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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

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Title: Cut

Pairing: Soft Dark! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Kink Prompt: Cut [Knife play]

Word Count: 1,944

Summary: You haven’t been having the best luck on dating apps, but you’re willing to try again.

Warnings: AU: Dark, Noncon, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive Behavior, Knife play, Marking, Dead Dove: Do not eat, MINORS DNI!

A/N: i’m super excited to share this one with you all, i had a lot of fun fulfilling the brief. hoping you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! divider by @firefly-graphics

Your date’s eyes flick up over your right shoulder for the umpteenth time that night, a spark of nervousness growing in them.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, a small but reassuring smile on your lips. You turn around, but there isn’t anything out of place at the restaurant. The tables surrounding you are all full of people laughing and chatting amicably, not one of them paying attention to either of you. “See someone you know?” You joke, but Phil’s responding laughter is hollow and anxious sounding.

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “I just thought—you know what? Never mind.” Phil dives back into the conversation full force, asking you about your likes and dislikes, your family and friends, your dating history. “No boyfriends I should know about?” He leans forward, and you get the impression that this light-hearted joke somehow isn’t light-hearted at all.

“No.” You say with a short laugh. “Why would I be on Tingle looking for a boyfriend if I had a boyfriend?” You take a sip of your wine as Phil chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“No, totally, of course. I’ve just, you know. Heard some real horror stories on 6Space.”

“Hah, yeah,” you say, thinking of your latest string of failed dates. “Horror stories.”

“You have some of your own, I take it?”

You heave a sigh, downing another generous sip of your wine. You shift a little in your seat, thinking uncomfortably of the last date you’d been on. James—Bucky, he wanted you to call him Bucky—was nice, but… intense. His charm and passion had been underscored unpleasantly by a deep, aching need, one you didn’t—and still don’t—think you’re qualified to fill.

“I guess you could say that.” Going back to Bucky’s place with him had been a mistake. One that left you weak and sore for days afterward, and you’d swiftly blocked his number before re-installing the dating app last week.

You’re just perfect, doll, you know that? Fucking sweet and tight and all mine, isn’t that right?

The entrees come without issue, and you eat half of your falafel before you’re tapping out. “I love this place, but the portion sizes,” you complain lightheartedly, and Phil laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Let me get it,” he says, grabbing for the bill. You watch Phil pat his pockets, his expression turning worried as he searches. “What the f—Okay, I totally had my wallet before I went to the bathroom.” He rises from the table and flags down a waiter. “Has anyone found a wallet? I can’t seem to find mine.”

“I’ll check with the host.”

He sits back down, cheeks red with embarassment. “This never happens,” he says, laughing nervously. “Can I, um. I can Cash-mo you, if that’s okay.”

You place your own card in the book, nodding. “Of course.” The waiter swings back by to grab it, and shakes his head apologetically at Phil. He swipes your card through the reader while Phil mutters that maybe he left it in the taxi, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. You tuck your copy of the receipt into your purse and stand.

“So um. I was thinking, maybe we could get a drink at my place?” Phil asks, a distinctly unattractive pleading note in his voice. “No pressure for anything else, of course, and—”

“You know what, Phil? I think I’m going to call it a night.” You offer him a tired smile, one you hope masks your dissatisfaction with the date. “But maybe we can hang out again?” The offer is a false one, made to round off the hard edge of your rejection. Phil deflates.

“Y-yeah. Of course,” he replies defeatedly, irritation setting itself in the displeased curl of his lip. “Another time.”

The walk back to your apartment is dreary, made all the worse by the cold drizzle and your own bad mood. Your fat orange tabby greets you at the door, yowling hungrily as he winds his way around your legs. You kick off your damp heels by the door, rocking gratefully on the balls of your feet. You reach down to pick up the cat, and he twists in your arms to butt his head against your face.

“I don’t know, Oliver,” you sigh, picking your way over the pile of your shoes by the front door. “Maybe this dating thing isn’t for me.” He chirrups in your arms, kneading you through your clothes as you head for the kitchen, intent on feeding him.

“Probably not. You strike me as a one-man kinda gal.”

“Fuck!” You shriek, dropping a yowling Oliver as you turn to stare fearfully into your darkened living room. You squint, feeling around in your purse for the little canister of mace you keep there. The outline of a figure—tall, broad shouldered—folds his arms across his chest, and steps a little closer to the light. Your mouth drops open with shock.

“Bucky?” You glance at the door and then back at him. “W-what are you doing here?” He cards a hand through his dark hair, teeth sinking into his plump lower lip as he contemplates his answer. His slate blue eyes catch the light as they fall on your face.

“I wanted to see you.” His mouth twists. “But you weren’t here.” You swallow, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. You don’t know how he got in without breaking your lock or a window—and furthermore, you don’t remember ever giving him your address.

“I-I think you should leave.” He doesn’t respond, watching you silently with an expression you can’t accurately read. “M-Maybe we can hang out—”

“Another time?” He says dryly, raising an eyebrow at you. “You use that line a lot, doll.”

“You’ve been watching me,” you say accusatorially, but Bucky only shrugs.

“A guy’s got to keep an eye on his best girl.” You hear the snikt of a knife sliding open, and you heart leaps into your throat as the blade gleams in the darkness. “I made you feel good, didn’t I, doll?” He asks, flipping the knife and catching it by the handle with his metal hand. When you don’t answer, he scowls. “Please, sweetheart, I’m talking to you.”

