey without hesitation, your hands roaming over his body, exploring every curve and fold. You press your lips against the rounded expanse of his stomach, kissing and nuzzling where faint stretch marks spiderweb across his skin. He groans as your tongue darts out to taste the saltiness of his sweat, tracing a path up to his chest. He's bigger here too, the flesh soft and pliant under your touch.

With a playful glint in his eyes, Strade shifts, forcing you to straddle his leg. Your hands explore again, gently squeezing his chest and feeling the hairs tickle your fingertips. As you press closer to him, your body melds with his as if you were two halves of the same whole. You instinctively grind your hips down on him, feeling the thick muscles against you.

"Go ahead. Ride my thigh." He grins, his rough hands finding your waist.

You comply eagerly, your breath hitching as you grind harder. The fabric of his pants is taut beneath you, the size of his leg apparent even through the layers of clothing, forcing your thighs apart just by straddling him. Strade's fingers dig into your flesh as he encourages your movements.

"I love how you fill up my hands," you breathe out, your voice tinged with awe. "Every part of you... so big, so strong."

His eyes darken with pleasure, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Is that so?" he replies, his voice a seductive purr. "You love feeling how much I've grown, how much I overwhelm you?"

You nod fervently, your hands squeezing the skin bulging over his waistline. "Yes, I love it. I love how heavy you are." The admission makes your cheeks flush; it's intoxicating, this feeling of being so completely consumed by him, of knowing you are the one who has helped make him the size he is now.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberates through your entire being. "Good," he says, leaning close to your ear. "Beacause I love how pathetic you've become."

Despite the harshness of his words, you find yourself unable to resist him. Each rough thrust against his thigh sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a hunger that only he can satisfy. With every moan that escapes your lips, you give yourself over to him completely.

His hands slide up your back, pressing you even closer to him as you continue to move against him. His thigh is warm and solid beneath you, the muscles flexing as he shifts his position slightly, giving you a better angle. The friction between your core and his leg is maddening; a delicious torture that leaves you gasping for breath. You cling to him, your fingers gripping his broad shoulders as you ride him with increasing fervour.

As you tremble and mewl, Strade watches you with a dark, satisfied gaze. You can feel the softness of his belly pressing against you, the warmth of his skin seeping into your own.

"I-I love you," you whimper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

He freezes for a moment, his grip tightening. "Do you now?" he laughs, amused. "How sweet."

You nod, burying your face into his soft chest, tears welling in your eyes. "Yes," you reply, your voice trembling. "I do."

There were days when you'd fought against him, screaming and crying, your spirit burning bright with defiance. Over time, your resistance crumbled, replaced by a dependence that terrified you. Strade has become your world, your tormentor and saviour wrapped into one monstrous figure.

Now, as you moan in his lap, his large body pressed against yours, you realize how far you've fallen. "I love you," you whisper again, your voice hardly audible.

His hand tightens on your hair, forcing your head back. "And I love what I've made of you. You've come a long way from that frightened girl I took months ago."

#whhehwww sorry if that went way off course #btd strade #strade x reader #ykmet strade #strade btd #anon requests #i didn know what to title this 😭

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gurokiitty · 18 days

Note

Can you write something about Lawrence? 👉👈

a/n: yessss i've been looking forward to a law request! thank u, anon, i hope you like it!! :3

THE LIGHT THAT SEARS

{ lawrence oleander x gn! reader }

word count: 2.1k

warnings/tags: NSFW, psychological, yandere(ish), stalking, jealousy/obsession, kidnapping, brief marijuana use, cutting, blood, waterboarding to drowning, reader death.

Under the cloak of night, Lawrence prowled the periphery of your existence. You emerged as a rare exception to his cynical worldview; a delicate exception that flickered like a flame in the darkness. As the night clerk at the local gas station, your presence was an enigma, haloed by the soft, ethereal glow of fluorescent lights— a figure both intoxicating and infuriating to him.

You began to recognize the patterns of his visits, the late hours when he would appear almost like a shadow from the night. Soon enough, you learned his usual purchases; mainly simple, pre-packaged meals, which he grabbed almost mechanically from the same aisle each visit.

With a practiced ease, you attempted small talk, your light and inviting voice contrasting sharply with his curt responses. Lawrence hardly ever met your gaze, his eyes flicking away to the brightly lit shelves or the grimy floor tiles, as if the sight of you was both necessary and unbearable.

Despite this, you persisted, peeling back layers of his solitude with each word. He felt seen, truly seen. Not just observed but understood, in a way that both unnerved and intrigued him. You seemed to look right through his shell, peering into the depths of his turbulent soul.

Each night, as you smiled and handed him his change, he sensed your awareness of his trembling hands, as if each coin and bill burned into his fingertips. It was almost painful how you looked at him with so much pity and concern.

This perception of vulnerability made Lawrence feel exposed yet inexplicably drawn to you. His nightly visits to the gas station became less about necessity and more about this complex dance between observation and interaction. He began to linger, fabricating reasons to stay by browsing aimlessly through the aisles or waiting for the slowest coffee machine pour.

Eventually, his fascination led him beyond the confines of the gas station, tracking your movements like a silent guardian. He found himself waiting in the shadows, watching as you ended your shifts, and noting the way you carefully scanned the parking lot before stepping into the early morning air.

But everything changed one fateful night when he watched you interact with another customer— a casual exchange that shattered his distorted illusion of exclusivity. Lawrence stood, a silent spectator lined up behind this stranger, who elicited a laugh from you with an ease that made his blood boil. Your eyes sparkled with the same light you often gifted him, yet here it was, shared freely with someone else. Each giggle, each easy smile you bestowed upon the interloper, drove a spike of disgust and jealousy through his already frayed nerves. His hands trembled and his eyes ignited with a fervent fury as he watched you, his delicate flower, fluttering towards another.

