#threatened noncon drugging
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The Warehouse: Digging Up Old Memories
Buckle up, because this piece is something. I really enjoyed writing this piece, even if it is a giant emotional show lol. A huge shoutout and thanks to @flowersarefreetherapy for giving me the general idea for this piece! I hope I did it justice! And thank you to @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, and @whumpcereal for cheering me on as always!
HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE!!!
TW: Minor whump (Jayden is 14), head injury, threatened noncon drugging, implied noncon (off screen), threatened noncon, mentions of past noncon and torture, implied future noncon, character death (off screen), suicidal thoughts, adult character referred to as 'boy', adult language, heavy grieving ((If I missed anything, please tell me and I'll add it!))
“No, I’m sick of doing this shit!” Jayden yelled, stepping back from Logan as the Keeper moved in closer, towering over the teen. “You never stay true to your word! I can’t let you stand by and hurt Sparrow after I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do!”
Sparrow stared at the two of them, wide-eyed as fear grabbed hold of him. Sure, Sparrow’s challenged the Keeper’s here plenty of times, but that was because whatever ended up happening would happen to him. Jayden fighting back like this? All for his sake? It was thoughtful, but he couldn’t handle the wrath of the Keepers.
Logan backed Jayden up against the wall, his hand shooting forward to the kid’s neck, taking hold of his throat in a tight grip just shy of suffocating him.
“I’d be real careful about your choice here, boy. That piece of shit over there doesn’t deserve a hero, let alone a scrawny one such as yourself. Everyone always comes to the realization that they can’t escape this fate, one way or another. It’s easier for the both of you if you just follow my orders. So what’ll it be, pretty boy? Are you going to show me and the bastard here how much of a good listener you are and suck me off or are you going to continue your little defiant act thinking you can best me?”
Jayden’s hands were around the Keeper’s wrist, doing his best to try and scratch Logan in an attempt to get the hand off his neck, but it wasn’t working. He was too weak. At the question, Jayden stared right back at Logan, his expression sharp enough to cut diamonds.
“Jayden, please-,” Sparrow tried, on the verge of getting up from his spot against the wall by the door. Logan had told him to stay put and that if he moved, he’d force Sparrow to watch the worst Showing he’d ever put Jayden through.
“Shut up, runt,” Logan growled, his head turning slightly in Sparrow’s direction. “He has to make this decision on his own.”
There was silence for a couple seconds and Sparrow could feel the anger rolling off the both of them in waves.
“You and this whole place can go rot in hell. I’m not following another one of your stupid orders just because you think you deserve respect,” Jayden finally spat, bracing himself against the wall before kicking his foot out, his heel landing a direct hit to Logan’s crotch.
The Keeper could hardly brace himself before Jayden’s foot connected with his crotch, Logan doubling over for a moment, his hand never leaving Jayden’s throat, before a loud, angry scream erupted out of his mouth.
In a fluid motion, Logan used all the strength he could muster and lifted Jayden by his neck and threw him to the left over by his desk. Sparrow watched on in horror as he saw the fear and terror flash across Jayden’s eyes as he went flying before the back of the teen’s head connected with the sharp corner of Logan’s desk. He crumpled to the floor as Logan doubled over again, letting out small groans of pain.
“Jayden!” Sparrow shouted, his body jerking momentarily as he went to get up, but remembered Logan’s threat from earlier, causing him to stay in place.
He wasn’t getting up and there was blood leaking out onto the floor. Sparrow couldn’t tell if he was breathing.
“Jayden, get up!” he cried out, Sparrow’s whole body frozen in fear.
“Shut the fuck up!” Logan yelled, his head turning sharply to look at Sparrow.
“No, please, he’s not getting up!” Sparrow pleaded, his fists white with how tight they were balled up. “Please, I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, just take him to the medical ward, please!”
Logan chuckled slightly as he was finally able to stand up straight again. “Oh, you think a bit of pleading will convince me to get him treated? As if. The little shit deserved it, thinking he could fight back like that. Besides, you stupid mutts always seem to recover. He’ll be fine come tomorrow.”
Instead of continuing on with what he had planned, Logan gave one last look to Jayden and Sparrow before deciding to leave his office. There’d be time to do things with them later.
Sparrow let out a snarl as Logan passed him to leave, waiting for the door to shut before he rushed over to Jayden, his hands hovering over his body, afraid that a single touch would make his friend crumble into dust.
#####
“No, you have to let me stay with him!” Sparrow shouted, desperately trying to fight his way out of Josh’s grip on him. “Let me go!”
“You’re scheduled for a Showing and there’s no way you’re missing it,” Josh growled, his grip seeming to get tighter the more Sparrow fought. “He’ll be fine and you’ll get to go back to the main room and see him once the Showing is over.”
“No, he needs me to stay with him since you fuckers won’t take him to the medical ward! Let go of me!”
Josh stopped trying to drag Sparrow forward and out of Logan’s office, instead pulling him in close with an iron tight grip on both his wrists. Their faces were mere inches apart and Sparrow could feel the warmth of his breath. “I won’t hesitate to inject you full of muscle relaxers, boy. You know as much as I do that you’ll do anything to fight back during these things, so do you really want to give up being able to move all because you want to sit by your little friend?”
Sparrow’s body froze at the threat, his eyes going wide for a moment. Josh was right, he couldn’t go through a Showing drugged up like that. He’d have no control (not that he did during Showings) over anything. He couldn’t get injected with that stuff.
Josh smirked as Sparrow stayed still, finally continuing towards the door to the office. “That’s what I thought. Once it’s over, you’ll be able to spend as much time with the little runt as you want.”
#####
Sparrow wasn’t proud of the Showing he just went through. It had to have been the most compliant he’s ever been during one, but he didn’t want it to be dragged out. His only thought and priority was getting back to Jayden to make sure he was okay.
Josh had been surprised with how compliant he had been, as was the audience that showed up to watch. It was utterly embarrassing, but he didn’t care enough to not do it. He would have been the most compliant pet in the entire facility if it had meant getting out of that Showroom faster.
Once the Showing was done, Josh walked him back to the main hallway before leaving him there to do his own thing. The moment Josh left him, Sparrow started running to the main rooms, his heart rate picking up as he tried to get to the room as fast as he could.
Sparrow was almost certain Logan would have moved him out of his office during the Showing, so the most logical place to put him would be one of the main rooms. That, or Jayden had woken up and Logan kicked him out of his office and he made his way to their spot in one of the main rooms. If Sparrow didn’t see him in there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
When Sparrow finally made it to the doorway that led into the main room he and Jayden usually ended up in, he scanned the entire room, trying desperately to locate his friend. His anxiety was starting to climb with each face he saw, none of them being the young teen before his eyes landed on a figure in the corner where Jayden and him sat most of the time.
He was there, sitting in his normal spot, looking completely fine. Jayden was waiting for him.
Sparrow did his best to make it over to the back corner of the room, nearly tripping over several pets as they tried to sleep or just pass time, not even bothering to let out any kind of apology before making it over to his friend.
“Jayden!” he called out, falling to his knees in front of his friend before embracing the teen in a tight hug.
“You’re okay! You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he said, his voice going quiet as he spoke, letting things sink in. His friend was okay, he was alive and that was all Sparrow cared about.
“Of course I’m okay. Do you really think a bump on the head would keep me down?” Jayden joked, hugging Sparrow back.
Sparrow pulled back slightly, his hands still on Jayden’s shoulders, afraid that if he let go, Jayden would disappear. “It’s just - you collapsed once your head hit the desk, a-and Logan refused to bring you to the medical ward, and then I was dragged off for a Showin-”
“Sparrow,” Jayden interrupted, his voice a bit firm, “I’m alright, I promise. I can’t die that easily. Besides, we promised each other we’d find a way to escape this place some day. I can’t go back on my word, now can I?”
Sparrow wiped at his eyes, tears starting to form. “I’m just happy you’re okay. And you’re right, we are going to escape this place one day. Just please don’t go pissing off any more Keeper’s. Leave that to me, I can handle it.”
Just then, the entire main room started to fade out, a black abyss surrounding the two of them. Sparrow didn’t even notice, his entire focus was on his friend.
Jayden looked at Sparrow with a soft smile, his head slightly tilted to the side.
“I know you can. That fighting spirit is what’s giving me hope that you’ll be able to make it out of here alive. If you hold onto that, you’ll be able to escape. Just keep fighting. For the both of us.”
Sparrow faltered a bit at that. “W-wait, what do you mean by that? We’re going to get out of here together.”
Jayden didn’t answer, continuing to give Sparrow that soft, warm smile that he cherished so much as he slowly faded away. Before Jayden was completely gone, Sparrow reached forward, trying to grab hold of him before he fully disappeared, leaving Sparrow alone in the dark abyss.
#####
Sparrow woke with a jump, jolting up from his spot on the floor of Damon’s office. Looking around the dark and empty room, Sparrow couldn’t see Jayden and was a bit confused, but mostly worried.
Where was he? Jayden had just been in front of him a second ago. He wanted that back, he needed it back.
The more he woke up though, the more things finally started to settle in.
Four days ago, he had been brought back to the Warehouse from his two week stay at Volkov’s island, having gone through his ‘welcome home’ Showing yesterday. Two months ago, Damon had been put in charge of training him, starting up a brand new hell for him to navigate on his own. Five years ago, the Keeper’s gave up trying to train him because he was deemed a lost cause and couldn’t be trained, instead just using him as a free-for-all and overall enjoying causing him pain, discomfort and humiliation. Seven years ago was when he had watched Logan give his one and only friend a death blow and then later finding out that Jayden had died all alone while he was in a Showing Josh forced him to go through, unable to be with him in his final moments to make him feel safe and loved.
As reality came crashing back, Sparrow couldn’t help the gut wrenching sob that erupted out of his throat, the pet clutching his hands close to his chest as he curled into himself.
Ever since it happened, Sparrow had done all he could to repress that memory to the point that he couldn’t remember it at all. All he chose to remember was that Jayden died. Everything else, how it happened, the look of fear and terror right before his head connected with the desk, how much he tried to fight back as Josh dragged him off to the Showing, Logan’s fucking taunting once he finally told Sparrow what they did with Jayden after he died, he wanted to forget and never remember.
He had no idea why the memory resurfaced. It had been so long ago, yet now he could remember every detail clearly, as if he were reliving it in full. It was the worst pain he has ever felt and would probably ever feel. And what made it worse was that his head went and twisted the events, giving him the false hope that Jayden was alive and fine. But Sparrow could never see him again.
After a couple more minutes, Sparrow wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. It had to have been close to morning, if he had to guess, and Damon would be here soon to put him through another day of hell. If the Keeper walked in and saw him crying or saw the evidence that he had been crying, Sparrow would never hear the end of it.
Before he could put a cap on his emotions, he felt another sob bubble up from his chest and before he could stop himself, he reared his fist back, sending it straight towards the wall beside him. The wall stayed intact but Sparrow let out a loud shout before biting his tongue, cradling his hand.
Why couldn’t one of these guys have killed him too? Why couldn’t he have had the peace that his friend had? All he wanted was to be with Jayden again, because he was the only one that made this place bearable. His smile and laugh lifted his spirits no matter how he felt and his presence made Sparrow feel safe, even though there wasn’t a single thing either of them could do when the Keepers came for them. If he didn’t have that, if he didn’t have him here, there wasn’t much of a point to keep fighting.
The pain that now pulsed from his bleeding and possibly broken hand acted as an anchor to the real world for him and Sparrow was able to stop the tears from falling, taking in a couple deep breaths before he felt like himself again. Damon would probably point out his hand when he came in later, but right now, Sparrow didn’t care. If Damon was overly concerned about it, he’d get it looked at because unlike Logan, Damon wasn’t going to sit by and have a wound that looked serious enough unchecked. Sparrow had no doubt that the Keeper wouldn't let him die before he himself molded Sparrow into the perfect pet.
Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whumpcereal (if you want to be added, let me know!)
#The Warehouse#Sparrow Cresky#Jayden Cresky#Minor whump#head injury#threatened noncon drugging#implied noncon (off screen)#threatened noncon#mentions of past noncon and torture#implied future noncon#character death (off screen)#suicidal thoughts#adult character referred to as 'boy'#adult language#heavy grieving
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Sunless Lives Part 28: I Will Not Bend
~1380 words
CW: forced institutionalization, threatened noncon, drugging, force feeding, attempted murder, character thinks they’re going to die but they don’t!
First, Previous, Next, Masterlist
~~~
M BECK: I’ve decided something.
DR MANDAL: Oh?
M BECK: It’s not the preybonding. Ever since I was cured I was scared it was just the preybonding. But I don’t think it ever was. I love him. I always did.
DR MANDAL: Does this change your plans for your relationship?
M BECK: It means I have to do what’s right for Simon, whatever that may be.
~~~
“Is Matthew out yet?”
Simon asked that every time Christian visited, roughly every three weeks.
“No.”
The same answer as always.
“I want out.”
Christian’s response to that was the same every time too.
“I’m still working on your list, kid.”
Simon’s eyes darted up and around the visitor’s room. It was far nicer, far cleaner than the rest of Fort Summerwhite. The chairs were comfy. The table was unscratched. The lights worked.
It was a fine facade, and with an orderly watching him from the corner, there was nothing Simon could do to crack it.
He’d tried, the first time Christian had visited. He’d aired his ills until he was in near hysterics, and had been dragged away to a horrifying week in solitary. When he got out he’d groped and clung to Chett for days. The second time Christian visited Simon tried to talk about it, but received a threatening stare from the observing orderly and the distinct impression from Christian that he thought Simon had lost it. He’d taken a tour of the facilities, he said gently, everything seemed so nice.
You don’t need to lie to me to get out of here sooner.
So their visits went nowhere. Christian chatted brightly about how he was rebuilding the team, but never said why Gina and Devon were gone. He talked about how he was taking down the vampires on Simon’s list - he really was doing that, at least, which brought Simon some small relief. He talked about the VIU’s new director; someone had leaked Yarl’s dealings with vampire compounds, and he had to step down. Georgia Dune had replaced him, and was breaking apart compounds with a vengeance.
Simon tried to suggest that he return to work for the VIU, knowing Dune had a soft spot for him, just Christian shut him down.
“You’re still… You need to get better,” Christian said.
Better than what?
He felt fine. He only ever felt strange when Reeder slipped up and he was forced to take some unnamed, unknown medication. Otherwise, he felt sharp as ever - he was eating healthily. He'd blown through all the novels and puzzle books kept in the common room. He needed out. He needed Matthew.
He needed his goddamn phone call.
~~~
He expressed his need to Reeder, the next time he was pulled into the storage closet. It was just the two of them that evening, which wasn’t unusual - Hahns only participated half the time.
“It’s been weeks,” Simon said, doing his best to keep his voice sweet and hopeful rather than the angry snap it wanted to be. “You said you'd see what you could do.”
“I will, I will,” Reeder brushed him off, as usual. He stepped up close to Simon, which was not usual. Simon stepped back, and Reeder followed, until Simon’s back was pressed against the wall.
“What are you doing?” Simon asked, no longer sweet.
“I was thinking, now that you’re not skin and bones anymore, your body’s pretty hot. I thought we could take things to the next level.” Reeder’s hands slid over Simon’s hips. Simon knocked them away.
“No,” he said firmly, “That’s not part of the deal.”
“But it could be.” Reeder pressed his hands to the wall on either side of Simon’s head, boxing him in.
Get out, now.
“Nope.” Simon ducked under Reeder’s thick arm, but Reeder caught his shoulder and slammed him back into the wall, pinning him like he had that first day.
“I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” he hissed.
This is bad.
Maybe we -
No. Not this time.
Matthew wouldn’t want you to.
Simon jerked his head forward and slammed his forehead into Reeder’s. Reeder stumbled back with a sharp cry. Simon tried to dart around the large man but he caught Simon and shoved him back towards the wall.
“Stop fighting me, you stupid fucking -”
As Reeder hurled slurs and curses, Simon tried once more to push past him. This time Reeder grabbed his shirt, lifted him up, and slammed him into the ground.
Too close to a shelf.
The clang of his skull hitting the bottom shelf of the unit reverberated through Simon’s entire body, stealing his breath, his thoughts, his sight. His head pulsed and pounded as it rolled limply to the side. He saw his own hand twitching uncontrollably through darkened tunnel vision, and Reeder’s feet stepping back and forth. Simon could distantly hear him, swearing and apologizing, then - he was gone. The door was closing.
Simon wasn’t sure how long he laid there, or if he was even conscious the whole time, but Reeder returned eventually. He dropped some things to the ground with a clatter and Simon saw a pill bottle roll into his line of vision. Then a hand turned his face upward and he saw Reeder leaning over him, pill chute in hand.
No.
Reeder pried open Simon’s mouth with ease and shoved the plastic cylinder in, hard and deep. Simon gagged, but had no strength to expel it. He moaned, the plastic in his mouth giving him an eerie animalistic sound. He heard the rattle of the pill bottle, and Reeder’s frantic mumblings.
“It’ll be okay, it’ll all be over soon, don't worry.”
Simon managed to lift a hand towards the chute in his mouth, but Reeder seized it and pinned it down under his knee.
“No no no no no, just hold still!”
He upturned the pill bottle over the chute, and Simon choked and teared up when he felt the pills hit the back of his throat. Then he heard the crinkle of a plastic bottle, and he had only a second to brace before his mouth and throat were flooded with stale water. He gagged and sputtered, sending water up his nose and down the wrong pipe, prompting uncontrollable coughing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Reeder ripped the pill chute out and clamped his hands down over Simon’s nose and mouth. Simon convulsed on the floor, eyes rolling and free hand grabbing weakly at Reeder’s sleeves. The back of his head screamed white-hot where it was being pressed into the floor. The pills and the water swirled in his mouth
“Swallow!” Reeder ordered, as he had many times before, “Just swallow, fucking stupid!”
Eventually Simon obeyed, swallowing painfully with a full-body shudder. Reeder lifted his hands and allowed Simon to gasp and choke for air.
“Reeder,” Simon croaked between coughs, “Reeder, please…”
“Shouldn’t have fought me. Dumn fuckin’ bloodbag,” Reeder said, breathing heavily. He stood, the pill chute clutched in a white-knuckled fist. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m really sorry.” He even sounded like he meant it a little.
“Reeder!” Simon rasped, but Reeder was gone. Simon was alone.
Get it out get it out get it OUT.
It took three tries for Simon to roll onto his side, still coughing and gasping. He felt blood creeping through his hair in hot rivulets. He brought a hand to his mouth and pushed his fingers into his bruised and battered throat. He hadn’t had to force himself to puke in a long time. It was - who was it? - Gloria. He had to empty his stomach after each of her visits. He’d gotten good at it. This would be easy.
But as his fingers weakly prodded and pressed, he only hacked and gagged, nothing more. He reached out, felt around, and found the discarded pill bottle; but his vision was so narrow and blurry he couldn’t read the label. The bottle dropped from his hands as it hit him.
I’m going to die here.
He reached for the door, but he didn’t have the strength to pull himself towards it.
I’m going to die here.
“Help.” His voice was a strangled whisper. No one would ever hear him.
I’m going to die here.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to die.
~~~
First, Previous, Next, Masterlist
Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper
#whump#sunless lives#whump fic#whump writing#sunless lives arc 3#cw forced institutionalization#cw threatened noncon#cw drugging#cw force feeding#cw attempted murder#cw near death experience
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Caught In His Web
Yandere Male Drider x Gender Neutral Reader
CW: Noncon, painless/gentle noncon, venom, drugging, biting, light bondage, webbing, drider, spider-hybrid, oral sex, oviposition, dead animals wrapped in webbing, stalking, underwear sniffing, general yandere behavior.
Word Count: 2.7k
(A drider is technically an elf-spider formed as a punishment by Lolth, but this is just a human-spider hybrid with magic. Not technically a drider. But "spidertaur" just sounds off. Hope you enjoy, this was technically the first fic I started though I only resumed and finished it today)
You were an herbalist, you took plants and herbs from the wild fields, forests, and hills surrounding your small humble cottage. You expertly prepared the ingredients that you gathered and imbued them with the tiny bit of healing magic that you possessed. Magic in humans was very rare and your abilities and magical education were somewhat limited, but your potions, salves, ointments and remedies sold well enough in the town about six miles away on the other side of the forest.
Twice a month you made the journey there and back to sell your healing supplies. You made enough to survive on, and also enough to get you through the colder months when the healing plants you used did not grow. It was a modest life, but you were happy enough. Well, except for one thing... you were being followed...
At first, starting almost a year ago, you couldn’t get past the feeling that you were being watched from the shadows of the forest, occasionally you could swear you could catch glimpses of a large shape moving out of the corner of your eye or could hear something moving through the branches. You convinced yourself it was all in your imagination, or at least just some innocent woodland creature moving in the woods. For a month or so your denial was easy enough. You live by the forest, of course the animals must simply be getting more used to your non-threatening presence and getting a bit closer than they had previously. Everything was perfectly fine.
But then, about three months ago, things started to escalate. At first it was odd, but still explainable by the functions of nature. There were bundled up small dead animals bound in webbing left around in the places you most frequently gathered herbs and flowers. Okay, that is creepy, it must be some large spiders that are attracted to the birds and mice that are attracted to the insects drawn by the plants, perfectly normal and natural. You wish it would be perfectly normal and natural a bit farther away from you, but there was clearly nothing to worry about... except the fact that there are apparently a lot of spiders big enough to kill birds and mice in close proximity to you...
You could have dealt with the creepy large webs and the implied but unseen giant spiders, but then just a few days ago the bundles started being left on your porch for you to dispose of each morning. The webbed up animals were completely un-dessicated, killed and then just… left… A spider would not drop food for later in such an odd place. And what’s more the webbing now contained flowers woven into it, the flowers you most commonly used in your trade. No longer could you maintain any notions that the glimpses you saw from the forest, the noises you heard, and the web bundles were just coincidence.
The nearest humans lived too far away to keep up such a well maintained and menacing prank/threat, so you conclude that there must be some foul creature or malicious spirit that is stalking you. The past few days you were terrified and on the verge of freaking out, but you managed to maintain your calm composure. Besides, it has not escalated since then and today was the day that you went to the closest village to peddle your medical supplies, perhaps you could purchase some wards to protect yourself from spirits and talk to the local trappers, hunters, and elders to see if they know of anything dangerous lurking in the area.
You opened the door with a broom to sweep your doorstep, where you knew the web ball would be left. You shuddered as you swept it into the bushes and out of sight. So gross. You then went about your daily chores, and put the final touches on a last minute tincture. You put all your various vials, bottles, and other containers full of your merchandise into a large backpack that you put on before setting off on your way out the door and into the long path through the woods that would lead you to the village.
You started off at a brisk pace, there was no time to enjoy what would otherwise be a pleasant and leisurely stroll on a cool breezy day. You gripped the handle of the dagger in your belt tightly, in constant fear of what could potentially lurk just out of sight. You were paranoid and hyper fixated on watching the trees and path ahead for any possible signs of danger. So fixated that you completely neglected to watch where you were going. You did not notice a large bump in the path and tripped, you tried to get up but your ankle was sprained and you ended up flopping back over on your side.
This was bad, you were probably at least two miles into the forest unable to walk. Utterly helpless, with no more than a small dagger that in your inexperienced hands was mostly just for a false sense of security. But you couldn’t just lay here, you turned back towards the direction of your home and started ever so slowly dragging yourself.
You tried to do this as quietly as possible to not draw any attention to yourself, but you heard skittering and rustling in the bushes ahead of you.
Futilely, you hoped that it was just an animal or even the wind, but it wasn’t The being that had been lurking in the shadows and stoking your fears finally came forth.
A large drider came out of the trees. Like a centaur he was a creature that was human enough from the waist up but instead of a horse below that he was a giant white spider with black markings. From far enough away, and if the spider half were not in view, he could have easily been mistaken for a striking woman. His figure was slender and his hair was long and shimmered beautifully like silver in the rays of light that penetrated through the forest canopy.
But that is where the illusion ended for he had two fangs and four red eyes. He spoke in a cautious voice, as if trying to placate an animal that he feared may lash out.
