26. She/they My main is vaya-mernda and my writing and art blog is vaya-writes. This blog is where I’m posting and reblogging more triggering material and dark fics. You’ll find horror-porn and noncon type stuff here, along with monster fuckery. Also posts here will probably be super horny from time to time. 18+ readers only. Please respect my boundaries and do not interact if you are a minor.
All fics that I write will have detailed content warnings but,
Posts on this blog won’t be trigger warned in the tags so please follow at your own discretion. Expect to see and read:
- blood, gore, torture, murder
- noncon and dubcon, kidnapping,
- horny posts, BDSM and kink, dirty talk too embarrassing to be on main 👍🏻
- an overlap of all of the above, possibly darker content if it suits characters I’m reblogging about (necrophilia, cannibalism, etc)
- Fic and art about Slashers and Yanderes. Fandoms such as Boyfriend to Death, The Price of Flesh, and Degrees of Lewdity.
Let me know your recs ☺️
A03
Masterlist: (updated 21/08/25)
Most of my writing is over at @vaya-writes, but this blog is for my nasty shit. So far we've got:
Degrees of Lewdity Fanfics
Whitney/FemalePlayer Hurt/Comfort
Willing Participant - Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4 (final)
Strade x F Reader (A boyfriend to death fanfic) A story in which Strade’s next victim makes a suggestion. To his surprise he listens. OR Strade kidnaps a complete masochist who doesn’t fear death. He’s a bit taken aback by the situation. The beginning of the Strade x Masochist series.
Slack in the Leash
Strade x F Reader (A boyfriend to death fanfic). A short following the events of Willing Participant. From the Strade x Masochist series.
Kiss of the Kelpie - Intro, Fight, Flight, Freeze, Fawn
Inspired by some goretober prompts and a monstertober prompt, a short choose your own ending story about a monster (it/they, penised monster, implied kelpie) and the gnc reader.
When a monster seizes your boat, its do or die. Literally.
Other
Movie Night - Demonic Foursome with the Triplets
Prompts
Open Fracture / Blind Rage / Impalement via Strade
hey kitten. daddy needs to talk to you. your kink blog is great, but you are not highlighting the words correctly. kitten. stop highlighting. this is shit. did you seriously highlight that period. kitten.
In my house, dogs obey enthusiastically and correctly. You will learn all the standard commands, and do them perfectly.
Sit. Crate. Come. Sit. Fetch. Crate. Come. Down - Nope! A sit is not a down. You're thinking when you should be listening. We're going to start again, with a higher level on your e-collar.
No, puppy, you're not my dog. You're a dog. One whose owner didn't have the stomach for what needs to be done to keep you in line. But don't worry, we're going to get you right as rain.
Okay now imagine being soaps younger sibling, and you were real close to him before be left home, right? (CHECK TAGS)
He was the only one who told you he was leaving at sixteen, that he was so sorry and he'd come back for you. You had been ten at the time, didn't really understand why he was leaving and spent years resenting him.
Ten years and some months later, he wants to meet you again. You can't help but be nervous. That's your brother and you foolishly, childishly, want to impress him. You always did idolize him when you were younger. He was a god to you in that hellscape, he still kind of is. Would he be the same? Would you recognize him?
"Whats got you looking so stressed, doll?" You snap out of your thoughts, looking up at the man stood by your booth. He's...exactly your type.
Tall, well built, confident enough his mohawk compliments him. You bet if you pulled the chain that slips under his shirt you'd find dog-tags.
"I'm meeting my brother tomorrow. Haven't seen him since...well. years." You sigh, silently letting the man slide into your booth. He's awfully handsome up close.
"Yeah? You worried it'll end poorly?" The man asks, and judging by the weird mix of accents he's definitely military. Probably travels around. Wouldn't be a bad lay. "I'm sure, so much time apart, he'll be happy to even see you, love."
"You got a name?" You ask instead of telling him that his platitudes mean nothing to you. before he can open his mouth you interrupt "or do I just get a callsign?"
"How'd ye know I was military?" He raises a brow, impressed, then adds "you can call me soap."