“Y-yes.” You croak, flinching as he steps closer. You’re pressed against the wall with fear, unable to look away from the cruelly curved blade in his hand. You try to inch along the wall, matching him step for step—but his hand crashes against the wall beside your head, trapping you. He turns the knife in his other hand, a look of consideration on his face. You can’t look away from it, your eyes jumping between his distracted gaze and the blade.

“You know,” he says, spinning it around one finger before catching it by the hilt, “it really hurt my feelings when you didn’t call, Sweetheart.” The breath in your throat escapes in a shrill little squeal as he slides the flat of it against your bare arm. His eyes flick up to yours. “I really liked you.”

“B-Bucky I—”

“You blocked me.”

“You scared me,” you whimper. He drags the blunt side of the knife down your arm and goosebumps spring up in its wake. “W-we’d been on one date, a-and you were talking rings and marriage, it-it was—”

“So knowing what I want’s a bad thing, now?” There’s a subtle note of accusation in his voice that you don’t miss. “You know, years I had other people in my head.” The knife reaches your wrist, and he turns it, pressing the edge against your pulse point before dragging it back up. “Telling me what I wanted. What to do.” You flinch as he presses the tip against your chest, just above the collar of your dress. He drags it down, and it slices through the chiffon of your dress like butter, parting the layers in a straight line until it falls off of you.

“I don’t understand,” he says softly. He cups your chin with one hand, all while he draws shapes on your belly with the tip of the knife. “Didn’t I make you feel good?” You feel each pass with crystal clarity, shivering as your nipples tighten from the cool air. Bucky sees it, licking his lips as he flicks his thumb across the tip of one, following it with the blade.

“Yes.” You’re afraid to move, to breathe. He draws the tip over the curve of your breast, tracing it down your side and hooking it beneath the elastic of your panties. It snaps against your skin, and you wince. He sighs, tracing it over your hip. The knife is so sharp that it doesn’t even hurt as your skin splits when he applies the tiniest bit more pressure, your blood welling up on the blade.

“I want you to understand, doll.” His voice is eerily calm. He swipes his thumb up the flat of the knife, collecting the thin line of crimson on his finger before popping it into his mouth. “You’re it for me.” The tip of the knife presses dangerously into the fleshy curve of your thigh, but Bucky pulls it away before it can break the skin. You gasp as he cups you with his flesh hand, parting the cleft lips of your cunt with thick, practiced fingers. He chuckles pulling his fingers from between your thighs to show you the wetness at their tips. Your stomach curdles with shame as he flashes his teeth in a triumphant grin.

“Knew you liked me, doll.” The knife-tip leaves your skin tingling and oversensitive as you strain to feel where next it’ll touch down. You stare up at him with glassy, disbelieving eyes as he reaches back down to thumb at your clit, his other hand drawing oblong shapes with the knife. Down, over the curve of your belly, over your hip, tracing the side of your face—he doesn’t stop. There’s nowhere for you to go, pressed against the wall with Bucky’s body blocking you in, nowhere to hide from the sensation of his fingers twisting in your core and the sharp silver blade leaving trails on your flesh.

“G-God, Bucky s-stop—” The rest of your plea dissolves on your tongue as your body jackknifes, hot currents of electricity washing away conscious thought. His voice is dark in your ear, egging you on as you convulse in his arms.

“Good girl, doll, so good,” he coos, the stubble on his cheek rasping against your own as he nuzzles you. “So pretty when you cum, baby. Could watch it all goddamn day.” He pulls his drenched fingers from your core with an embarrassingly slick noise. Your knees are trembling, barely holding you up, so it’s no task for Bucky to sweep them out from under you, cradling you to his chest as he walks toward the bedroom.

He lays you across the bed with surprising gentleness, and then kneels on the floor by the foot of it. Your legs are dangling over the edge, but not for long before Bucky rests them on his shoulders. His breath puffs against your slick, sensitive folds. You whimper as the tip of the knife presses into your hip again, and even with it’s wicked sharpness, you feel the blade bite into your flesh. You writhe, whimpering, and Bucky hushes you gently. He leans forward to lave a wet, sloppy kiss against your cunt.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he says, and you feel him bear down on the knife again, drawing a straight line, and then a curve. “Don’t wanna mess up my initials.”

fin

Hello friends! I no longer maintain a taglist, so please follow @box-of-bones-library for updates and new work, thank you!

Likes and comments are amazing, but reblogs are golden! Please consider sharing my work so that others can see it too!

#sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x you #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky smut #smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #au: dark #darkfic #dark!fic #boxofbonesfic

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redsray · 2 months

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Batfam AU where Jason never dies, so Tim doesn't join the family the standard way. Instead, he continues pouring most of his time and energy into his photography, eventually becoming known as a popular photographer for events and all that. So now, picture this: Tim gets hired to be a photographer for a Wayne gala. Obviously, he's ecstatic, because he can take pictures of Batman, Robin and Nightwing and be in their presence for a whole night. Since Tim is so naturally talented in stealth and taking pictures unnoticed, the second one of the fam realises this they're like: this kid is good. Tim manages to go unnoticed by all 3 of them (all bat-trained, one literally batman) multiple times during the night, and even when he is noticed, he disappears before they can manage to get a good look at him; to the sheer amazement of Dick and Jason.

