dangerous
kishibe x reader
warnings: DDDNE, noncon/dubcon, mindbreak, torture, needles etc.
18+ only. read w/ caution.
word count: 4.3k
gift for the lovely @ratmonky
Kishibe encounters the pain fiend.
You wake to the heady smell of mildew in the damp air, your eyes fluttering open as your head slumped uncomfortably to the side. You roll your head back, senses thick with cotton and try to blink away the pull of sleep only to find your shoulder suddenly uncomfortably cold and wet from the drool pooled there while you slept. Huffing, you struggle to move your body in some way before dread washes over you like an ocean tide, salt water staining your cheeks as fear grips you hard and fast.
Your body is tied to a chair and you are alone, stowed away in a damp basement clad in just your bra and panties with only the company of a single fan blowing in the corner and a fluorescent bulb flickering above. It is only then when your eyes adjust, you can see that not only are you bound to the chair with several, thick ropes, but also the glimmer of dozens of needles embedded deep into your flesh. Despite willing the carcass you had stolen and slipped into, to move, it could not, and only your head flopped lamely as the finality of the situation began to sink in. You cannot stop the panic as it flips inside you, slippery and fluid as you try to rationalize and think of an escape.
At some point you had slipped up, become too careless in your excruciating kills and drawn out emotional warfare. It had become your love letters, your signature as you drew up hysteria and despair that had started to plunge the nation into an affliction of fear. You feasted, you gorged, devouring their suffering in each pitiful gasp as you pulled it from them. Pain was a terribly feared thing, and thus made you a terribly powerful fiend. However, this body you had stolen was weak, on the verge of falling apart and giving whoever cornered you in this place an advantage at some point in your cloudy memory.
Cutting you from your panicked monologue, the heavy metal door creaks open and a flood of light obscures your kidnapper before shutting it with a loud, final thud.
“Hello pain fiend.”
“Hello devil hunter.” You grin sardonically at the tall man before you, biting your lip as you lean your head back.
Kishibe is a tall man, much larger than the corpse you had stolen and puppeted around and even from a few meter distance you can feel the warmth of his blood roll in gentle waves. He wears the standard uniform, a suit and tie with obsidian shoes, his gray trench coat spotted with damp spots of rainwater. He pulls a silver flask from his coat and takes a deep drink, before stowing it silently away.
You try to heave your chest against the binds, but find the body you inhabited still ignored your commands. Despite your effort and the sweat from struggling shining on your brow, you could not contain the soft moans that fell from your lips from every needle that sent pinpricks of pain radiating through to your toes and fingertips. Every little twitch, every gasp caused them to dig deeper into your flesh, sinking you lower and lower into the intensity of suffering.
“What is the meaning of this?” You hiss, throat tight holding back another groan as you bite your parched lips.
Cigarette in his mouth, he looks over you with no hint of emotion, the aura of indifference hitting you shamefully as you slowly stop struggling so harshly, rocking your body gently back in rhythmic motions.
At some point, you crossed the intersection between pain and pleasure and swerved towards the repetitive, building sensation. It warmed your gut and core, everything tingled with anticipation as you tried to catch your breath, each heaving gasp causing your stomach to flutter more. You lived for pain, served for it, consumed it, and devoured it like the fiend you are, a hair trigger between masochist and sadist, you tiptoed the line between the two rich in machiavellian torment.
He watches you for a moment, reveling in the nicotine before dropping the ruined end to the cement ground. Crushing it under his heel, he made his way to you, close enough you could feel the brush of his trousers against your oversensitive skin. You shudder at the sensation, glaring up at him haloed in the swinging fluorescent bulb as you try to swallow the pitiful moans that began to build in your throat.
“They say an old dog can’t learn new tricks but I wanted to try something.” Kishibe’s strong fingers grip your face and make you look up at him, and in his eyes you see nothing. That's when panic truly started to sink in.
“Keep your disgusting hands off me! You reek like alcohol and failure.” You violently shake your head, trying to release the tight, jaw breaking grip he had on your face. Drooling, and almost frothing at the mouth the sudden lubrication causes his grip to slightly slip and your teeth sink into his knuckles. Warm blood floods your mouth, coating your senses before he rips his hand away.