“I’m Umzerth. I won’t hurt you, I promise.
You looked at him, trembling in dread and unable to take your eyes away as you scrambled backwards.
“Please no.” You repeated desperately in a frantic whisper.
The drider looked both concerned at your predicament and hurt by your reaction at seeing him.
“Please… darling… you’re hurt… just let me help you…”
“No, j-just stay back…”
“But your leg needs tending to my sweetling, I’ve never hurt you. I have proven I can take care of you by giving you all those plants you like. And food with them!”
“I am not interested in you taking care of me! Please just leave me alone… I have healing supplies with me…” Your voice faltered and it was clear that you were terrified of him.
Umzerth looked dejected, but he wasn’t going to give up. This was the first time he had properly met you and you were in pain. Surely you would accept him as your mate. He was so powerful and could take care of you. That’s what little humans wanted in a mate surely. He just had to calm you down and prove it.
The spider took a few tentative steps closer. You pulled your dagger from your belt and pointed it towards him. Your hand shook, more evidence of the fear coursing through you. He knew you’d never hold such a weapon to him if you were in your right mind. Maybe some of his venom would soothe you.
“Please put that away and let me help you sweetheart, my home is very close by. Your healing salves won’t work as fast as my methods will.”
You backed away a bit more, still holding up the dagger.
“I’ll take my chances.”
He moved with lightning speed and plucked the dagger from your hand, tossing it far away and out of sight. He spoke more forcefully.
“It would still take days to heal that foot. I can see the bruising from here. There are wild animals everywhere and I am not going to my beloved die out here because they were too damn stubborn.”
You cry out briefly as he bit down on your neck before an unnatural calm took your mind and your body went limp before fading into a relaxed sleep. His venom wasn’t at all deadly, not to humans, spiders, or driders. For a human it would merely give them a nice sleep. Which is exactly what you needed while he attended to your injury.
As you began stirring from your sleep you heard your name whispered. You woke to find your leg completely free of any pain, wrapped in silvery webbing. You could feel the thrum of magic within it. Much stronger than anything you could manage. Well… at least that proved he really wasn’t going to kill you.
“Are you feeling better, my little wild flower? I watched to make sure you slept well… I did take a break to catch you some food.”
The room you were in was unfamiliar, it looked to be a dwelling carved into stone. Likely at the base of the hills nearby. You were in a soft hammock made of silk. There was a wooden table next to you. Hand-carved. Umzerth apparently had grown accustomed to making his own furniture. Atop it lay a dead rat covered in webbing.
You recoiled at the sight.
“What’s wrong sweetling, it’s all predigested! You just have to bite and suck it out… don’t you like it?”
You didn’t say anything, but hopped up and bolted towards the exit. The ground was rough and cold on your bare feet, but you gave it no notice. You had to get away from this freak.
Umzerth caught you before you even reached the door.
“Let me go! I want to go home! Please!” You began sobbing and begging. Even if you were in no immediate danger he still frightened you. Thrust into a strange place with a terrifying creature and expected to eat… that… It was all too much.
“You ARE home my sweet flower!”
He caressed you oh so tenderly and claimed your lips with his own before setting you down on a cushioned chair that was far too small for him. Evidently he had prepared for your arrival for quite some time. Utterly disgusted with having been kissed by the monster, you wiped your lips.
“Are you upset with the food? Do humans not like that? I can learn to prepare human foods for you…”
He paced back and forth for a while with a nervous expression on his face, he wanted to make you happy and it was clear that you weren’t. How could he please you? He’d learn how to do that cooking thing he had watched humans do, but how could he make you like him more immediately?
Other than food that was to your liking hadn’t he provided everything a mate should? Shelter. Medical treatment.
Oh of course!
Sex!
You were being a whiny little human because you probably were desperate to copulate! He knew you were single since he had never seen another person at your dwelling, you probably hadn’t had a good dick like his in you in a long time, if ever.
You’d probably be all shy and bratty about it though. Natural first time jitters. He knew what would calm you down.
He scooped you up from the chair and, despite your struggles, gave your neck a little nip. Just a fraction of a full dose. You went limp again, but didn’t fall asleep this time. Your limbs felt too heavy and you felt really relaxed. You couldn’t muster the energy or will to fight anymore.
Umzerth gently placed you on a high stone shelf so that he was eye level with your crotch.
“I know just what you need to make you happy sweetling~”
You only groaned absently in response.
The drider gently peeled off your pants and underwear, taking it to his face and inhaling your scent deeply before placing it aside. The smell had him aroused in an instant. His erect cock poked out of a slit at his waist just below where his two halves met. Big and somewhat slimy.
He rubbed your soft thighs.
“Such a soft fragile thing.” He whispered.
He kissed up your thighs, occasionally giving them a careful nip, not enough to draw blood. He attended to you with a sloppy tongue and beneath the effects of his venom all you could feel was pleasure. You grinded into his face as you weakly stroked his hair, grabbing it harder when he brought you to climax.
He licked you clean as you shuddered.
“Ah, you fed me so well for worshiping at the altar between your thighs~”
You were even more relaxed now than when he had just bitten you, and just as powerless to resist. The spider picked you up carefully and shared another dominating kiss with you. This time sliding his tongue and brushing it against yours, smearing your taste buds with your very own flavor mixed with his saliva. A string of which connected your lips for a moment as he pulled away.
Then he held you as he positioned your body in front of his cock.
“Oh sweetling, you’ll look even prettier with a bellyful of my eggs~”
His words elicited just the smallest spark of worry in your envenomated mind, though it was quickly squashed when you felt his cock smear warm pre at your entrance. While holding you with one strong hand he slipped a finger in and out of you, slowly adding more one at a time.
Drooling and unable to articulate any thoughts, you moved back against his fingers.
At that he decided you were ready. He slipped his wet cock into you easily and with no pain at all, he had been very careful to make sure he pleasured his delicate flower.
He held you by your hips, gently rocking you back and forth along his shaft. You occasionally moaned softly. It felt so nice. So perfect. Like you were made just for this. Why had you been resisting again?
Umzerth started to go just a little harder, sure that his love could take it. With each thrust you let out a little gasp of pleasure. His cock fit itself into you beautifully, hitting every inch and making you feel full and sated in a way you never had before.
The fill of your shivering body as you had another climax pulled Umzerth over the edge with you. Powerful shudders racking the both of you in unison as his cock deposited small eggs deep inside you. Soft yet firm, they attached themselves to your insides. They would fertilize as they absorbed a bit of your DNA, then they’d fall out after a few days and then hatch a few weeks later.
Having deposited so many inside of his darling, your belly looked larger. He lay you in his web with him in the corner, rubbing your belly in awe. You smiled up at him and idly played with his soft hair.
“I’ll be back soon my love, I am going to get you something to eat.”
He wrapped you up in his webbing to keep you cozy before giving you a bit more venom to send you off into a short sleep. Then he covered the entrance to his den with his strongest webbing to make sure that you were completely safe while he was away. By the time you awoke he would have a good meal fit for any human. Then you would have nothing at all to be grumpy about.
This time he’d swipe a meal from the village, of course he’d leave them a gold coin in compensation since humans seemed to like those, and after that you could teach him!
#yandere teratophilia#yandere terato#my ocs#yandere x reader#monster boyfriend#gender neutral reader#yandere monster#male yandere x gn reader#yandere boyfriend#yandere spidertaur#spidertaur x reader#yandere drider#drider x reader#My OCs#My OC Umzerth#yandere#male yandere
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Oh my god, they’re…
Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa
“They ate me alive and left me for dead”
series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. And now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.
updates: wednesdays and fridays
Series masterlist
mood boards
series content warnings (read carefully): 18+, DARK CONTENT, Tokyo revengers AU, female reader, virgin reader, heavy smut, polyamory, Dark Impulse Mikey, Manipulative Izana, inaccurate/inconsistent university terminology, heavy angst with little comfort, betrayal, misogyny and sexism, emotional, physical and mental abuse, virginity loss, purity culture allusion, mental break, manipulation, gaslighting, sexual harrassment, dubious consent, noncon, drug, alcohol and substance misuse/abuse, extreme violence, use of weapons, torture, criminal activities, PTSD, paranoia, emotional incest, power imbalance, character death(s) (not reader), anal penetration, mention of self-harm, religious guilt and trauma, religious themes, vouyeurism, gangbang, masochism, sadism, hard kinks, strangulation (non sexual), psychological horror (more warnings to be added soon)
Chapter 1: Warning Signals
summary: being friends with emma sano is nice, until you get on the wrong side of the Sano brothers.
word count: 9k
cw: misogyny, alcohol mention, sex mention, rape mention, brief religious mention, reader is called a whore/slut, slutshaming, sexual assault, noncon to dubcon, public initimacy, fingering (fem recieving), dacriphilia, gaslighting, manipulation, mention of vomitting, victim blaming, destructive thoughts, mention of violence (towards reader)
Chapter 2: Shots Fired
summary: izana kurokawa decides he has to teach you a bitter lesson that you wouldn't forget any time soon
word count: 7.5k
cw: smoking, mention of drugs, brief description of child abuse, childhood trauma and sex work, violence (against both character and reader), emotional incest, night terrors, allusions to sex, mention and brief description of rape, asphyxiation (non sexual), manipulation, slut shaming, near death experience, sexual assault, noncon, oral (m.recieving), face and throat fucking, attempted murder
Chapter 3: The Lesser of Two Devils
summary: the two brothers realize that peace with emma is within their grasp, they just need your cooperation
word count: 12.3k
cw: character x character smut - cunnilingus, struggling with sexual attraction, angst, mention of assault, physical violence, slut shaming, misogyny, intrusive/dark impulsive thoughts of murder and rape, manipulation, gaslighting, objectification of reader, mental health struggles, masking, breaking and entering, smut -character x reader, reader is threatened with r*pe, dubious consent, making out, dry humping, cunnilingus (reader receiving), pussy job, terrible aftercare, religious themes and guilt, panty stealing.
Chapter 4: The Calm
summary: emma decided you needed a break from all the stress of life and takes you to her home for a vacation and for a moment, you forget that reality is often disappointing .
word count: 12.5k
cw: male masturbation, academic fatigue, misogyny, objectification, one mention of unwanted pregnacy, implied drugging, age gap relationship, fluff to heavy angst, minor character death, murder, mental break down, panic attack, gang related violence, gun violence, metions of drug related business (c*caine), dubious consent, slight manipulation, mutual masturbation, fingering (fem. receiving), jerking off, nipple sucking, praise kink, squirting, proper aftercare.
Chapter 5: Act on Dark Impulses
summary: you knew better than to trust mikey and izana. yet you fall for their plan hook, line and sinker and live through the worst night of your life.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 6: The Closest you’ll ever get to being in Love
summary: things get sicker and twisted with the two brothers and Emma is none the wiser.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 7: Trials and Tribulation
summary: You learn the hard way what happens when you refuse to be their stress relief because of your important exams.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 8: Divine Intervention
summary: You are called home to bury your mother and learn that nothing has changed since you left.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 9: Lead Me not into Temptation
summary: emma notices that something isn’t right with you when you come visit her in the sano residence.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 10: Deliver Me from All Evil
summary: you’ve finally broken the cycle, but at what cost?
word count:
cw: coming soon
notes from monica: I do not endorse any of these behaviors or any crime committed in this fic. This is purely for entertainment and introspection, please read the warnings for the series and each chapter and in case I missed anything, please dm me. If you are part of the taglist and you cannot read this fic because of your mental health, please, please and please alert me, I will take your name off. Your mental health first before my notes.
Thank you to my mutuals and all my followers who have supported me throughout and to those who will read this fic and support me. Since I began this account, I’ve made wonderful friends and I’ve been encouraged to write beyond my fears. Thank you, especially Zaya (@manjibunny) ! The mood boards turned out well because of you and all our discussions about the fic helped me a whole lot!
Anyways, enjoy. Asks, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. PLEASE I LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. It goes a long way to know what people think about my fics.
This work belongs to monica. do not copy or steal my work, do not promote my work on tiktok or twitter and do not use my work in any AI or chatgpt program.
divider made by the lovely: @mikeykuns
banners, moodboards, gradient texts were all done by monica.
series taglist (special thanks to): @honeybleed @manjibunny @reiners-milkbiddies @izanaki707 @rukiaslvr @ilovetwodmen @bbykoo-7 @tenjikusstuff4 @cockonoi @koffeenoe2 @kodzukein @lostsomewhereinthegarden @cashout-princess @aliyxh-o @kay-bear200 @iluv-ace @vixensbrainrotts @missgab @urmomsksk @sweeytheart @charcoal-xl @uradveragewhore @wcayaw @blueberry3muffin @haikyuusboringassmanager @diana-005 @perilous-pasta @kokoscutie @kannaaa015 @abadonkori @datura-inoxia
General taglist: @anemptypuddingcup , @happygoluckyalexis , @mastermindenoshimaalicia , @haitaniwhor3 , @iheartamajiki , @pinksilk , @lostsomewhereinthegarden , @bontensbabygirl , @linn-a-a , @leilalago , @ranscutedoll, @lovelygeniegirl1012 , @crackheadwithtoes , @haziel13, @reiners-milkbiddies , @k3rrpii @jalepp , @dreamingofyourmoons, @aceredhairliberal, @ateezbabysitters, @eroscastle , @hvziers
Bolded can't be tagged. You can comment or send me an ask if you want to join the taglist.
#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers smut#mikey x reader#izana x reader#tw. dark content#tw. dark themes#read the warnings#masterlist post#monsters ♡#updates: wednesdays and fridays#thank you to all my moots
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No Way Out
dark!rafe cameron x f!reader
Warnings: noncon, domestic abuse, toxic relationship, violence, oral (m recieving), drugs, jealousy, degradation and humiliation, guilt tripping
After you threaten to call the cops on your boyfriend, Rafe reminds you who holds all the cards in your relationship
You flinched hard when the glass flew out of your boyfriend’s hand, shattering on the wall behind you.
“I’ve had enough of your sass, Y/N! Don’t fucking act like you didn’t want that guy all over you. I could see the way you looked at him!” Rafe bitterly yelled at you. He was drunk and no doubt jumpy from the lines of coke he had on the way back in his truck.
More tears slipped past your lashes and you shook in fear as your boyfriend descended on you.
Your stream of anxious apologies fell on deaf ears, “I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to have a nice night with you, Rafe. Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
“Bullshit!” The blond shoved you back into the wall and you shrieked when pieces of glass on the floor pricked at your bare feet. “You were trying to disrespect me. Showing off too much of what’s mine. You are fucking mine, Y/N!”
You barely had time to react to his movement, tears blurring your vision of his hand quickly leaving his side to grip your throat, holding you against the wall as you choked and sputtered, trying to break free but afraid to cut your feet more.
“R-Rafe! Please!” Your pleading eyes met his, but they revealed nothing but darkness. You couldn’t stop your voice from shaking, “You’re scaring me!”
“Oh, I’m scaring you? You- you didn’t think you were scaring me at the bar? You’re making me look like some kind of bitch who can’t control his girl. You were acting like a whore.” Rafe spat at you, grip tightening around your throat, further restricting your breathing.
The edges of your vision were beginning to blur and lightheadedness was making your body feel almost numb.
You were gasping for breaths that wouldn’t come and panic began to set in even more when you felt his second hand join the first, increasing the pressure.
You struggled against him harder and he finally let you go, allowing you to collapse to the floor, gulping down air and sobbing. The glass below you cut your legs, the sharp pain a horrible reminder of how far the fight had escalated.
“I can’t- I can’t- I can’t-“ hyperventilation clouded your mind, mouth rattling on mindlessly as you lay on the floor in pain and disbelief.
“Get up!”
“I can’t Rafe- I can’t- I- Ah!” You shrieked as Rafe’s hand tangled into your hair, dragging you through the glass and onto the clean floor.
“You’re fine, Y/N,” he scolded, disappointment radiating in his voice. He leaned down to brush the glass off of your legs and you flinched at the feeling.
It always confused you how quickly he could go from loving to angry back to loving again. The attentiveness he gave you as he cleaned the cuts on your legs made you feel sick.
You absentmindedly realized your hand was now at your throat, cradling where his large hands had been crushing you just moments before. Hot tears pooled and fell down your cheeks.
You glanced at your boyfriend, nervous fear no doubt written all over your face.
“Don’t give me those eyes.” He brushed his thumb across your jaw, wiping away some of the tears that had gathered there. “Just makes me wanna stuff my cock down your throat and watch you choke on it like the slut you are.”
Your eyes widened in disgust and shame burned across your cheeks.
“You belong to me.” Rafe spat out, and the hands that had been carefully cleaning the cuts on your leg suddenly clamped down on the fresh wounds and you yelped in pain. “You are my girlfriend, and if I tell you to do something, you don’t fucking question me, you don’t talk back. Understood?”
The sharp pain he was causing was almost enough to make you throw up, and anger that you hadn’t known was inside you rose in your throat, burning in you and you knew that you had to let it out.
“I’ll…” you sniffled, voice wavering and cracking, barely above a whisper, “I’ll call the fucking police Rafe.”
In an instant, his entire face changed, and you could have sworn there was a moment that you saw genuine fear before it was replaced by a growing smirk.
He chuckled humorously, and your blood turned to ice in your veins. “You think they would help you? You think they aren’t in my dad’s pocket, willing to make any issue I have just go away? No one would believe you, Y/N. Just another dumb Kook wannabe trying to get her slice and slander the Cameron name.”
Instant regret cut through you at his words and you cried harder as you realized that he was right. There was no way anyone would believe your word over his. He had all the money, all the influence. All the power.
You flinched away from him as he drew a hand near your face, but he forcefully grabbed your chin, angling your face up towards him. The anger in his eyes terrified you. “You should know better than to make stupid threats like that baby.”
“I-I know Rafe, I’m s-so sorry it was dumb, I didn’t m-mean to,” your tear-stained eyes met his cold, unforgiving glare. His eyes were filled with a fire that you saw all too often.
“Open your mouth you dumb bitch, or I’ll give you something to really cry about.” The blond growled and the fingers digging into your jaw pressed harder, pulling you closer to him and forcing you to your knees.
You knew what was coming, but you couldn’t stop yourself from trembling, nauseous anticipation filling your gut.
The blond fumbled with his belt, and the sound of a zipper sliding down sealed your fate.
Rafe’s fingers tangled into the hair at the back of your head, pulling you forward towards him.
“Open your fucking mouth. I don’t want to ask you again.”
Humiliation washed over you, disgust at him and yourself were the only thing you could feel, besides the hand that was roughly pulling at the roots of your hair.
You swallowed your shame, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you timidly parted them.
Rafe’s free hand wrapped around the base of his cock, as the other guided you towards it, groaning when he finally forced himself into your mouth.
He pushed the head deeper, and you held back a gag at the unwanted intrusion. The salty taste reminded you of your tears.
His cock found the back of your throat, and he held you in place for a few moments, enjoying the sounds of you choking on him and the fearful obedience in your eyes.
When he pulled out, you coughed and gasped for air, only to be cut off when he forced himself between your lips again.
Your tongue pressed to the bottom of your mouth to make room for him. You had always had trouble taking all of his cock. Your apartment was filled with the lewd noises of him fucking your face.
The grip in your hair gave you no place to go but back and forth as spit filled your mouth and dribbled out the corners of your lips. You gagged on him when he pushed too far, but Rafe was well past the point of caring about your comfort.
Without words, you begged with your eyes, burning with tears. When Rafe groaned as he met them, you realized how much he was getting off on your fear.
Your jaw was growing sore, knees aching from the hard floor below you. Whimpers and moans escaped amid sloppy gagging as your boyfriend laid his claim on you.
“Every guy on this island wishes he could fuck you,” Rafe groaned, and you could feel the pace he was thrusting into your mouth growing. “But they never will. Because you belong to me.”
The blond pushed his dick to the back of your throat once again, holding you in place while you choked. With a shudder and a moan, Rafe came, spilling his warm seed down your throat and forcing you to swallow every drop.
“And I am never letting you go.”
#rafe cameron#outer banks#dark!rafe cameron#obx#rafe cameron noncon#dark rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfic#no way out
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So Good. So Bad.
—Stalker!Ex-Boyfriend!Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader
Summary — The Halloween party you and your friends attend turns upside down all because of your jealous ex.
Warnings — noncon/dubcon, toxic relationship, mass murd3r, k!lling spree, somewhat public sex, cuckolding of some sort, almost drugging, Lloyd being toxic and psychotic. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.
Word Count — 7.2K
A/N — I know I said Sunday but my muse said no. Story #2 for my FREAKtober Fest and my second time exploring Lloyd as a character. The writing process was tedious yet exciting. The title and inspiration of this fic was taken from the song ILYSB.
Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp
As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️
Aside from having the same shift as your best friends, restocking is the only thing you like about your work. Although it’s physical, it’s mostly mindless tasks done repeatedly, and the black shirt you wear acts like a shield from annoying customers who pester the ones in blue.
Your shift starts like clockwork; time in, grab the products from the warehouse, and begin stocking the shelves until you have to clock out. Though today was a bit more taxing than you expected with the cable aisle once more in disarray and you being tasked to reorganize and set everything in its proper place. You don’t understand the need to put in so much effort into something that will just end up messy at the end of the day.
But you do it anyway.
Upon arriving at the aisle, you begin sorting out the boxes and dismantling the hooks from the shelves. You’re happy enough to be doing this alone—the quicker you work, the faster you’ll be able to relax and waste the time away. That is, until Kate stands beside you, seemingly tensed as she starts helping you.
“He’s here again. TV aisle.” You don’t need for her to say anything more to know who she’s referring to and it just makes you sigh as you grab a box of an HDMI cable and hang it on the hook. “Jensen’s trying to help him but he’s being pushy about talking to you. How does he always know when you’re here? Didn’t you already change shifts?” She asks.
How you wish you knew the answer to that. “I did.” You say in exasperation. “Did he say I was on break?”
“You know we can’t lie. Besides, we have no idea if he already saw you before he came in. He could have seen you while you were on your smoke break.” She expounds and you feel a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Just—talk to him. Tell him to leave. If he tries anything, we’ll call the cops.”
“Yeah. Like they’ll do anything about it. Vince wouldn’t even allow that—bad publicity and all.” The sigh that once more leaves your lips is despondent. You don’t know what else you can do to make him leave you alone. “Fine. I’ll deal with him.” The box in your hand ends up being crumpled from annoyance.
“We’ll be keeping watch.” She says, a measly attempt to comfort you. But you take it anyway with a smile and push away from your cart to hopefully turn away the pesky client.
It’s been almost two years since you broke up with Lloyd. The sweet air that he once had turned bitter when you saw just how jealous of a person he was. You thought it was cute at first, comforting him after a fit and telling him that he was the only man in your life—until it wasn’t and he threatened your friend, John, even challenging him to a fight at the back of the club when he placed his arm on your shoulder as he introduced you to his girlfriend.
Since then, he changed and the relationship you thought was almost perfect, snowballed into endless fights and the revelation of the toxicity he kept hidden. You thought you could make him realize that there was truly nothing to worry about, that his jealousy was misplaced. But you were very wrong, especially after he demanded you quit your job and move in with him instead. You’d make a really good housewife, was what he said and you knew you had to draw the line.
It wasn’t the life you wanted. And it pained you to leave because you did love him but with the way he acted, you questioned if he truly felt the same for you for even the simplest of things, he failed to trust you. And ever since, he hasn’t stopped following you. Everywhere you went, at work or home, he was there, simply watching, observing and you’ve done all you can to push him away. But no matter how hard you try, he can’t take the word no.
The first thing you notice when you see him is the twitch of his mustache when he smirks. He looks pristine as ever with his yellow polo shirt and white slacks that match his black loafers—a complete mismatch to your black shirt, jeans and sneakers uniform. And it has you thinking, what the hell did he see in you?
“The new models just came in yesterday,” You hear Jensen tell him but it’s obvious that Lloyd is not listening, certain that he’s staring at you even with his blue eyes covered by sunglasses. “I can show them—”
“Ah, just the girl I was looking for.” He says, cutting off Jensen and stepping past him to head over to you.