Jason, (very discreetly putting snacks in his suit pocket): i know you're under the table, kid.

Tim: don't mind me, Mr. Todd-Wayne, sir, just taking a few pictures

Jason: right... Jason's fine, and what pictures were you taking from under the table?!

Tim, showing him perfectly good shots of him: these.

Jason: how did you get that. it looks like you took it from the rafters

Tim, nodding: I did.

Jason, glancing at the ceiling: ...what?

Tim, gone:

Jason: no fucking way.

Dick, hearing a very, very faint camera shutter from behind him:

Dick, turning around and finding no one there: what the actual...

Dick, getting the feeling of being watched and whirling around to find Tim staring at him from across the room: ... huh.

Jason, pulling Dick aside: you see that kid too, right?!

Dick, nodding: the camera kid, yeah?

Jason: who is that.

Dick: he's one of the hired photographers, apparently. one of the best in his field, despite his age.

Jason: he's good. like, really good. snuck up on me 4 times already, the little bastard.

Dick: you too? i swear he's constantly watching. it's creepy how well he can sneak past both of us.

Jason:

Dick:

Jason: you don't think...

Dick: no. B would've told us.

Jason:

Dick:

Dick: did he get another kid and not tell us somehow

Bruce: what do you mean another kid?

Jason: you heard us. did you adopt another kid and not tell us?!

Bruce: no?? how would I even?? ... what's this about?

Dick: one of the photographers has managed to sneak up on both me and Jay multiple times already

Bruce: what.

Jason: he also can't be more than like. 15 or 16. so forgive us for assuming you took another one in.

Bruce: do you know his name?

Dick:

Jason:

Bruce: really?

Dick: in our defence, he's very hard to catch. i wouldn't be surprised if he's snuck up on you, too.

[camera shutter noise]

All of them, whipping their heads toward the sound only to find nothing but air:

Tim, smiling from the other side of the room:

Jason: do you see what we mean?!

Cue an entire night of shenanigans where it's just Dick, Jason and Bruce trying to catch Tim and learn about him. Upon finding out who he is and where he lives, Dick immediately asks to keep him as an honorary member of the family. Jason is hesitant at first but at some point Tim calls Bruce Batman instead of Mr. Wayne on accident and Jason laughs so hard he's basically won over. Bruce can do nothing but watch as Tim proceeds to come over almost every night for sleepovers and is coddled by both of his sons. And he can't deny, the kid's investigation and stealth skills are top tier. By the time Dick and Jason both start referring to Tim as 'their younger brother' Bruce has just accepted his fate.

#batfam #batman #dc comics #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #batfam au #dick: look he's even got the dark hair and blue eyes #jason: he fits the pattern. you gotta #dick to tim: you are ours now #tim who just wanted to spend time with his heroes: oh #they declare him as theirs so he is theirs #bruce does not get a choice #he is THEIR little stalker #when jason finds out that tim follows them as vigilantes too he falls over laughing #dick wiping a tear away: he's perfect

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verflares · 1 month

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(click for higher quality!) draconified link concept ive been chipping away at this past week ..... here's my funny little compendium concept for him:

"A heroic spirit has taken the form of this bestial dragon. Unlike it's kin, this creature exhibits an extremely aggressive disposition. It appears highly territorial, and will relentlessly chase down those who disturb its skywide patrols - of which it seems to be endlessly searching for either a long-time vassal or foe. Unfortunately, it seems the spirit within has long since forgotten exactly who it was looking for…"

#now. how on earth do i begin to tag this. um.#link #loz #totk #totk spoilers #light dragon #dragon link #loz au #totk roleswap au #there . i'll add more if they come to me LOL #um i can talk about some of my insps i guess?? might make another post too #so mostly i just dont really like turning him into 'light dragon but male' and giving him slightly darker colours or something like that #this also obviously isnt exactly like the botw dragons either though and its a bit more of a mix of other creature concepts i enjoy #since everyone agrees he'd have a farosh horn i wanted to make him a kirin/unicorn :) which is why his tail looks like that #aside from the obvious eastern dragon insps and what ive picked and chosen from the botw dragons #and obviously this looks a lot like wolf link. thats on purpose #i wanted to give him some fierce deity design refs too but because this is so dark/earthy they didnt look very fitting #but honestly you could do a whole fierce deity dragon design on its own i think #okay lots of tags but IVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS FOR A WHILE. okay. let me have this.#my art

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mlarty · 2 months

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look at her! she is ready to rock 🦇⚔️

As they say, better late than never, so we finally drew Marrow in this stunning outfit. Perhaps it can be called modern AU? Astarion's precious bat knight

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dark urge #durge #marrow #artists on tumblr #digital art #modern au #yeah she'll step on you if you ask

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sandswirls · 3 months

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*crystamanthequins starts playing*

#artists on tumblr #my art #fanart #art #ygo #drawing #digital art #yugioh #yugioh au #yami yugi #yugioh atem #dark yugi #yugioh art #yugioh fanart #yugioh fandom #yugioh season 0 #cw eyestrain #bright colors #the puzzle system au

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slumpsnail · 4 days

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Dark Gale hasn't left my brain since the last time I drew him

#gale bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #my art #thank you to all the dark gale au art out there

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bizarreauhavre · 1 year

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“Memento Mori” book with skull carved in the thickness of old books

#bizarre au havre #sculpture #memento mori #dark #old books #skull #artist #macabre #livres anciens #crane humain #artiste

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tarjapearce · 6 months

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Dr. Michael Stone

Mad Scientist variant! Miguel O'Hara x Spider!f! Reader

art by @Spiderthingcoo on X

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Smut, Breeding Kink, Mild dub-con, Oral sex (F receiving), possessive behaviors, rough electroplay, Questionable morals, Dark Miguel, manhandling, yandere scientist (I guess?) P in V, isolation, edging, female anatomy, Nipple play, dumbification, Michael Stone is a walking redflag. No proofread, objectification, power play.

