I want to force you to fuck a fully loaded gun. So perfect as you cry. Using your tears to placate me.
An impossible task. You will die tonight. But, for now, enjoy the cold gunmetal forcing its way inside you.
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I want to force you to fuck a fully loaded gun. So perfect as you cry. Using your tears to placate me.
An impossible task. You will die tonight. But, for now, enjoy the cold gunmetal forcing its way inside you.
You can't ever leave me Lamb. This world wasn't made for vulnerable prey like you. You need me to protect you. If you ever leave me, I'll kill you. It'd be better to die from my hands. At least I would be merciful.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
⛧°。⋆༺♱༻⋆。°⛧
This honestly like a diary/vent account in a way I just need somewhere to talk about my thoughts and feelings in a non judgmental environment.
I’m new in the Radqueer community
I want to trigger you into self harm, so I can watch you make yourself bleed.
I will fuck your cold corpse. I will sink myself deeper into your cold gore.
Your tight wound will open a little more with every thrust. Just right, sagging with the pressure of having me inside. You are lucky, most do not get to feel me in this way.
And finally, you tear spilling out of yourself.
Entrails spewing onto the dirt. Then, your body with feel warm for a fleeting moment, and I will zip up my pants and leave you to decompose.
Slice down, like a good pet. Not too deep, but not too shallow either. I do not want you dead, and I do not want you boring. Be perfect, just for me. I know you can.
You can do it, you do not need me to hold the scalpel. But if you don't do it properly, you know I'll tear apart your flesh much worse than you will. So, don't keep me waiting. My patience can only be worn so thin.
Darling thing, you always bleed so well for me. Your flesh is so perfectly mine.
How does it feel to be a permanent canvas? Your flesh is a permanent sign, warding others away. A loud shout, "not yours."
Even with a revolving door of requests, I know there is one thing on your ever-changing skin that'll stay the same. You know it too.
And even with a thousand marks across your flesh, you and everyone else knows, you were made to be mine.
When you are drunk you get so eager to please. You open up so well for me. Your flesh parting against the tip of my knife. Your inability to stay awake, you are practically begging to be torn apart.
You are so out of it you do not even move when I thumb the slit of your gaping wound.
You were asking to be taken advantage of. It is not my fault. You were drinking around me like a tasteless whore. It was all too easy to slip something into your drink.
And now you are mine. Your intoxication will buy me enough time to ensure you will never leave me.
A gloved thumb itching further, further, deeper into your mouth. Pressing on the tongue. Making you gag.
I am getting you primed and ready for the loaded gun that will sit inside your mouth, your throat.
Heavy, until it goes off. Coated thick with the blood that will spill out of you.