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
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."
In my mind palace, Richie walks in on Classroom Harasser beating his shmeat. He laughs and asks if he wants help. It's a pretty standard hanjob then, as he's getting louder, CH fucking grabs a pen from the desk and drives it into his own thigh. Then he cums hard. Richie is like hOLY SHIT. He's so stunned that he doesn't move and gets cum in his fucking eye. Which would Usually be disrespectful as all fuck but now Richie is too busy scrambling to grab anything to stop the bleeding, cursing continuously, and the finally ripping the sleeve of his plaid button up to tie over CH's bleeding thigh. CH is slumped in the computer chair, way too fucking satisfied looking for a man who is currently staining the linoleum floor with drops of red.
Richie asks him what is Wrong with him but just like every other time, he is not provided with an answer.
I want to take Patches out on a date and drug him. I'd dig through his drug stash and find something, and once the drinks arrive I'd look him dead in the eyes and put it in his drink. Maybe even guilt him into drinking it if he isn't. When it's kicked in and he's so out of it that he can't even think I'd take him home and ride him until he's cumming dust.
I'd say this is noncon but it's Patches
(also happy valentine's day :3)
[You're not even looking at what the drug is, it could be some kind of pesticide and you're just going to use it- Happy late Valentine's!!]
TW: Drink spiking; Consent is never required for Patches
" What-... What are you doing? "
It's so incredibly pathetic that he didn't even make an effort to stop you. You halted before dropping it into his stupid cocktail. Paused. Watched him eye the small capsule in your hands and realize what it is.
The most Patches offered was a gulp when it splashed into the drink's contents, immediately compromising it.
" I just think your drink needed a bigger kick, is all. " The cup is slid towards him on the table, casually and expectantly.
The dullahan squints in that annoying way that suggests he's about to ask if you know what you're doing. But you're familiar with that particular little substance. After all, a certain someone tried it on you.
" ... Are you scared of what I'll do to you? " An air of humor settles, and though his gourd lips wobble at the implicit threat, his face is loaded with deepening magic.
" Never, firefly. "
The monster swirls his now compromised drink, enthusiasm as unsubtle as the soft sizzle that emerges from such an action. A drug this peculiar is not meant for alcoholic drinks, but you can be sloppy with this pervert. He likes it.
" Then drink, Patches. "
You take a sip of your own choice, waiting.
" At least it's gonna keep it up for the rest of the night. "
A flash of shame. Wait for it- There. A shiver of pleasure.
Silently, gloved digits curl around the fancy glass cup. He doesn't care for the taste of his cocktail anymore, the undead all but desperately sucks it down, eagerly poisoning himself for your entertainment. He looks at you with a hopeful grimace afterwards, and it's hard to forget this walking corpse is dangerous.
" Wow. You're fucking hopeless. "
Patches laughs. A cackle that gathers some eyes for a second. He can only nod and wipe his mouth on his discolored arm.
Conversation flows as smoothly as it can after that stunt, fluid yet marked by an undercurrent of mutual anticipation. You can see the gears turning behind the undead's sockets, as both of you figure out if this substance is even effective in the organism of a not-quite-alive monster.
Time provides an answer.
A usually nerdy speech regarding mutated plantlife becomes a slowly slurring babble of how he wanted to make an everlasting bouquet for you, he just can't quite mutter out the formula anymore. At some point, it seems the tactile stimulus of his fingertips on the table becomes distracting enough to stop entirely.
You smirk.
" Firefly-?... "
" I'm right here. "
Eyelights flicker, blur. He slumps without noticing, like a wilting flower.
" It's... "
You bet the world is spinning, the same way it did for you. Bet the noises are all jumbling into waves of ringing, that he's boiling in his seat.
" Let's head back, okay? "
The monster takes a while to nod, and as soon as his arm is around your neck, he's already drifting in and out of consciousness. Helpless. Drooling.
You think you hear the undead giggle and gasp faintly in the few intervals where he's awake and aware enough to glimpse at you, at the cruel delight that's always looked so pretty on your face.
The thought of Livius possessing me to grope and fuck us both while I am still fully conscious is making me go feral.
[HELL YEAH HELL YEAH H-]
Fem reader
TW: Nonconsensual but reader is apathetic from dealing with Livius for a while.
You awaken to the sound of laughter.