Summary: From all the variants of Miguel you could've encountered, you met him.

A|N: Inspired by @Spiderthingcoo and Halloween ✨

Pt. 2

Clink

The sound repetitive and echoing in your hazy mind, luring you out of the slumber you had been forced to. Eyes heavy with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

A sharp inhale gave you enough courage to part your lids enough to reckon your surroundings. Blurry and wet eyesight slowly came into a focus and clear view of where you were. A lab.

How had you ended up here? Where was Miguel? Why wasn't Lyla making fun of your passing?

The explosion, of course.

A weakened groan escaped past dry and chapped lips, while your mind tried to recollect and organize the memories it created before going on a blackout.

The mission was simple, try and track the anomaly. Rhino. But the villian wasn't up for dialogue and had sent you flying against a wall, damaging your watch. Miguel had promised to fix it once you were back at HQ.

But the damage had been severe enough to not only electrocute you, but to cause an explosion within the already open portal. A boom powerful enough to throw you out of the current timeline and swallow you into another one, much to Miguel's distress. And then, nothing.

Pure black darkness.

Pristine white walls elegantly dressed with technology you had never seen before. The machine whirrings and hummings kept your eyes wandering from one extreme to another, trying to find anything that would be out of place. To your dismay, nothing indicated to be in such state.

Except for one thing.

Sitting in a simple chair, was a man clad in white, blending in with his environment. If it wasn't for his titanium rimmed glasses and their reflection, his tan skin and a very familiar looking face, he'd go undetected under your radar.

But your ever trusting spider senses alerted you of his presence. His red eyes bore into you, stalking, awaiting; preying. Impassiveness and stoicism plastered on his beautiful face.

A glacial chill ran down your spine.

"M-Miguel?" You rasped in the admist of your drowsiness

The man's eye glinted, dangerous and curious as he stood. His hair wavy and silky, graciously slicked back, His smirk deepened as he walked right before you, watching you with such marvel it made your breath hitch.

"Michael." The Boss' doppelganger corrected.

A stupor spreaded through your legs. Your arms had gone numb long ago. Another late realization as you looked at your limbs, expanded and trapped in the metal contraption, like a crucifix. Your legs remained separated, toes barely touching the floor and completely bare before him.

Panic rose as he placed a white gloved and immaculate hand on your cheek. Miguel was always speaking about the variants of the villains that he often forgot to mention about his own.

This one in particular was one to be extremely wary of. Dr. Michael Stone, acknowledged son of Tyler Stone, the CEO of Alchemax. A scientist obsessed with the spider DNA his team had recollected many years ago.

"Dr. Michael Stone, Mike for the friends."

He cupped your face and kissed you deeply. Tongue sweeping on your trembling mouth, taking a taste of you. He let you go with an appreciative hum. His thumbs pressed on your now glistening lips to pry them open, taking a glance on your teeth. Your breath fanned his face as he explored your mouth with his thumbs initially.

"Healthy breath and teeth, no fangs, sadly" the doctor mumbled to himself while catching your tongue in between his thumb and index finger, pulling it enough to examinate it's length.

You whimpered at the pain. Saliva escaping your mouth, which he collected quickly in a little glass vial. His fingers typed in the data in a holo-pad that materialized next to him.

His face was deranged, a soft blush crept on his sharp cheeks. He had stumbled upon a gold mine.

The drowsiness had left your body entirely, fear and nausea replacing it. Modesty or shame weren't in Michael's vocabulary. Nipples perked at the cool air that invaded the lab.

He brought a little table with several pieces of something he had been tinkering with.

"Your little contraption seems something too advanced for people in your world. Sadly the damage is too great to salvage something."

He displayed the now burnt pieces of the watch, pieces you supposed were the core of its functioning.

"For how long have you been a mutant?"

"Years." Voice meek, he nodded as he kept typing away, without looking much your direction, too deep in the screen and the data displaying on it.

"Is there any others like me?"

You gulped. Your brief silence had been enough answer for him.

"I see." His grin turned into a devious chuckle, "I suppose there is one of me that is like you, isn't it?"

Upon hearing no answer of you, he pressed a button, where a sudden electricity jolt coursed through your body. Earning him a pained yelp from you.

"I don't appreciate your silence, cariño. Now, when was the last time your period came?"

Your body lingered in unpleasant waves of the shocking aftermath. Soft breaths turned into short and shallow pants, anger rising again.

"I don't remember" You admitted curtly and uncomfortable by the direction the interrogation was taking course.

"Have you had children before?"

The question made you blink stupidly at him while sneered at your reaction and cleared his throat. Keeping at bay the ominous thoughts already forming in his wicked brain.