When it was finally his turn to cash out, the usual gentle cadence of your voice grated against his heightened sensitivity. He responded not with the muted gratitude of before but with a cold silence, tossing the cash onto the counter with a force that made the coins scatter. Avoiding your puzzled look, he stormed out of the gas station, the chime of the door ringing mockingly behind him.

The night outside had turned chilly, the breeze that swept through the parking lot carrying an ominous whisper. Lawrence sat in his car, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled force. Each breath was a ragged intake, his thoughts racing as he waited, the tick of the clock on the dashboard echoing in the cramped space like a countdown.

Your shift ended as it always did, with the fluorescent lights shutting off one by one, casting shadows that crept along the ground toward him. You stepped out, oblivious to the dangerous undercurrent that now pulsed through the air. As you made your way across the parking lot, the sound of your footsteps were muffled against the asphalt, but to Lawrence, they were deafening.

He exited his vehicle, driven by a twisted mixture of betrayal and anger. His approach was silent, a predator’s gait, all traces of the awkward, stuttering recluse gone. Just as you reached your car, he was upon you, a hand clamping down over your mouth to stifle your screams. His other arm snaked around your waist, dragging you back towards his car. The world blurred into a chaotic swirl as you struggled, but his grip was unyielding. In a swift motion, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, damp cloth, and pressed it against your nose and mouth. Your struggles weakened, your limbs grew heavy, and soon, darkness engulfed you as you slipped into unconsciousness.

You awoke to an unfamiliar coldness, the hard porcelain surface of a bathtub pressing uncomfortably against your back. Your wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape, immobilizing you in a vulnerable sprawl. Another strip sealed your mouth, muffling your disoriented murmurs. The bathroom around you was dimly lit, casting elongated shadows across the walls where ivy and ferns crept over the tiles. A pervasive, sickly sweet scent filled the air, suffocating your senses.

As your eyes adjusted, you noticed Lawrence sitting on the edge of the tub, his silhouette blurred against the dim light. A joint dangled from his trembling fingers, the smoke curling into the stale air as he took a deep, slow drag. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, his expression remained unreadable, veiled in a mix of shadow and haze. His eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, seemed to drift away momentarily before snapping back to meet yours with an intensity that pinned you in place.

The moment hung heavy between the crackling of the ember and the distant dripping of a leaky faucet. As the smoke floated lazily in the air, it seemed to bridge the gap between Lawrence's disjointed musings and the harsh reality of your predicament.

"I thought you understood," he whispered, a chilling calmness underpinning his words. "I thought you were different." He took another drag, the ember briefly illuminating his hollowed features with an eerie red light.

"But you’re just like them, aren’t you? A beautiful façade," His voice cracked slightly, betraying a hint of the turmoil swirling inside him.

The accusation struck a strange chord, mixing fear with confusion. You could only listen, the adhesive tape cruelly sealing any response. Lawrence's presence loomed larger as he shifted his weight, the porcelain creaking under him.

"Even then, I can't let you go— can't forget you," he muttered, more to himself than to you as he stubbed out the joint. He turned his gaze fully onto you and confessed, "I can’t allow you to float away to anyone else. You saw me... really saw me, unlike everyone else."

Slowly, almost cautiously, Lawrence moved closer, positioning himself to straddle you in the tub. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating. He pulled a small knife from his pocket, the blade glinting in the light. His fingers, though cold, felt like they burned into you as he began to slice through your shirt, and spread the fabric open to expose your skin underneath.

The blade descended again, gliding from your sternum to your navel with terrifying precision. You felt the sting of the blade, a cold line of fear that drew a shallow, sharp path across your skin. Lawrence’s breath was heavy, each exhale shuddering against the charged silence of the room. He leaned closer, torment and fascination dancing across his features.

A flush crept across his cheeks as he watched the red line appear on your skin. His hands, unsteady yet deliberate, touched the blood that welled from the cut, tracing it across your skin with a perverse reverence. His touch was careful, as if tending to a withering flower.

"I need you to understand this connection," Lawrence murmured, his fingers painted with your blood. "No one else can see what I see, feel what I feel for you. You’re not like them— you can't be."

His eyes, usually so shifty and evasive, now held yours with an intensity that felt like chains, binding you to his will. Amidst the flora and the sweet scent of decay, the room around you seemed to close in, setting the stage for his macabre confession. The tape stifled your cries, muffling the sound to a desperate whimper as you watched the crimson seep from your body.

Lawrence set the knife down with a clink against the porcelain, his hands now free to frame your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact. "When I saw you talking to him, laughing, it hurt. It burned, like nothing I’ve felt before." He continued, tracing the contours of your features.

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over despite your attempts to hold them back. As he noticed your tears, his expression shifted, a mix of satisfaction and sorrow mingling in his gaze.

"I need you to understand the pain," He said as his fingers tightened against your cheeks, the pressure increasing painfully.

Your cries, stifled under the adhesive, became more desperate, a silent plea that seemed lost on him. But then, without a word, Lawrence reached over and turned on the tap. Cold water poured from the faucet as he forced your head back, positioning your face under the stream. The cold water splashed against your skin, entering your nostrils and flooding your senses with an icy shock. Your body convulsed involuntarily as water cascaded over your head, drowning out your pleas with the relentless rush of liquid oblivion.

Lawrence watched intently, his eyes never leaving your face as you gasped and sputtered, the water punishing every attempt to draw breath. His expression was unreadable, perhaps a mix of curiosity and a desperate need to share his own suffocating experiences of jealousy and betrayal.