“Sir, she’s one of our warehouse staff. I’d be happy to assist you in—”
“Beat it, nerd!” Lloyd snaps as he stops to face Jensen, rolling your eyes at his misplaced annoyance. “She’s the one I want to talk to.”
“It’s okay, Jen. I got this.” You tell your co-worker, gesturing for him to leave.
“You sure? I can stay if you need any he—”
“Are you fucking deaf?! She said she’s got it, loser!” Lloyd turns from where he stands and you’re suddenly alarmed to see him charge over at Jensen. “Beat it or I’ll make you.” He threatens and you immediately wedge yourself between both men when you see Jensen isn’t backing down.
You place your hands against Lloyd’s chest, stopping him from getting any closer. “Lloyd, stop it! Not here—Christ!” Your voice raises an octave when you scold him, facing Jensen right after and unintentionally glaring at him. “Just go, Jake! I said I got this!” It surprises you that you sound quite like Lloyd but it doesn’t deter you from pushing Lloyd back further.
You hear Jensen speak but don’t understand him as you grab Lloyd by the hand and pull him over to the other aisle, heat rising up your neck when you notice several of the shoppers looking in your direction. There’s never any peace with Lloyd—everywhere he goes, chaos follows.
Once you’ve pulled him away from prying eyes, you startle when he stops walking and tugs on your hand, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist as he holds you close. He gives you a sickeningly sweet grin, effectively trapping your hand against his chest.
“What the fuck do you want, Lloyd? Why are you here?” You bite.
“I’m looking for a TV.” He says smoothly, “Besides, I missed my little Kitten and I know that kitty of yours misses me too.”
You want to roll your eyes at his crass comment. “You know I work in the damn warehouse. I know nothing about them.” You reason, grunting as you try to get away from his hold. “We have a sales specialist who can help you with that.”
“Oh, but I want you to show me the options.” The hair on his lip twitches when he smirks, “Or I can complain to your manager that his employees aren’t helpful to their customers.”
“Seriously? You’re going to act like a fucking Karen?”
“Would you like to see me try?” He challenges.
That’s the last thing you needed from him and you don’t question that he would stay true to his word and make sure his complaint reached top management. Letting out a sigh, you nod at his request and show your best customer service smile before saying, “How can I help you?”
Your shift finally ends and you can’t wait to go home to wash off the day. After Lloyd pestered you with all the TV selections you showed him, he left with nothing and you tried your best not to show your annoyance at him though he knows he’s riled you up—he always does.
Bidding your goodbyes to Kate and the rest as you leave the store with Jensen in tow. He offered a ride to the station—something he always does and one you couldn’t refuse after the long day. You just want to go home and curl up in your room and hope that Lloyd doesn’t show himself again after that awful stint.
“Tough day, huh?” Jensen asks as he brings the engine to life and drives off from the parking lot.
“Yeah. I’m just glad it’s over.” You respond, leaning back against your seat while you hug your backpack against your chest.
“Yeah.” He echoes, hearing his fingers tap against the wheel. “The line at the tech depot was pretty long too. Seems like every computer within town is falling apart.” He jokes, and you think it’s an attempt to lighten the mood. You still feel tense with the altercation he had with Lloyd—you just wish for once one of them would listen to you.
“Hey, sorry about earlier.” He says and you visibly cringe when he mentions it. “I know you could handle him but knowing that he’s bothering you, I couldn’t just step away from—”
“Look. Jensen.” You sigh as you turn to face him. “I appreciate your concern, really, I do. But no offense, it’s none of your business. I don’t need a knight in shining armor to come and rescue me each time that idiot shows up. The others stay away because of how reckless he can be and I just don’t want you to get caught in the line of fire. Just let me handle him.”
You know full well why Jensen couldn’t get past that. After admitting to you his feelings since he found out you were single, he’s been subtly dropping hints about asking you out. You’d probably have taken up the offer if you met him before Lloyd but the trauma your ex has imprinted on you just leaves you thinking that any man who would dare go near would be the same.
Silence fills the small space, along with a flicker of tension. You think Jensen would disapprove of your words, that he would insist on giving his unwarranted help. But all you hear is a sigh and you see the nod of his head.
“Okay.” He utters, the rubber covering the steering wheel squeaking when his hold on it tightens. “I won’t meddle any—”
“JENSEN!” You shout and grab onto the handle of your seat when a car suddenly turns and blocks your path, Jensen stepping hard onto the brakes.
“What the fuck?!” He shouts as he rolls down his window but you, on the other hand, sit still when you see Conrad, one of Lloyd’s buddies, step out of the car and walk over to Jensen’s side. “What the hell is wrong with you, bro?!” Jensen growls as he unlocks his door, ready to step out.
But you’re too late to warn him—Conrad pulling open the door and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, trapping him against the side of his car. Lloyd then suddenly appears, with Chris in tow. He goes first to Jensen, the latter flinching when he raises his fist at him, threatening to lay a punch before leaning down and framing his arms over the edge of the window.
Your eyes dart to Jensen when he grunts against Conrad’s grip, glaring at Lloyd when he stares you down. “What the fuck are you doing here, Lloyd?!”
His eyes meet yours, darkness swirling around the blue and you can already tell that he’s angry. “What are you doing here, Kitten?” He says, a cocky grin on his face. “You couldn’t wait for me to pick you up so you got into this loser’s car?” He tuts, chin nodding over to your side and your door suddenly opens, Chris, pulling you out aggressively.
You look around, hoping to call for help but you curse Jensen when you notice he went through the back roads. No one ever passes here, especially at this hour, and now the both of you are at the mercy of your ex who you see looming over your co-worker.
You gasp when Lloyd sends him a punch, trying to pull away from Chris’ grasp to help Jensen, but it’s no use. You’re rendered helpless as you watch him send another blow, making the other bowl over to which Conrad pushes him further to the ground.
“Stay away from my girl, asshole!” Lloyd threatens before spitting at the other man, your eyes grow wide when Lloyd takes you from Chris and drags you to his car.
You hear the sound of tires being slashed and several glass breaking along with Jensen’s pained grunts. You knew Lloyd could be reckless but you’ve never seen him this way before. He opens the passenger door and pushes you in, slamming the door harshly before getting inside himself. He doesn’t wait for his companions before driving off, your hand grabbing the side of the door with the speed he’s going.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shout. “Let me out of here!”
“You keep testing me, Kitten. Running off with other men like that.” He growls and you scream when he takes a sharp left, cars honking left and right at how careless he’s driving.
“Are you that daft?! We’re over, Lloyd! We’ve been for years!” You shout amidst the panic that rolls through your veins, eventually getting the courage to hit him on the shoulder when he gets on the main road.
But you soon realize your mistake when he stops at an alley and his hand immediately wraps around your neck, pulling you towards him. You grab on his wrist when he squeezes tight, your eyes wide as you fear that he would choke you, kill you on the spot.
“Lloyd—” you gasp, slapping on his hand as tears fall from your eyes. “Y—you’re hurting me.”
“I will only say this once, Kitten, so you better listen.” His hot breath spreads across your cheek when he pulls you closer, the tick on his jaw setting you on edge. “You’re mine and no one, not even you, can change that fact. Got it?”
All you can do is nod, to agree with every word he says if it means you get to keep your life.
“Good.” He huffs, the anger in him somewhat seeping away, loosening his hold around your neck. “Good girl.” The praise that used to send shivers of desire within you now has your stomach twisting in disgust. “And if I see that weirdo or any other man going near you again, you know what will happen.”
You nod once more and gasp when he completely releases you, leaning against your seat as you try to regulate your breathing.
He drives once more and you’re thankful he’s slower this time, doing your best to stay calm as you look out the window. “Where are you taking me?” You ask, although you already have an inkling of his answer when you recognize the area you’re in and the direction he’s driving to. You haven’t driven in and out of these roads for almost two years. After you and Lloyd broke up.
The smirk he gives you is enough of an answer.
“Are we going to pre-game before the party?” Bucky asks as he plops down onto the couch in the employee lounge, shaking a tumbler of his protein shake in his hand. “Last year’s booze ran out so fast, I went home seeing straight. I don’t want to be sober on Halloween night.”
“You never want to be sober, Barnes,” Kate comments as she rolls her eyes, yet her interest seems to already be piqued. “But he’s right. Are we going to drink before the party or should we just hit the club after? I have a friend who can get us in at this club for free.”
“That could work but I’d rather enjoy the night drunk then get wasted at the club.” Bucky responds, taking a sip of his drink. “We could just meet up at someone’s place and pre-game there, then we can all go to the party together. Would save us gas too if we just take one car.”
“Who even lives near the venue?”
You tune yourself out from their conversation and stab your fork into your lunch as the Halloween party is the last of your concerns. Besides, you don’t think Lloyd would be happy with you attending and you wouldn’t dare give him the opportunity to ruin the event for you and your friends or give him any reason to be mad again.
Your friends exchange ideas, listing down people’s names of who they’ll be inviting for their plan of drinks and whose place they’ll be crashing when the door of the lounge opens and you freeze in your seat when Bucky calls out Jensen’s name.
“Hey buddy! You live downtown, right?” Bucky asks, patting the space beside him to which Jensen accepts. “We were thinking that—the fuck happened to your face?”
Your grip on your fork tightens when you chance a peek at both men, feeling your stomach drop when you see the bruise staining Jensen’s cheek.
“Oh that?” Jensen chuckles, his fingers running against the side of his face. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and I slammed against my door frame.” You know he’s lying, though you’re somewhat thankful he didn’t expose what Lloyd and his friends did. Still, you feel the guilt nipping at the back of your neck.
“You’re such a klutz, Jake.” Kate says with a laugh.
Jensen makes a face in her direction and you look away when his eyes meet yours. “Why were you guys asking if I lived downtown?” He suddenly asks, shifting the topic.
Bucky takes the lead again. “We were thinking of doing drinks before heading to the party. And since you live closer to the venue, maybe we could just meet at your place?”
“Depends. Do I have to provide the booze?”
“We can bring some and you prepare some.” Kate responds. “Sounds good?”
Jensen hums audibly as he thinks of his decision. You feel the tension circling around you as you sense his eyes on you while he speaks. You don’t dare to look up, keeping your focus trained on the lifeless pasta in your lunch container.
“I’m in. Though who’s coming? My apartment isn’t that big so I can’t really hold a huge crowd.” He finally says.
“I’m there.” Bucky says, mouth full of his protein shake. “Tell me what you guys want and I’ll bring it.”
“Me too. Though I’m bringing my boyfriend along—that cool with you guys?” No one seems to object and you look up to face your best friend when she nudges you. “You’re coming too, right? Amber’s dragging Nick along and we won’t be complete without you. I even planned this super cool costume for us.”
You feel your body shake at her question. The pressure of going to the event with your best friends growing in your chest, colliding with the added stress of meeting at Jensen’s place and the fear of Lloyd finding out about the plan.
“I don’t know.” You say with a frown, closing up your container as your appetite has already turned sour from the anxiety crawling up your spine. “You know I don’t do well at parties. I’ll just stink up the mood.”
“Aww come on. Please?” She begs with those puppy eyes she always uses to convince you. “You’ll be with us and if it gets too much, we’ll leave. And if you’re worried about that psycho ex of yours showing up, I can just show Andy in his direction and he’ll show him a thing or two.” You want to latch onto the assurance she gives you but she doesn’t know Lloyd like you do.
Still, you could probably think of a way to convince him—he’s never been apprehensive of you spending time with your friends. Except it’s not only them who would be with you; Bucky and Jensen would be there as well, and you’ve already witnessed what he’s done to the latter, the evidence staring you in the face.
And that would mean you would have to lie. Though is it really lying if you’re just omitting out the information he doesn’t want to hear?
But the plan didn’t go as expected.
Instead of heading over to the company party after drinks at Jensen’s apartment, like what was discussed, you find yourself nursing a red cup full of shitty alcohol in a dimly lit house while surrounded by your friend group and people you only assume to be Bucky’s college frat buddies.
You tug on the skirt of your black dress that’s a little too short for your liking, the cat headband already irritating you with how long you’ve been wearing it. You don’t know why you’ve agreed to Kate’s idea for the three of you to imitate the costume from that movie—you’re just glad she didn’t push you to wear a bodysuit and that Amber was happy to trade with the mouse theme you were originally assigned to do.
Speaking of your best friends, you walk around the living room as you try to look for them, no longer wanting to be alone amidst the foreign crowd. But you frown when you see Kate at the corner of the room, her boyfriend’s hand planted firmly on her ass while they make out. Amber, on the other hand, was just on the other side, with Nick barricading her against the wall like some prison guard. Though with the smile you see on her face, she doesn’t seem to mind being isolated by him.
Your eyes then dart towards the front door when the cheers of men grow louder than the music blasting in the house. Three people walk in, each one wearing a mask over some effortless casual clothes underneath. But the one wearing the iconic ghostface catches your attention, noticing him looking your way with the other two standing behind him following suit. There’s a somewhat eerie familiarity to their masked gaze that makes you look away and leave from where you stand.
“Not really what you’re expecting, huh?” You startle when someone says too close against your ear, making you look up and chuckle when you see Jensen smiling at you, an opened beer bottle in his hand.
“It feels like I’m back in college attending a frat party.” You comment, making the both of you laugh and tapping your cup against his bottle when he raises it to you.
“You went to a lot of parties in college?”
You shake your head. “Not really. Wasn’t really a party type.”
“Same. But I had no choice with my roommate dragging me to every party.”
You have no idea why Jensen is speaking to you—after what he endured with Lloyd and his buddies, you’d think he’d steer clear of you, probably even fear you thinking that history would repeat itself. But deep down, you’re happy to be in his company, choosing it over being alone in a place you don’t even know half the people in.
The both of you chat for a while, finding a less crowded spot in the kitchen and helping yourselves with the food and the drinks that are out and free for the taking. You still feel bad when the bruise on his cheek remains prominent, though with his purple button up and baggy gray slacks, you think it blends well with his cosplay of Bruce Banner when you asked him who he was supposed to be.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Jen.” You tell him with a frown, leaning against the edge of the counter as you look down at your drink. “I didn’t think Lloyd would actually hurt anyone.”
“It’s fine. It’s just a bruise.” He assures, giving your arm a pat.
“What about your car? Didn’t they trash it?”
“They did. But good thing I have insurance.”
It surprises you how positive the air around him still is despite the misfortune he’s met because of you. You almost envy his happiness, and the happiness that your friends have and you find it almost unfair that Lloyd wasn’t like Andy and Nick, doting and loving towards their girls, when both those men are his friends. You wish he’d learn a thing or two from them about handling relationships the proper way.
Sadness then swirls around you as you contemplate on what your life has become; always scared and cautious, that Lloyd would hurt another because of his jealousy, because of his unspoken obsession to completely possess you.
Your train of thought stops when you feel your cup being taken from your grasp, Jensen replacing it with a fresh one, fizz floating to the top of the amber liquid. “Jack and Coke.” He says. “Your drink looked a little stale.”
But before you could even take a sip, you hear spine tingling screams coming from the living room. You think it’s some scary prank someone has pulled on another, you and Jensen looking at each other and pushing away from your perch to investigate the commotion. But in just a flash of a second, the whole house is in chaos, people running, scrambling for their lives while the three masked men you saw earlier run amok, shooting and stabbing the party goers one by one and leaving them bloody and dead on the ground.
No sound escapes your lips as you’re gripped by fear upon witnessing the bloodbath, your body refusing to move even when your brain tells it to. But the hand that grabs onto your arm has you shouting in shock, only to be muffled by another and your eyes wide with horror thinking that they’ve got you. But to your relief, it’s only Jensen and he places a finger against his lips, telling you to be quiet before pulling you amongst the havoc for a way out.
You try the backdoor first but for some unknown reason it wouldn’t budge open no matter how hard he yanks it. He tries the window above the kitchen sink as well but just like the door, it’s screwed shut. He pulls on you once more, leading you down the hall this time, the rave music playing loudly in your ears pumping the adrenaline in your veins while the sound of the screams die out one by one.
He makes it to the end of the hall, the staircase free from the killers but with bodies lying lifeless on the steps—a woman with her throat cut wide open and a man with a bullet right between his eyes. He looks back at you, telling you to be quiet once more as he gestures that you both will be heading up. But before he could even set foot on the first step, one of the masked men appears and kicks him forward, making him topple over the corpses.
A scream is then wretched from your throat when you’re suddenly pulled back, the stranger trapping you against him while he positions his knife just under your chin, feeling the sharp edge of the blade kiss your skin. The man from the stairs kicks Jensen in the stomach then again, your co-worker writhing in pain as another joins his attacker, this time with a metal bar which he slams against his chest.
“Hello, nerd! Long time no see.” The one who kicked him greets, the timbre of his voice making your heart pound against your chest. No! “Whatcha doin’ with my girl, huh?” The stranger asks before pulling off his mask and you freeze when you see Lloyd’s face. He then turns to you, a cocky smirk playing on his lips and sending you a wink before he asks, “Whatcha doin’ here, Kitten? Thought you were at a company party?” The sly twist in his voice has you on edge.
The smirk on his face then fades, turning into a scowl when he nods at the man who’s got you trapped against him. You’re then released from his hold but not for long as Lloyd simply takes his place, grabbing you by your arm, wincing from his tight grip and dragging you into the living room where you see countless bodies lying lifeless on the ground and the walls of the house painted crimson.
He shoves you against the couch where you fall against something cold and sticky, only to realize too late, crying out to see that it’s Bucky you landed on; his blood staining your dress and your hands. But you’re then pushed away from him, falling back on the cushions as Lloyd kicks his body off the surface to take the space he once occupied.
You feel like you’re about to convulse as you cry when Lloyd wraps an arm around you. You try to push away from him, not wanting to be near him but he shakes you like a rag doll, making you stop before gesturing over to someone you cannot see as your eyes are blurry from your tears and remain locked on your dead friend’s feet.
“Gentlemen, thank you for all your help.” Lloyd says when the music finally dies and you look up, surprised to see Andy and Nick standing unscathed with only splatters of blood staining their costumes. But what has you more jarred is seeing Kate and Amber bound and gagged, sitting against the floor, they’re eyes wide in fear as they squirm to be free from their restraints.
You’re suddenly off your seat and on your feet, determined to get to them, to help set them free and run away from this horrid place. But Lloyd is quick to yank you back, grunting when you fall onto his lap and his strong arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place.
“Relax, Kitten. They’re safe.” Lloyd assures, his gloved finger grazing against your cheek. “Just had to go through some extra measures to keep them out of the way.”
“We did our part, Hansen.” Andy says, pulling Kate from the ground who forcefully tries to pull away from his grip while Nick does the same with Amber, who in turn quietly follows while tears keep running down her face. “Just don’t forget the deal.”
“Yeah yeah. Just make sure your bitches know what to say if they’re questioned.” Lloyd responds with disinterest. “Meet me by the end of this week for your payment.”
It’s all the words the men exchange before dragging away your friends, their wide and fearful eyes being the last you see before the door closes behind them.
The sound of wood being dragged across the tiled floor then makes you look forward, seeing Chris and Conrad, now with their masks off, placing a chair in front of you and Lloyd while the latter drags Jensen’s beaten body and forces him to take a seat. Both men then go to work, effectively binding their captive’s wrists behind his back with tape and his ankles to the legs of the chair.
The sight of his damaged state breaks your heart as you helplessly feel guilty upon thinking that everything that has happened to him is all your fault. You never should have come here in the first place as soon as you found out about the change of plans. You should have just gone home or better yet, you should have just stayed at home where you know Lloyd would be.
Yet the universe could be so cruel.
“Look what we found on him.” Chris says in a serious tone before pulling out a small ziplock bag from Jensen’s shirt pocket and tossing it over your lap. You glance down at the clear packaging, seeing several small white tablets enclosed in it. What?
“Lover boy here was so desperate to get laid he brought roofies with him.” Conrad adds with a laugh, pushing on the back of Jensen’s head hard that his body jolts forward.
The bag is then taken from your lap, Lloyd holding it up close to his face as he inspects the white circles. You yelp when you’re suddenly shoved off his lap, falling over to the floor while Lloyd steps over to Jensen and grabs him by his hair, pulling his head back while he holds the baggie in front of him, breathing heavily like some wild animal through gritted teeth.
“You were gonna drug my girl, weren’t you?!” Lloyd spits out his words and on Jensen’s face, tossing the tablets in Conrad’s direction, your throat eliciting a gasp when he holds a knife to his neck this time. “Did you take any drink from him?!” He asks, but it takes a second for you to realize that he’s talking to you. He turns in your direction, eyes dark with anger. “Any fizzy shit this asshole gave you?!”
You don’t understand what he’s asking, why the sudden interrogation—then it hits you. In the kitchen while you were busy with your thoughts, Jensen took your stale drink, as he claimed, and replaced it with another. No—it can’t be. He said it had coke in it and sodas make a fizz.
“I won’t ask again, Kitten.” Lloyd pushes and you nod out of fear, knowing that he would find out that you’re lying to him if you said otherwise.
The look on Lloyd’s face shifts into something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand. Like something sinister has possessed him with the way his lips curl in a playful manner.
A groan leaves Jensen’s lips when Lloyd releases him and you push yourself back against the couch when he goes for you next.
“Lloyd, please—!” you beg as he tucks the knife in his pocket, yanking you from the ground and shoving you forward, planting you firmly in front of Jensen before forcing you to bend over. “Let’s just go home—you already beat him!” You cry, pushing against Jensen’s thighs when Lloyd doesn’t budge and keeps dipping you further.
You feel like you’re going to gag when the metallic stench fills your nose especially with how close you are to your bleeding co-worker and you attempt once more to push away from him, no longer wanting the both of you to suffer. But the world suddenly feels like it’s turning upside down when you feel Lloyd pushing up the skirt of your dress, a grunt leaving his chest when he roughly rips your panties off your thighs.
“Now, don’t be like that, Kitten.” He says in a syrupy tone. “Don’t you want to at least show him his sick fantasy of fucking you?” The tell tale sound of his zipper being undone fills your ears and you’re shocked frozen, scared to the wits end that Lloyd would take you here amongst the dead and in front of your friend who he’s beaten to a pulp.
You look away from Jensen when you feel Lloyd’s cock brush against your ass, his tip teasing your pussy lips. You then shout when Lloyd grabs you by the back of your neck, forcing you to look back at your friend who has one eye swollen shut, while the other is stained with blood and brimming with unshed tears.
In one swift move, Lloyd enters you, gasping for air at his sudden intrusion. Pain blooms at the pit of your stomach when he doesn’t allow your walls to adjust and begins fucking you at a brutal pace, your nails digging into Jensen’s thighs as you try to endure your abuser’s torment.
Your body jolts against the chair, following Lloyd’s callous thrusts. You’re then washed in humiliation when you hear Chris and Conrad snickering at your sides, seeing them watch you with perverse eyes, sickened to the core as the thought that they enjoy what they are witnessing comes to your mind.
Both men then hold Jensen in place when he starts squirming in his seat that he almost topples over. Lloyd then abruptly pulls you up, pressing your back against his chest but only to grab on the straps of your dress and harshly pull them down from your shoulders, having your breasts spill into the open.
“She’s got perfect tits, doesn’t she, lover boy?” Lloyd taunts as he keeps up the pace of his hips, grabbing your breasts, kneading, squeezing, and pushing them together. “Why don’t you feel how soft they are?” And it’s as if things couldn’t get any worse, Lloyd moves you forward along with him, tipping forward when your knees hit the edge of the seat. His hands grab onto the back of the chair and you wail in horror when he forces your breasts to press against Jensen’s face, the sticky blood smearing all over your skin.
Lloyd laughs and so do his friends and all you feel is shame and disgust at what he’s doing to you—that the man you once loved would hurt you in the sickest way possible.
A gasp is once more wretched from your throat when Lloyd slams hard against your cunt, feeling his thick cock slide even deeper when your walls grow wet, the toe curling sensation from his tip repeatedly hitting that sweet spot of yours trying to take over. You feel like a woman possessed as you grit your teeth, pushing hard against the unwanted pleasure that slowly begins to crawl up your skin and seep into your bones, not wanting to give Lloyd the satisfaction that, despite such circumstances, he still manages to make you feel such a way.