"N-No." You mumbled and his lips pursed in a wolfish grin it sent an ill feeling through your chest. Your brain's danger alarms flared, begging you to run away as fast as you could. But how such thing would be achieved when you were nearly T qposing, naked, before a man that had everything but good intentions with you.

"There's always a first." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The hidden promise in his words had you struggling against your prison but it stopped as he sent another electric jolt through your body.

You groaned both painfully and annoyed in between raged pants.

"Let me go! " He could only cackle at your waning order.

"But why would I do such thing, cariño?" His fingers tracing the slope of your jaw, "Not when I have found the perfect vessel for my lineage to develop."

Heart thumped wildly on your chest, threatening to escape up your throat.

"P-Please, let me go."

Something dern recoiled in his eyes, pleading was futile, even though he loved the way you pronounced such words.

"Can't do. In fact, I think production should start right away."

He beamed and your heart sunk. Hopefully Miguel caught your signal before the gizmo was broken for good. Attention snapping on a pair of eyes that danced around your body. He licked his lips while loosening his tie. His glasses were removed.

Your chest heaved with anxiety, but he kneeled before you, pushing your outer folds away to reach the forbidden prize he was set in devouring, your clit. It twitched and contracted when his thumb stroked it softly. Michael didn't waste time and sunk himself between your thighs.

"N-No!" You panted while trying to squeeze his head away from your thighs, but his grip was steely. His tongue assaulted your cunt with such intensity it had you clenching your jaw and panting within seconds.

Strong and moist muscle dribbled down your pussy, teasing around your quivering hole. His plump lips captured your little nub of nerves in between them, to then apply pressure within strong sucking motions. Your hips bucked, nearly melting at the powerful sensations the scientist dragged you to.

The slick of your labia increased making his motions smoother, vicious and wet. You could feel him resting his head on your lower belly as his mouth ate you like a starved man. A lap here, a dribbling up and down there and it had your mouth gaping open.

"Fuck" You tried to lurch forward but the upper restrictions on your limbs could only allow much movement. Your head heavy with lust blown and fearful thoughts, making it loll side to side, shaking off the pleasure that crawled all the way up, trying to fog your judgment completely.

The goal however was accomplished when his tongue delved in your hole, fucking it with such expertise it had your breath slurred and blown from your lungs.

His moist muscle curled, coiled and slurped at your cunt. Twirling and gathering your juices in his mouth. As dangerous as he was, Michael seemed a connoisseur of the female anatomy. And he ate like a starved man, like his life and investigation depended on it.

Your head was thrown back, just like your eyes in their sockets. Breaths turned erratic when his hands squeezed the round of your breast. Maneuvering your perky nipples a little too rough. He pinched, pulled and slapped them, matching the merciless pace of his assailant lips.

Teeth ground together, jaw clenched and trapping in the moans he rightfully had earned. Your hands managed to fist in the admist of the numbness they had been subdued to.

His tongue ventured deeper with moist and gulping movements, the tip of his nose buried in your pubic mound, keeping you in place from squirming too much, chasing that relief that would bring you a bit of peace to your tortured cunt. Heat pooled in his mouth, pressure tightening, edging you to an endless and dangerous spiral of tempting corruption.

A strangled whine came off your throat as he stopped and looked up at you. Darkened pupils wide, absorbing the red iris upon the sight of you.

Perfect, beatific even.

You were the perfect vessel for him. Lips flushed in need, exhaling the stimulation out of your system. A rapturous expression on your face, like a virgin that had been worshipped, and he was the chosen one to corrupt such grimace. His tie was removed completely and tossed somewhere.

With a tap of the holo-pad, your restrains were loosened, and you fell on the floor with a thud. A little groan as your body made contact with the cold tiles, blood rushing back to your limbs, leaving a prickling sensation all the way down your hands, awakening them.

As much as you hated to admit that you had enjoyed it, the rational side of you took control again, urging you to an attempt of escape while you crawled on your fours. Your suit had been discarded on one of the trash bins.

A strong hand grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you towards him, wobbly and feeble legs trembled at the forced attempt of standing up, only for your torso to be slammed against a nearby metal table. Air knocking out of your lungs with a 'oomph'

"You are going nowhere."

Despite the overall nerd-ish look, he was strong. Strong and big enough to pin your arms effortlessly before you, to then place a pair of metallic hoops on your wrist that instantly adhered at the table. Magnetic handcuffs, of course.

Breast flattened against the metal, unruly strands of hair obscured your sight, his agitated breath fanning over the crook of your neck. Rear was positioned in the perfect pose to expose both your holes. Pussy glistening with a mix of his saliva and your own slick.

"Marvelous. We are about to create the Opus Magna of my investigation. Aren't you excited, bonita?"

Your ears perked ominously at the unbuckling and fumbling of his pants.

"You have no idea how long I've awaited for a chance like this." His flushed tip rubbed between your folds, coating himself before aligning to your drenched hole. He tittered while taking a vice like grip on your hips and with a sudden motion, he buried inch by inch inside your gummy and sticky walls.

"Miguel!" You cried as he sheathed to the hilt, stretching you a bit past your limits. Fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled back with force. Granting him a pathetic yelp from you.

"Michael." He growled into your ear, "I am no bound by weaknesses unlike that defective copy of mines. But don't you worry..."