"Feel it, the burning pain I felt," He whispered, his voice a distant echo lost to the steady cascade of water and the weak thrashing of your body.

As it continued to pour over your face, the line between executioner and confessor blurred. He seemed almost mesmerized by your struggle, as if each gasp and flutter of your eyelids brought him closer to understanding his own tortured emotions.

Finally, he turned off the water, the sudden silence in the room echoing louder than the rushing stream had been. Your breaths came in ragged, desperate gulps, as your lungs screamed for air. Lawrence's gaze remained fixed upon you, his own turmoil reflected in the sheen of sweat upon his brow

"Every time I see you, it’s like I’m drowning," he muttered as his finger followed the trail of water dripping from your chin. His admission lingered in the air, a confession both haunting and revelatory. You searched his eyes for some semblance of remorse or empathy, but found only the reflection of a tormented soul as he gazed over your drenched, trembling form.

"You shine so brightly, it's blinding." His finger paused, hovering above the pulse at your neck, where each heartbeat seemed to echo louder against the stillness. "I can't help but be drawn to your light, even though it scorches me. I never want it to end."

As the water on your skin began to chill, his hand shifted, becoming almost protective as he cupped your cheek. "I want to keep you here, with me, forever," he continued, his voice softer and edged with a strange sadness. "I want your light all to myself."

Without warning, Lawrence reached for the faucet again, turning the knob with a decisive twist. The water surged forth once more, cascading over your face in a relentless torrent. This time, however, there was no restraint in his actions, no hesitation or remorse. His grip on your head tightened, forcing you further under the icy deluge until every gasp for air was silenced by the rush of water filling your lungs.

Your struggles became feeble and your body wracked with convulsions as the cold enveloped you. Through the haze of pain and panic, you caught one last glimpse of Lawrence's face, distorted by the watery veil between you. There was a flicker of something in his eyes— regret, perhaps, or even a twisted form of tenderness as he watched you drown with eerie detachment.

The weight of his gaze bore down on you, unyielding even as your consciousness waned under the suffocating flow. As the coldness of water seeped into your bones, your world dimmed, fading into a silent, dark oblivion.

For a moment, he remained frozen, suspended in the void between remorse and obsession. His trembling hands drew your lifeless body towards his, the coldness of your skin seeping into his own as he gently cradled you against his chest.

"You're still shining," he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the constant flow of the faucet. "You're still beautiful."

As the water continued its relentless cascade, Lawrence raked his fingers through your wet hair, admiring how the tendrils clung to his skin as though you had become one.

#btd x reader #btd2 lawrence #lawrence oleander #lawrence oleander x reader #btd lawrence #anon requests

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gurokiitty · 19 days

Text

does mason even kno what eating pussy is </3 🥺

#besides literally . grilling it up and eating it #plz i need him #nashie's random thoughts

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gurokiitty · 20 days

Note

God I feel bad for coming back so much but I love your writings it keeps making me think of the scratching I love the way you write it...may I ask for more scratch I LOVEB it-

a/n: my beloved itchy/scratchy anon!! what else do you want me to write about scratching? i wasn't sure so i thought about strade's hairy back... hopefully, this satisfies that... itch of yours hehehehehe :3c

SCRATCHING HIS BACK

{ strade x gn! reader }

word count: 690

warnings/tags: mentions of alcohol and inebriation, detailed descriptions of dirt and dead skin, intimate back scratching :3

The evening unfolded lazily, an amalgam of shadows and silhouettes cast by the dim light filtering through the window. You were tucked into a corner of an old, musty couch, the fabric worn and rough beneath you. Beside you, Strade sprawled out, a picture of carefree inebriation. The scent of beer clung heavily to the air, mixing with the lingering odour of cigarette smoke that seemed permanently embedded in the room's fabric. His shirt was tossed carelessly aside, revealing his broad, hairy back to the dim room.

“Hey,” Strade’s voice was a gruff murmur, slightly slurred from the alcohol. “Got an itch right in the middle of my back. Mind giving it a scratch?”

You looked at his back, a vast canvas of skin, hair, and subtle rolls of fat that moved with every breath he took. There was something deeply human, almost vulnerable about the request, and it spurred a warmth in you that offset the chill creeping through the cracked window.

With a nod, you shifted closer, your fingers tentatively touching down on the warm skin. The hairs were coarse under your touch, each strand tickling your fingertips as you searched for the spot he couldn’t reach. He hummed approvingly when your nails finally found the place, a small groan of relief escaping him as you began to scratch.

His skin was surprisingly soft, pliable under your fingers, the hairs parting easily as you dragged your nails over them. Beneath the initial layer of hair and warmth, you could feel the fine grit of dirt and the flaky texture of dead skin. It was almost mesmerizing, the way the debris collected under your nails, forming little scrolls of filth that were oddly satisfying to remove.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Strade mumbled, his voice heavy with contentment. “Genau da... yeah, harder.”

Encouraged by his words, you increased the pressure, your fingers working deeper as they explored the landscape of his back. Each movement of your hand seemed to excavate more from beneath the surface, revealing the hidden details of his skin. His back was a map of experiences, marked by scars and speckled with moles, each a story shadowed by the blemishes he inflicted on others.

Strade shifted, leaning back into your touch like a large, satisfied cat. The room was quiet, save for the low buzz of a streetlight outside and the distant sound of a siren. There was an intimate humanity in these movements, in the soft yielding of his body to your fingers.