Yet your attempts are deemed fruitless when you whimper and eventually turn into a moaning mess, your body responding to each of Lloyd’s touch; your pussy walls clenching around his throbbing cock with each thrust he makes and how your skin shivers, singing each note in sheer perfection as you climb higher and higher to your peak.
“You see that, nerd? You see how she turns into a fucking slut when you fuck her good?” He goads between heavy breaths, adjusting the position of his legs to have you lean more against his victim, his hands grabbing onto your tits once again only to rub it further against Jensen’s face, feeling the bristles of his goatee rub roughly against your skin.
“Too bad you’ll never get to have this.”
Lloyd's hips begin moving more erratically, the sound of your skins slapping with one another filling the stolid air. You swallow thickly, refusing for any more moans to leave your lips as you’re slowly enveloped in ecstasy, Lloyd’s cock pulsing deep in your pussy.
A blinding white light suddenly fills your vision and you shake uncontrollably as you come hard around Lloyd’s shaft. Tears once again spring from your eyes and you’re confused about what causes it. Is it embarrassment from feeling the pleasure? Pain from Lloyd’s roughness? Or is it sadness of how the evening of fun turned into a nightmare? You can’t think as you’re dissolved into nothing, your body floating in orgasmic bliss.
Lloyd follows soon, growling low and animalistic as he keeps his cock buried balls deep, painting your pussy walls with streaks of white as he spills his seed, filling you to the brim.
You think that it’s finally over, that Lloyd’s objective has finally been met. But a life draining gasp then fills your ears—not from you or from Lloyd but from Jensen. And it’s only then that you realize what has happened when you see Lloyd’s hand gripped on the hilt of the knife with the blade stuck deep into Jensen’s chest.
“No!” You cry out as Lloyd stabs him repeatedly, grunts of passionate anger escaping him each time he sinks the blade into the body before you.
Tears of despair and horror are what fall from your eyes, closing them as you hope that this is all a bad dream. You ball your hands into fists as you try your hardest to close in on yourself, to leave this place of torment that Lloyd has condemned you into.
Yet, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t. With the sound of metal hitting bone, along with the devious laugh of the men around you and the way your body shakes from Lloyd’s continuous blow, you’re repeatedly pulled back into the present, unwillingly witnessing the murder of your friend.
You suddenly feel your body shake, your chest tightening that you think the room is losing air and the smell of blood getting stronger and stronger that it makes bile ride up your throat. With Lloyd’s final stab, he pulls you away with him, leaving the knife buried in Jensen’s throat. The world around you suddenly turns, your vision spinning uncontrollably that before you could even let out a scream, everything suddenly goes dark.
You sit inside the employee lounge along with the others in somber idleness. The police came over just before the store opened and ordered that it remained closed for the rest of the day to make way for an investigation. Vince wasn’t happy with the commands of the law enforcers but there’s nothing he could do—there was nothing anybody could do.
A massacre, one of the officers said. A mass murder, another voices, declaring that some of the victims were employees of the store. You already knew who it was—Bucky and Jensen.
One by one, the employees were interrogated, some taking minutes while others taking hours. You glance at Kate who sits across from you on the lunch table, noting the small bruise on the side of her neck. You try not to imagine what Andy told her or did to her that night. You don’t even dare to ask as you refuse to relive the grim evening, nor want to feed her any memory of it.
You sit up once your name is called and you feel the eyes of your other co-workers land on you. The detective, stout and looking somewhat annoyed to be doing such a thing, looks your way and asks your name once more to confirm your identity.
He beckons you to follow him and you do, but not before looking down at your best friend when she grabs your hand, seeing the fear etched in her eyes. You give her a small smile and give her hand a reassuring squeeze before letting her go and following the detective into the other room.
You do as you’re told when he tells you to sit, staring down at the round table that sits between the both of you as you wait for his first question.
“I’m Detective Bodecker.” He starts, his belly protruding as he leans back against his seat. “And I just want to ask you a few questions regarding your co-workers. Is that okay?”
You nod.
“Do you need some water? Anything to make you comfortable?”
You shake your head.
“Very well. Let’s begin.” He hums and grabs his notebook from the desk, flipping a page. “Where were you on the night of October 31st?”
Your mind suddenly begins reliving the night in question. Jensen’s bloody face and Lloyd’s devious smile playing in your head. You blink those thoughts away, not wanting to give out any information on your face.
Taking a breath, you begin your tale.
“I was at a party—”
#lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x f!reader#so good so bad#the gray man#chris evans characters#dark fic#horror fic#beanie's freaktober fest#freaktober fest#shadeysprings fics
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How About It, Agent Miller? | Lenny Miller x fem!reader
Summary: The year is 1988. The Cold War is well underway and tensions are slowly rising between the US and the Soviets. CIA Agent Miller isn’t threatened by the new young agent from the Soviet Union but she has a plan to get his attention, and to get even.
Warnings: Misogyny, violence, gun, kidnapping, restraints, dubious consent, noncon, smut, unprotected sex, edging, drugging.
word count: 4661k
Sympathy for the Devil- The Rolling Stones 🎶
Devils Haircut- Beck 🎵
You Know I’m No Good- Amy Winehouse 🎶
Movie: Anna (2019)
Please read warnings before continuing, thanks!
He thought this job was going to be simple, almost easy. She was working for East Germany, young, and new to her position; surely she wouldn’t be that difficult to eliminate. He’d been working for the CIA for nearly fifteen years at that point. He was one of the top agents and had orchestrated the downfall of many notable German and Soviet spies. To be fair, there had been that minor detail of receiving several severed heads from the KGB back in 1985 but that was all behind him now. They didn’t scare him now, and certainly, that twenty-something agent he’d heard so much about wasn’t about to make him lose sleep. In fact, he was looking forward to meeting her.
The girl in question was twenty-two and one of the deadliest spies to ever work for East Germany (the communist side). Y/N Y/L/N managed to slip past the CIA on multiple occasions, stealing out the backdoor or using false passports to get out of the country undetected. She’d made one mistake, however, and Agent Miller was quick to catch it. He rued the way she’d avoided detection for so long when it felt like it was all due simply to good luck. She didn’t seem especially smart or conniving, just pretty. It pissed him off. The mistake that Y/N had made was small, easy to look over, but Agent Miller was looking, and he found it.
Y/N tricked men around her to get information on the US. Once she’d get them alone, she drugged them, shot them, etc; anything to get them out of her way while she downloaded classified files from their computers. She had managed to steal these files before without leaving traces of her crime but low and behold, the last time she had removed the flash drive without ejecting it from the computer’s system. The computer held onto the flash drive's information and told Agent Miller exactly what the young woman was planning next. She’d been collecting information on nuclear weapons and international trade deals that the US was trying to keep hush hush. And for that reason, Agent Miller knew who she was going after next.
He straightened his striped blue tie and cleared his throat as he and his team crowded into the elevator. The men behind him carried larger guns and thick bulletproof vests, ready for whatever the girl threw at them. They’d followed her into a hotel in New York City, a place that felt too normal for the situation at hand. When the elevator doors opened with a soft whooshing noise, Agent Miller nodded his agents on, directing them to either side of the corridor. Quickly, they raided the hotel room belonging to the man they believed she had gone after that evening, but did not find her there. She was nowhere in the hotel. Agent Miller cursed beneath his breath and gritted his teeth. He knew his impatience was his worst quality and it only hurt him in these situations, but then again, the American government isn’t known for being very patient with communists…
Clenching and relaxing his jaw, Agent Miller went back down in the elevator with his men. They separated into groups in the lobby, each climbing back into the armored car sent by the CIA. Agent Miller waited behind, his cold eyes trained on the curb in front of the hotel. His car was separate from the others and would take him directly back to his office. A sharp wind ruffled his dark brown hair, displacing one strand into his face as his car pulled up to the curb. Agent Miller climbed into the dark backseat, the car door slamming closed beside him and a lock clicking into place. He looked up. The barrel of a pistol was pointed at his forehead. He froze.
“Hello, Agent Miller. Wie geht es Ihnen? I’m so glad we finally got a moment alone. I apologize for the circumstances but you know how the politics are these days… it’s so… toxic. Ja? Now, be a good boy and hand me the glock you have at your hip,” a young woman smiled on the seat beside him. She was wearing all black and blended in against the dark leather seats and tinted windows. Agent Miller frowned, his hands unmoving.
“That doesn’t seem fair, does it? You’re putting me at a disadvantage here.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself like that, Agent Miller. You and I both know what you’re capable of,” she chuckled mockingly but her sunglasses hid her true meaning. “Give me your gun, now.” Her voice was hard and cool like a porcelain plate, one of the perfect edges with a chip. Agent Miller raised his hand slowly and moved his jacket to the side, showing his holster. As soon as she had his gun in her hand she tapped the glass partition between them and the driver, signaling him to drive.
“Where are we going?” Agent Miller sighed calmly, leaning back against the seat. Y/N smiled, pleased at his temperament. It made things easier.
“One of my favorite places in New York City,” she answered with a smirk, a gun still trained at the man beside her though it had been lowered.
“And what kind of place could that be, god forbid?” Agent Miller asked rhetorically and looked over at the window beside him.
“The Plaza Hotel,” she answered slowly and shifted in her seat. Her pleated leather skirt shifted across her black stockings, showing more of her thigh, fleshy and round. Agent Miller noticed it and smirked, the comedy of the situation being too much for him to take seriously. The car stopped at the back of the hotel by the service entrance. Men exited out of the building and held a door open, waiting as Y/N escorted the CIA agent inside. Agent Miller followed her calmly as he searched for someone who could help him.
“No one’s here. It’s off-season,” she sighed lightly and pushed him into an elevator.
“It’s never off-season in New York,” Agent Miller raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Surprise, surprise.”
They took the elevator up to the top floor. Agent Miller’s hands began to sweat as he was led out of the elevator and around the corridor to a suite, separated from the others.
“You must get a good salary,” Agent Miller cracked as the woman jerked the gun towards the door of the suite. He kept his hands visible as he entered the room and looked around. The room was large and was actually made up of multiple rooms. In the center of the living room area, a chair had been left out.
“Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Bitte.” She had a way of talking that sounded like a purr but it was clear to Agent Miller that her words were more threatening than they sounded. Still, it was hard to take her seriously. It was hard to believe that this woman was the deadliest spy in East Germany.
“Danke schön,” Agent Miller muttered, his American accent muddling the German.
"Kannst du Deutsch sprechen, Herr Miller?” Y/N pretended to sound surprised as she closed and bolted the lock. “I’m flattered, really,” she smiled and removed her long black coat. Slowly she placed the coat on a couch’s arm and pulled off the blonde wig on her head, revealing her dark hair beneath which fell into a messy bob around her shoulders, over her dark mauve blouse. Last she removed her sunglasses and folded them neatly on her coat. Then she met his eyes.
“Nein? Well, then it's good I’m so fluent in English. You would never tell by my accent. At least, you didn’t the last time we met.”
“We’ve met before?” Agent Miller asked and shifted in his chair.
“Oh yes.” She smiled and dimples deepened on her cheeks.
An image came back to him, one of a young woman dropping a stack of manuscripts in the lobby of a hotel where they had been investigating the last crime scene. She’d been wearing a long brown wig and tortoiseshell glasses. She even had brown contacts in her eyes to hide her true eye color. He’d stopped to help her collect the manuscripts.
Oh gosh, thank you so much. So sorry about that. My boss is going to kill me. Thank you! She’d blushed as he handed her the papers. He’d met her before. She’d shown herself to him just to play with him. He scowled.
“Now I feel even more at a disadvantage.”
“How? After all, you’re the big-shot CIA agent, due for a promotion any day now… and I’m just a little girl. I don’t need any real smarts, not when I can just use my good looks to get what I want. Right, Agent Miller?” Her voice darkened as she finished, flashing with resentment. “You could fight me right now. It’s just the two of us. I’m surprised you didn’t. You’ve had ample opportunities to but you blindly follow my orders. It’s not that you’re scared to hurt me, you aren’t that sexist.”
“I don’t see the point of fighting when you’ve put so much work into getting me alone. I assume you have something to say.” Agent Miller swallowed, his cool facade slipping slightly as the woman approached him slowly.
“Aw how chivalrous of you! Oh, but what if I told you that I was only interested in getting you alone so that I could finally get even with you.” Y/N twirled the gun around her pointer finger and shifted it to his chest. He stiffened.
“Get even?”
“Settle the score,” she offered with a shrug.
“I don’t think I follow,” Agent Miller frowned warily.
“Then let me explain,” Y/N purred and with quick movements, she removed a pair of handcuffs from the back of her skirt and closed them tightly around both of his wrists, tying his hands around the back of the heavy chair. His eyes widened slightly when he realized what she had done.
“The fuck…” he started but she cut him off quickly.
“You didn’t think I could outsmart you or get the upper hand… you thought you could so easily catch me. And what a good job you’ve done!” She crossed her arms across her chest and set the gun down, smiling. Agent Miller averted his gaze, staring at the upper corner of the room. He clenched his jaw and struggled against the handcuffs for a brief moment.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Agent Miller?”
“Figured what out?” He snapped impatiently.
“I've been planning this for months. Do you really think I accidentally removed my flashdrive wrong, coincidentally leaving you all of the information that i’ve gathered since starting my mission? You’ve really underestimated me,” she clucked her tongue and kicked off her high heels, standing barefoot in her pantyhose on the dark pink shag carpet.
“I knew you’d find the mistake, I wanted you to. You did everything you were supposed to do, good boy,” she carded her fingers through his dark hair. The soft warm lighting in the room brought out the freckles across his pale face. Just as he started to turn his eyes to hers, she yanked his hair back so that he was looking up at her. “But how did this special agent who graduated from MIT of all places, end up in this position?”
“Did you do all of this just to show me how smart you are?” Agent Miller growled as she continued to pull at his roots.
“Something like that,” she smiled again, “I get off when men think they’re smarter than I am. I like proving them wrong… and then killing them.”
“Is that your plan for tonight?” He tried to keep a level voice as the smell of her perfume wafted down to his nose. She shook her head slightly and chuckled.
“You’ve been trained to resist torture, so there won’t be much that I can get out of you that way. And anyway, there isn’t much that I don’t already know.” She released her grip on his hair and stepped back. Y/N moved to the bar cart, stocked with crystal jars of whiskey and bourbon.
“So what are you going to do to me?” Agent Miller raised an eyebrow as he watched her pour a small glass of whiskey. She turned slowly and approached him again, swirling the whiskey in her glass. She raised the glass to his lips and poured it gently into his mouth. He parted his lips for her, his eyes trained on her face.
“Whatever I want,” she whispered and pulled the glass from his lips. Agent Miller raised his eyebrow, swallowing.
“Won’t your government disapprove?” He scoffed and shifted in the seat, calming himself down. His body was starting to get hot and his collar got tighter.
“Shhh,” she shushed him, a finger pressed against her own lips. Y/N approached him again and trailed one manicured finger from his arm to his hand. He shivered beneath her touch and his heart began to race. He felt his pulse in his stomach as she carded her fingers through his hair again, softer this time. She placed one knee on the chair between his thighs, pressing against his crotch. She tipped his head back with the edge of her nail beneath his jaw and leaned in close, exhaling beside his jaw. Seeing an opportunity, Agent Miller tried to kick her, jutting his knee up because it wasn’t restrained. She stopped him quickly, forcing him back into the chair, not missing a beat. His breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked on it. Her hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed but not harshly. His skin was warm beneath her hand and she smiled, her white teeth flashing.
She pressed her knee sharply into his thigh, holding his leg down, and slid it closer to the top of his crotch. She chuckled softly when she felt the outline of his cock inside his pants with the side of her thigh. Agent Miller’s body tensed below her, his hands folding into fists as he exhaled sharply.
“Aw does this hurt?” She cooed as she dug her knee further into the flesh of his thigh. His jaw tightened as she teased him. Moving closer, she rested both knees between his thighs, forcing them against the arms and pinning them in place. Suddenly she was so close and her thighs were pressing against his stomach…
How was it that he was getting an erection from this shit-show? How could she get this reaction out of him so fucking quickly? He tried to even out his breath as she shifted in the seat, her hands trailing up his chest to the knot of his tie.
“What did you drug me with?” Agent Miller muttered. Strands of her hair brushed against his cheeks.
“You don’t have to resist it, Agent Miller.” She ran her hands down his sides beneath his dark blue suit jacket. His body was full and firm, and warm. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispered against his forehead.
“What did you put in my drink…” he repeated, his voice wavering in strength as her hand moved down his stomach to the front of his pants. His erection was pronounced and visible, pushing against the fly of his trousers. She must have given him something, something to get this response. He wasn’t even that turned on. He sighed, frustrated and mad. He turned his head to the side, avoiding her soft lips.
“You think I have to drug you to get this kind of response? Silly boy,” she slid off of his lap and sat on the edge of the couch in front of him. She crossed her legs at first and allowed her eyes to trail up his body like a man would to a woman. Agent Miller stared back, his blue eyes hard. She giggled and reached up her skirt, hooking her hands under her pantyhose and pulled it down her thighs. She rolled the pantyhose slowly down her calves and slipped it off her feet. Despite his best efforts, Agent Miller watched her closely, studying the way she pushed the pantyhose to the side with her foot.
“I prefer genuine responses, it helps with my ego,” she broke the silence and watched with a sly smile as Agent Miller swallowed. With a sigh she stood and leaned over the CIA agent, her hands gripped around the arm rests. “Are you embarrassed? The high and mighty CIA agent succumbing so quickly to someone like me?” She teased him sharply, a glint of malice behind her bright eyes. “Tell me, Agent Miller. You’re thinking about me… you want me to touch you more. You want to see what I could do to you.”
Agent Miller cocked his head slightly and sighed, pretending to be disinterested. Y/N grabbed his face, her fingers digging into either side of his jaw. When she kissed him, he exhaled, almost relieved. He kissed her back, forgetting himself and liking the way she tasted, the way her lips felt in his mouth. She pulled his face closer to hers, still hovering above him. She kissed him feverishly and he followed blindly, distracted by the pleasure found in each movement her lips made against his. Then as quickly as it had started, she pulled away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Some of her lipstick was smudged across his mouth but he couldn’t tell. He was breathing heavily, his lips pulled apart so that he could catch his breath. She took a few steps back and grabbed a file from a nearby table. She flipped it open and turned the pages until she landed on the right one. She held the folder open in one hand and with the other she began to unbutton her blouse from the top down.
Agent Miller felt his cock throb as he watched her shrug off the silky blouse and drape it over the arm of the couch. When she turned he could see her black t-shirt bra fitted perfectly against her breasts. Her collarbones rose and fell as she breathed and Agent Miller nearly groaned. She read aloud from the file as she moved back to the chair.
“My records tell me that the last number of confirmed nuclear weapons in the American arsenal was 27,000. It’s been half a decade since that information was released to the Soviet Union. What is that number now?” She straddled his lap slowly, smoothing out her skirt over their legs. Agent Miller moved his eyes from her breasts to her face, trying to keep his face straight as he felt the woman’s hand unbuckle his belt.
“I can’t tell you that,” he managed as she played with the zipper of his fly, her fingers dancing over the hard bulge.
“Has the number grown?” She offered and slid her hand below his waistband. Her hand grazed the patch of his pubic hair before she reached his cock. He shivered and looked up at the ceiling of the hotel room. “More?” She asked softly as she wrapped her fingers around his erection, it was hot and wet in her hand. He was so sensitive already that he groaned softly when she touched him. She squeezed him softly and freed the hard length from his pants. She rubbed her hand up and down. Agent Miller panted softly as she masturbated him. His eyes snapped open and he watched her, their eyes locked.
“Has the number changed?” She asked again softly as the agent clenched his jaw.
“I can’t tell you that,” He fought the words out as her hand sped up.
“Are there less? Has the US been involved in a trade agreement for its nuclear weapons?” She pushed, her hand moving faster.
“Fuck…” Agent Miller panted as her grip tightened around him. His cheeks deepened with color and his chest shook as his climax built. Just as he felt like he was about to cum, Y/N pulled her hand away and clucked her tongue.
“You’re going to make this very hard on yourself,” she observed and smiled as she watched him pant. He was completely erect beneath her skirt, resting against her bare thigh. They stared at each other as he caught his breath. She snapped the folder closed and tossed it to the side, sighing impatiently.
“Who has the US traded with in the past year?” She asked, her hands holding his thighs down.
“That is public information. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
“I want you to tell me about the trade deals you haven’t made public,” she loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons. “Which countries have illegal trade agreements with the US?” She added before kissing his neck, sucking on the soft flesh until she started to make hickeys. With her freehand she held his cock still as she lowered herself onto his head. She moved her hips slowly up and down and pulled away to look at his face. His adam's apple quivered in his throat as she moved on top of him.
“I-I can’t-fuck,” he gasped softly as she started to shift her hips over his lap, taking him deeper, “I can’t tell you that.”
“Come on, Agent Miller,” she whispered against his ear, “be a good boy for me,” she smirked. “Does it feel good? Is this harder than torture?” She teased him as her hips sped up, rocking back and forth. Agent Miller moaned softly as she held his face to face her. His mouth was agape in pleasure as she began to bounce slightly, falling hard on his cock. He grunted as she went faster, moaning theatrically against his lips which she refused to kiss.
“Do you want to cum, Agent Miller?” She whispered against his lips, her tongue touching his bottom lip with a flourish.
“Fuck…” he panted again.
“Can you cum for me?” She purred and Agent Miller nodded weakly, his eyes now closed. She smiled and pretended to pant, coaxing another deep moan from the man’s throat. “Has the US been sending nuclear weapons to West Germany?” She asked, raising herself up and holding him inside her. He weakly tried to thrust but she held him down.
“Y/N…” he whispered, his brows furrowed in frustration.
She snapped her hips down, taking him in again and hugging his cock. He gasped as his stomach tightened. He was going to cum.
“Has the US been sending nuclear weapons to West Germany?” She repeated sternly, not moving on his cock as the wave of climax started to dissipate again.
“I can’t fucking tell you that-fuck,” he growled when she moved her hips very slowly.
“But you can tell me, Agent Miller, and if you do, I’ll let you cum,” she stroked his cheek and kissed his jaw feverishly. “I want you to cum. Fuck, I want you to cum inside me too.” She whispered against his neck. When he resisted saying anything she pulled herself off and backed away towards the bed in the room beside them. Agent Miller watched her, his chest rising and falling quickly. Still watching him, she slid her leather skirt off, showing that she had no underwear on underneath. He felt like he might explode just by the sight of her.
“Jesus…” he groaned and let his head fall back against the back of the chair. He couldn’t help himself but look back as she undid her bra and dropped it to the floor. Standing completely naked, she laid back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows.
“If you won’t cum, I’ll just have to finish myself off,” she sighed and trailed her fingers up her thigh to her cunt, wet from sex. “It just never feels as good.” She rubbed her fingers over her clit over and over again until she felt an orgasm grow. She curled her toes and bit her lip, grinding against her own hand. Agent Miller knew that he could look away but the scene was just too much to ignore. He watched as she arched her back and twisted her hips, reacting to the sensitivity of her clit. Her eyes danced below her eyelids as she thought up fantasies to fuel her climax. Rubbing harder, she started to moan softly and quivered. Agent Miller pulled at the handcuffs, struggling to remain calm as he watched her touch herself. As her orgasm finally arrived, she collapsed back onto the mattress and caught her breath.
“Enough,” Agent Miller sneered from the chair, still erect and horny. “At least get me out of these so I can fuck you the right way.”
Y/N smiled and hopped off of the bed, her tits bouncing slightly as she did.
“You want to fuck me, Agent Miller?” She leaned close to his face again. He stared back at her, his jaw set.