Soap offers a small smirk, and you know you have him when you slide a toe up his ankle and press "well, how can I get your name then, soap?"
The tile of the bathroom digs into your knees just on the right side of painful, soaps jacket underneath them at some attempt of comfort. You glance up at him through your lashes, sinking down further to take more of his ungodly large cock. Christ, you're out of practice.
"Fuck, you look like a dream–" soap groans, one hand on the back of your neck. He doesn't shove you, simply supports, allows you to take your time swallowing his leaking pre. You rub the tip of your tongue along the slit, stomach fluttering in pride when his hips jerk involuntarily.
It doesn't take long for him to cum, praise spilling off his tongue like a waterfall. You gather it in your mouth and mentally sigh when it doesn't taste completely foul like a few you've had. People take offense at you spitting out their cum, as you've learned.
You do, however, stand up to shove your tongue into soaps mouth. He moans into the action, loving the filth as much as you do.
When you pull back, you know you could entice him for a second round at your place "so, about that name, soldier?"
"Aye, ye earned it." Soap nods, fishing his dog tags out from his shirt and holding them up to you.
Inspired by a little chat with @youarehereyouaresafe
Imagine ghost forced into retirement as androids become increasingly advanced and take his place, right?
He's left with practically nothing while a mockery of a soldier fights other hollow-chested things. What's the point of a war if there's no bloodshed? If there's no weight? Ghost hates androids, hate what they've made of him.
He can't even fucking escape them in retirement, it seems everyone has or wants one. They scan out his food at the shops, drive him places on the bus, chat with people on the streets like they could ever be human.
People love them, fawn over them. All ghost sees is a cheap plastic toy. He's seen what a real android is, the kind that moves like the perfect human on the field, the kind that's packed full of processing power for complex political decisions in a fight. Used a few during missions, cannon fodder.
Now...he's alone. No structure, no bloodshed to lean on, and a face too disfigured to keep anyone around.
Ghost begins to look at those foolish "companion bots" a little different. Warm hole, clean house. It's a nice toy, at least. But every single one ghost has taken a chance to brows seems subpar to even the basic androids from the field. Nothing could compare, their slow response time and jerky movement irritate him.
So...ghost decides if the best out there are war bots, then he'll get himself a war bot.
Bots are so often dumped, it's not difficult to find a good one in an area technically only accessible to the military. He pulls one out of a pile of other models, on the smaller side for ease of repair...or dismantling if things go wrong.
The wiring is a pain, takes him weeks, and giving the bot a warm cunt scrapped from another almost makes him lose his appetite all together. But it works in the end.
Ghost has himself a pretty little bot, outfitted to serve him perfectly. It still has blood in the seams of it's faceplate. Ghost kind of likes the familiarity.
All he has to do is turn it on.
====
Cold.
The first thing your processor tells you. Cold. Slow restart, bits and peices of your mind collecting into one.
You're familiar with the process, happens when they sweep you after every mission. You enjoy the predictable ping up your servos and frames of sensors switching on, relaying information to you main hud—
Wait.
Those...those sensors are wrong. Unfamiliar.
Your processor stutters over the information, it snags like a hook through your data. Absently, you try to initiate your cooling vents only to find they have been moved to your sides instead of your chassis.
Panicked, you skip your normal sequence and prioritize optics.
The sudden sensory input burns. You aren't in your storage case.
Instead...you're in...a house. Basement, maybe. The table is metal. Cold, your sensors offer. You look down to find why you're receiving extra data and—
That. That's not your model. You know your model down to each screw in your motherboard.
You've been tampered with— you need to report— but when you try to contact your company there's nothing. Your connection has been severed.
It takes .6 seconds too long for you to process when your optics receive less light, a shadow cast upon you. You look up, up, up to see...you run his face through your political database of every possible person of interest no matter how small.
Nothing.
You have no idea who this is. What he wants. It takes you too long to realize you need to switch on your audio reception.
"Morning, lovie," the man croons. His voice doesn't match any you know. One rough, human hand brushes along the plates of your neck, and the sensory inputs makes you lag.
"Ready to be my new wife? Gonna have to change your code a bit, figure it's easier when I can see the affect live."