Your nails traced down to the lower part of his back, where the skin grew softer and the hair sparser. Here, the sensation changed, the resistance of his skin lessening, allowing your nails to glide smoothly. The creases under touch were like the gentle undulations of a calm sea; each wave eliciting a soft sigh under your exploratory scratch.

Strade’s breathing deepened, a sign of his drifting focus, caught between the sensations you provided and the edge of sleep. “Ah, don't stop” he whispered, almost pleadingly.

Your scratching, while superficial, felt almost cathartic, as if each small flake of skin and dirt removed could lighten his burdens. Slowly, you continued your methodical exploration, your fingers now familiar with the contours of his back. Each pass of your nails brought more of the hidden grime to the surface, leaving a trail of cleaner, fresher skin beneath. The rhythm of scratch and relief painted a moment of pure tranquillity, a rare pause in the chaotic symphony of his daily existence.

As the night wore on, Strade’s body relaxed completely, succumbing to the dual lull of your touch and the alcohol’s embrace. His last conscious murmur was a soft grunt of thanks, fading into the steady, deep breaths of sleep.

You paused, looking at the quiet figure beside you, the steady rise and fall of his back a silent testament to the peace you’d brought. The night continued around you, the world moving on, but in this small, dimly lit room, you had found a profound connection in the simple act of caring, of cleaning— a connection as real and gritty as the dirt under your nails.

#scratch #strade x reader #btd strade #btd x reader #ykmet strade #strade btd #anon requests

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gurokiitty · 20 days

Note

Hey hey!

Could you do a Ren x Fem!reader Nsfw while they were still ‘owned’ by Strade? He can be there too if you want ^^

I just need this 🙏

a/n: yess i love this dynamic so muchh <3 this is probably one of the more wholesome things i've written. hope you enjoy, anon!!

WASH IT ALL AWAY

{ captive! ren hana x captive f! reader }

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: NSFW, consensual (:0 !?), mentions of blood/injury, soft and gentle, bathtub sex, kissing, handjob, some scratching/biting, fox penis in vagina.

The night was still, punctuated only by Strade's deep, even breaths as he slept in the adjacent room. His slumber marked a brief reprieve from the day’s cruelty, a precious few hours where shadows gathered and whispered of forbidden things. The dim light seeping through the basement door painted golden streaks across the staircase, a faint illumination that led you to Ren.

Your steps were silent, cautious, as if the very air around you could betray your intent. Ren was there, as you knew he would be, standing at the stairhead, his eyes alert and intense. His presence was a beacon, drawing you closer with the gravity of shared pain and longing.

As you approached, his posture relaxed, a soft smile spreading across his face. "I was so worried," Ren whispered, his voice heavy with relief. "When I heard you, the sounds... I was so scared."

"I made it back to you, Ren. Like I promised," you replied, though your voice trembled.

His eyes warmed with a familiar tenderness as he took your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? A warm bath... we can forget everything else, just for a while," he suggested, his voice a gentle caress promising care and comfort.

As Ren guided you upstairs to his bedroom, the soft click of his claws against the stairs marked your path. Upon entry, your pain and fear momentarily subsided, replaced by a sense of security in his familiar presence. The room was suffused with the scent of him— earthy and lightly floral, mixed with the copper tang of blood that no amount of scrubbing could erase.

"Just relax," he murmured, his voice soothing as he brushed past you, his tail gently swaying. "I'll run the bath."

He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, and soon the sound of running water mingled with the rustle of movement as he adjusted the taps. Steam slowly began to fill the space, weaving around you both like a gentle caress and blending seamlessly with the room’s lingering scents.

"The bath's ready! Nice and warm," Ren called out softly, invitingly. You both undressed, the layers of your captivity falling away with each piece of fabric that hit the floor. Though the heavy shock-collars remained around your necks they seemed less constricting here, in this temporary sanctuary.

Stepping into the bathroom, the humidity enveloped you, easing the chill of fear that had clung to your bones. Together, you sank into the comforting embrace of the hot water; the bath becoming a secluded haven where peace could exist, if only for a while. As you settled in, the water around you faintly blushed, tinged with red from your fresh wounds.

You sat facing each other, your legs intertwined comfortably. Ren’s tail softened in the water, becoming slick and smooth under your fingers. You reached out, tentatively at first, then with more assurance as you brushed your fingers through his fur, the texture luxurious and mesmerizing. He sighed, a sound of deep contentment escaping him as his tail twitched slightly and his eyes closed in blissful surrender to the moment.

Ren opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that melted any lingering tension. He smiled gently, reaching for a sponge. "May I?" he whispered softly, seeking your permission to touch, to wash away the physical reminders of the day's ordeal.

You nodded, allowing him to cleanse the wounds and weariness from your body. As the sponge moved in smooth, careful strokes over your skin, the tension within you began to ebb away. Gradually, he set aside the sponge, his fingers replacing it, the transition almost imperceptible. The soft touch of his hands felt more intimate, more healing than the porous material, tracing the contours of your body with a touch both soothing and careful.

The steam hung heavy around you, a veil that seemed to isolate you from the rest of the world. It was just you and Ren, the water lapping gently at your skin, his hands exploring the lines of your body with a reverence that made your breath catch. The kiss came naturally, almost inevitable, as you leaned into him. His lips were soft against yours, urgent yet incredibly tender, conveying emotions too complex to voice.

You deepened the kiss, your fingers weaving into his damp, red hair, gently tugging him closer. As your hands explored, they found the soft base of his ears and squeezed gently, drawing a throaty groan from him. Ren's reaction vibrated against your lips as he touched your back, his nails gently raking along your spine. The water around you seemed to pulse with the rhythm of your beating hearts, waves gently swaying in time with your movements.