You laugh, rocking again into the building pleasure as you feel restored, revitalized from his blood that began to ooze throughout the failing body. Before you can get a word in, his fist connects with your cheekbone in blinding accuracy. The force of it is so tremendous, it knocks the chair off its legs, smashing the back of your head into the cold floor as you try to pierce through the white clouding your frantic, swirling vision as pain radiates to the pulp of your teeth.
Distantly you hear wood scrape against stone, and feel the world rotate as you are righted up again. Blood dribbles down your face and the back of your neck, you feel your hair beginning to matt against the back of your bleeding skull. All it does is make you laugh harder. Split between delusion and pain, you reveled in the misery and pleasure, licking and feasting even in your own impending demise.
“I don’t even know why I bother.” His other hand rubs his blood stained knuckles, gripping and cracking the fist before releasing. “Makima says you're intelligent, you’ll learn as we go.”
Your jaw clicks as you move it, trying to adjust to the damage and you lean your swollen, bleeding head against your cool, sweat soaked skin. Everything is vibrating, down to the marrow of your bones and it only drills you further into the madness of euphoria, rutting against with whatever friction you could get from your limp body against the wood of the chair.
“I know your name devil hunter,” you whine, grinning with a split, fat lip as a clot of blood pours from your face and falls to the floor, “Kishibeeeeee.” You draw it out playfully, tasting it on your tongue as it rolls off into the damp air.
Flexing his hand, he doesn’t even bother to address you, only coming near enough so his fingertips could brush the edges of the needles embedded into your nerves, rendering them painfully immobile. You shift your head down, trying to look into his eyes again but feel them roll back when pain rips through you like a hot searing knife, it causes your body to fold as much as it can, head rolling back and tongue panting as it begins to flood your core with hot pleasure. It leaks from you, in moans and gasps and small yelps as you ride the wave that sends your skin into flames.
Through the thrumming of your own heart in your ears, you hear water drip to the ground in a thick puddle, before seeing the blood-soaked needles gripped in Kishibe’s large fist, staining his hands and the floor. Lifting your eyes from the floor you see the mess in your lap, and realize he had pulled two symmetrical needles from the soft of your thighs. Slightly concealed by the pooling blood, you can see growing wetness between the apex of your thighs shine in the dull light.
“I was warned you might enjoy this.” As if pulling a knife from thin air, he walks behind you, slicing the rope bindings. Hope surges through you at his stupidity, at the blatant lust that drove him to think with the wrong head. You would kill him, swiftly and cruelly and feast on his delightfully miserable blood. You would hang his corpse in the front of the building, a trophy, a trinket for those other pesky devil hunters to find. You would-
Everything is still lifeless, arms dropping at your sides and torso slumped and starting to slide down the chair. Your legs collapse, knees touching as they fold in on themselves. As gravity drags you down, you whine pitifully, feeling the invasive touch of steel only drag deeper and deeper, stoking the warmth that begins to burn hot between your legs.
Coming to stand in front of you and knife no longer in hand, you shudder in his shadow, gnawing on the soft inside of your cheek to soothe the growing anxiety of what to come.
“Do you not feel talkative anymore?” Kishibe cocks his head, not breaking eye contact as he brings the flask to his lips and drinks the bitter liquor inside. In response you just breathe through your mouth and swallow the blood that flows to the back of your throat from your nose.
Nodding towards you, he continues, “Some of them are plugging your main arteries. I pull and you bleed out. So be careful how much you struggle.”
“What does the control devil want?” You inhale shakily before spitting at his feet, a mixture of blood and phlegm.
“Oh, this isn’t for her. This is for me. You're my practice dummy.”
“Wh-wha?” The reality of his words hit you as hard as his fist. You were not this feared terrible thing, but rather a victim of happenstance. There was no greater cause, no sacrifice or reason to endure this suffering. Just mindless and excruciating, a mere practice exercise for a devil hunter with several screws loose. You begin to cry, salty tears burning the open wounds in your face as your head rolls forward. Before you can slide to the floor, your limp body unable to hold itself up, Kishibe grabs you by the neck and pins you there, the rough material of his slacks pushing slowly between your thighs.
