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kokoch4n3l · 4 months

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DEAD GIRL'S BEACH࿐ྂ "just givin' the same care you gave me, bunny. so whatcha' crying 'bout?"

(KUROKAWA IZANA x f!oc x SANO MANJIRO)

summary: she is a newly graduated psychiatrist and unfortunately, very broke. she gets a job at Sunshine Grove Psychiatric Hospital and catches the attention of a very dangerous patient who likes to hold grudges, even against those who are oblivious of their actions...

pairings: izana x f!oc, chifuyu x f!oc(one-sided), mikey x f!oc

warnings: DARK CONTENT, violence, toxic behaviour, possessiveness, gang violence, criminal activities, drug and alcohol use, mentions of prostitution, non-con elements, non-con drugging, drugged sex, drug addiction, overdose, drug withdrawals, withdrawal symptoms, near-death experiences, extreme violence, past child neglect/abuse, betrayal, misogyny, murder, strangulation, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals and medical treatment/conditions, stockholm syndrome, emotional incest, polyamory, torture, age gap(9, 6, 5 years), masochism, sadism, voyeurism, hard kinks, piv, smut, psychological horror, power imbalance, torture, waterboarding, fear play, major and minor character deaths, UNHAPPY ENDING,(MORE TO BE ADDED)

total series word count:

moodboard | headcanons & character info

ONE — mr kurokawa

chapter summary: enter Kaneko Maya, a newly graduated psychiatrist with a shit load of student debt racked up and her scary but hot patient from 4th floor, Kurokawa Izana.

cw: unrequited love, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, usage of drugs, mentions of gang violence, mentions of pedophiles, mentions of suicide, mentions of addiction, mentions of alcohol, f!oc with absolutely zero self-preservation skill

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TWO — beachy dreams

chapter summary: Maya finds herself at Chifuyu's place with his rowdy friends before hitting the club and she's drawn into flirtatious exchanges with a mysterious club owner. Tensions arise when a revelation links Maya's work to her social circle. Izana gives her an intriguing invitation.

cw: mentions of body image, clubbing, alcohol use, intoxication, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, mentions of gang violence, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self-preservation skills

—

THREE — iv bags and daffodils

chapter summary: Maya faces a moral dilemma, trying to pick between her livelihood and ethics all while under the watchful eye of the hospital director and her patient, Kurokawa Izana.

cw: inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, mentions of alcohol, mentions of depression, drug use, allusions to sex, abuse of authority, power imbalance, unethical use of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of rape, mentions of murder

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FOUR — drunk walk home

chapter summary: Amidst the emotional turmoil of guilt due to her job and Izana's treatment, Maya is left to grapple with the harsh reality of unreciprocated love after spending the night at Kazutora and Chifuyu's place.

cw: alcohol use, intoxication, insensitive comments, (badly written)sexual content, (kinda consensual)drunk sex, penis-in-vagina sex, implied multiple rounds, loss of virginity

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FIVE — little bunny

chapter summary: with the apparent lack of staff at the hospital, Maya has no choice but to clock in despite her begging for a day off and goes through an unforgettable night. good thing she's wearing running shoes.

cw: minor character death, suicide ideation, self-loathing, mentions of vomiting, corruption, exploitation, death threats, murder, torture, blood, gore, non-con drugging, unethical use of drugs, use of weapons, noncon/rape(not mc), noncon touching, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self preservation skills

—

SIX — the beach house

chapter summary: willing or unwillingly, Maya takes up Izana's invitation and he shows her just what he was feeling the past two months he was admitted into sunshine grove.

cw: DARK CONTENT 18+, abduction, murder, chase scene, noncon drugging, blood and gore, vomiting, physical abuse, slapping, death threats, waterboarding, torture, drowning, near-death experience, dehumanization, objectification, noncon touching, enabler!shion, psycho!izana, PTSD(post traumatic stress disorder), panic attacks, making out

—

SEVEN — the sano family

chapter summary: Maya learns the shocking truth and the tragic life of the Sano Family, all while Chifuyu and Naoto search for answers.