Your hands slid down his front and traced patterns on his furred chest, feeling every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his breath. Ren responded in kind, his hands sliding down to cup your hips, pulling you closer until you were straddling him, the water swirling around you as you moved together.

His kisses trailed down your jaw, each one light and tantalizing. You threw your head back, allowing him access to the delicate skin of your throat, his lips and teeth gently teasing. His breath, warm against your damp skin, mixed with the steam, creating a heady sensation that made the room spin slightly.

You leaned forward, whispering his name as a silent plea, your movements becoming more deliberate. Ren's hands steadied on your hips, guiding you as you gently ground against him. Your hands ventured further, tracing the course line of fur that led to his cock. His response was immediate; a sharp intake of breath, his back arching slightly, urging you closer.

The bathroom vanished, consumed by the sensations intensified by the warm water caressing your skin. It was just you and Ren, moving together in perfect harmony. His lips found yours once more, your tongues dancing as his hands explored the contours of your body, urging you closer still. You could feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, the water lapping at your skin as he thrust into your grasp.

His fingers dug into your hips, urging you to a faster pace, and you obeyed without hesitation. You could feel every inch of him, the head of his shaft pressing against your palm as you stroked him, the familiar ridges that slid between your fingers slick with water and precum. The sounds of your breath mingled with the soft splashing of the water, creating a rhythm that seemed to echo through your very soul.

He whispered your name, his voice husky with need, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "Please, I need to be inside you," he breathed out, a plea laced with passion, urging you closer to the edge. "Can I?" he asked softly, his voice tender as he sought your consent. The words sounded almost foreign to you now, having grown so accustomed to the harsh commands of Strade's regime. Here, with Ren, every word was a gentle offer, a question soaked in care and respect, forming a stark contrast to your current reality.

You nodded as you managed a response, "Yes, Ren, please." His smile was slow, grateful, and filled with warmth. You hovered above him and he carefully moved forward, uniting you both in a moment as delicate as it was intense.

As his cock slipped inside, Ren's hands gripped your thighs, his nails digging slightly into your skin and drawing a soft moan from you. He leaned forward and his lips found the curve of your neck again. This time, his kisses were punctuated by gentle bites, each leaving behind a tender mark.

The shape of him, with its curious, fox-like tapering, fit perfectly, complementing your own form. Your body moved in sync with his rhythm as you met his thrusts with your own. Each connection sent ripples of pleasure through you, drawing moans that mixed with the steamy air. Your hands clung to his shoulders and your nails dug in slightly as he bucked faster into you.

"I want you to remember this... remember us, when everything else feels like too much," Ren murmured against your skin, his breath hot and his words imbued with a fervour that made your heart swell. His actions were deliberate, marking you in a way that felt reverent— in a way that made you forget the weight of the shackle that sat just a few inches below his lips.

The rhythm you found together was a natural cadence, echoing the soft sound of water lapping at the sides of the tub, the gentle movement resonating in perfect harmony with your joined breaths.

Ren's pace quickened, his movements becoming less controlled, more urgent as he sought release. You could feel the tension building within him, his grip tightening as he neared the brink. His breaths became short, his chest heaving against yours. With a final, deep thrust, he groaned, his body tensing as he reached his climax, filling you with the warmth of his seed.

Panting, he collapsed gently against you, though he remained inside, ensuring the connection wasn't broken. You both sat there, entwined and still, the water in the bath slightly cooler now, but your bodies radiated enough heat to keep the chill at bay.

Ren's arms wrapped around you more fully, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You felt his lips move against your skin in a soft, almost imperceptible kiss. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice laden with emotion. His tail, still submerged, curled around your leg in a gentle embrace.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat steady against yours. The steam from the bath enveloped your bodies, creating a serene cocoon that shielded you from the harsh outside world. Each touch, each whisper deepened a connection that felt as vital as the air you breathed.

#i fell in luv with him all over again after writing this..#soft gentle smut feels more lewd than the stuff i usually write ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა #i wanted to name this 'digital bath' but i think a law fic may be more fitting for that title #sorry about being so slow with these btw #i got my period and had lots of family stuff to do #btd x reader #btd ren #ren hana x reader #ren hana #ykmet ren #anon requests

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gurokiitty · 23 days

Note

Can i request Derek taking his anger out on fem!reader after the "he took you home" ending? You can make it as nasty as you want 👀

a/n: sure! i luv that sleazy, bleach-blonde bastard. hope you like it! :3

PLAYING WITH FIRE

{ derek goffard x f! reader }

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: NON-CON, painal, fire torture, burning, stomping, mutilation (?), degradation, name-calling, humiliation.

As you blink away the haze of sleep, the painful wound in your back throbs dully amidst newer aches. With a shuddering breath, you try to push yourself upright, only to be met with the uncomfortable resistance of chains binding your wrists. The cold, varnished floorboards press into your bare skin, making you acutely aware of your nakedness.

"Hello!? Where am I?" your voice cracks, echoing slightly in the vast, lavishly furnished room.

The door swings open as you struggle to make sense of your opulent, yet foreboding surroundings. Derek steps into the room, his presence immediately filling the space with a palpable tension. He's meticulously groomed and dressed in an expensive, tailored suit; a stark contrast to the dishevelled, agonising figure you remember from the desert.

“Ah, finally awake, are we?” His smooth voice cuts through the silence, his smirk widening as he hungrily scans over your body. It's then you realize this is the man who revelled in your torment under the brutal desert sun— the same man you had desperately stabbed, yet had been too terrified to finish off.