“You feel it all, don’t you?” When you don’t respond he shakes you roughly, and you let out a wet moan as you look into his dark eyes.
“How long does it take for someone to bleed out?” Again, his dark eyes inspect you, once again crushing your already busted jaw and shaking you roughly, “C’mon, you did something like this earlier? How long?”
When you don’t respond he pulls out another needle, this time from your forearm, letting it rip soft flesh over the exaggerated angle. You cry harder, guttural and overstimulated and begging for release. From torture, from pleasure, from this body, you did not know, but soft pleading whines begin to perfume the air, enfolding and dragging your captor into the delirium of pleasure.
You feel his free hand begin to tug at your panties, wet with your fluids, his hand letting your body shift down so they slide easier off your hips. You whine breathily, the cold air too much, his hands too hot on your soft flesh, too close and intimate for your hot, dripping center. Panties discarded, he allows his free hand to wander your chest and pulls the soft fabric of your bralette to the side, gently guiding over your erect nipples and flicking them lightly. You moan, so sweetly, soaked in blood and your own arousal that you try to lean into his touch, his forceful grip on your throat and his feather light brushes against your chest.
His hands are so rough it almost catches against your soft skin, before you watch his composure slowly fold and give a tight squeeze that sucks the air from your lungs. It was then he kissed you, smashing his lips against yours and devouring each muffled moan as his tongue invaded yours. Kishibe was going to eat everything good about you and leave the rest to rot, and for some reason this thought could not excite you more. You wanted it, wanted to be pushed to the brink of despair and shoved over.
There would be no greater pleasure for the pain fiend, to die in excruciating, brutal pain.
Releasing your jaw, he guides your face using your hair to rest against his growing bulge, and even hidden behind the layers of his clothes you can already feel your gut flipping in excitement from his girth. Kishibe rubs your bruised cheek once, twice against this crotch, grunting softly before letting you fall back against the chair.
Lost in the haze of pleasure, you watch his large body lean off you and begin to undo his belt and pull out his member that caused your cunt to involuntarily twitch. His large fingers barely close around it, pumping lewdly before a free hand dipped between your legs, flicking upward and brushing against your aching clit as he collected your moisture. Rubbing his cock with it, he took the hand that wasn’t soiled with your fluids and grabbed your throat with blinding speed, causing your whine to be cut off with a stuttering gasp.
“Be good.” His voice is low, and threatening, and maybe if the odds weren’t stacked against you, you would have toyed with the idea of misbehaving more. Kishibe’s hand leaves his cock, and slides down your leg to the soft underside of your knee, hiking the lifeless leg over his shoulder as your body begins to open for his ease. You groan, feeling exposed and flushed, feeling the anticipation of his entry inside you start to flutter and buck your hips shallowly.
His cockhead lays against your entrance, spooled in soft pubic curls that matted together with your own sticky, clear arousal. You smell him, and yourself, the stench of sex intermingling and wafting up only further causing you to huff mindlessly against him, trying to encourage that weight to pierce deep inside you.
Kishibe does not groan, does not stutter, does not falter with hesitation as he hooks your leg securely over his shoulder, and guides his hot member along your folds. He drags your liquid heat from your aching entrance, towards the front to bump against your lip. You sob, brokenly against his hand, trying to find some resistance, some grounding in this windstorm of yearning.
Strong-arming your body into submission, he enters you with blinding, sharp cruelty that sucks all the air from you and leaves you crying out. If words left your lips, you could not decipher them, only surrender yourself to the waves of overstimulation as you felt him rut inside you, pierce through your very core and defile your insides. He moves, slowly at first, releasing his cock once securely plunged deep in your cunt in favor of grasping your hooked leg, pushing it closer to your chest as your inner velvet walls vibrated with pleasure as he stroked himself faster and faster inside you.