His tone venomous, "I'll make you learn my name one way or another." He slid a hand around your neck and squeezed a whimper out of you, "You're here to stay after all."

Callous fingers slid back to your hips, groping and grounding himself before he pushed in. A strangled moan came before air was cut short again by his firm and deep thrusting, allowing you to adjust enough to his girth. It was scary how perfect he fit inside, reinforcing his belief you were made specially for him and the explosion had been the catalyst for his plan to build a superior form of being, set in track.

Not only had he been granted a subject he had been chasing for nearly a decade, but now, he couldn't just study you, but also impregnate you. And what a better coincidence when you were reaching your most fertile days. Or so the data had dictated, and data didn't lie.

"With me." A deep cackle erupted from his mouth as an onslaught of merciless thrust were delivered between your supple and plump glutes, making them jiggle at his rutting.

A garbled and shaky moan escaped your lips, eyes wide at the core shaking pace he had settled. Toes curled and your hands fisted against the metallic handcuffs, trying to anchor yourself once more to something as the table creaked violently underneath both. The pressure on your clit increased as his balls slapped it, sending jolts through your body.

Your cunt received him with an obsence slurp, swallowing him whole over and over, hole moulded to his thick shaft, leaving you empty every time he slid out, only to be refilled impossibly deep with a pitiless plow.

You were a mewling and wailing mess underneath his formidable frame. Torso rock hard, just like the throbbing cock inside your snug and drenched pussy.

The room and you were the only witnesses of his borderline animalistic growls and snarls, set into his goal to fill you to the brim the times he saw it fit. After all, no experiment was successful without trial and error.

All you could hear was the rough slapping of your flesh melding together in a rough display of power where he indisputably had the upper hand.

Fire licked at every inch of your skin, tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, blurring your sight with overstimulation. He gave you no time to properly breath, too lost in wrecking your cunt to care, enraptured in the thrill your flesh offered him.

A firm slap on your jiggling ass granted him a choked wail, one of the few indicators you still remained conscious and holding it together. He frowned.

It wasn't enough, he wanted nothing more than your ruin. Having you subdued to him, both in mind and body. Stubborn nature couldn't just leave you fucked physically. The need to possess you in all it's wholeness took over him. You'd be his, and if he had to face his counterpart to keep you by his side, then so be it.

Michael stilled for a moment, giving you precious seconds to catch a much needed breath. He removed the lab coat and shirt, exposing his sweaty and well sculpted torso. Your legs trembled, your brain buzzed with all sort of sensations, the metal fogged with every deep breath you gave against it, if it wasn't for the restrains in your wrist, you'd certainly be on the floor, since your legs were giving up in supporting you.

A little drool streak escaped the corner of your lips, connecting to the space underneath you. Your hair was pulled back with a mild yank, forcing your spine to arch. The Fibonacci sequence would draw perfectly in the curvature of your flexible spine. One of the many perks of being a spiderwoman.

His frame swallowed you once more as he propped your right thigh on the table, granting him more access to delve in deeper into you.

" Ohmygod" you howled at how full and deep your insides were. He smirked at your words, "I can't... I can't-"

"You are more than capable of taking me, pequeña." A deep thrust and he had you sobbing, "Don't disappoint me now."

He rasped in blown inhales.

Your brain was melting just like your body. Instead of unceasing and swift slaps of flesh, steady and rhythmic plunges filled in the void space. Your mouth did nothing but nonsensical gabbling. Occasionally praising him with a coherent lewd curse or a whine.

Eyelids drooped a bit too low as your mouth went completely ajar, exhaling weakly. The weight of his frame pressing against you, slotting perfectly on your back. His hips dug into yours remorselessly, then you felt his arm hooking underneath your lower belly in a possessive embrace, letting the once punished breasts to bounce freely as he pounded relentlessly into you.

The second he skimmed on your tender skin, your body went taut and your brain shut off for a second, overheated by the mind shattering orgasm crashing over you. Only then your body was allowed to go limp on his arms, but that didn't stop him from giving a few more core shaking thrusts before emptying himself inside you. Flooding your womb with his hot load.

"Mi...Michael-" You croaked almost imperceptibly at the canvas he was making out of your insides.

Oh the joy of knowing he'd have a superior offspring made his wicked brain tingle. A malicious laugh escaped him upon admiring your current state. Fucked out and full of him, to the brim like he had promised. Michael Stone was a man of word.

When he had poured the last drop of cum inside, he pulled out to pick himself up. Underwear and pants secured back on his waist. His discarded lab coat covered his upper frame once more, body too heated to keep adding layers of clothing. He released the handcuffs off your wrist and caught you before your body slumped on the floor.

He rewarded your outlasting with a deep yet brief smooch, which you recoiled from. It didn't matter. You'd learn to tolerate his presence soon enough.

His arms carried you like a ragdoll. A doll that somehow still refused to be tamed, adding more dry bones to the raging obsession fire. You struggled from his grip but he didn't budge, a cruel laugh met you instead as he waltzed you to an empty room. Naked with jelly-like legs that didn't cooperate, angry and fearful and powerless.

He tossed you onto the bed and marched back towards the entrance. Proud of your lack of strength to retaliate and cunt full of his cum. His seed would do it's job soon enough. He had waited years, a bit more won't hurt him.