You try to speak, but your voice is strangled by the rising panic, words lost in the jumble of your frightened thoughts. Instinctively, you slide back as he approaches, the cold metal chains clinking as your throbbing back slams against the wall.

“You remember me, don't you?” His voice is smooth, almost casual, but you can hear the malice underlying each word. “You stabbed me.” He emphasizes the word, his eyes gleaming with a sinister delight.

“I-I'm sorry,” the words tumble out as a weak whimper.

“Oh, I know you’re sorry.” Derek’s tone is mockingly sympathetic as he crouches in front of you, his face inches from yours. “But an apology won’t quite cut it, will it? No,” he shakes his head slowly, his words sending a shiver of dread through your spine.

You press back against the wall, trying to disappear into its cold embrace. The chill from the varnished wood floors beneath you seeps deeper into your bones, mirroring the cold dread that fills you as he leans closer. His presence suffocates, looming over you, chained and vulnerable.

Without a word, he reaches for your ankles, pulling sharply to straighten your body along the cold floor. The chains at your wrists tighten as your arms twist and pull at your shoulders. The metal is cold and unforgiving against your bruised skin as your joints are stretched to their limits.

"You know... I've thought long and hard about what I wanted to do to you once I got you here." Derek says, towering over you. He reaches around in his suit pockets and then produces a small bottle filled with a clear liquid and a sleek silver lighter. "Here, we won't run out of time," he adds, his eyes gleaming as he holds up the items for your inspection.

"If you don't die too soon, at least." With a chilling smirk, he swiftly slams his foot down hard on your stomach, the polished dress shoe pressing cruelly into your flesh.

You gasp, air whooshing out of your lungs, pain splintering through your body like shattered glass. Your eyes water, a silent scream etching itself into the frozen air as you struggle futilely against the icy hold of the chains. The weight of his shoe pins you helplessly as he unscrews the bottle's cap.

"Wh—" Your breath catches in your throat as the acrid scent of alcohol permeates the air. He grinds his foot deeper into your soft stomach, eliciting a pained grunt from your lips.

"Let's see how long you last," he muses, his words slithering through the air and sending waves of panic crashing over you.

With a chilling calmness, he begins drizzling the alcohol over your breasts; trailing a cold, wet path across the marred skin. Some drops seep into your fresh wounds, making your muscles tense involuntarily.

"No, please— Wait!" you plead, your voice cracking as each breath is laced with the sharp tang of isopropyl alcohol.

As Derek lowers the lighter to your chest, his eyes alight with a perverse pleasure. With a flick of his thumb, a small flame dances to life and the liquid ignites a blazing inferno upon your writhing body. For a fleeting moment, there's a bizarre sensation of warmth that tickles your skin, almost deceivingly gentle. But this warmth rapidly morphs into a deep, searing pain.

Within seconds, the ticklish sensation escalates into an unbearable burning. Your skin reacts violently to the intense heat, the pain magnifying as the fire consumes the alcohol-soaked area. The room fills with the acrid smell of burning as you scream, raw and guttural.

The sound of his laughter mingles with your cries as the flames dance hungrily across your tender breasts. You instinctively try to recoil, but the chains and the weight of his foot, hold you mercilessly in place.

"Awww... I could listen to you squeal like that all day," Derek taunts, his voice dripping with amusement as he watches the flames. "But I want this to last."

Abruptly, he shifts his stance, lifting his foot from your stomach and bringing it down sharply onto the flames on your chest. The polished shoe crushes the fire against your skin, smothering the flames with a series of swift, brutal stomps. The heat retreats as quickly as it had erupted, leaving behind a suffocating smoke, the grotesque smell of charred skin, and the lingering scent of alcohol.

Derek observes the aftermath with a twisted satisfaction, his shoe leaving a grim imprint on your abused flesh. Leaning down, he grips your face harshly, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces you to meet his gaze. "You look good when you're crying," he murmurs, a malicious smirk twisting his lips.

Before you can respond, he presses his foot down on the side of your face, turning your head sharply to the side. His other hand uncaps the bottle once more, and he begins dousing the other side of your face and neck with alcohol.

Muffled cries escape your lips, distorted and desperate, as Derek's shoe presses firmly against your cheek, pinning you to the hard floor. You struggle to breathe, each gasp a laborious effort as panic claws at your throat. Your sounds of distress are smothered under his force, reduced to whimpering that barely breaks the tense air of the room.

Leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear, Derek taunts, "What was that, bitch? Did you say something?" He pauses, feigning a moment of thoughtful consideration before his voice hardens. "Ah, you want me to burn your pretty little face, is that it?" With a cruel smirk, he straightens slightly, the pressure momentarily easing from your face before he shifts his stance.

"You really shouldn’t ask for things you don’t want," he murmurs darkly as he once again produces the sleek silver lighter. His fingers play over the metal, teasing the flame to life with a swift flick.

Holding your gaze with his, he lowers the flame deliberately towards the alcohol-soaked side of your face. The fire catches instantly and the heat sears your skin as it ignites. The initial warmth is swiftly overwhelmed by a sharp, engulfing pain that races across your flesh. As the flames lick upwards, the tips of your hair catch fire, adding a horrifying, crackling sizzle to the dreadful orchestra of your shrieking. Your cries intensify; a visceral reaction to the unbearable sensation of your skin and hair burning.

With deliberate cruelty, Derek shifts again, his shoe coming down hard on the burning side of your face. The sudden pressure extinguishes the flames and the harsh grind of his sole against your charred cheek sends a new wave of pain through your body. As he steps back, the smell of burnt hair and skin lingers nauseatingly in the air.