cw: MANGA/ANIME SPOILERS, bribery, noncon drugging, mentions of different torture methods, past waterboarding, vomiting, murder, mommy issues, implied child abuse/neglect, cheating, dehumanization, dubcon, noncon, coercion, choking, thigh riding, humiliation, making out

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EIGHT — open water

chapter summary: After a phone call with Chifuyu, Mikey and Maya begin to drift closer like two boats caught in a storm and Izana watches with great interest, getting ready to crash down on both of them when the time is right.

cw: dark content 18+, corruption, bribery, implied/referenced prostitution, wet dreams, masturbation(m), jerking off, narcissist!manjiro, mention of past waterboarding, torture, noncon drugging, dehumanization, (slight)humiliation, hand kink, finger sucking, murder, dom/sub undertones, making out, soft dom!manjiro, praise kink, fingering(f receiving), overstimulation, biting, hickeys, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, slightly unrealistic sex, smut, p in v sex, vaginal penetration, dacryphilia, creampie, unprotected sex, aftercare, brief mention of Korean + Japanese history, gang activity, mention of suicide

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NINE — spider

chapter summary: with a drug deal gone awry, and multiple drug rings raided, Izana decides that he and Mikey need to blow off steam.

cw: dark content 18+, unreliable narrator!maya, stockholm syndrome mentions of suicide, depiction of corpses, blood and gore, character death, funerals, murder, mentions of drugs, police raid, use of weapons, corruption, bribery, mentions of suicide, implied memory loss, implied dissociation, torture, forced drugging, withdrawal symptoms, addiction, vomiting, power imbalance, dehumanization, humiliation, drugged sex, MAJOR dubcon, noncon(tagging this just in case), no prep, unprotected sex, p in v sex, extortion, hickeys, bondage, ruined orgasm, voyeurism, drug use/misuse, fingering, threesome(kinda), making out, unsafe sex, temperature play, waxplay, dacryphilia, sadomasochism, creampie, aftercare, first-degree burns

—

TEN — i don’t smoke

chapter summary: Kakucho forces Maya to face the reality of her situation and Izana reveals some not so nice things to her

cw: DARK CONTENT 18+, unreliable narrator!Maya, vomiting, drug use/misuse, withdrawal symptoms, possibly inaccurate depiction of at-home withdrawal care/survival, first-degree burns, depictions of injuries and burns, blood and gore, hickeys, bite marks, kissing, thoughts of self-harm, emotional manipulation, slight infantilization, betrayal, dehumanization, depiction of corpses, mention of suicide, MAJOR noncon(not detailed), noncon to dubcon, allusions to sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, coercion, implied creampie, memory loss, dissociation, past torture, past waterboarding

—

ELEVEN — what was i made for?

chapter summary: Izana gets carried away and Kakucho and Maya do damage control, bringing them right back to the start.

cw: dark content 18+, character death, depiction of corpses, corruption, slight religious themes, suicide mention, suicide attempt, suicide ideation, self-loathing, slight hanagaki takemichi slander, scarring, bite marks, implied relapse, drug use/misuse, mentioned drug addiction, withdrawal symptoms for unnamed drug, possibly unrealistic/inaccurate withdrawal care, possessive!izana, betrayal, mentions of past torture methods(noncon drugging, waterboarding, noncon, noncon waxplay, first degree burns), emotional manipulation, mental health issues, MAJOR dubcon, unprotected sex, no prep, piv, making out, nipple play, hair pulling(m), multiple orgasms, tummy bulge, creampie, implied cockwarming, implied dissociation, aftercare, possessive!manjiro, noncon, mirror sex, coercion, forced orgasms, hair pulling(f)

—

TWELVE — his dead girl’s beach

chapter summary: Mikey thinks about the past while Maya tries to remember what she missed. Izana helps Kisaki choose an engagement ring.

cw: dark content 18+, self-loathing, mental health issues, mentions of scars, mentions of burns, drug addictions, drug use/misuse, withdrawal mentions, mental breakdowns, emotional manipulation, stockholm syndrome, past noncon, infantilization, possessiveness, emotional incest, mommy issues, dehumanization, oral sex(f receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, implied multiple orgasms, slight hair pulling(m receiving), praise kink, dacryphilia, dom/sub undertones, overstimulation, aftercare, slight ooc!Kisaki, draken & og toman slander, mental health issues, depression, vomiting, toxic and unhealthy relationships, implied emotional abuse, past character death, past picture taking, implied voyeurism, scars, memory loss, kissing, smut, handjob, piv, no prep, dissociation, creampie, use of guns, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, major character death