The thought of your belly rounding up with his child made his deep gaze to lock on you over his shoulder for a moment.

"Welcome to my world, querida." His cheeks spreaded in a wicked smirk before disappearing into the light, locking you out from freedom and hope.

Darkness drowned you, like his obsession. Dr. Michael Stone had finally achieved a breakout in his investigation. And he had no intentions of letting you go. Not until you produced the many heirs he had in mind.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Miguelverse #miguel o'hara smut #Spiderman 2099 smut #atsv smut #t writes✨#Michael Stone AU #dark!miguel o'hara

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

Photo

Title: Alpha

Pairing: Alpha! Prince!Lloyd Hansen x Omega!Reader

Kink Prompt: Alpha

Word Count: 1,987

Summary: You try to keep your designation from the crown prince.

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, A/B/O, Mating/Heat Cycles, Regency AU, Public Sex, Smut, Darkfic, AU: Dark, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Minors DNI!

A/N: entry number seven, super late, i’m sorry!! i hope you all enjoy. divider by @firefly-graphics

The goblet crashes against the wall, its contents staining the tapestry deep crimson. You flinch at the sound of it, though you keep your hands folded primly behind you and your eyes trained on the smooth stone floor. You know better than to allow your curiosity free reign, especially here.

“Is this all you have to offer?” The prince’s sneer is evident in his tone. “Barren, withered stock?” Through your lowered lashes, you see the duke flinch, his fingers tightening around his daughter’s hand. “Your daughter is ten years my senior, Lord Thayne,” he drawls. “And she is a Beta.” Prince Lloyd spits the word out venomously. And though his vitriol is not directed at you, you feel yourself shrink anyway, your fingers tangling nervously in the coarse cotton weave of your plain skirts.

This time, you cannot force your eyes to remain locked on the gray stone. You peek up through your lashes, your breath suspended in your lungs as Lord Thayne bows his head respectfully despite the prince’s insult.

“My Prince, when your Lord father bade his court to bring forth their eligible daughters, he did not specify that only those with suitable Omega offspring come forward.” The prince’s eyes narrow, and for a fearful moment you wonder if he will reach for his sword. But his hand only twitches upon the gilded, polished wood of the throne.

“Lord Thayne, how long have you served my father?” He asks quietly, leaning forward to address the older man. Thayne casts a rather unsure look about the silent, almost empty throne room. Indeed, only his Majesty, the Prince and the King’s counsel of advisors were present, other than Lord Thayne and his red-faced daughter. You try to make yourself as small as possible, shrinking against the wall as you clutch desperately at the bundle of herbs in the pockets of your skirt.

“Two score years at least, my Prince.” Thayne answers. Confusion is written in the deep wrinkles lining his brow.

“And in that time, Lord Thayne, how often would you say the King himself has asked you to rule in his stead?” The room grows so quiet, you swear you can hear the sound of Thayne’s heart pounding as his eyes widen.

“M-my Prince, I—” The prince holds up a hand, quieting him.

“You have not ruled a kingdom, Lord Thayne. You have not even ruled a fiefdom. How can you claim to know the will of His Majesty? From the looks of it, the only place you hold counsel is your own home, and even that is lacking.”

Lord Thayne’s face is red with anger and embarrassment, his hands clutched into angry fists at his sides. You feel even worse for his daughter, who stands stoically behind him, though her eyes are glassy and wet with unshed tears. Prince Lloyd sighs, waving a dismissively.

“I grow bored of this endless parade of incompetence.” He looks to his left, where advisor Carmichael nervously wrings his hands. “Lord Carmichael. Inform my father I am finished for the day. I will see no more.”

Silently, you move through the throne room as they depart. You gather their discarded goblets, and other refuse as quickly as you can, eager to escape from the chamber. Your movements are quick and nervous. The room is muddy with scents,ball pushing up against one another. Your hand strays to the bundle of wormwood and verbena hidden in the pocket of your skirt.

The prince’s cruel insults still ring in your ears as you make your way through the vast hall, your head lowered. Though they were meant as insults, you hear them as threats. You know what the prince seeks—what he has sought relentlessly since your first heat a month ago.

The memory still dredges up needle-sharp fear. The prince pounding insistently at the door to the servant’s quarters, scratching at it until his fingernails bled and his throat grew hoarse from shouting.

“It’ll block your scent, mostly.” You hope Piha was right, her nervous instruction in the servant’s quarters weeks before would now be tested. You pluck up the pieces of shattered glass, making a basket of your apron. A sly glance through your lashes tells you Prince Lloyd has not noticed you. His rapt attention remains on the advisors, and their urgent whispers.

Good.

Madge drops a few more pieces of jagged glass into your apron, and eyes the stained tapestry with frustration.

“I shall have to have one taken from the east wing to replace it. Dispose of these,” she waves a hand at you. “There is more work to be done upon your return.”

Though you are only temporarily dismissed, you feel lighter as you leave the throne room. It worked. You feel almost giddy, heartened by your success. You dump the glass in your apron into the dirt outside the kitchens, giving it a good shake to dislodge any stubborn shards. I shall have to pick the herbs fresh once a week, so they stay fresh—So preoccupied with your thoughts are you that the crunch of dry dirt under boots goes completely unnoticed.