“Let’s get it over with,” he answered nonchalantly and she tilted his jaw up but didn’t kiss him. She undid the handcuffs around his wrists and he sprang to his feet, grabbing at her body. He kissed her feverishly, lapping at her mouth with his tongue hungrily. She pushed off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt as he slipped off his shoes and pants. They didn’t have time to remove his shirt before he entered her. He took hold of her hips to pull her closer and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close to his chest. She clawed her hands down his dress shirt, her knees high on either side of his waist. She moaned loudly and he studied the way she opened her mouth to do it, mesmerized by the way she reacted to him inside of her.
“Good boy,” she praised him when he sped up, hitting her G-spot. She reached her hand down between their bodies and rubbed at her clit, coaxing a stronger orgasm.
“Don’t touch yourself,” Agent Miller ordered, short of breath, “let me do it.” He massaged her clit himself, his large hands covering the front of her cunt. Her mouth fell open into a loud gasp as he synchronized his thrusts to the way he rubbed her clit.
“Fuck,” he exhaled tightly as he felt her flex around him.
“Keep going,” she wrapped her fingers around his neck and pulled him closer to her face, their mouths exchanging exhales, “fuck me right.”
He kissed her deeply as he moaned, the muscles in his back tightening beneath her nails. She was so tight and wet, he nearly came just thinking about it as he moved. She carded her fingers through his hair and pulled as he chased their peaking climax. He was grunting now as she began to finish around him, shaking without much control. He moved his hands back to her hips and rocked himself deep inside of her as he brought on his orgasm. He came inside of her with loud grunts, thrusting until he’d finished completely. Only when he was done did he pull out and collapse beside her on the elegant duvet. He panted loudly, exhausted. They remained in silence until Y/N rolled over, putting her lips close to his ear.
“You know, I didn’t have to ask you all those questions. I already know the answers.” Her voice was serious and cold, Agent Miller eyed her.
“Then why did you ask?”
“I wanted to see you tied down,” she answered calmly. He raised his eyebrow and scoffed just before the sting of a cold, sterilized needle pinched his neck. Then he quickly went to sleep.
When he awoke, he found himself alone in the hotel room. Everything had been returned to normal and the place scrubbed for fingerprints. And she was gone. She’d gotten away again.
#lenny miller#cillian murphy#cillian x fem!reader#fanfiction#cillian murphy x reader#cillian fanfic#cillian x y/n#cillian x reader#smut#Anna#agent miller#long reads#1980s#fem!reader
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Can I please have yandere Natasha who wants to pamper her fem daring? However, her fem darling refuses her affection. (As the one shot story if that's okay).
Hey bby! I tried to include a little tid bit about your OCs too :)
(AFAB!reader x AFAB!yandere, cis wlw)(noncon)(drugging)(kidnapping)(gaslighting)(18+ readers only please, mdni)(Please let me know if I am missing a TW)[This is fetish content and rape and abuse are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]
Even after you know that Natasha is long gone, it takes you an hour or two before you try to escape. It feels like she has eyes everywhere, like she can detect your every breath , so you move painstakingly slowly to your feet. As soon as you are standing up completely, your head swims and your legs threaten to buckle out from beneath you; you have been sick for a long time, though, so that does not stop you from shuffling over to the locked window and gazing out at the jarring, sunlit thoroughfare beneath you. You know nothing about the tiny people you can see walking around on the ground several stories below you, an odd twist of fate considering that you have lived your entire life beneath their feet as a citizen of the Underworld, so you can only wonder if they would help you if they knew your predicament. You’d never beat against the glass hard enough for anyone to notice, but if they did, would they wave to you and promise to save you? Would they cry themselves seeing your tears?
You don’t even make it to the door. Pain shoots out from most of your leg joints after only a few steps until you collapse to the ground, rolling over onto your side to curl into fetal position and sob. It isn’t that you don’t have the will, as you have never wanted more in your life than to leave this room – your body just won’t move, even to wipe away your tears, even though your heart is pounding at the thought of being found here.
After a few hours, when you’re already in significant pain from staying in the same position for so long, the door swings open and hits the top of your head. You groan, curling into yourself a little, and hear Natasha gasp in horror.
“Oh, heavens. My love, are you okay?” she says, the door locking behind her with a snap. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.”
None too gently, Natasha slides her arms underneath you and stands, raising you from the ground, then carries you back to the bed. She is exceedingly careful in how she lays you down, making sure that all of your limbs are rested in an ergonomic fashion, even though you feel the way her fingers wander.
“Please, follow my instructions so that we can make sure that you’re not injured.”
One of her hands lies on your face and strokes your cheek, her expression trying to conceal her fear.
“Tell me where you are right now.”
“No.”
“No, you don’t know where you are?”
“No, I won’t do what you ask,” you say, shaking your head and feeling tears burning your eyes. “I want to go home.”
She nods, the smile on her face a little stiff, then brushes your leaking eyes with her thumb.
“I understand,” she says, turning from you to go and fetch the groceries. “I know just the thing to make you feel better. Then I’ll send you back home as you wish.”
You’re so shocked for a second that you feel like your body keeps crying while you are completely still. Did she say you could go home? You can’t believe it – you’ve been trapped in this hotel room for so long that you’ve lost count of the days. Your heart soars at the possibility of talking to your sister again, even thought you hadn’t sought her out before and don’t even know if she’s still alive: your memory of her has been your only solace in this unending nightmare of being “helped” by Natasha, your imaginary manifestation of her being the your sole source of happiness.
Natasha approaches again with syringe in hand, her smile more relaxed now.
“One last bit of medicine to help with your pain before you go,” she says, and then places her hand on your shoulder, running it gently along the skin down to your inner elbow. Once there, she feels around for a second to find your vein.
“One two three, be brave!” she says, and then spears the needle into your arm, thumb pressing its liquid into your vein. “Now, let me get your bag ready and write down some discharge instructions.”
She grabs your chin and tugs you towards her, pressing her lips onto yours snaking her tongue into your mouth and grabbing your hair to pull you closer. You don’t want to waste energy on struggling, so you allow her to invade you like that, clenching your hand to have another sensation to focus on.
“I would be so devastated if something happened to you once you leave, after all,” Natasha coos after pulling away. She flashes you another grin for a second, and then heads to the wardrobe within your room. Once there, she pulls out the bag you’d been carrying when she lured you in, drops it onto the floor, and begins folding up your street clothes to place inside of it.
For a moment, you think the strange sensation bubbling within you is anxiety, and then you gag so hard aloud that it sounds like a cough. Your entire body feels bad, somehow, but you can’t tell what it is because you feel distant from it, panicking and gagging over and over.
“Natasha,” you cry out, unable to lift yourself up from how fast the room is spinning you into dizziness. “Natasha!”
She continues folding your clothing.
“There’s something wrong! Help, please.”
That makes her turn around, her expression curious.
“Something wrong? Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s fine then, I’m sure you can take care of it at home with over the counter meds,” she says, turning back to the closet and grabbing your jacket to fold.
“No, I can’t,” you gasp between your retching, starting to sob. “Something’s really wrong. Help me. Please, Nat, I’m begging. I’m…begging, I don’t want to die.”
At this, she turns from her folding work.
“Begging for what?” she asks, smarmy innocence in her tone. All the while she walks towards you.
“For help.”
“Oh, did you need me?”
“Please!”
“Say it.”
“I need you. I need you to help me. I’m really sick.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along, darling,” she says, wrapping her arms around you. You can feel the warmth of her breath fanning along the apples of your cheeks. “You need to be here. Without me, you’d be suffering so much, right?”
You nod.
She relinquishes you, pulls your arms away from where you’d been instinctively protecting your breasts from her, and injects your inner elbow again with a different syringe from her pocket.
After only a few seconds, you feel so much better, your limbs feeling like jello and your mind a little fuzzy, but free of the continuous gagging.
She presses her lips to yours, exhaling in pleasure at their softness, at the way your plush body yields when she gropes and then presses into you. You lie still and let her do what she wants until you feel her hand groping your pussy, squeezing it and running her fingers along it in tandem. When you start to struggle against the stimulation, she bites your lip hard enough that the taste of iron seeps onto your taste buds.
“Let’s start your check up again,” she pants, pulling away. “It’s always best to test someone’s well being with all of your senses. So right now, let me check you with my mouth.”
Your heart sinks, but you don’t want her to inject you with whatever she had before. Letting your eyes press shut, hot tears spilling down to your temples, tears threaten your eyes when she kisses you again. You can’t help but cringe feeling her hands on your tits, massaging them aggressively; at the same time, the way your cheeks heat up feels completely unfamiliar. The sound of a breathy moan escaping from your mouth shocks you – you realize that Natasha pushing your shirt aside and using her tongue to stroke away the pain her fingers pinching your nipples left behind is making your clit a little stiff.
“Stop,” you whine, trying to turn your chest away from her mouth, the arousal building up in the pit of your stomach getting harder to ignore.
“Of course,” Natasha says, kissing either of your tits. “I know what you’re looking for.”
Her hand sliding up from your cunt to the top of your underwear is so quick you don’t notice it happening; how exposed you are only becomes clear when she buries her face in your pussy, sucking and tonguing your clit while her fingers, roughly jammed into you, start to rub up hard against your G-spot.
You open your mouth to ask her to stop, but only hear yourself panting, your hips bucking and squirming against her face. You dig your nails into the crook of your elbow as though that will take out whatever she drugged you with to make you feel like this.
“I don’t want this,” you moan, unable to stop pressing your pussy against her mouth. “What did you do to me? I – agh!”
Your entire body shudders endlessly, strange noises flooding out of your mouth at her unrelenting tongue sliding back and forth against you while you cum over and over. You feel embarrassed at how you’re writhing and yelping like an animal, but she won’t stop until you are trembling and trying to scoot your overstimulated core away from her. At that, she straddles you on the bed, both hands squeezing you all over.
“It makes me so happy when you feel good,” she says. “I just want to ride your cute face. But you must be worn out, so maybe tomorrow.”
Shivering from the disgusting mess between your legs and allowing yourself to cry quietly, you wonder if you should have just coped with the poison instead.
#betty fetty#yandere x reader#female yandere#tw: noncon#tw non con#cw noncon#tw noncon#yandere#yandere smut#wlw smut#natasha x reader#natasha hon#honkai star rail#hsr smut#hsr x reader#hsr natasha#natasha hsr
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Ｎｕｍｂ ｔｏ Ｔｈｅ Ｆｅｅｌｉｎｇ ＪＪＫ
Synopsis - Your in love with the universities star quarterback, yet hes notrious for being a fuck boy. So it would never work. If only you knew the legnths he would go for you.
Pairing - Dark! Shitty! Yandere! Jeon Jungkook x Fem!Reader
Warnings - THREATENING, NONCON, drug induced sex, acts of violence, DRUGGING
Authors Note - I LOVE SHITTY JUNGKOOK!!!
A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!
The library was quiet, well all except for you and the boy you currently tutored, Jungkook. Yes, THE Jeon Jungkook, known for being the star quarterback for your universities football team, and a well known fuck boy and all around douchebag.
He couldn't keep it in his pants if anyone even asked.
Yet around you, he wasn't as flirty or all around rude. Yes he still made comments about how pretty you were. He also teased you for your nerdy aspects in his eyes. But he didn't make any moves, nor take things to far. The air was always light when you two talked.
“This shit is so boring, we could be doing better shit right now.” Jungkooks hand sat on your thigh close to your already sopping core. “Like treating you right doll.”
Yes you liked him.
You assumed it it was pretty obvious to him that you did, but yet you tried to keep it to yourself. You tried forcing yourself to believe that maybe he didn't know. Just maybe he was oblivious to how flustered you'd get anytime he came around, or when he comes for his weekly tutoring sessions.
But he wasn't. But Jungkook was well aware of the risk it came when pursuing you. He has a rep to uphold. Plus committed never looked good on him.
Yet both of you were stuck in this trace, neither refusing to move. That was until you snapped out of it clearing your throat.
“Jungkook, we have to focus if you want to pass the finals.”
He groaned out before removing his hand away. “Fine. Just because you say so. God your such a fucking prude.”
You rolled your eyes and continued to study, enjoying the peace as he listened to you explaining all sorts of theories and ideologies to the jock.
If only you paid attention to his face as it morphed into anger and aggravation. He didn't like how you kept turning him down and honestly he didn't know how long hed be able to take it.
🏈
“You look lonely.” You looked up from your phone in your dorms elevator. You held your bag close to you, all in a fit of closing in on yourself. It was about 2 days after your previous session with the boy. And normally your entertain him but you didn't have the time. You needed to get to your dorm and get started on the boatload of work assigned to you.
“What's wrong? You don't want to fuck with me anymore?” He moved closer to you, damn near suffocating you in the elevator. You started moving closer into the corner. You just weren’t in the mood.
“Listen not tonight, I have to get started on this stuff.” You explained not wanting to deal with his antics. Not tonight at least. It didn't help that he lived on the top floor, yours right below it.
“Why? What's the matter?” He placed his arm around your waist pulling you in close. “You usually love my attention.” You shoved against him, looking back and seeing the floor to your dorm was coming up. As soon as the door opened you bolted off.
You didn't even look back, if you'd had you'd seen a pissed off Jungkook, his fists clenching, breaths heavy.
You fucked up big time.
Yet when you opened the door you couldn't have been more relieved. Your roommate, Morgan was on her bed and looked over at the sound of the door slamming. “My god what happened?!” She shot up rushing to your side.
“Jungkook… I turned him down! I just wanted to avoid him so I could focus on school work. God what did I do….”
“Hey calm down. It's alright. You have better things to worry about okay? Your home and you don't have to reflect on what happened tonight.” Morgan reassured you. Everything around you became clear as your heart rate dropped. You nodded as she nodded with you. “You good?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“No problem you know I'm going to always be here for you! Now. I think two bowls of cereal is calling our names.”
🏈
Morgan was on her way back to your shared dorm after picking up some food for the both of you. It's been a week or two since you had a freak out over Jungkook.
Morgan never really understood what you'd seen in him. He was a notrious jerk who fucked anything that moved. Then ghost the girl whenever she got sick of it.
She however wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings. A figure approched her from a distance and when she least expected it she was pushed to the side. Her back hit one of the dumpsters as her assaulter loomed over her.
“Oh shit it's you.” Morgan said rolling her eyes. Jungkook looked angrier than usual. “What you don't have a girl tonight, or is your plan to try n threaten me to having sex with you? If so new low.”
His hand shot to her neck, taking Morgan for a shock. She dropped the food beginning to claw at his hand.
“Listen here, if you think that I'm here for you, your either fucking dumb or just another slut. Where is she?” Jungkook threatened your black haired friend.
“I- I can't breathe!” Morgan gasped nails digging into Jungkooks arm.
“Better start speaking then, I ain't afraid to snap your neck.”
“Shes… busy! Studying!” Morgan was dropped to the concrete ground knees scratching at the impact. “Fucks wrong with you!?”
“She wasn't lying… Jesus all I have to do is wait.”
Morgan's face paled as she looked up towards Jungkook. His features were darkened, the low light making him more frightening than usual. “You stay the fuck away from her…”
Jungkooks eyes snapped down at Morgans form. “Your funny, you really think your a threat to me. You must not know me yet.” Jungkooks boot hovered over Morgan's hand and he slowly stomped down, smiling as he heard the bones crack underneath his foot. “I’m fucking Jeon Jungkook. Son of a millionaire, star quarterback for the school you go to. And I always get what I want.” Morgan yelled out grabbing at her hand.
“If you tell her what happened tonight, she'll find you scattered everywhere. You don't want to traumatize my girl huh?” Morgan shook her head in defeat.
“Glad we're on the same page.”
🏈
The music was loud and melodic.
You were hanging out with your friends at a local club. Exams were done and all you wanted to do was cut lose from the stress you had gathered. You and your friends ground on each other, all just the slightest bit tipsy. “I’m going get a drink!! Anyone want to come with?!” You yelled over the loud club music.
“Nah, you good girl! Go get that drank!!” one of your friends yelled as well.
“Hey. Be safe alright?!” Morgan yelled. She came home a few nights ago battered and bruised. When you tended to her, she seemed paranoid. Yet all she said was that she fell.
You gave a small nod and walked to the bar. You dug in your purse for your wallet so you can get out the cash that was placed just for this night. You were so focused on digging in your purse, you didn’t see Jungkook come right behind you. He touched your shoulder, and you whipped around seeing your personal tormentor with a snarky smirk on his face.
“Hey Baby, I missed you.” Jungkook basically glowed in front of you. Everything about him gave off this angelic look. “What is something like you doing in a place like this huh.”
“I’m letting loose, how about yo-”
“You tryna get a drink?” He cut you off moving past you. “Hey we both want a Dirty Shirley Temple.” He basically ordered passing the bartender a set of bills. Most likely his father's money, everyone in the school knew he was from money. “I know you like them fruity.”
“Hey what the hell, I mean at least I don't have to pay for it!” You laughed Jungkook wrapping his arm around your waist. You froze up as he held one of the cups to your lips. You leaned back as he poured the drink down your throat. It burned, and was grainy. Yet you kept chugging it Jungkooks face the entire time showed pure amusement. “What was in that?” You said blinking your eyes trying to get the bittersweet taste to settle a bit more.
But Jungkook chuckled and kept moving dragging you by the hip towards the dance floor. His drink in hand. “Come on, lets dance! Plus I remember you mentioning loosening up!”
“Jungkook something… something isn't right.” You murmured. holding on to your head. Yet you let him bring him to the floor. He got behind you Wrapping his arms around your waist. He rocked you side to side as the music rung in your ears. your surroundings meshed together as time seemed to slow down around you.
“That's it, rest your nerves…” he whispered into your ears. “Your with me now.” You fell back into his tattooed arms, his warmth engulfing you. You giggled and laughed with him in a daze. He passed out his drink and you took it taking another drink straight to the head.
“Jungkook, This is so much fun…” You murmured out. “I'm sorry for being such a jerk…. That couldn't have been fun.”
“Oh baby don't stress, we're good. You know what would be even more fun? If you came back to my place, like right now.” He said sternly resting his head on your shoulder. “You know I got that house all alone, 5 minutes away… You've been there. So big and nice. So what do you say hmm?”
You nodded your head not even considering any other option. Jungkook smiled and held you by your waist dragging you to the front of the club. You saw your friends and you and Morgan made eye contact. Her face paled as she quickly rushed past the people to get to you. “Morgannn! I'm going with- Shit… Jungkook!” You stumbled around your words yelling over the music. It seemed like Jungkook forced you to keep going. You finally made it out the door. A slick black car was parked dead center in the front. Your new found company opened the door and you jumped in. Instantly you fell back feeling more dreary then usually. Your eyes fluttered shut as you passed out.
Jungkook got in next to you in the driver's seat. He looked past you seeing that friend of yours, Morgan, he didn't really care to remember her name running towards the car. Then he peeled off, not even bothering to look back.
Morgan cried out.
She just watched you get carried away to your inevitable doom.
🏈
You woke slowly adjusting to your surroundings. You felt around realizing you were on a nice warm bed. You looked over jumping once you realized you were definitely not in your room. The room overall smelled different. Pure musk and cologne. Something that was never a key factor of your dorm room.
“Shit. Your up.”
There he was in all his glory. Naked with just a towel around his waist, his tattooed sleeve on full display. Everything about the situation you were in combined with a sudden headache you had threw you for a loop.
What happened at that club?
Jungkook moved slowly towards you, fingertips trailing up your leg. You felt your breathing pick up, paralysed in fear. It was all to sudden. You knew he did something to make you forget what happened at the club.
“You always wore the tightest of dresses. You don't even know how hard that gets me, always playing innocent.” The fingers that were just on you reached past your head and you heard the sound of a bag opening. You looked at him, his eyes piercing holes into your own.
His fingers entered your mouth pressing down on your tongue. You choked on the taste him, his fingers powdered and tasting like medicine. Jungkook pulled back leaning down to kiss the top of your head. He brushed any stray hairs that blocked your face. Your breathing picked up, and sweat beaded down on your face, in fact your entire body burned.
The bed dipped next to you, your head weakly turning to the side to face the man of your dreams. He looked as goregous as ever, as his muscled hand pulled at your shoulder reaching for the zipper at your back. He pulled it down, shifting on the bed. Jungkook then pulled you on his lap. You tried holding yourself up on his shoulders, your dazed eyes looking directly into his own.
“You want to kiss me baby…” He mumbled. He watched as your eyes blinked rapidly as if trying to adjust to your view. He laughed and pulled you in close kissing you passionately, and you kissed back. He pulled at your bottom lip between his teeth. Your hips ground on his thigh, hands rushing to get off your dress. Jungkooks hand grabbed at your breast now exposed and not hidden by a bra.
Like a little slut.
“You wanted to get fucked tonight baby? Like a little cocktease you are.”
“No….” You groaned out head falling limp. He grabbed your chin leaning to where you gazed directly into his eyes.
“Don't lie to me. You wanted to be fucked by me huh?”
“Yes!” You moaned out as your dress finally fell completely off. Your right hand tugged it off your feet, the other tugging off your panties.
“Fuck you know exactly what to say.” He allowed your head to fall as he undid the knot on his towel, cock popping up in anticipation. “Spit on it…”
In which you do, the spit dribbling down your chin. Your drugged out mind now fully taking over your movements, everything becoming incoherent and sluggish. Jungkook rubbed the spit off your chin and moved to his length jerking himself off feverishly. “Oh baby, I've been waiting for this for so long, yet everything got in the way of it. Your friends, finals, you.” He said with a sense of finality. “But that's all behind us now. All I need is you, and all your only going to need is me.” He kissed your cheek, the sluggishness of your body making you lean into Jungkook more. He let go of himself and wrapped one of his arms around you, hovering your body over his cock. He aligned himself up with your drenched hole, and he slowly lowered your body downwards. You both hissed in unison.
It was pure bliss.
He lowered you down inch by inch until you fully became seated on his length. He kept you there for seemingly ages. Sure he had his share of pussy but yours was something he'd been waiting for far to long for. And hed be damned if he was going to rush the experience.
“Please… I need you Jung… kook…” You stumbled out incoherently. Everything was a daze, yet your mind could barely form a connection between this experience nor the club. You were too drunk on everything you'd been chasing for, for what seemed like eons.
And Jungkook complied. He took you up by the waist and slowly pushed you back down his length. Your cunt tightened up around him, keeping him in what seemed like vice grip. “Fuck, your amazing!” He moaned out into your ear. Your face in a daze as he forced you up and down on his cock. “Kiss me again!” One of his hands grabbing at the back of your head forcing your lips to collide.
The entire time, he knew that what he fed you, Ketamine, would wear off eventually and then he'd actually had to confront you and your rage most likely. But why would he worry about that when he's achieved all he's wanted. He could break down your mind all over again, just by fucking you.
Your whines and moans became more loud and frantic. Jungkooks thrusting became more frantic as he dreamed on and barely realized it. “You wanna cum together!?” He yelled mouth falling open, your hips moving on their own. You whined out and nodded frantically. “Then do it, my god I'm so fucking close…”
And you let go, finally releasing onto his steadily moving cock. He kept at it, still thrusting inside you. Jungkook chased his own release keeping you close to him at any means necessary. Finally he slammed you down keeping you nailed down to his hips as he came deep inside you.
He sighed as he fell back. Jungkook pulled you on top of him, both of you sweaty sticking together. He refused to pull out as he caught his breath. Your eyes slowly fluttered asleep as you passed out from exhaustion.
Jungkook let out a chuckle and kissed the top of your head. He finally won the game he made up for the both of you. Yet of course he would win, there couldn't be any other way for it to end up.
#dark writing#tw dark content#tw yandere#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere blog#tw coercion#yandere bts#yandere jjk#jeon jeongkook#jeon jeongguk#jungkook#jungkook fanfic#yandere jungkook#dark bts#Spotify
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Kinktober Day 13: Size Difference
Rating: R-18+
Word Count: 7129
Warnings: Afab!/reader, size difference, noncon, abduction, bathing, aphrodisiacs, drugging, bareback, stomach bulge, gendered terms
A/N: okay, look … I’ve been deeply in love with the Daythunder Eremites since we got our first glimpse of them right before 3.0 dropped. Did I lose the plot a little bit on this one? Maybe. But I’m actually obsessed with this NPC. I even went around and marked their locations on my map with the little meat pin. ✋😭 I quite literally ran OUT of available pins because of it. Not one single person better question why I picked him for this prompt instead of Enjou (I was extremely tempted tho, trust and believe that xmdkxk)
⭐
It was quickly becoming apparent that you were in a bit over your head with this commission. Between the wailing researchers on the ground, the frightened Sumpter Beast making a lumbering escape for the near distant tree line, the attacking Eremites and the damaged cart that had inexplicably caught fire at some point, the situation was clearly spiraling far out of your control.