The room falls silent for a moment, save for your heavy, ragged breathing and the occasional clink of chains. Derek eyes the damage with a perverse sense of accomplishment. "Look at you now. Not so pretty anymore, are you?" he sneers.

He suddenly grabs your ankles and pushes them uncomfortably over your body so your toes touch the floor behind your head. The harsh and sudden movement forces you into a vulnerable and painfully distorted position. "Mmm, but your cute noises got me all excited," He purrs, fumbling with the zipper of his dress pants. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he peers down at you from between your thighs, his cock freed from the confines of his boxers.

"Now, beg for it," Derek demands, his voice low and commanding. "Beg for me to fuck you."

You swallow hard, your throat tight with fear and revulsion. You bite back a cry, clenching your eyes shut.

His hands, now gripping the backs of your thighs, push your knees even further towards your chest. The movement is so forceful that a sharp yelp escapes you despite your resolve.

"I said beg, slut" he repeats, his brows furrowing. "You were quick to beg for my cock out there in the desert; let's hear that desperation again, right here."

You turn your eyes away from his gaze, a small act of defiance against his demands. However, the cruel delight in his eyes intensifies as he reaches beside him, retrieving the sleek silver lighter once again. His fingers play over the metal deliberately as he watches your eyes widen with renewed fear. The small flame springs to life with a click, its glow reflecting ominously in his turquoise eyes.

"Or," he murmurs, the flame now hovering dangerously close to the sensitive skin between your legs. "I could burn you where it'll hurt most."

Panic claws at your chest, your heart hammering wildly as the heat from the flame prickles your inner thigh. The threat is clear and imminent, pushing you to the brink.

"Please, Derek," your voice trembles, the horror of the situation squeezing the air from your lungs. "Please fuck me... I'll do anything. Just don't burn me again... please."

The words tumble out of your mouth, broken and raw, the shame of hearing your own voice reduced to such desperation echoing within you. Derek's smirk widens in response, a twisted satisfaction lighting up his eyes.

The flame suddenly licks across the tender skin of your vulva, causing you to scream in pain. "Oops," he says nonchalantly, watching as the small burn mark forms.

"No, please, stop it!" you cry out shakily, tears welling in your eyes. "Please... anything but this,"

"Hah! I like really that pathetic look on your face," he sneers, the flame flickering dangerously close one last time before he snuffs it out.

With a cruel smirk, he deliberately spits on your clenched hole, the warm liquid landing with a sickening splatter. You recoil in disgust, waves of shame and humiliation crashing over you. "I knew you'd be begging for me to fuck you," Derek chuckles, leaning close as his hot breath brushes against your burned face.

He positions himself at your entrance, the smirk never leaving his face. he taunts, pushing forward without any gentleness. The discomfort is immediate, intensifying the mix of pain and humiliation already consuming you.

He curses under his breath as he slides into you, the ring of muscles gripping tight around him. His fingers squeeze into your hips, anchoring him as he moves with ruthless intent.

"That's it, cry," he whispers harshly in your ear, each word punctuated by another forceful movement. His laughter is low and dissonant, mixing with the sound of your choked sobs. He thrusts harder, his body pressing down on yours with a cruel weight.

"I love hearing you like this," Derek hisses, his breath hot against your neck. The pain from the burns and his brutal handling makes each moment excruciating. Your vision blurs with tears, the room spinning as you struggle to find any semblance of control over the situation.

Suddenly, Derek stops, pulling back slightly to look down at you with a twisted grin. "You know, I think you enjoy this. All this pain, the humiliation. It's what you deserve, isn't it?" His words cut deeper than any physical wound, his voice dripping with cruelty.

You gasp for breath, trying to form words, to deny his accusations, but the pain overwhelms you, stealing your voice.

Without warning, his hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are cold, devoid of any humanity as he scrutinizes your tear-streaked face. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your pain."

You stare back at him, your eyes wide with fear. Derek’s face inches is from yours as he resumes his movements; slow and deliberate now, watching your reactions with sick satisfaction.

The room fades around you, your senses dulled by the overwhelming pain and fear. You feel disconnected, as if watching the horror unfold from outside your own body. Derek's voice, his harsh breaths, and the cold chains become distant sounds, muffled by the roaring in your ears.

As he continues, his grip on you tightens, his body pressing down with oppressive weight. "You’re mine, my property," he whispers, each word a venomous promise. "No one can hear you here. No one will save you."

You struggle to focus on anything but the pain, the burning sensation that seems to consume every inch of your being. Your thoughts spiral out of control and your body feels like it's being torn apart. Derek leans forward, bracing himself on one arm as he thrusts deeper, harder.

Finally, his movements grow erratic, his breaths coming faster as he nears his release. His lips nearly touch your ear as he delivers a final, chilling message. "Remember this pain," he murmurs. "It’s only the beginning."

With those words, Derek finishes inside, his body shuddering above you. You feel his warmth fill you as he slowly pulls out, sliding free with a wet, sucking sound.

He stands, fixing his clothing with quick, efficient movements, never looking back at you. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the room.

You lie there, aching and broken, the tears drying on your cheeks. The chains rattle faintly as you shift, the cold metal a harsh reminder of your captivity. In the silence, your mind whispers a vow, a flicker of defiance in the darkness: somehow, you will survive this. You must.