“Kishibe,” you whine, your voice hot and breathy, “next time it's mine turn to play in your guts!” Mad giggles fall from your lips as you look at his strained expression pumping into your soaked cunt with ferocious vigor. Your laughter is cut short by the brute force of his hand hitting your cheek, your face burning with stinging, addictive pain as you loll your head back and grin wildly with bloodstained teeth. Before you can laugh again, Kishibe leans and almost crushes your jawbone in his large hands, making you meet his dark, dead eyes. He stills inside you, and something between a cry and a moan falls from your lips before a moment of silence passes. In the uncomfortable, thick room, all you can hear is your own panting and the white noise of the rotating fan.
Your lips are pursed and fat, bruised from his biting kiss and blow to the face from earlier that makes your nose still dribble with blood. Kishibe lets out a deep sigh, feeling you quiver and grip around his member from fear and syrupy arousal. His breath fans your features, and it feels almost intimate, almost like love as you will your hips to bump against his, grinding softly in quiet, bucking encouragement. With lidded eyes you do not drop his gaze, and huff vainly into his bruising grip before your tongue slips out and licks his rough skin, the delicate bridge between his thumb and palm.
Kishibe spits in your mouth. He tastes like liquor, like nicotine and suffering, like blood and pain folded into one and you cannot help the moan that rips through you, the deep unfurling that stutters your grinding hips in blinding, white heat. Your body bridges, folds as it wildly chases mad pleasure before staccatoing into limp aftershocks that twitched and cramped your lifeless fingers and toes.
You still feel him hard, pushing further and only violating your sex deeper as the older man regarded you with indifference. With his hand still gripping your face he pulls back, the free one roaming in his coat pocket before pulling out a box of cigarettes. With practiced ease, he pulls one loose with his teeth and deposits it back in the inner pocket of his coat, before retracting a lighter from the same side.
Smoke puffs around your features, causing your eyes to water from the acrid air while the devil hunter still views you with icy apathy.
“Fiend, there won’t be a next time.” Kishibe ashes his cigarette on your midriff, the hot ash causing you to squirm and whine uselessly against his crushing hand. Pleasure rocks your body, and you feel his massive girth twitch with need in your gripping, tight heat and you can only giggle frantically as the towering man takes another drag.
Straining against his grip, you try to shake your head, “It’s okay, ah, devil hunter, I’ll see you in hell.” You grin and laugh again, the joke and reality bubbling from you like your building orgasm, “Raping dead girl’s corpse, ah, who is the real devil?”
Kishibe says nothing, watching you laugh and giggle beneath as he takes one final drag of his cigarette, and then puts it out on your forehead. The smell of burning flesh and your muffled screams thickens the air of the confined room. Your body struggles as much as it could, but it cannot deny the way your cunt grips and massages his length, leaving you panting and moaning chasing another little death that broke your already deranged mind.
Without another thought, he drives into you, forcefully and madly causing you to grind the soft flesh of your pussy deliriously on the rough bite of Kishibe’s zipper. The hand on your face releases only to grip your throat and squeeze with lethal indifference, the other almost breaking your hipbone as Kishibe ragdolled your limp form.
His cock moulds you as he pounds mercilessly, conforming your dripping sex to submit as pleasure rocks through your sensitive center and furls tightly in your belly. A thick wetness runs down your legs and arms, pooling down the sides of your midriff and dripping to the floor, and with lidded eyes you see needles are pierced far past Kishibe’s initial mark, fully piercing muscle and tendon as blood gathers on the cement floor beneath you. You whimper pitifully as white begins to line your vision with each struggling, gasping breath.
Your limbs lay loosely at your sides, still numb to movement but twitching and alive with feeling as the pain and building pleasure causes your pussy to grip the devil hunter harder. With every punishing thrust you are moaning, wiggling, and using the dull sense of movement you had mustered in your hips to meet his bruising, forceful pace.
“Can you die like this fiend?”
In response all you can do is wail, each panting cry an octave higher as you feel the head his cock thrust to the top of your cervix. Your body bleeds and moans, it drips hot arousal like honey and milks Kishibe like this is your only purpose, a toy for him to experiment, to punish and break in ways he saw fit.
There is no fight left in you, between the hard, bruising pace of his cock reaching the deepest parts of your womanhood, and his hand crushing your windpipe, anything crafted in retribution fizzles out and submits to the clawing, abrasive tides of pain and pleasure as he fucks you like an animal.