Gripping your sword so hard it hurts, you try to take stock of what was happening and regroup. There wasn’t enough time to fully process it though. The small stretch of road — if you could even call it that — had devolved into complete and utter chaos in the blink of an eye, and you have to lurch to avoid the incoming swing of a huge battle ax before you can make any sense of it. But if there was one thing you knew, intrinsically, it was that there were too many of them for you to take on alone. It was too much for a single adventurer no matter how talented or skilled you may have been.
You dance back, not even daring to breathe as you agily avoid the weapon swinging at you with so much force you not only hear the violent displacement of air but you can even feel it too. This was incredibly dangerous. One hit from that ax would shatter bones, possibly even crush organs, and you’d likely be dead before the day was through. You had to get away but — pivoting your body, you steal a split second glance at the helpless researchers. They were cowering at the feet of a girl, no older than yourself, who was holding them at blade point while the other Eremites quickly worked to unload the cargo before it all went up in smoke with the burning cart. You needed to get away but so did they.
Clenching your teeth, you duck to avoid the next swing and dive under that huge, muscular arm to hit the dirt. You feel him shift behind you, alter the momentum and start to bring the heavy ax down right on top of you. Bracing for the destructive impact, you throw yourself forward into a stiff roll seconds before the ground erupts in a spray of dirt and grass that showers you in grime even when you skid to a halt some few feet away. Your heart feels like it’s going to slam right out of your chest as you frantically stumble to your feet on jelly filled legs, almost dropping your sword in your haste.
You couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to avoid that hit …
With a choked, gasping wheeze, you force yourself into a dead sprint, ignoring the thrumming terror that threatens to debilitate you as you dart across the road right towards the Eremite girl. You may not have been able to save their precious research but you could still save them!
“Run!” You scream, making her turn. It was too late though.
Leaning your shoulder into it, you slam into her so hard both of you go flying through the air to hit the ground in a heap. It knocks the air out of you (and her, by the sound of it) but you quickly roll away and struggle to your feet once again. There’s so much adrenaline pumping through your system you hardly even feel yourself moving, numb to everything going on around you, but you’re still distantly aware of the resulting scramble when the two researchers jump up to make a break for it. Good. At least now you could worry about yourself.
But you don’t quite make it that far.
The huge man with the ax is suddenly right on top of you — you hadn’t even seen him coming! Your heartbeat stutters a surprised beat and you just barely get your sword up in time to block his next swing. Unfortunately the force of it knocks your blade from your screaming hands, sending it pinwheeling up and away at such a high arc you could never hope to snag it and he doesn’t stop long enough to let you watch it fall back to the earth.
One second you’re stumbling from the impact. The next he’s snatching a fistful of your hair to yank you towards him, and you collapse at his feet on your knees. Sharp, stabbing splinters of pain shoot through your body but it’s quickly overshadowed by the agony of him using his hold on your hair to pull you upright, damn near taking you right off the ground. Seething, you force your eyes open to glare daggers at him when he bends close and puts his face inches from yours in a clear, obvious display of intimidation.
“That was a stupid thing to do.”
“I’ll kill her!” The Eremite girl shrieks, scrabbling to get up. “I’ll skin her alive and put her head on a spike!”
You go stockstill, lungs constricting painfully when you feel her reach for you. But, to your squawking surprise, the huge man physically drags you away from her and closer to himself like you were little more than a toy they were fighting over.
“Wait, Siri. Not yet.” He warns, the low growl in his voice growing stronger, and you sway in his hold with a suffocating feeling of dread. What a terrible situation to find yourself in. “Let me have this one. You can play with her when I’m done.”
“Do you really think I want your leftovers?” She snaps, both of them completely ignoring the way you wheeze between them. “She shoved me onto the ground, Aziz! She’ll be lucky if that’s all I do! I’m going to pluck out her eyes and - -“
“Enough, you two!” A third Eremite barks over. Still panting raggedly, you carefully turn your head even when it tugs at your hair to find another towering man standing some few feet away with one of the salvaged crates clutched against his chest. Idly, you realize the cart was almost completely engulfed in flames now and rapidly turning to smoldered ash. The guild was going to get such an earful from you if you made it out of this alive.
“But - -“
“I don’t want to hear it!” The other man cuts her off again. “We need to get this stuff out of here. Now! Those two researchers escaped so we need to be long gone before they send in backup. Bring the adventurer if you want, I don’t care. Just get your asses in gear.”
Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Siri shoots you a quick look that is no less chilling behind the red cloth hiding her eyes before stiffly pushing into motion. You watch her walk away to join the others, your stomach cramping with nerves, and it only gets worse when Aziz tugs on your hair to bring your attention back up to him again.
“Looks like you got lucky today. In more ways than one, I’d say.” Pausing, he puts his head to one side to send the braid over his temple swinging, and you can’t quite shake the impression of being a helpless rabbit caught under a tiger's paw. He was so massive, and the way he looks at you ... “I admit, your swordsmanship was pretty good. You’ve got good instincts even if you don’t have the strength to back it up. Tell me, little adventurer. Where do you hail from?”
You draw a steadying breath and try not to regurgitate everything that was in your stomach right down to the bile. “Mondstadt. I’m originally from Mond.”
“I see. You’re a far way from home then. I hope no one there is going to miss you too much.”
~*~
They lead you into a camp, blindfolded and with your wrists bound behind your back, but you recognize the distinct sounds of daily life for what they are immediately. You can hear children shrieking and laughing, weaving in and out of your peripheral senses in what could only be play. There were women murmuring nearby, speaking so low you couldn’t make out what they were saying when the grizzled voices of older men seemed to drown them out. You can just make out what you think must be a dog snuffling around your ankles in a quick burst of sound before darting away when they drag you further in and, somewhere, a goat bleats.
There’s sand under your feet now so you knew you were no longer in the lush rainforests of Sumeru but, rather, the desert. You’d never gone this far west before, precisely because of the grip the Eremites had on the area. Having heard plenty of stories about just how cutthroat they could be in the harsh environment they called home, you had wanted to avoid crossing paths with them if at all possible but a lot of good that had done you.
The acrid, dry air seems to rob you of the ability to breathe and you stumble, gasping against the grit and oppressive heat, when Aziz shoves you through what must be a doorway. Abruptly you’re enshrouded in a blanket of cool that is so noticeably different from the temperature outside it actually makes you shiver at the sudden change. He doesn’t give you a chance to truly appreciate it or sigh out in relief though, simply pulling you by the arm even when you nearly trip over your own aching feet.
His hand feels impossibly huge on your neck when he finally palms the back of it and shoves you down to sit on the floor, forcing your legs to splay under you at an awkward angle. Panting, you cautiously shift to settle on your butt even as he reaches up to loosen the knot he’d tied behind your head. It falls away with a quiet slither of fabric, and you blink into the gloom of what you quickly realize is a tent. His tent? You couldn’t be sure, and you weren’t entirely certain you wanted to know.
“You don’t have to do this …” You whisper into the stillness, and he just scoffs.
“You don’t even know what it is I’m going to do yet. Be patient, little adventurer from Mondstadt. You might like it.”
You very much doubted that, but hold your tongue on the slim hope that compliance might see you through this in one piece. Even if your arms hadn’t been secured behind your back it was obvious you still wouldn’t have been much of a match against someone like him. He’d already thoroughly cemented that back in the forest. Because not only was Aziz incredibly tall, he was also filled out and thick with heavy muscle mass. Just one of his biceps looked like it was greater in width than your thigh and you fully believed he could crush you like a grape if he so chose. With no other option available, you grudgingly acquiesce when he turns you around to face him.
He was still wearing his own blindfold, that rich red brocade hiding his eyes, but you recognized the way he looked at you even without being able to see them. You’re not entirely sure how he — or any of the Eremites — got around as well as they did without the use of their sight, and a tremor tears through you when he sedately reaches out to touch the side of your face. Not so much as a split second falter or other sign of hesitation. It was like he knew exactly where you were, like he could see through the material, and a fresh curling tendril of unease snakes through you at the thought of his people having some divinely appointed sixth sense. Was that why their strongest warriors covered their faces?
“You’re filthy.” He suddenly announces, and you know it’s not just the grit of dirt and sand he’s talking about. You were thoroughly drenched in sweat from the trek out here as much as your earlier standoff with him, and it was now quickly cooling to settle a chill over your sore body.
Jaw clenching, you turn your face from him. “Is it really any wonder? You almost took my head off back there.”
Chuckling softly, Aziz drops his hand to rest on his bent knee where he’s knelt in front of you. “Sorry about that. If it counts for anything, Siri almost took it too.”
You send him a slow, wary look. Was that really supposed to make you feel any better?
He just offers up an indifferent shrug of his broad shoulders though, and then moves to straighten up. Watching him walk over to a big clay pot standing sentry a few paces away, you momentarily toy with the notion of running while his back was turned but immediately quash the thought. The grim reality of the situation was not lost on you. Not only did you have no idea where you were and even less of an idea how to get back, you also had no working knowledge of how to survive in the desert. Even if you could get past him and then all the other Eremites outside, escape the camp, what would you do then? No food, no water, not even any supplies or extra clothes to keep you warm when night inevitably fell. You’d be a sitting duck for any hungry predators out on the prowl if hypothermia didn’t catch up to you first. You’d heard how cold it gets after the sun sets out here, and you weren’t sure if you were brave enough to take the chance …
It doesn’t matter either way. Before you can even consider changing your mind Aziz returns with a shallow bowl and a rag which you regard suspiciously when he sets it aside. You could guess where this was going, but it still shocks you a great deal that he then reaches for the front of your clothes like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing, and without so much as an ounce of shame to show for it either.
“Wait - -“
“Hush, adventurer. I won’t hurt you so long as you play nice and remember not to bite the hand keeping you alive.”
Swallowing hard, you numbly watch him take the front of your guild uniform in hand and casually pop it open with a sedate tug that sends buttons flying in either direction. They fall near silent across the worn tarp that serves as the floor of the tent, and you draw a slow, shuddering breath. Try not to linger on the way his heavy knuckles brush against your chest while he pulls the shirt open to expose the silk chemise underneath. Distantly, you start to wonder if he’ll untie your hands just to get you undressed, thinking you might have a chance to flee after all — but then he rips at the fabric, giving you a sudden jerk at the force, and your mouth drops open in shock when it simply tears from you in a ragged panel.
Realizing he’s just going to peel it off you in pieces, you purse your lips into a tight line to stop yourself from crying out as he shreds your blouse to tatters and ribbons that fall to the floor around you in a pathetic heap. He does the same with the chemise and then your long skirt, pausing only long enough to yank away your boots, hose and, finally, your bloomers. You don’t give up the last without a fight but he doesn’t even seem to acknowledge all your squirming and twisting while he easily manhandles you to relieve you of your final dignity some moments later.
Seething, you primly squeeze your legs together to hide your most intimate spot from him but it barely gives Aziz pause. One of those massive hands reaches out to clamp around your ankle and he none too gently drags you across the floor to leave you laid out on your back. Ignoring your incensed hissing, he shifts and settles into a cross legged position in front of you before reaching calmly for the bowl.
“You remind me of a cat, you know that?” He murmurs, dipping the rag into the water to soak it through as you struggle back up into a sitting position.
“One of the Rishboland Tigers, I hope.”
He outright laughs. “No. You are like a very small, very feisty kitten that hasn’t yet learned her place in this world.”
You stiffen at that, narrowing your eyes at him, but he pays it little mind. Squeezing out the rag of excess water, he stretches his hand out towards your face again and you stubbornly try to crane your neck to escape it. Aziz just follows you though, and you give a startled little squawk when he finally presses the cool cloth into your cheek.
“That’s cold!”
Softly shushing you, he drags the rag over your skin to wipe away all the sweat, dirt and grime coating your face. Much to your grudging dismay you quickly find that it actually felt rather nice and he was not near as violent or brutish about it as his appearance would have suggested he’d be. It’s almost gentle, in fact, and you slowly find yourself relaxing into it with a stilted sigh. You would be glad to be clean again, even if you had to endure the humiliation of being washed like a child to achieve it.
Cautiously roving your eyes up when he starts to work his way down your neck, you take a moment to really study him. You couldn’t say for sure if he was looking back at you or if the brunt of his attention was focused on the task at hand, but you try not to let that uncertainty dissuade you. After all, if he was bold enough to undress you like this then surely he could handle a bit of staring. And you think, with no shortage of surprise, that he was probably handsome under that mask. His jaw was smooth and well defined, housing a pair of full, kissable lips that purse slightly when he scrubs at a splotch of dirt on your throat. You still didn’t like him very much after he’d almost smashed you to bits with his giant ax and then kidnapped you, spirited away into the inhospitable desert, but you couldn’t exactly deny what was in front of you.
Maybe if you’d met under (vastly) different circumstances …
“Do you like what you see?”
You sniff and look away to take in the rest of the tent. “Hardly.”
Aziz chuckles again while he rinses out the rag in the dish before bringing it back to your skin once again. “Such a grumpy little adventurer … what are you doing so far away from home? I’ve heard Mondstadt is very different from Sumeru.”
“It is,” You relent, hating yourself for leaning into his touch when he caresses over a throbbing spot on your shoulder. You must have banged it on the ground rolling around earlier, or maybe it was from plowing into Siri. “We don’t have any deserts or great big forests. Well … none like what Sumeru has, anyway. No tigers to worry about, either. All we’ve got are wolves, but they don’t usually attack humans.”
He hums a quiet sound of acknowledgement, taking a moment to massage into the aching muscle under his heavy fingers when he sees the pinch in your expression. “You miss it.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and you sigh. “Considering where I’m at right now, yeah. It’s kind of hard not to.”
“Grumpy.”
You try not to scowl at that, knowing it wouldn’t get you anywhere even if you kicked up a fit and fought him tooth and nail. At least he was being nice about it. That was one good thing in all this, you think — only to suck in a quick breath as he drags his hand lower to wipe your chest clean. You know it’s coming but it still pulls a quiet whimper out of you when the rag passes over your breast, catching at the nipple to send a static jolt through your body. Shirking, you try to twist away from him but it’s useless with your hands tied behind your back and he just follows you. The way he kneads and squeezes at the swell of flesh under the guise of cleaning you up doesn’t escape your notice, and neither does your reaction to it. But it horrifies you more than anything else and, steadying yourself, you try to rein it in. If ever there was a worse time for your baser urges to start taking over, this would have been it.
But rather than lingering, Aziz soon switches to the other side which he gives the same level of patient attention to. A handful of groping squeezes, a brief pinch to the nipple and then he’s moving on again. Your breathing starts to pick up as he works his way lower, swiping the rag under your breasts to lift and nudge them against his thick knuckles. His skin is rough and calloused on yours wherever it touches, and you hate the way it makes you feel. Hot and flushed, and just ever so slightly sensitized in his wake. A shudder tears down your spine when he starts running the wet cloth over your stomach.
“W - wait —“
He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t even so much as pause, and you try very hard not to yelp when he rather boldly swipes his hand from your bellybutton straight into the soft cradle of your thighs. Eyes widening in mute horror, you rock back and try to squeeze your legs shut to no avail. He just leans forward, invading your space again as his unoccupied hand comes up to wrap around the nape of your neck. You can’t quite believe it when he yanks you backwards and eases you onto the floor with perfect control that stops you from slamming your head back. It would have been quite impressive if only your heart didn’t feel like it was going to slam right through your ribcage and, mewling a desperate, frazzled noise, you make a last ditch effort to twist away. But he just holds you in place, keeping you pinned by the neck, while he bullies your thighs apart with the other hand.
A faltering, highly embarrassing sound bursts out of you when the damp rag presses firm against your cunt at last. He pauses there a moment to squeeze at you through the cloth, almost idly grinding his palm down and making you twitch, before finally dragging it further down to run along the slit in your body. Left wheezing in the aftermath, you just lay there and try to wrap your head around this confusing turn of events. You couldn’t make sense of it. Although you’d expected it on some level, wasn’t this still a little … strange?
The way he cleans you is almost so formal it seems to border on ritualistic. Like he was performing some kind of ceremony or rite. The horrifying thought that perhaps he was preparing you for sacrifice crosses your mind and you can’t quite stop from cowering when he pushes up to kneel on his knees beside you. But, to your squawking surprise, all he does is grab hold of your ankle again and uses it to pull you over onto your stomach like you were little more than an uncooperative toddler.
“H - hey! I’m not a child you know!”
“A great relief, I assure you.”
Flushing red hot, you force yourself to grow still and just lay there while he wipes across your back and arms, your sides, running down to your ass and then lower still to get the backs of your legs. It was an altogether humiliating experience and not one you’d like to repeat any time soon, but you couldn’t deny you felt nice and fresh by the time he finally finishes up a small eternity later. Squeaky clean, even. It’s a great improvement from your earlier state, at least, and you don’t protest when he hooks a hand under your arm to help you sit back up.
Deeply ruffled, you try to reorient yourself while he moves to dispose of the used water somewhere at the back of the tent. You once again consider making a run for it but … oh, it would be another matter entirely if they hadn’t blindfolded you! That was the only thing stopping you from trying. The very real possibility you’d pick the wrong direction and just end up wandering deeper into the desert without even realizing your mistake until it was much too late keeps you firmly rooted to the spot and certainly not because of the dull thrum in your cunt. Nope. Definitely not.
Aziz comes close again, snapping you out of your stunned trance, and you glance up as he kneels in front of you to warily eye the petite bone carved container in his hand. It was shaped like a flower, and something about it makes every hair on your body slowly stand on end.
“What is that?”
“A gift, for the little adventurer from Mondstadt.” He says, giving you (what you think has to be) a sly smile. “Are you afraid of oils and creams as much as you are of me?”
Your brow draws in uncertainty but you don’t get a chance to pick apart what he’s saying to find the meaning in it. Taking up the wiry bristled brush in his other hand, he unscrews the lid from the trinket and dabs the tip into whatever was inside. For a split second you think he’s going to put makeup on you for some inexplicable reason but then — the now smoothed brush looks wet when he reaches it out towards you, and you reel back with a gasp. He remains undaunted though, and you screw your eyes shut with a soft whimper.
Startled confusion marches through your mind when he just presses the brush into the side of your neck though, and your mouth immediately pops open at how sticky and cool it is. Before you can yelp about the sensation, he drags a harsh line down across the column of your throat, making you shudder so hard you think you’re going to collapse. But then the sweet, cloying scent of myrrh and lavender mixed together floods your nostrils and you snap your head back up in disbelief. Perfume?
“You look surprised,” He murmurs, reaching for the other side of your neck to draw another stilted line over your pulse. “Do you know what this is?”
You shift, more than just a little uncertain and ill at ease now. “I … I don’t think I understand.”
With a quiet hum, he dips the brush into the mysterious substance again. “You will. Give it time, and you’ll soon come to understand everything.”
You haven’t the slightest idea what to make of that ambiguous statement.
Struggling to maintain your calm, you watch his hand stretch out for you again but this time it arims towards your chest. You think he’s going to swipe that goopy liquid over the swell of your breasts but, much to your jolting surprise, he drags it straight down over your pert nipple instead. Stomach roiling at the sensation, you make another blithe attempt to lean away from it but just like every other time he follows you easily enough and flicks that bristled tip over the stiffened bud again. Your breath hitches when it almost immediately starts to grow warm and tingly, shooting a disbelieving look down at yourself even as he reaches to do the same to the other.
“W - what is that — ahhn!”
“Relax. You’ll feel good in a moment.”
Somehow you didn’t believe that at all, and you start to tremble uncontrollably there on the floor. But it soon occurs to you that it’s not just nerves making you shake like a leaf. Your tits grow sensitive and flushed against the wafting air, curling to fine, tight points on your chest as the liquid quickly cools. It makes your blood pound harder, your breath come faster, and you can’t help but squirm at the almost painful knot that curls low in your gut.
Dizzy now, you issue a quiet whimper into the still tent when you sway in a deeply intoxicated manner. “Dear, Archons - -“
You cut off with a startled yelp when he pushes you down again but you no longer have the presence of mind to fight it. Laying there twitching, you tip your chin to dazedly watch that massive hand curl around the meat of your inner thigh and pull your legs apart. Suddenly your nudity seems so stark and arousing it makes you gasp, eyes widening when you realize you’re getting wet. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. Your cunt was flooding and you wail an incomprehensible protest when he leans over you to bring the brush towards your defenseless slit.
“Little adventurer,” Aziz croons, keeping your legs spread under his palm as he teases the tip of the brush over your lips. “You should have stayed in Mondstadt where they don’t have such big men and potent aphrodisiacs to turn your body against you.”
Sucking in a harsh, rasping breath, you weakly fling your opposite leg up as if to shove at him but you miss by a wide mile and it just smacks back down to the floor, completely useless. It was like you’d been robbed of your motor skills and mental faculties in equal measure. It was hard just to think straight.
“W — why?”
Chuckling, he drags his hand down off your thigh to press into the meat of your labia and spread them, fully exposing your clit to the air. “I had fun playing with you earlier even if your little sword was no match for my ax. You still put up a good fight so of course I’d want to keep playing.” The soft haired brush slowly presses into the pulsing cluster of nerves and you go ramrod stiff, mouth falling open as if to scream but nothing comes out. All you can do is lay there, violently twitching, while he sedately drags it up and down, and side to side to draw even more sticky slick out of your body. “Unfortunately you are a very small adventurer and I am much too big for you to take easily. This will help you adjust to my size and even make it less painful too. You should be happy I’m showing you such kindness.”
Your head positively swims at the explanation, neck lolling bonelessly on the floor of the tent while you desperately try to sort through it all and cling to your cognizance at the same time. It’s no use though. The effects of the drug sweep you up much too quickly and pull you under. You feel like you're drowning in it, your pussy thrumming and squeezing around nothing even when he finally pulls away from your throbbing clit some time later.
There’s nothing at all you can do, not even protest, when he finds his feet and then leans down to haul you up against him. Clutched to his chest, you hang there in a lifeless, moaning heap while he walks to the opposite side of the tent where he deposits you onto a waiting bed of pillows that gently cradle your body when he sets you down. Paying no mind to your needy, gasping moans, Aziz leaves you there and retreats back to the clay pot you’d seen him fetch water from earlier to clean you with. On a distant, hazy level, you realize he’s going to wash himself next and you know you should probably be thankful for that. Know you should try to take this moment to escape even if it meant running buck naked out into the desert beyond his tent.
But you just can’t bring yourself to do anything except writhe and twist on top of the mountain of pillows, blithely trying to squeeze your thighs together and rub out the ache between them without the use of your hands. It’s no good at all. Just utterly hopeless when your body was pulsing so hot and so fiercely your limbs didn’t want to cooperate.
Idly, you think to try straddling one of the pillows so you can grind your cunt against it.
Weakly, you roll over and attempt to wriggle yourself on top of one — any of them, it didn’t matter, any would do when your need was so great — but you can’t quite seem to manage. All it does is drag your stiff nipples over the fabric and the stitching, and you issue a low, faltering groan when you realize it’s just making it worse. It was hard to breathe. You felt like you were going insane with the need to be stuffed and filled, and stretched and pounded into unconsciousness.
You’re so caught up in your suffering you almost don’t notice when Aziz finally returns to your side. You feel the pillows shift under you with the addition of his weight and you try to blink away the stupor at the same time that you abruptly realize you’re drooling. Grunting in surprise at suddenly finding that you were in such a state, you lift your head with an owlish blink.