#can u tell that 'you played with fireworks' was my favourite ending :3c #new kink unlocked #waa sorry this took FOREVER #derek goffard #tpof derek #derek goffard x reader #tpof derek x reader #tw noncon #tw fire

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gurokiitty · 26 days

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requests are temporarily closed until i catch up! i currently have 10 to finish. once i'm done, i will re-open them.

thank you everyone for sending me your fun ideas! <3 i will try my best and get these finished asap :3

#im honestly surprised!#i didn't think i'd get so much interest #thank you everyone for your kind words too #they're very encouraging <3 #i will post again when i re-open them #nashie's updates

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gurokiitty · 26 days

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Can you write big brother strade and adult sister reader scenario?

a/n: omg omg YES i can anon!!! ty for the request! i wanted the reader to be the 'perpetrator' in this one, so i hope you like it! <3

THICKER THAN WATER

{ older brother! strade x younger sister! reader }

word count: 980

warnings/tags: INCEST, NON-CON (?), weirdo lil sis reader, somnophilia, implied past sexual/physical abuse, molestation, masturbation, obsession, body worship, heavy romanticization.

In the stillness of the night, your feet chart a path to a room as familiar as the blood that pulses through your veins. As you slip inside, the air hangs heavy with shame and desire. Yet, in the concealing darkness, you seek refuge in the bed of the one who has always been both your sanctuary and your undoing.

Creeping closer, the familiar scent of your brother envelops you—a musky blend of tobacco and petroleum, more intoxicating than the finest perfume. Gently, you climb into bed and slip beneath the covers, the mattress dipping subtly under your weight. He remains undisturbed, the effects of alcohol shielding him from nightmares and memories alike.

Your heart calms as you draw near, drinking in the sight of him, so still and vulnerable under the moon’s soft gaze. It stirs something deep within you, a familiar ache you’ve carried since your first encounter. His jaw, shadowed by stubble, retains the softness of the boy you once knew.

Strade, with his piercing gaze and disarming charm, is a figure of authority in your world. Your devotion to him has never wavered, acting as a steady anchor amidst the chaos of your relationship. You cling to his every word and eagerly obey his every command, driven by an insatiable desire to fulfill each whim and craving. Despite the countless scars that mark your body, you remain willfully blind, captivated by the charisma that masks the sadism lurking beneath his smile.

You lay your head on his chest, feeling the solid reality of him. His skin warms your cheek, the fine hairs tickle softly, and his heartbeat sends a steady, reassuring rhythm that echoes through your body.

You shift closer, drawn by an irresistible force that pulls you into the orbit of his sleeping form. With tentative fingers, you trace the contours of his torso, exploring the landscape of muscle and skin that you know as well as your own. As your fingers glide over his body, you recall the first brush of his fingertips against your skin; a moment that ignited an obsession within you— a craving no other man could ever satisfy.

Your lips find purchase on his jawline, pressing feather-light kisses against the rough stubble. It's a ritual as familiar as breathing, a silent offering of devotion to the only deity you've ever known. As you brush over the jagged scar marring his skin, he murmurs and stirs slightly. You freeze, your heart caught in your throat, torn between the thrill and fear of being discovered. But he soon settles back into a deep slumber, the moment passing as quickly as it came. You exhale softly, relief quietly mingling with your unchecked desires.

Your hand wanders further, tracing invisible lines across his abdomen until it rests just above the waistband of his boxers. With a breath held in anticipation, your fingers slip under, your palm feeling the heat radiating from him. Your fingers wrap around his shaft, his skin soft and oddly vulnerable in his sleep. As he twitches involuntarily, the intimacy of the moment washes over you like a forbidden wave, swelling with a mixture of guilt and longing. His response is minimal, a low, unconscious groan that might as well have been a sigh carried by the wind. It's enough to spur you forward, your body responding with its own, mirrored arousal.

Simultaneously, your other hand ventures down your body, seeking pleasure in the quiet communion of touch. Your fingers slide between your legs, pushing your panties aside as you press them against your aching clit. The sensation is dizzying, the friction of your fingers sending sparks of desire through your veins.

The symmetry of your actions, one hand on him, the other on yourself, weaves a silent thread of connection that feels both transgressive and transcendent. As you stroke him, you feel his length harden in your grasp. His hips buck gently as his breaths come faster, his chest rising and falling more rapidly. You press your face against his neck, muffling a moan that escapes your lips.

The moonlight filtering through the window bathes the scene in a soft glow, casting long shadows that dance across the walls as if they too are complicit in your silent act.

You move with careful, deliberate motions, governed by the fear of waking him and the overwhelming need to continue. His occasional murmurs punctuate the silence, ambiguous sounds that could be interpreted as protest or pleasure— in the thick veil of night, it's hard to tell, and perhaps you don't want to.

As your exploration deepens, you find yourself caught in the delicate balance between self-gratification and the gratification of him. You bite your lower lip, trying to stifle your whimpers, as the urgent need cum, to let go and surrender to the pleasure, courses through you. Your fingers move faster, instinctively seeking the release that hovers just out of reach.

You pump his cock faster as it twitches violently in your hand, leaking pre-cum onto your skin. It feels hot and impossibly hard, like a living thing writhing in your grasp. With a low, guttural groan, he releases, his muscles clenching. You can feel it in your fingers as he spurts, the warmth and weight of his ejaculate coating your palm. You gasp in response with your face buried in the crook of his neck, your breaths sharp and ragged.

Arching into your fingers, you abandon all pretense of restraint, letting out a long, shuddering moan that breaks the silence of the room.

Suddenly, your world freezes. Just as your climax builds, a vice-like grip encircles your wrist, pulling you from the depths of your indulgence, and shattering the fragile tranquillity of the night. Your eyes snap open, heart pounding as you meet your brother's gaze— no longer clouded by sleep, but piercing and awake.

#i had so much fun writing this #it was nice to do something where the reader is obsessed with the subject #so many fun pretty words to use !! :3c #strade x reader #strade btd #ykmet strade #strade x reader nsfw

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