—

THIRTEEN — can’t catch me now

chapter summary: Mikey goes to the Philippines, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. Takemichi returns to the future. Maya keeps her promise to Izana.

cw: dark content 18+, manga and anime spoilers, multiple character deaths, murder, guns, use of weapons, stabbing, mentions of suicide, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, scars, torture, depiction of wounds, unhealthy attachments, toxic and unhealthy relationships, vomiting, suggestive themes, mental health issues, depression, dark impulses, emotional manipulation, blackmail, corruption, bribery, torture, allusions to sex, suggestive themes, dehumanization, toman + draken slander, slight grandpa sano slander, non-linear narrative in one part, slight emotion incest, funerals, grieving

—

BONUS — sugar bunny

chapter summary: how Maya's first day on the job would have gone if she had been nosy or, Izana and his sugar baby bunny

cw:

—

BONUS — we can't be friends(wait for your love)

chapter summary: in another life, another timeline, Mikey and Maya's first meeting goes a little differently

cw:

notes: cross-posted on my wattpad and it will be updated there before on here. I DO NOT condone any of these behaviours or any crimes committed in this fic. This is purely for my own entertainment. Please read all the warnings before each chapter.

All medical terminology is inaccurate and inconsistent as I know nothing about psychiatric hospitals. However, this is a fanfiction so I will write the way that fits the plot the best.

Takes place during the Manila Future Timeline with bad Toman. This fic is simply my take on what happened during that timeline and it will include many canon aspects from the Tokyo Revengers manga/anime.

I CAN NOT write [y/n] fics to save my life so the oc has a name. If you do not like that, then do not read, simple as that.

Enjoy! Asks, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. It gives me the motivation to continue writing.

this work belongs to me. do not copy or steal my work and do not use my work in any AI or chatgpt program. I also do not want any republishing or binding of my work

banners all done by myself

all dividers by @benkeibear

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misguidedasgardian · 9 months

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Storm's End (5)

HOTD MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, fear of commiting s*icide, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, rape, non-con, minors engaging in sexual activities, face fucking, blood, violence, and other very dark things. Aemond is unhinged and Reader is broken

+18 MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.4 k

Notes: I think… Lucemond shippers are going to get a treat? jeje didn’t mean to, it just happened, never wrote anything like this

I really wanted to end this in this chapter, but it grew monstrous, and yes, I will make two endings, they will be published together...

“You know? I had dreamed about this many times”, he said, his voice clear despite the stormy winds, “when I finally have you within reach, to slice up your face like you did me, all those years ago”

The winds blow his hair, his cape, and made him shiver, but he grabbed onto the pommel of the sword Daemon made him carry whenever he went out

“You are right”, he said, “Uncle, your trouble is with me, you anger, your hate, I owe you a debt”, he said shakily, the only thing on his mind was his sweet sister’s face. Aemond only smiled, a few feet away from him, “Let her go…”

Aemond chuckled darkly

“Well said bastard”

“Let my sister go, take me prisoner instead”, he said shakily, “its me you want”, he whined, he was shaking like a leaf, so much Aemond thought, amused, that he was going to soil his pants

But it was endearing

“I may have underestimate you nephew”, he said simply

“I think you’d do the same thing…”

“Mmm”, now he was amused

“Take my eye, do what you have to do, slice my face, take both, take me whole to the Red Keep but… release my sister”, he said, with those big green eyes

“Why would I? she is certainly a more entertaining guest than you”, he muttered with sick smile

They had met in a small, lonely island on Blackwater bay, in a middle point between Dragonstone and King’s Landing

“Like I said, it’s me who took your eye years ago, it’s because of me you are lacking an eye, it's because of me my mother asked you to be tortured, and is because of me your mother almost killed mine, I made everything worse, and is because of me you're hurting my sister…”

Aemond chuckled

“That’s not why I took her”, he whispered, Luke couldn’t hear him

“I am sorry Uncle, for what happened that night, and I know is easy to say it now, but I was sorry back then, and I am right now”

“That means little to me”, he said, fixing his composure, “what was your plan exactly?”, he asked, “you are in no position to make any demands, I could kill you, easily, what then?”