Kishibe pauses only to flip over onto your belly, the needles on your front half ripping through sensitive flesh as you strangle out something between a scream and a cry. Tears come in buckets, your body uncontrollably shaking and convulsing as it bled profusely into the rough cement floor as you cum, twisting and bending to escape the blinding euphoria.
He doesn’t even give you a moment to catch your breath before you feel your hips lifted into the air, the heavy head of his cock coming to rest between your abused, puffy slicked lips before smacking vulgarly against your exposed ass. You groan pitifully, feeling your own wetness coat his thick cock and the growing chill between your legs from your cunt’s dripping excitement.
Your face and knees scrap against the floor, your upper body trying to lift itself against its dead nerves but still found no response from your limp appendages. The ground cuts and burns, your salty tears sting the fresh wounds as you cry uselessly, and feel Kishibe’s cock start to enter you.
His hands are like two hot irons on your hips, lifting your body halfway from the ground and fucking your sex without abandon. Kishibe held your limp form like it was weightless, and started to crush your cervix with the head of his cock, pulling out most of the way and brushing your g-spot before plowing back in your tight, pulsating cunt. You can do nothing but moan and squirm, feeling yourself wetting the front of his dark trousers from your frantic pleasure and savor every time his heavy balls slap your neglected clit.
“Every devil and fiend is the same.” Kishibe pauses inside you, releasing one hand and letting your body loosely sag on that side before taking his large, thick fingers into your mess of hair and snatching your entire body back. The crown of your head rests just below his cheek, the rough scar tickling your raw, bleeding forehead. “You all say you are going to kill me, but not one of you has been successful yet.”
You cum again, hot and tight as you gush fluids over his cock. Through your own wild, panting moans you feel his breath stutter against your neck, fanning the oversensitive skin with feathers of intimacy.
He begins to fuck you shallowly, your pointed toes scraping against the floor for purchase suddenly revitalized by the first sense of autonomy. “And when you know you are going to lose, you all say you will meet me in hell.”
Kishibe’s hand on your hip guides your body back onto his massive girth, using the fist in your hair to lift you up and down, helpless against his cruel pace.
“I’m going to tell you a secret, fiend.” Large fingers shift along your burning scalp, causing your head to turn and face his dark eyes.
“In this life, I will be your hell.”
In them you find no light, no mercy and against all odds you begin to hyperventilate. Signs of your impending doom are swift and icy as you feel the head of his cock painfully and slowly drag along your g-spot, pushing you promptly over the edge.
You cry, broken and whimpering as your sex clutches and milks his cock for the last time. Whatever motor functions you regain flex and convulse, and you struggle and grind against his firm, clothed body desperate for reprieve or release. Cum-drunk and lightheaded, you hear him moan deeply in your ear next to you, the first and only indication of pleasure the devil hunter showed you.
With lidded eyes, you feel his grip release your hip before suddenly your entire world shifts. You're being dropped, clattering to the floor and it is with slow, sickening realization as you hit the ground that your body is no longer attached to your head. Confusion, shock, anger, and something else flickers across your face, before you feel the pull of hell and rebirth begin to drag you from consciousness. The last thing you see of this world is Kishibe standing over you, a large bloodied knife in his hand and dick still wet from your pussy, as cold, indifferent eyes watch you fade from existence.
The devil hunter sighs and regards the corpse in front of him, legs splayed in a vulgar, crude way and your head rolling just a few inches from the blood spurting neck. Looking down, he can see white splotches of his own release staining the legs of his pants, and the large wet spot on his crotch from you grinding on him like a wild thing in heat. Wordless, he tucks his half-hard dick into his dark trousers, and lets his gaze wander back to your lifeless body once more. Nude, headless, bloody and filthy, he can see the glimmer of his own release shine across your chest.
He must have cum when he cut your head off.
Grabbing the flask from his inner coat pocket, he nurses it contemplatively as he considers your words from earlier. The stink of blood, death, nicotine, and sex weighs heavy in the air, and he wonders if you will think of him in hell.
Sighing, he tucks the flask back into his coat pocket and exits through the heavy metal door, leaving your body for some idiot from Public Safety to come clean up.