A mad, spiraling sound that washes a torrent of dread into your already overworked lungs.
The following blast of stimulus is so agonizingly intense that your first instinct is to scream. To scream... And yet...
Your vocal chords don't respond.
Nothing does.
Touch. Hands. Your own hands on your own body. Your feet on the carpet. Your eyes glued to the mirror. A burning, scorching, breathtaking amount of arousal tickling at the borders of your mind, testing the waters of it. Too cold for now.
You are a prisoner to your own flesh at the moment.
And the worst part is you know.
Know who's piloting it. Who drives your shape as if it was theirs.
He had whispered it to you nights ago. In the middled of -rudely revived- dead sleep, cradled your sweet resting head with burning hands and kept your eyes shut as he confessed exactly what he'd do to you in the near future. As soon as he could. As soon as nothing shackled him away from the far too penetrable confines of your residence.
Of your body.
Livius did it on purpose, you're sure.
He wanted you to dwell on the information. To sit there like a dull animal, in dread, knowing that nowhere is safe from a demonlord. From the Icon of Envy.
Realistically, you could have maybe tried to do something to drive him away. Could have stressed yourself out looking for repellents, wards. But the kind of revenge that would invite sends shivers down your spine.
Might as well stay calm until it happens. Ride the wave.
Until now.
" Oooh, awake and aware? I'm sorry I just- I had to get acquainted. "
The way he makes your tone drop to a whorish lull is almost sickening. You'd never pull that off alone.
Your reflection grins salaciously at you, lopsided and horny, your dominant hand ceaselessly busy between already overstimulated folds. Your ears twitch at the wet noises ringing out, some of your own slick sticking to your thighs. It's an excessive amount, a ridiculous sensitivity, foreign to the human capacity.
" Did you miss me? Did you, sweetie? "
It's so alien to hear your own nicknames get directed at you, the fever in him sounds sickly.
You dreaded him.
" Oh, don't be like that. "
Ah. Right, he can glimpse into your inner monolog.
Somehow, that's even more violating than the control he now has over your limbs. Because it's exactly what Livius wants. He wishes to puppeteer your limbs and know exactly what you think about it, every single little thought that flashes by is his to see and interpret. To consume.
This is as close as he'll ever get to being you.
" Mhhmm... "
There's a hum, whether from pleasure or a confirmation of your theory is unclear. You can't dwell on it for too long either, he's working you up to a climax disturbingly fast.
" How was your week? At work, did you think of me? Because I thought of you lots, I shuddered just thinking of the time we'd spend together. Tonight. You're so gorgeous. "
Now that your mind is fully connected to your form, the constant buzzing of pleasure is taking its unforgiving toll. He may still be coherent, but you're stuck in a limbo of sensation, not even given the privilege of writhing through it, of crying out. For a moment, your figure feels distant again, fuzzy.
" Oh no- No no. "
A pull.
A drag.
" Stay. Let's take a little break. "
Touch fizzles out, it takes you a moment to realize Livius has stopped molesting your poor folds. Though by no means is he still, shaking hands continuing to brush and smooth over several sections of your skin.
" I could be you for a day. "
A sudden coldness settles on your complexion, blank and focused.
" I could take your little legs and make you stroll your way through Hell's Rings. Straight to my home. You'd do it with a smile, that smile- "
He grins with your lips, posing them the same way you do in pictures where your friends and family caught you by surprise. The same twinkle in your eyes.
" Yes, that one. "
A wistful sigh. The demonlord is quiet for a moment.
Although you are stark naked and the window is slightly parted, the chill doesn't reach you. Maybe it does, and he's just muting that on purpose.
This is terribly onesided. Here you are, trapped in your own body, watching this monster lick your own slick off your fingers -Tasting it with your tongue- Unable to guess what he's planning because you simply don't have access to his mind, not in the same way he has access to yours.
Possession at it's finest.
" I want us to spend the night together, sweetie! "
He supplies. Unhelpfully.
" Let's feel good tonight. " Livius begins, and though your voice lowers, it doesn't carry the same unnatural sway his does. " I know how you touch yourself... " Drool running down your chin. Too much. Gross. " But tell me. You tell me. "
What.
" Tell me how to touch you, how to pleasure us. "
What?! This is ridiculous, he's making you participate?! He wants you to order him on how to use your body for this perverted game?