Lucerys stopped shaking, he straightened his posture, he let go of his sword

“I just wanted you to know uncle”

“That you are sorry?”, he mocked

“Yes”

“I don’t give a shit about your apologies nephew, you are a bastard who tried to steal my brother’s birthright”

“I will not fight about this with you uncle”, he said, “release my sister and take me instead”

“Well, like I said, I’ve dreamt about this many times, and now that we are here, I don’t see why I should be bothered”, he said dismissively

If he killed Luke, you would just… die, even if you were still breathing, you would be dead in life

And that is not what he wanted

The winds blew even more stronger than before, whistling in the wind, a storm was coming

“Go home Lucerys”

“But… my sister”, he said, taking a step towards him

“I fuck your sister, every chance I get”, he said with a smirk, Luke began shaking again, “I have her locked up in your mother’s old chambers”, he moved uncomfortably

“Why her?”, he asked, “she had never done anything to you”

“She payed up your debt to me, you should be thankful”, he said simply, “you should spend every waking moment thanking her”

“I didn’t want her to”, he said, “I want to pay my debt, I want you to leave her alone!”, he demanded

“Too late for that, she is probably with my child in her belly”, Lucerys frowned

“It had only been a couple of weeks!”, he whined

“That is how it works”, he mocked

“Please!”, he was growing desperate, he was supposed to be relieved but he wasn’t.

He had made his peace, he had come here to die for his sister, only to bring her back to Dragonstone

He should have told Aemond to bring her along, to make sure she returns home

“I have her”

“Take my eye!”, he said, grabbing a small dagger from his belt, he tried to take it himself, but his arm was shaking terribly, something primal, in the bottom of his being wouldn’t let him hurt himself

Aemond trotted towards him, and Lucerys didn't move

Aemond grabbed his hand, that had the dagger, and with the other grabbed the back of his head, to prevent him from moving

“I don’t want your eye”, he said. Lucerys felt chills when he saw his sapphire stone in its place, “because even with only one, I can see, I have your heart”, he said with a manic smile

“Let her go”, he begged, “please”

“Being born second son is hard, you don’t know about this because you are in to inherit Driftmark”, he manipulated his nephews hand until the tip of the dagger was scratching his upper cheek, right under his eye, “I get nothing”, he growled, Lucerys whimpered, “But she… is the only thing I’ve ever wanted, that I’ve desired… so after all the shit that I have been through, I decided to take her”

“She doesn’t deserve it”, he said, “I do…”, he said, he looked into his uncle’s eye and calmed himself, he steadied his breaths and stopped shaking, preparation for the pain his uncle felt all those years ago, “do it, for her”, he said

It was true

Aemond had wished upon this day for many years

And now that it was here

He didn't know what to do

It didn't taste as good as he thought it would

it was almost too easy

Lucerys was right there in his grasp

“Like I said..”, he released him, pushing him away, Luke fell pitifully on the sand, “i don’t want your eye bastard, because I have your heart in the Red Keep”

Aemond didn't think the little bastard loved his sister as Targaryens do, as a man loves a woman, he knew he loved her like a real sister, and that made it better

Luke tried to stand up, but he placed his boot on his chest, keeping him pinned to the beach

“Go home and tell your mother I fuck your sister every night, I will keep her at court, pregnant with my bastards for everyone to see”, he said, “but she is well fed, and… healthy”, he relented, “not happy, but alive and well”

He looked at the dagger in his hand and dropped it by his feet

“Please, let her go”, he begged one more time, “she wants to go home…”

“I will see you on the battlefield, there I will not be so forgiving”, Aemond turned back and walked hastily towards Vaghar, who was watching it all with tired eyes

Lucerys watched as Aemond took to the skies without even giving him a scare, a second glance

. . .

Aemond found you sitting on the bed hugging your legs to your chest, crying softly.