“You think to deceive me with weeds?” The cool voice stops you in your tracks as the hair at the back of your neck stands up. The prince watches you from the doorway his eyes dark. He runs his tongue across his lips. “Omega.”

“M-my P-prince, I—” Your eyes dart nervously around the small courtyard, searching for an exit. “I-I am not—”

“Do not lie to me.” He snarls, taking a menacing step forward. “Come here, Omega.” A miserable little whine bubbles out from between your lips as you try to resist the command, sweat beading at your brow as your body tries to move without your permission. You lose, though, releasing a shuddering breath as your feet carry you right to him. You despise the part of you that preens at his attention, the part of you that had fought and cried to be allowed to answer the prince’s desperate calls weeks earlier.

He slips a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head to the side. The modest neckline of your dress hides the untouched gland at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Slowly, the prince undoes the clasp, and you hear him hum low in his throat with approval at your unmarked skin.

“I thought myself mad,” he says, tracing the shape of your gland through your skin. “But I wasn’t, was I, Omega?” Prince Lloyd chuckles. “Though if you had your way, I would still be chasing shadows.” He undoes another few, his fingers straying across each inch of new skin he reveals. The impropriety of it makes you tremble, though your body refuses to cooperate with your desire to flee. “You are a lovely thing, aren’t you?” He murmurs appreciatively, either ignorant of or unbothered by the discomfort on your face.

Alpha hasn’t given permission.

“Pl-please, m-my Prince, I won’t tell anyone, I—” You hiccup wetly as terrified tears well in your wide eyes. “Th-the King will not stand for it!” You hope to temper his lust with the mention of his father. He is a prince, invisible to the eye of the law—but you know the price of attempting to rise above one’s station, and indeed it will be you who has to pay it. Prince Lloyd inhales you deeply, his eyes rolling half shut as he hums low in his throat.

“My Lord father is already half in his grave,” the prince sighs irreverently. “How long do you suppose he has to be angry with me?” He reaches for the tie to your stays, and you cannot stop yourself from catching his hand. Lloyd sneers at you. “You deceive your prince. You lie to him. Deny him.” As he speaks his voice grows crueler. “Lamb, I know you know the punishment for treason. The sentence is not light.”

He reaches again for your corset stays, and you whimper as he undoes them. “P-please, please, Your Majesty, n-not here—“

“Everywhere, Omega,” he hisses, “And anywhere I desire. Now, or in a fortnight, I am your King.” The prince tugs at the fabric of your dress so roughly you fear he’ll tear it and leave you with nothing to cover your shame once he’s through. His kiss is needy and rough, his tongue slipping between your trembling lips. You despise it, though the dark, wanting thing purring in the back of your mind glories in his forceful dominance.

The chaste nothings you’d shared with others before you’d been old enough to really know their meaning cannot compare to this. The gland in your neck throbs, the skin around it heating as Lloyd presses his thumb against it. You whimper into his mouth and he devours it greedily, leaving you breathless and dizzy when he pulls away. The prince’s eyes are even darker than before, the blackness of his pupils swallowing up the blue. ‘

He finishes with your stays, and the modest corset falling to the dirt between you.

“Do you think it will matter?” He asks, sliding his hand into the open fabric, pushing it from your shoulder to bare the smooth skin beneath. “What your father’s name was, the lands he never held—do you think any of it will fucking matter?” He cups your breast, dragging his thumb across swelling nipple. “My word is the truth. You are what I say you are.” Lloyd’s mustache scratches against your cheek as he rubs his face against yours, scent marking you.

The warmth simmering beneath your skin grows to a fever pitch, and suddenly your dress feels itchy and uncomfortable against you, your undergarments constricting. There is a sickening want growing in your chest as the prince’s mouth moves down the line of your throat, his teeth nipping at your flesh.

“T-the people with think me a w-whore, your Majesty,” your words end in a whimper as he withdraws quickly. “I-it is indecent, my Prince, i-it will not stand before the council—”

“The council are a bunch of doddering old fools who would rather mind their tongues than lose their heads.” He grasps your chin with one hand while he rucks up the fabric of your dress with the other. Cold stone bites into your back through the cloth as Lloyd presses you into the wall. “And once I place a crown on your pretty head, it will be treason to utter your name and the word whore in the same sentence.”

His words are meant to be soothing, to belay the fear bubbling in your chest, but they do not. You see the golden cage for what it is—a prison, a pretty one. You press your thighs together as his fingers skirt across your vulva, even as your cunt pulses with shameful wetness.

“Open for me, Lamb.” The command is impossible to deny. Your thighs part inch by reluctant inch until Prince Lloyd’s hand fits easily between them. He chuckles cruelly as he slides his fingers through your slick folds. “You see? It’s in your nature, my Omega.” He breathes the words against your lips as he claims them again. “Your nature is to serve.” He circles your traitorously swelling clit with a finger. “Serve me. To love me.”

His fingers force a sharp gasp from your trembling lips, and your own tangle in his fine tunic. You’re burning from within, burning for him, and he is stoking it. Prince Lloyd’s mouth slides over the curve of your cheek and down your throat until his teeth are pushing sharply into the skin above your mating gland.

Dizzy euphoria washes over you as your bleary eyes turn heavenward, staring up at the late summer sky.

“What is it the priests say?” He chuckles, and you taste the copper of your own blood in the air. “Let none tear asunder what the Gods have made one.”

fin