The effects of the aphrodisiac were starting to lessen, receding at least enough to clear your head by a small margin …
Before you can celebrate, you feel his hands descend upon your bound wrists and the sensation of those calloused fingers on your skin punches an abrupt groan out of you. Okay, maybe the effects weren’t fading so much as your body was simply adjusting to the sudden, potent influx of endorphins but at least you could formulate a semi coherent thought now.
You cling to that small silver lining with every fiber of your shuddering being as he gets the rope untied, freeing your arms at long last, and then rolls you over. The room spins for a brief moment but when your eyes focus and you manage to look down they nearly pop right out of your skull. Not only was he completely nude, so massive and thick with muscle it startles a tiny squeak out of you, but he was also rock hard. And much, much bigger than you could have even imagined.
Somehow the fear of having that huge cock forced into your body seems to chase away a bit more of the muddled daze hanging over your head, and you bring your hands up in an awkward, uncoordinated rush to push at him. But when you jerk your attention up at his face, you stop dead in your tracks.
His mask was gone.
Aziz’s eyes were sharp and narrowly shaped to compliment the lean structure of his face, and his eyes … you suddenly forget how to breathe. You’d never seen irises so startlingly amethyst they looked like sparkling jewels.
He watches your reaction carefully, the intensity of that bejeweled gaze boring into you even as he crawls over top of you to settle between your legs. The demanding nudge of his rigid cock startles you back to reality, and you suck in such a frantic gasp of air it claws on the way down.
“No, wait - -“
His hand grabs under your chin and forces your head back so he can seal his mouth over yours and cut you off. You go ramrod stiff underneath him, eyes wide and wild even as you lift shuddering hands to weakly press into his chest. Archons, he was huge. The muscle bulges under your palms and tenses, flexing when he shifts against you to line himself up, and the full weight of what’s happening slams into you all at once.
Visciously, you tear your mouth from his with a warbling, intoxicated shriek. “Please, I can’t take it! It won’t fit!”
He issues a deep, rumbling chuckle and runs those thick, rough worn fingers across your flushed cheek to make you tremble anew. “You can. Do not fear it, little adventurer. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, didn’t I?” Pausing, he teases your entrance with the blunt head, making you wheeze at the feel of him so heavy and thick against delicate lips. You reel underneath him and try not to hyperventilate, but he just keeps you pinned and mostly immobile under his sturdy frame. Finally, at length, he says, “Shall I show you how far into you I’m going to reach and give you something to truly be afraid of?”
“Wha - -“
Jostling you when he pulls back, Aziz pushes up to put some space between your pelvis and his, and you almost sigh in relief when his cock retreats from your entrance. But then something fleshy and thick slaps down on your lower belly, effectively robbing you of the ability to breathe, and you slowly glance down at yourself in fast mounting horror. His cock stretches across your stomach, leaving a sticky trail of precum in its wake when he nudges his hips closer to line the base up with your cunt and settle into place.
It feels like the earth itself is opening up under you to swallow you whole. He’s almost long enough to touch your bellybutton, and that was to say absolutely nothing of his girth. His size makes you look small and incredibly petite in comparison, so much slighter than him in every way that you feel more certain than ever that it’s not going to fit. There was no way it would.
“Right here,” He intones, squeezing at the soft pouch around your middle and digging his thumb in for emphasis. “This is how much of you I am going to take for myself. Are you ready for me?”
A half strangled sob bursts out of your mouth. “No, no, no, no —“
Ignoring your mouse squeak protests, Aziz repositions himself at your entrance and slowly leans into you, sinking into the tight heat of your body one staggered inch of him at a time. You go still as a statue at the oppressive, suffocating sensation, your hands blindly flying up to brace against his broad barrel chest, but you can’t even find the wherewithal to cry out. All you can focus on is the gradual stretch of your body, the way he forces your cunt to spread and make room for him under that stilted pressure and … much to your gaping shock it doesn’t hurt half as bad as you’d expected it to. There was still a pinch of discomfort, your body unaccustomed to taking something so large, but the aphrodisiac seems to have served its purpose.
Not only were you soaked and pliant with arousal, but your guts were so soft now that he only needed to exert a small amount of pressure to ease further into you. There is no straining resistance, no tearing, no painful force necessary to claim your much smaller body for his own. It was staggering to realize how little struggle your cunt actually offers up and you stare at the spot between you two with nothing short of dumbfounded fascination.
Bit by bit, his length disappears inside you — a quarter, a half, two thirds and then … he’s seated in you straight down to the hilt, Aziz loosing a deep, hissing groan when his pelvis finally presses flush to yours. Whimpering, you spasm on his cock, disoriented and a little too shell shocked to do much of anything else. You’d never felt so full before. So stretched right to the limit and the total lack of pain sends your reeling mind spinning in an endless loop, just trying to grasp what was even happening. You never would have thought it was possible if you hadn’t seen it with your own two eyes.
“Watch, little adventurer,” He murmurs, drawing a piece of you out of your stupor when he bends close to put his forehead against yours, that loose braid swaying forward to tickle your temple. “Watch how I take you and how your body welcomes me in. You are mine now, and this is the proof.”
Meaningfully, he drags his amethyst gaze lower and, quaking wildly underneath him, you do the same, following his line of sight to look at where you’re connected. The muscles in his stomach flex, abdominals visibly tensing as he ever so slowly draws his hips back to drag against your inner sleeve. You very nearly go cross eyed at the sensation, so deep and unexpectedly pleasurable it almost sends you shuddering right over the edge, but you force yourself to keep watching. To watch how he pauses at the halfway point, his muscular waist swiveling forward to push back in, in, in, further and further until — the spot just below your bellybutton bulges up at the same time his pelvis meets yours again, and your mouth drops open in disbelief.
He really was reaching that far into you.
And you really had taken all of him.
Wildly clawing at him for something to cling to, you let out a series of frantic, bleating sounds when he slowly starts to angle back again, watching that bulge in your tummy recede and disappear with the retreat of his cock only to come pushing right back in a moment later. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the spot on your lower belly where he keeps pushing up under the skin at an increasingly quicker pace, repeatedly punching the same spot into a soft, rounded bulge. A low ache starts to build deep in your body and somewhere in the back of your cotton stuffed mind you find the wherewithal to realize how sore you were going to be after this. The aphrodisiac would wear off eventually and you would be left in the aftermath to deal with the aching stretch, the throbbing reminder of how he’d felt moving inside of you and the lingering effects of getting pounded by something so big it felt like it was actively rearranging your guts.
This was in no way what you’d signed up for when you took on this commission, nor is it why you left Mondstadt.
It’s at that moment, when he’s working his hips hard and fast enough that a steady plap, plap, plap seems to dominate the space inside the tent that you realize you really did miss it. You missed Mondstadt and you wanted to go home. Soon. Immediately after he let you go.
He would let you go … wouldn’t he?
⭐
Crossposted: here
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Bo, I have not known peace since you posted that one little snippet about Mental Patient!Johnny not being believed when he says that Nurse!Ghost keeps visiting him at night. Because I can’t help but imagine both of them as nurses and Reader as the patient. They treat you so good, giving you better food and warmer blankets then the others. They even take you outside in the garden. It’s not too much to ask for you to help them out, is it? :( they come into your room, sandwiching you between them. Johnny’s stroking your hair and Ghost’s hands are on your hips. At first they say you only have to use your hands if you want to. But using your hands turns to them wanting to hump your ass or fuck thighs ands tits which turns to a “just the tip, love. Promise. It’ll feel good for you too.” Which turns to them having to shove your face into a pillow as they fuck you so hard your crappy bed turns wobbly from here on out. And they tell you they deserved that after all they do for you. That they take such good care of you. One day they’ll take even better care of you, when you’re home with them. - 🕸
i forgot about that!!! it was based on a horror/thriller i watched once about this woman who gets checked into a mental hospital because she's convinced her ex-boyfriend is stalking her and it's derailing her entire life. but once she's checked in, she becomes convinced that one of the orderlies is her stalker. it had a pretty scary ending, but for the life of me i can't remember what it was called :( someone please let me know if it sounds familiar i want to watch it again lol
cw for noncon (drugged sex) below the cut
anyways!!!! i think a ghoap x reader version of that would have patient!reader, nurse!soap, and guard!ghost. with one of them an nurse and one a guard, they can restrict her so much more :/
this is what happens in the movie (i think?) but i looove the idea of soap slipping reader an extra pill every night, so she's nice and still when they visit her every night. mixes together an extra element of psychological horror - are the nurse and guard actually sneaking into your room every night, or are you hallucinating/having sleep paralysis?
im partial to security guard ghost because i just KNOW that man is glued to you and you only on those cameras. there could be a murder happening somewhere else, and he doesn't even notice because he's watching you eat lunch. deranged man
love love love the image of johnny using you to get off - like, he'll wrap your limp fist around himself and fuck that until he comes :( licks his own come off of you and then kisses you, shoves it all into your mouth with his tongue because sharing is caring <3
ghost gets in trouble for being too rough with patients because he's so defensive of you. someone looks at you wrong and he's shoving them to the ground, threatening them with his baton. god forbid another person even touches you. makes you really really cautious and scared of people touching you, so you shy away from everyone. works perfectly with his fantasy
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MANNA- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TEA
Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic
TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse and more
Read after the cut...
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For a near week your deceptive submission endures, the hours newly tightened by a schedule your host has contrived to divert you from your anti-appetite.
Days rise from the borderless veil of time like castles from a dawn mist. Made a school child again, you sit before documentaries and foreign art films, take up a journal whose pages bear but glances of your internal woe.
You find yourself wishing that you could write with any particular talent.
As a girl you’d yearned to be an author, never daring to materialise the urge with any substantial effort. Now you can’t imagine you’ll ever be allowed so loose-penned a profession, if any at all, kept covetously home and infantilised until you cannot think beyond a fraction of words.
Why, then, does Hannibal go to such arduous lengths to educate you? Surely it is only so that—before the eyes of peers—you'll be the cultured averment of triumph through therapy.
In the soirees of your doctor's hopes you cleave, willing, to his side, bewitching the throng with smirking witticisms before sucking his cock with that same clever mouth when the last guest steps, merry and ignorant, into the night.
Already Hannibal aspires to materialise that abstraction. You find proof enough of it in the wardrobe he’s amassed for you, which expands as the days progress.
Some of his choices are attractive to you, reluctant though you are to consider this— long velvet gowns in puce, umber, black, blouse and skirt co-ordinations plucked from the runway, some still in boxes emblazoned with designer names.
Others of the selection offend you, however, in their bald intent for closed-door wear. Girlish dresses in light chiffon, corseted silk in flowering lace. Short necks and hemlines, some of them scarcely reaching the knee. Then there are sheer nightclothes stored in perfumed sheets, no practicality but for the sort of sleeping in which no slumber is to be had.
You’re to dress like some obscure young celebrity, a whimsical echo of an era thirty years passed. Still, there is an attempt in this incredible closet to appease you as well as to change, adapting your preferences to a style acceptable to Hannibal’s eye.
It’s of particular note to you that the garments are each the same size, implying that you haven’t gained significant weight since your last awareness of its value. Conceivably the labels might have been replaced, but it’s so unlikely a trick that the theory is quickly thrown out.
Hannibal is inviting you to trust his process with a peace offering of equilibrium, the second-best prize to starvation.
You are not such a fool as to take it yet, though in action you may appear to have done so.
When in the presence of your keepers you remain in unwavering character, an amplified, changeling copy of the child you'd once been. In this way you're allowed your little misbehaviours—pulling a face at food you do not like, or the shrugging rejection of an idle caress.
So long as you sit at meals, and don’t speak in any manner that threatens the illusion of family you are unharmed, and laden with unending gifts. It would be a winning childhood, had you been born into it through a far less insidious violence than that which brought you here.
Still, the awareness that you must simper and lisp for another month before you venture an escape soon wears upon your tolerance.
One Saturday morning, alone in your room, the silence of that cushioned cell amplifies your every thought to a piqued tenor.
You miss when hunger bled like smoke through your skull, ridding its halls of all but its fey shape. With a scalding clarity you behold what you are now: a homunculus, the issue of diablerie, cut small by men’s black magic.
You cast yourself amidst a tide of cushions and mimic your own words upon them in a bitter snarl.
“‘Yes, Daddy’”, ‘no, Daddy’. ‘Little one’. Oh God! It’s all so stupid. Stupid!”
An involuntary laugh chatters through you like a coin thieved from a beggar’s cup, hateful and maniacal. Yet you perform this anger as you do the docile coquette, the bounds between that self and your own a gradient that softens by the day.
It’s become rather easier to be a monster’s daughter than a woman, this you cannot deny. The longer you are extracted from the world the less you’ll remember of how to live within it, if you ever knew, before.
The misery of this thought proves too much to bear.
You cry until your head is as hot about the brow as a horseshoe turned white from the forge. The sobs wrench the muscles of your stomach in two pained halves, and still you weep until you laugh again, thinking how deranged you’d sound to any eavesdropper in the rooms below.
Afterwards you sit very quietly, like an ailing bride in a Victorian novel; you are, after all, very ill, and it suits you well to behave so.
Having nothing better to do, you switch on the television and skim through the channels with neither aim nor interest.
Thin, beautiful women populate the screen, their waists like darner flies, their wrists as narrow as your thumb. Even the history programmes feature experts with trim figures in sensible interview dresses.
Perturbed, you flick on and on until you find something on eighteenth century Paris, hosted by a grandfatherly old professor marked safe from scrutiny in the absence of compare.
You watch until your lids fall, thinking of catacombs full of monk bones, the cloying scent of ancient death, each as forgotten under dust as you are by all those who once loved you, and revered by those who never have.
In the afternoon Hannibal wakes you gently by turning the television off at the set.
“Are you feeling alright, little one?” he asks. “It’s unusual for you to sleep in so late.”
You hum in a noncommittal fashion, scarcely bothering to open your eyes.
Perhaps he’ll let you drowse the day away; you’d dream through all horrors like this, should your insomnia give you reprieve. A week, a month, a year sold to the sandman in exchange for peace— yet the dark would follow you there, also, antlered men in imagined night.
“You’ve been in bed long enough,” says Hannibal, peeling back your sheets with a brisk tug. “Up you get. Alana is visiting us this evening. She’ll have some questions for you.”
Weakly attempting to thieve back the blanket, you say, “I really don’t feel like talking to her. Can’t you do it? Please?”
“Jack won’t be satisfied with a second-hand report. Alana must see that you’re comfortable here. Not a particular incentive for you, but I can provide others.”
You open one eyelid, enticed by this readiness to bargain.
“So what do I get if I say yes?”
“A light dinner,” says Hannibal. “And—depending on your behaviour—perhaps another reward we’ll negotiate later tonight.”
At this you sit up; starving is a precious contraband in the doctor’s abode, worth more to you than every decadent thing under its rafters.
“Feeling better already, I see,” says Hannibal, through one of his charitable smiles. “Please stand by the mirror and allow me to dress you.”
Unbidden there comes the thought of his hand under your skirts, pressing inwards like a starfish sucking at a stone.
“Oh, come on, Dad,” you say, in flustered haste. "Really?”
“There’s a certain picture I’d like to create for Alana’s benefit,” he insists. “One of wellness and serenity. Your selections tend to imply something far more brooding and morose.”
With a testy little sigh you slip out of bed, rubbing your arms free of rising gooseflesh.
“You bought me those ‘brooding and morose’ outfits, remember, Dad? What does that say about you?”
“That I seek to please you,” says Hannibal, touching your mouth with playful thumb. “Today I hope that you’ll return the gesture.”
He holds aloft a pastel blue dress in transparent lace, a beaded line of detailing pointing downwards at the hips in a suggestive v.
“I don’t know,” you say, far more sharply than intended. “It’s short. And I don’t like the colour.”
“The shade will suit you,” Hannibal replies. “And you’ll wear a shift underneath for modesty, if that’s your concern.”
You don’t bother with reproof; he’s guiding you out of your nap-rumpled clothes and into the dress before you can think of an excuse he’ll entertain.
Unresisting, you only glance aside, breathing shallowly so as not to brush your chest against him as he adjusts your collar.
That Hannibal hasn’t made love to you since you shared a bed makes you think that he’s waiting for something, a moment fermented to sweeten the sex. He is, you warrant, as driven by pleasure as any man, being only of a tighter and more methodical restraint.
You can’t decide whether you’re glad of the wait or if you’d prefer he throw you down on your bed and ravish you now to have done with it.
Doubtless Hannibal considers an identical dilemma, turning you before him like a ballerina in a mirrored jewellery box.
“Even the greats couldn’t hope to replicate this image of you,” he says, as he inspects his work. “To attempt it would have them rending the canvas to pieces rather take credit for their failure.”
The compliment is long forgotten when, later, Alana breaches the house, her pretty face above her mulberry blouse like a lily in a violet bouquet.
Her casual manner in kissing Hannibal’s cheek at the door suggests a social visit, as does the gift of white wine under one thin arm. Still, she remembers her duty, taking you aside with a subtle professionalism within two minutes of having greeted her host.
Her kindness is a shingle in a cyclone, dashed away by the futility of its own existence.
“Dr Lecter told me you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you,” says Alana, placing one of her graceful hands atop your own without comment as to its frigidity. “Are you feeling more positive now, or would you disagree with that?”
Slipping your fingers out from under hers, you say, “Well, I have a TV now. I’m allowed to do a lot more things I’m actually interested in. That helps. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you talked Dr Lecter into it.”
Smiling, Alana says, “I can’t take credit for that. He was already making preparations when I brought it up. He's racked up quite the shopping bill.”
The notion of Hannibal navigating the catalogues of online stores is ridiculous, somehow anachronistic, but then again you’ve witnessed him tapping at a sleek iPad, a jarring sight, on every occasion.
“How about mealtimes?” asks Alana. “I understand you’re working towards a plan that’s easier for you.”
“It’s still hard,” you mumble. “Tough. You know.”
Your eyes are on Alana’s patent court shoes, picturing a blandly organised rack of identical heels in alternate shades. Perhaps ankle boots for the colder days. Simple. Nothing flash.
Alana pauses, quickly assessing your disinterest in the exchange.
“Hannibal says he’d like you to agree to more therapy sessions,” she says. “He feels you’re opening up. I think we both know that’s probably wishful thinking on his side, but don’t shoot him down just yet.”
“I won’t,” you say. “Couldn’t anyway, right?”
Alana rearranges her discomfort into another closed-lipped smile. You can’t envision that lipstick ever moving, striped across her face as yours has been by both of the friends that she holds dear.
“So how are things between you and Will now?” enquires Alana, quite on cue. “Rumour has it you’re getting along like a house on fire.”
Truthfully Will has rather cooled since the night of the seizure, his envy retreating to the black of some inner primordial cave. He seems both caustically amused by your recent performance and cynical of its longevity, yet neither judgement is as severe as before.
The thought of your kindness sits with him, has been taken up with the cagy hunger of an orphan to a heel of bread. Piece by piece you’ve given him more of it in flirting words, but these he’s yet to take, turning each away with a smirk.
“Don’t try so hard,” he’d said, only a day ago, but when you’d thrown an idle foot across his lap as you read a book beside him he hadn’t removed it, only pretended to ignore the intrusion.
“Me and Will are okay,” you say to Alana. “That’s all.”
You must give away something of your successes in your expression, for Alana’s mouth twitches into a coy grin.
“Just okay?”
At that moment Hannibal knocks on the open door, a merciful trespass, setting you free of her.
*
As promised, you’re offered a modest salad while Hannibal and Alana make their way through numberless courses over the gifted wine.
At first you’re too absorbed in the mortification of eating in front of the other woman to pay attention to their mounting chemistry, dragging the same tattered leaf through streams of congealing oil.
It’s only as you’re making a fortress of cutlery across a lump of uneaten meat that you take full stock of the flirting at work before you.
Though attempts are made by both parties to fold you into the conversation they are mild at best, almost neglectful.
Alana glances up into Hannibal’s eyes in frequent, laughing enjoyment, touching his shoulder or forearm lightly; he, for his part, looks upon her lips and the curves of her form and speaks fondly to her, his voice hushed with a want of sex.
You’ve heard it often enough to know it, and should be glad to have his attentions otherwise distracted.
Yet your hands creep under the table, squeezing your thighs and stomach as though to claw out the matter you've ingested through your meat.
"I'm done," you blurt out, cutting across Hannibal's opinion of a recent classical performance he’s attended. "Can I go upstairs?"
It's with difficulty that you bite off the habitual 'Dad' that has replaced 'doctor' in your vocabulary.
Hannibal offers you a near invisible look of disgruntlement at the interruption, quickly mollified by Alana's fingers at his elbow.
"I'm sure we're boring you," she says. "Go on up and relax. You don't have to stick around just to be polite."
You glance at Hannibal, seeking his approval before you stand. His eyes, within so static a face, are black glass in their suspicion.
"I'll come up to speak to you later on," he says, at last. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask for it."
Rather than go immediately to your den above you linger to watch as the couple drink in the parlour, so close as to almost be in one another’s arms.
You see from Hannibal's relaxed posture that he is not ablaze with a fascinated love for Alana as he is for Will; he holds her merely with the affection of an old friend, and, too, with an uncomplicated desire.
He would never rape Alana Bloom; such violence, to Hannibal, is an entry into a cabal of which she has no part. Her value to him is as representation of his treasured comforts, and all that which Hannibal would not willingly change.
Alana is as used for her parts as you are, in her way, and oblivious to it, like some grinning scarecrow blind to the birds that snicker and creep at its back.
Yet as you watch her lean, murmuring, into Hannibal’s neck you feel a tooth of ice grind through your heart and turn away, feeling numbly for the bannisters behind you.
Almost on hands and knees you climb the steps to your bed, brought low by that astonishing cold.
Pausing at the bathroom you prostrate yourself at the toilet’s mercy, still unable to empty yourself of the pain and bile you'd evict to be naked of your jealousy.
In surrender you rest your head on the cool floor and remain there even after the compulsion to vomit subsides.
If you cannot flog yourself for your sins as the saints did then this will do, sprawled before the porcelain God of another degredation.
Presently the bathroom door creaks open, striking an unwanted rod of light across your face.
“Go away,” you mutter, wiping your face with an angry scrub of your knuckles. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
Hannibal looks at you with a minister’s pious severity.
"I see. So I was correct. You object to Alana and I having a sexual relationship. Any other father would sternly inform you that it’s none of your business, and as your therapist it’s even less so.”
Raising your head, you snap at him as fiercely as you dare.
“What about me?”
“My friendship with Alana is very different to what you and I share,” says Hannibal, and you snort, wiping a stream of clear mucus across your lips.
“I’ll bet.”
Hannibal turns his head at a quizzical angle, and you perceive the very second of his understanding like the unveiling of some trick.
“You must explain yourself, darling,” he says. “What is it about this that has upset you?”
The logical answer should be that you wish to save Alana from him, that you cannot watch her beaming, black-haired head roll out from under the axe.
Instead, you blurt out, “Don’t you get it, Dad? How it makes me feel? You’re supposed to understand me, and I’m pretty sure you do. You knew that it would hurt me. You did this on purpose the way you wave me around in front of Will.”
Using the sink to right yourself you get to your feet, standing on pathetic, defiant tiptoe so that you might gaze into the devil’s face directly.
“If you have to do this, then please, just me. Just me. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel sick to think about you and her together. Knowing you’ll touch me afterwards. Don’t do this to me. Please."
“I see,” says Hannibal.
He speaks with such calm that you deflate from your anger at once.
“Very well,” he says. “I can make an excuse for Alana to leave. Would that please you, little one?”
This time you don’t answer, only stare at him with huge and terrible eyes until he retreats to the stairway.
“Oh, god,” you say, under your breath. “Amy, you’d really hate me right now, wouldn’t you?”
You hear Hannibal and Alana talking in low undertones, the female voice a coo of thoughtful sympathy. In time Alana collects herself to leave, but only when her car propels itself quietly from the driveway does Hannibal come to you again.
By now you’re sitting at your dresser, making a humiliated attempt to recollect your dignity with cosmetics. You know that Hannibal will not like what you’d made of your face—the eyes painted black, your lips the colour of your heart, a sinking, well-bound stone.