He studies the reflection closely. " Your face is heating up and that's not me, you know? "
Freak.
You're not doing this.
... But he's not going to let you go otherwise, will he?
" Don't be like that. " He mimics, one of your hands quickly deforming into a teal claws that he flirts around the softer sections of your already fragile figure.
The message is clear.
Livius is not in the mood to have his fantasy ruined, and you're not looking forward to a body covered in agonizing slices.
" I brought us some assistance. "
Oh boy.
He all but scrambles back onto the bed, twisting your limbs with a mimbleness you can't even pretend was ever yours. Your desperate arm reaches behind the bed, clawing at the edge of a black box until it's thrown onto the sheets.
Livius opens it with the same trembling fervor he's exhibited this whole time, and you're only a little surprised by the sole "tool" that dwells within.
A dildo.
It's distinctly inhuman, though not once have you ever seen a model of this sort in any kind of adult website. Sharper examination puts a pit in your stomach.
A greenish-blue gradient, considerable size -Not something you'd buy given the prep-work it must involve- Ridged weirdly, like it has braided segments, with a thin flat tip.
Please. Please let this not be a-
" It is! "
God fucking damn it. No!
" No? " He parrots, calmly taking the object out of its container, which is thrown away with a flick. He gets up to fish around your drawers and finds what he's looking for with too much ease.
It's him, isn't it? It's a replica of his dick- He got that done for tonight, specifically for this sick shit. He'll do anything to make your sweet, fleeting contractual freedom hellish. Anything to make you wish it was over already... Including using your body to fuck you onto a fake mold of his actual cock. What is wrong with him?! Freak! Disgusting creep!
" Mhmm... I love being part of you. " There's a sweet sigh. " Your mind always has so much to tell me. "
Thoroughly ignored, you can only watch the demonlord coat your small hands in lube and apply it to the mold, generously. At least that mercy is granted.
" How are we doing this, my sweet? "
You are now reclining against the bed, back supported by rearranged pillows, the mirror still offering a salacious image for viewing pleasure. Livius idly parks the silicone toy against your sex, humming as you internally stutter and buffer about the situation.
Don't make me do this, the thought echoes. A defeated murmur bathed in humiliation.
It is answered with acidity.
" Don't make me start this. " A mocking taunt, but the implication is very easily understood.
If you allow the demonlord to do as he wishes, the chances of him going overboard are not insignificant. It is, unfortunately, in your best interests to take this for the gift it is...
A pause.
Be slow. You would take it slowly, making sure you won't hurt yourself.
Livius' glee has your cheeks stretching wider than they should. He rubs the length of the soaked replica across your entrance, nudging your clit with bizarre ridges for a few blissful seconds before hooking the tip in place.
" You would do that, wouldn't you? Hmm... "
It's odd to hear your own heart race, knowing that you're not the cause of it.
Focused hues scroll to the mirror, a frazzled grin parting.
" I love you. I love you! Please... "
He might be saying it to you, might be using your voice to excite himself. Possibly both.
He grants your request, surprisingly enough. Each inch slowly inserted in a gentle but by no means insignificant stretch that has you desperate to writhe again. He moans, loud and enthused, at the sensation, at the way you squirm inwardly, helpless.
Only a freak would want to use another person's body to experience their own manhood.
The way your body swallows the toy is almost bizarre. It should be too much, you've never had anything of such size inserted into you, it should be burning- But your cunt simply gives, wet and pulsing around Livius' faux girth. At some point, he stops gazing at the mirror and glances down instead, watching it disappear into you with a much more delighted fascination.
The fullness that settles is almost inhuman, inevitably pressing against everything sensitive and having you wish that the demonlord would scream, cry, anything to relieve this coil of tension that swells within you. He doesn't so much as breathe however, panting heavily until the whole thing is snuggly hugged by your warmth.
" This is perfection. " A rasp escapes wet lips. " I could only dream of it until now. I wish I could keep your body forever. Every day and every night, we would be gorgeous together. As one. "
One of your arms is lifted, and it seems like your blood vessels are becoming slightly discolored, a little too salient all of a sudden.
What is that?
" Ah, but my sweetie wasn't built for that kind of fun. "
He spots the clock. Three in the morning sharp.
" Let's see how many times I can make you cum on my cock iiiiin... Five hours! "
A tired, pained groan echoes the walls of your mind.