Yet all he says as he stands behind you is, “Look at me, little one.”
Your hand shakes, blotting your eyelid with an errant apostrophe of mascara.
“Don’t want to.”
“I know. I’d like you to, even so.”
The gentleness of Hannibal’s voice is an agony to you. You’ve never hated nor been more drawn to him than you are now, this impossible spirit in the vessel of a man.
Stiffly you turn on your chair, meeting his gaze to find it truly repentant.
“I won’t make love to Alana again,” says Hannibal, and you know as you do the reality of elements that he does not lie. “I see that this triggers your fear of abandonment too greatly. But it might not be possible for me to avoid all romantic advances.
“There are rumours abound as to our arrangement already, and it will seem suspicious if I don’t take a lover. But I’ll do my best to be faithful to our family.”
He pauses, watching you battle to suppress your disgust for him, for yourself, for all things in the bracken of his design.
“For now, I’d like you to relax,” says Hannibal. “This level of distress will make you ill. I’m concerned that it already has.”
Taking you by a hand as clammy as mermaid skin he leads you down to the living room to serve you from a pot of fragrant tea.
Though its calorific value is likely near to air you catastrophize with immediacy, unable to touch the cup, let alone drink.
“I’m not doing it on purpose this time,” you babble. “I’m not, Dad, please, you’ve got to believe me.”
Hannibal raises a hand to caress you— that, and only that, and yet you shrink against the couch in expectancy of a blow.
An appalled look tightens Hannibal’s expression, a hypocrisy of which he seems endlessly capable.
“There, now,” he says. “I can tell the difference between unruliness and genuine struggle. You and I both know that tea is only leaves and water— why do you believe against logic that it will affect your weight?”
“I don’t know,” you say, with a helpless shake of the head. “I feel like if I drink it I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll eat and eat until I’m... big, and then I won’t be able to go back to the way I was. Everyone will see me differently. Treat me like they used to. People can be cruel.”
“And none crueller than you are to yourself,” says Hannibal, and he eases the cup between your hands so that you must take it or scald yourself raw. “There is nothing shameful in having a body of any kind, and any who judge you for that would wear their foolishness like a flag for all to see. Nevertheless, I’ve balanced your weight here, and will continue to do so if that is what’s needed for you to believe in my intentions.”
He aids you to drink, lifting the cup to your mouth over and over until the last drop. From the bitter taste you know it altered by some drug.
For once you do not care.
The night has left you so ashamed of your bearing that you’re half joyful to be done with it, sinking back as euphoria transforms all things that touch you into nirvana.
Your fingers drape across your body in aimless exploration, stopping only as Will enters the room with Hannibal at his side.
The younger man’s eyebrows jump as you giggle and hide your hands behind your back.
“You’re smiling,” says Will. “And I’m not sure how I feel about the circumstances.”
“Our girl is relieved to see you, Will,” says Hannibal. “A familiar face is a balm for even the most taxing day.”
Will looks from you to Hannibal ponderously.
“Alana was here earlier,” he states.
“She was, much to our little one’s chagrin.”
“Do you have to talk about her?” you interrupt, in loose-tongued irritation.
Hannibal chuckles.
“We do not. There are other topics I’d find far more engaging.”
You watch from under heavy lids as the men discuss the Lover’s case in low, library murmurs.
“Tanya Marrow was found washed up by the Patapsco River this morning,” says Will, with a grim regret. “Her wounds were fresh, meaning the Lover only mutilated Tanya and placed her into the doll when he was ready to throw her away. He was content with how closely she resembled the woman he’s desperate to make, for a while.
“But she wasn’t close enough. In the end he had to remind her that she was just a toy to him, and punish her for her lacking.”
The contrast of these dreary horrors with the rainbow light of feeling through your needy cunt should sicken you, but your mind is in disorder, barely one thought akin to the next.
“We’ve made a breakthrough in regards to the dolls,” Will continues. “The well-made ones are expensive; for one person to have so many implies that the Lover is either a wealthy collector, or that he’s able to access them at a considerable discount. Possibly for free.”
“I’m assuming the factory producing these dolls has been identified,” says Hannibal.
Will swallows a mouthful of whiskey.
“There are only four vendors known to produce the style of doll the Lover uses. Jack’s got someone looking into their customers, narrowing down the suspects to buyers in Virginia. Considering how specialised these clients are that shouldn't take long.”
The older man listens with a solemn intensity, scarcely drinking from his own glass.
“I see the Lover almost exactly now,” says Will. “He knows he has to take his bride eventually; he’s circling her, choosing women that are closer and closer to her physical proximity. The next target will be someone she knows.
“It’s a dangerous move, but by now the Lover wants someone that’s stood so close to this woman that he can taste her. Imagine her beneath him when he defiles the inferior victim.”
Fear swims, crocodilian, within you, disturbing your narcotic stupor.
Seeming to sense it, Hannibal says, “Let’s continue this line of conversation later on. I wouldn’t want to give our surrogate daughter bad dreams.”
Will glances at you, watching you fumble idly with the hem of your dress.
“You don’t plan to cast her as our daughter in tonight’s play, do you?” he asks, plainly.
“That would unnecessarily chasten the evening,” says Hannibal. “She’s the woman for whom we are legally responsible, and what we deem fit for her continued health is ours to determine.”
You recline across the couch like an empress, watching the firelight glance shadows across your skin like a garment in a dream. Hannibal slips a hand from your shoulder to your breast, teasing the tiffany lace across your nipple, and the warmth and delicacy of the touch breathes through you a shiver of ermine delight.
Only vaguely do you acknowledge your revulsion, a whisper at a keyhole on the other side of the house.
“What did you give her for her to let you touch her like that?” asks Will, curiously.
His hands play upon the sides of his whiskey glass, and the thought of them upon your thighs or between them drives your lower lip between your teeth with unbeckoned desire.
“I’ve offered her release from her spirited rebellion,” says Hannibal. “Even having promised us fealty, this act she wouldn’t easily endure. I wish for her to experience intimacy unhindered by her mental bounds.”
His fingers glance beneath the neckline of your dress and cross your bare skin as a swan's wing meets the sky, rushing a moan from you more akin to a sob in its juddering resonance.
“Besides,” Hannibal continues, “she’s had a trying afternoon. Her body welcomes this.”
Will’s face, washed honey bronze by firelight, is so neutral that even if you were not high you’d fail to extract the mechanisms of thought behind it.
“We’ve both succeeded in bringing her to climax,” says Hannibal, as his other hand folds your skirt against your pelvis. “But never her consent. Tonight, perhaps we will.”
“In this state she has no real autonomy,” Will argues. “We’re witnessing an illusion.”
Hannibal pauses, his face like that of an antiques dealer slyly unveiling some stolen wares.
“Not exactly,” he says. “Little one: you’ve described me as handsome. Do think that Will is good-looking?”
Your concentration wavers as two digits inscribe an ouroboros in your arousal. The wrongness of it all only enhances the sensation, the thought of being a lovely toy for older men to play with.
Your name on Dr Lecter’s lips recalls his question.
“Yes,” you say. “I— I do.”
You don’t know why you’re honest. Even a child, embarrassed, could lie.
Will smiles, and for a moment there is something almost sweet in his expression.
Then the dark of him slithers behind it again with predatory ease, and he leans forward, knees apart, possessed of a revelation of self-assurance.
This is the self he becomes when challenging Dr Lecter, the arrogant observer of all living things.
“I already knew that,” says Will. “I don’t mind hearing it clarified, though.”
You can’t imagine him ever admitting that you’re beautiful in return. Hannibal would, has done so already in such a succulence of language that your mouth could water with it, but not Will, not in so many words.
All that he will allow thus far is that you are not ugly. Blearily you vow to unwind from him his obsession.
“Puppy love,” says Hannibal, looking into your face with a gentle irony. “You’d like him to touch you, wouldn’t you, little one?”
This you don’t answer, and rather than press you again Hannibal makes you come with three fingers inside you, patient as you cry out and roll your head aside in conflict and delirium.
You cannot decide if he means to reward you for your participation with Will or to humiliate you for that same eagerness. It is bewildering and erotic, this envy they have for one another; to quell it you must kneel to the hierarchy, submissive always to your covetous masters.
“Join us, Will,” says Hannibal, at last.
Briefly you think that he won’t, a scoffing lord, above it all.
Then he crosses the room, sets down his whiskey and kisses you, first your mouth, then your neck, leaving the taste of smoke and almonds wherever his lips meet.
Whimpering, you kick your feet on the couch as each petal of ecstasy comes loose from a branch within you.
Sometimes Will’s teeth push against your flesh, not quite biting; Hannibal, on the other side of your neck, gently does, as though inheriting the expected assault from his would-be lover.
His fingers form a cylinder of delight in you, the pad of his thumb undoing another orgasm in a trio of strokes.
“How gifted we are to receive such delights,” says Hannibal, and as you groan he docks his arousal in your own, filling you so entirely with his cock that you think and feel only the fucking and nothing more, a witless hole.
Will brings your hand to his erection, and there is no uncertainty in that motion, nor in his lips about your breast. His rough tongue, the saliva like a paste jewel on your nipple—
Writhing, panting, you stir through pleasure upon pleasure like the layers of the earth, soft, dark, deep.
Your palm tightens on Will’s cock like a night sea about the lighthouse it yearns to bring down, working him with a knowing purpose. As Hannibal continues his pelvic rolls against you Will draws back, avoiding the early release that your cunning fist would bring.
Not once do the men make contact in a sexual manner with each other, and you don’t understand it, this avoidance of the ultimate lust. Yet perhaps it is that they fuck through you, for when Hannibal achieves his orgasm and moves away Will pushes into you without caution of the other man’s seed still warm in that same place.
He looks up into Hannibal’s eyes as he does it, watching his response as he weaves pleasure from a loom of servile flesh.
But then you make some shapeless sound of need, one hand extended, not quite touching him, and Will's eyes return to you with such intensity that you forget that brief, lost woe.
He mimics Hannibal’s command of your body, hands moving, unrushed, from breast to hip as he opens you further to him. His violence is a mage’s dance, something once done around fire, and charged now through the vessel of a young and studious man.
No wonder, then, that you have neither strength nor will to repel him. You roil, loose-limbed as the dead, only your noise and perspiring response to sensation to evidence your ongoing life.
Hannibal’s arms go loosely around you, holding your head in his lap as Will makes love to you with a brooding fervour. Every touch is like the discovery of a new and indescribable existence, having traversed to some frontier of feeling only sects of pleasure have previously founded.
You know yourself wanted by both men, now, feel it through their mutterings of ecstasy, the unending pressure of mouths and hands upon your skin. They crave your wanting of them in return, lap up your slightest sign of it, tainted as it is by Hannibal’s poison.
Will pours in you his ending, his breath a kiss against your eardrum.
You come again with both men gazing upon you, their faces as close and beautiful together as stringed pearls.
Dimly you fear that they will succeed in their work with you, no matter how fiercely you defy their twofold will.
“Hey,” says the younger man, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Snap out of it. You’re bleeding. Did we hurt you?”
Your first thought is, “yes, of course you did.”
The next, having looked down at the red dart through the milk of semen on your thigh, is the same nip of terror you know from an unexpectedly high number on the scale.
The final cognition—and one almost certainly true—is that this carnival of sex has brought that crimson forth like the incitation of bacchanalian madness.
The shock of it wrings you near dry of the doctor’s drug, a bald winter sobriety.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s my period. I haven’t had one in years.”
#manna fic#hannibal fic#hannibal lecter#hannibal lecter x reader x will graham#hannibal lecter x reader#will graham x reader#tw noncon#tw eating disorders#tw bulimia#tw anorexia#tw dubious consent#tw nonconsensual drug use#tw fatphobia
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3 Will Be Free (2019)
Neo
01:
- Kicked to the ground, held at gunpoint, on the run, choked, beaten up, choked again, rescued
02:
- Held at gunpoint, tied up on his knees, kicked in the chest, rescued
03:
- Threatened at gunpoint, tied up
09:
- Shot in the shoulder, bleeding, on the run, dizzy, shaking, treating the wound himself, collapses and passes out
10:
- Recovering in bed with his arm bandaged, dizzy, taken care of
- Kicked in the chest twice, kidnapped, tied up, held at gunpoint
Shin
01:
- Thrown into a wall, writhing on the ground in pain
02:
- Tied to a chair in a fake ransom video
03:
- Threatened at gunpoint, tied up
05:
- Flashback: Bruised face after being beaten up
06:
- Motion sickness, vomiting
- Drugged with a syringe, passes out
07:
- Held hostage, tied up, blindfolded, slashed across the hand with a knife, has the wound bandaged, rescued
10:
- Held at gunpoint by his own father
- Grieving, sobbing, comforted
TW: This drama contains themes of noncon and transphobia
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Within Session .Part Three.
Hey there cuties, do not think I forgot about y'all! This fanfic consist of Yandere!Leon Kennedy. I intend for this fic to progressively become disturbing and fucked up with each chapter. While the first few chapters will be tamed, expect the following in this series:
~Stalking, Kidnapping, Forced Breeding, Degradation, NonCon, Gang Banging, Forced Pregnancy, Somnophilia, Blackmail, Manipulation, Abuse, Pet Names, Obsessive Behavior (Duh), Torture, Constraints, Mentions of Blood & Gore, Mental Degradation, Toxic Relationship, Sexual Abuse, Masturbation, Drugged & Drunk Sex, Loss of Virginity, Forced Penetration…
Also you will be retconned (Too bad 😏): Female Reader, 24 Years old and from Texas 💝
This story was purely written with RE 4 (Remake) Leon in mind. So no puppy dog Leon from RE2 or DILF Leon from later games & movies. The story takes place several months after the events of RE4. Yay, you’re in 2004!
I plan to make this series long and fleshed out, but I promise what you want will hit you like a train~🚂
This chapter does not contain any 🔞 material. This story will contain +18 content (NSFW) in the near future 🔞 If you’re a minor, please go read a real book or something, don’t cry to me when your mom finds your shit. This story will eventually hit that point so don’t set yourself up.
Summary
As an on sight therapist for STRATCOM in Nebraska, you’re tasked with providing quality therapy for US military personnel and government agents. After working at the headquarters for 6 months, Hunnigan recommends you to a notable government agent, Leon Kennedy, who is in need of therapy. After a number of sessions with you, Leon notices a substantial stability in his sanity yet is threatened when you are offered a position back home, closer to your family and friends. Your choice doesn’t sit well with one particular client, who can’t fathom you out of your role as his therapist. Leon has found a means of keeping his precious therapist and realizes you are the key to his permanent solace. You were obviously destined to be his in some form. Why dream of him letting you go?
A\N: I was heavily inspired by Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue 💙, ExploreVenus’s Something Permanent and Guardian Angel by NexysWorld. This chapter was oddly hard to write, especially writing out a session on a serious topic. Once I was writing, I kept writing so you might find this chapter to be long! Expect the next chapter to be out in two weeks!
Hope y'all enjoy the third part! More to come 💝~ Anisssa أنيسة
Here is Part One and Part Two of Within Session
Cleared Mirror
When Leon finally mentioned to Hunnigan his need for help, he did not expect immediate validation to improve his mental health. After the Raccoon City incident in 1998, the horrifying experiences that had cost him a normal life had embedded as an inevitable trauma. The grueling military training that followed after he was captured by the US government and forced to become a government agent to protect Sherry. The underlying hazing that he endured in boot camp tested his abilities and mental state beyond his capabilities, yet it was a period of time that distracted him. Then the recent mission to Spain to save the president’s daughter and his fight against Las Plagas of Los Illuminados seemed to weigh in after losing Luis and confronting Ada Wong after a number of years. His guilt was engulfing him at this point, so he looked forward to his first session with the referred therapist by Hunnigan.
However, when he did arrive at the office for the scheduled session at 5PM, he did not expect a young woman to be assigned his therapist. He noticed she was preoccupied with paperwork on her desk before he knocked on the doorway door to notify her that he had arrived. Once her awareness of him occurred, she stood up from her chair to greet him. Leon instantly notices her red attire with black heels, reminding him of a certain woman.
Without realizing it, Leon accidentally scrunches his face from the reminder. Even when you offer a seat on one of the chairs in front of your desk, a glare on his face remains for a moment. However, when Leon takes another glance at your face, he eases the features of his face, nearly dazed at the sight of your eyes and lips as you both sit across each other. For a moment he studies your facial features while you speak until a question from you returns him to reality. Leon blinks his eyes in realization and nods to the question, simply muttering,”Yes.”
His heart nearly flutters when you provide a reassuring smile while nodding your head,”That’s okay, let’s get started, Leon,” He hears you tell him.
By leaning over the chair, you reach over with one hand to retrieve paperwork clipped to a clipboard from the top of your desk. Leon patiently sits in silence across from you, curious of the next course of actions. With a swift flip of the papers attached to the clipboard, you reaffirm all the necessary documents before leaning over in the chair to hand the clipboard to Leon. Once Leon had the clipboard in his possession, he curiously skimmed through the pages while you spoke,” Alright Leon, we’re going to take the first 15 minutes to get through all this annoying intake paperwork. Essentially review HIPAA concerns, consent forms, and ethical guidelines. Afterwards, I will ask more questions regarding your background, then begin discussing your reasons for therapy and goals so we can formulate a treatment plan along our sessions. How does that sound?” You question him, provided with a gentle smile.
Leon follows with a head nod, content with the flow of the session.”Sounds good,” he immediately responds, eager to hear your voice more. Despite Leon never receiving treatment before, he was honestly impressed with your diligence.
With the reassurance from Leon, you proceed on explaining the following paperwork.”Also, please feel welcomed to ask me any questions, I want to ensure you’re not leaving here confused and that my skills are what you’re looking for in a therapist,” You sincerely express, shifting in the chair to cross your legs.
There were several questions that instantly came to Leon’s thoughts: ‘How old are you?’ and ‘Are you single?’
“The first page contains a HIPAA authorization form, basically entailing how your medical information is disclosed and your rights regarding your medical information…''You explain, leaning over the side of the chair again to snatch a pen from your desk. With the pen in hand, you lean over the chair to hand it to Leon,”So just write today’s date, your full name, date of birth, social security, check the boxes, and provide your signature. Please let me know if you have questions,” You breathe out, observing him as Leon fills out the worksheet in silence, hearing the scribbling of the pen on paper.
After a moment, Leon glances back up to you, signaling he was finished with signing this section of paperwork. In this moment, you provide a smile in reassurance,”Sweet, now we can continue to the next section, which is simply covering ethical guidelines between therapist and client. If you flip over to the next page, it will clarify all the different points. When you’re done reading, just sign at the bottom,” You advise him, sinking back into the chair as Leon flips and reviews the next page of ethical guidelines.
At this moment, several points mentioning friendship and gift exchange between client and therapist caught Leon’s attention. Therapists are legally required to maintain a professional relationship with their clients, thus can not accept gifts over a certain amount. Leon briefly glances at you, then instantly returns his sight to the paperwork on his lap. He would have to abide by these guidelines to receive treatment. With the pen in his hand, Leon inscribes his signature on the line at the bottom of the page along with writing the current date.
With all the paperwork finally reviewed and signed, this prompted you to clasp your hands together, instantly capturing Leon’s concentration from the paperwork on his lap up to you at the sudden noise,”Okay, we’re done with paperwork! You can set that on my desk, now we can finally get into why you’re here. I will ask a couple of questions, then you can tell me more about yourself, Leon,” You explain, your voice full of enthusiasm as you directly observe his blue orbs across the room. In response to your declaration, Leon nods his head.
By adjusting your throat, you then exhale before asking the first question: “Has your family or you have any history of substance abuse that is not limited to alcohol, illegal drugs, and abuse of medication?”
From across the room, you notice Leon shakes his head,”I am not sure about my family, but not me…”
To acknowledge him, you provide a subtle head nod to his response,”That’s okay if you don’t know. Another question: During your childhood, did you live any significant period of time with anyone other than your natural parents?” You question him, intently observing his expressions. Despite his file entailing he was an orphan, you needed more context.
There was a momentary pause from Leon at this question, his gaze elsewhere but you as he ponders this question. He then returns his gaze to you, nodding,” Yes. I was in the foster care system until I became 18 years of age. There was an incident in my family that I don’t have much recollection on…” He tries to clarify.
‘There was an incident?’ This thought comes to you, debating if this subject should be pressed on and explored. You veer your head to the clock on the wall, it was already 5:32PM. Session will be ending soon at 5:50PM and there is at least one important question left for Leon.
With another head nod, your lips form a smile to Leon,”We can explore that at another time if you like… My last question is: What has brought you to therapy and what goals do you want to accomplish?” To some, this inquiry might seem ridiculous, but this direct question was for clients to explore their reasoning to receive therapy.
An exasperated sigh escapes his mouth, tilting his head to the sides as it seemed he did not want to confess his sentiment. “Uh… I feel alone” He finally admits, his face expressionless.
“At what point in your life do you feel alone?” You inquired, keeping your tone serious to Leon’s response.
Over the span of his life, there were an absurd number of instances when he was abandoned by people. The initial example was during his childhood, when his family was massacred for unexplained reasons. He spent a considerate amount of years in the foster care system, unloved by blood. The girlfriend who broke off their relationship the night before he experienced the incident in Raccoon City. Hell, even when Claire Redfield deserted Sherry and him to search for her older brother after they barely survived that harrowing night together. Leon had to fend for Sherry when Claire had left them to the mercy of the US government. Then the infamous Ada Wong, who used him twice before vanishing without a trace. People were brief in his life, either from death or they left him.
Despite these prominent circumstances, how would he express some of these details without explaining an incident that was covered up and immensely classified. His hands and tongue were tied, he would have to brush over this portion of his life.
With several blink of his eyes, Leon considers other reasons for his lonesomeness. There was an uneasy feeling that swept over him due to the unsettling silence in the room. You were attentive for his answer.
“The nature of my job… I am too busy to involve myself in meaningful relationships,” Leon conjures, returning his gaze to those eyes that seemed too distant from him.
As Leon provides a response to your final question, you notice hesitation in his demeanor as if he is recollecting something traumatic. However, as a professional you can not dismiss his answer, but simply acknowledge him.
Since Leon was an agent of STRATCOM, no doubt that life threatening missions contributed to this sentiment. Similar among other agents and military personnel, coping with isolation and loneliness was common.
“Are there any particular aspects of your job that contribute to your feeling of loneliness?” You ask him in a sincere tone. With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, there were only a few minutes of session. Damm…
Leon noticed your glance to the clock on the wall, yet continued to speak,” People are temporary in my line of work…” He admits, noticing the hands of the clock were at 5:46pm.”Session is done already, huh?” Leon comments, returning his attention to you for confirmation.
A faint smile forms on your lips, nod slightly.”Unfortunately…but we can continue this subject next session..” You respond, standing from the chair to retrieve another clipboard from your desk, consisting of another signature page. “Before you leave, if I could get your signature. I did check your health insurance and it’s all good to go. They require a client signature to authorize that you received treatment today,” You inform him, offering the clipboard to him with both hands.
Leon stands from his seat, taking the clipboard with one hand while his other hand grasps the pen attached to the clipboard. After signing his signature at the bottom of the sheet, he returns the clipboard back into your possession with a faint smile on his lips.
You reciprocate the same faint smile on your face,”Alright Leon, it was a pleasure to meet you today. I really recommend writing any thoughts or topics you want to speak about in a small notebook for our sessions, that way you don’t forget… but other than that. You are free to go. I look forward to seeing you on Friday at 5PM. If you need to reach me for any reason, definitely reach me by email or my work number.” You mention, leaning on your desk.
With a nod from Leon, offering a cheeky grin,”Yes ma'am. I will see you on Friday then, stay warm...” He comments, noticeably glancing at your body up and down, implying your poor choice in your red attire. At those words, Leon turns around to exit your office, leaving you alone in silence.
This was definitely an interesting client, there was no doubt in Leon’s charisma and intellect.
#leon kennedy#yandere!leon kennedy#re4 leon#leon x fem reader#resident evil 4 remake#resident evil#within session#leon kennedy x reader#yandere!leon x reader#female reader
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