In a rage, to hurt you, he had showed you the letter Lucerys had send, you had grabbed him, begged him, cried to him not to go, that his brother was sorry, that you were never going to beg him to be released again, that you were going to stay here willingly, that you were going to change your attitude, bend the knee to Aegon, you actually dropped to your knees and grabbed onto his legs

He released himself from you and left the chambers with a sick smile on his face

You trashed your room, you cried and wailed until soldiers came inside and restrained you

A maester gave you milk of the poppy to calm you down, but nothing could ease your mind

Aemond was going to kill your brother

And there was nothing you could do about it

When he opened the door his eye landed precisely on you, and then he looked at the rest of the room, mainly destroyed, maids had taken the worst part of it, but still it was visibly depleted of your former belongings.

You looked at him, frightened, crying, your face red.

“Did you murdered my baby brother?”, you asked, he shook his head

“No”, you took a long sigh of relief, “He went home”

“Why?”, you asked him, he didn’t even know how to answer that

“Why didn’t I kill my own flesh and blood?”, he asked, bitterly, “He begged me to take out his eye”, a single tear fell down your cheek

“Did you?”, you asked

“No”, he said simply, “he offered it to me in exchange of your release”

“And why didn't you?”, he took out his coat, and left it over the chair in front of the fire, he then lost his vest, and he continued to release himself from his clothes, to finally turn to you

You knew what he wanted, and you were exhausted, for being all day and good part of the night

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, you know why”, he said, climbing onto the bed, completely naked, you believed it was the first time you saw him bare like this

He took the sheets that shielded you, and he took out your nightdress, you let him

You’ve come to learn that if you fight it, it was worse

And you didn't want to hurt anymore

You laid back as you spread your legs for him, and closed your eyes, preparing yourself for the pain. But what you felt was warm hands caressing your thighs, one of them traveling up your body, caressing you softly

You didn't know why, but this frightened you more than his roughness

You felt like he was tricking you into thinking he was going to be nice, only to hurt you again

You whimpered in fear

“Shhh, relax”, he whispered, “is alright, relax”, he continued gently, caressing your skin, the skin he once grabbed roughly.

One of his fingers teased your entrance, he teased and teased until eventually you relaxed, his finger now coated with juices, only then he put another finger to work, easing you open.

Only when he felt squelching noises, he dimmed you ready, he caressed your thighs, coaxing them open for him

He entered slowly, gently, foreign, you had never felt this tenderness, from him…. he held you against him, one hand on your side, the other traveled to your face

“Look at me”, he demanded, and you obeyed, looking up at him. His thumb caressed the apple of your cheek as he fucked you slowly

You couldn’t say you enjoyed it, because he was always so rough, you were still sore, but at least, it didn't hurt

You didn't know which one was worse

He cummed inside you, like always, and then he didn't discard you, he laid there by your side, he grabbed you and accommodated you by his side. You fell asleep quickly, that night, for the first time since he had you, you didn't have any nightmares

. . .

Lucerys had arrived back home to Dragonstone with his tears dried upon his cheeks, he had no more to cry

He was weak and small, but he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and not even that had been enough

He was intercepted by Daemon, that was furious

“Where have you been?”, he barked, grabbing him by the arm, “we had been worried sick”

“I tried to get her back”, he said silently

“What?”, he growled

“I met with Aemond, to offer myself for her”

“You did what? Are you mad? this was reckless, what if he had killed you? Can you imagine what your mother would have suffered?”, he said, shaking him, like that way he could restore him to sanity

“He didn’t take the chance to blind me”, he said, “I told him I was giving myself away, in exchange for her, and he wouldn’t go for it”

“We have Otto”, he said with a pleased smile

“What?”, asked lucerys

“A ship from Corly’s fleet caught him, he was trying to cross the Narrow Sea to gain support from those triarchy cunts”, he said, “we have him”

“We can trade him”

“Damn right we can”, he said with a wide smile, “we have a gathering”. he said, “a summit, with the great houses, and those traitorous cunts, there, we will discuss your sister’s release for him”, it was an improvement that he was still alive, thought Luke

. . .

“Let’s give them the little bastard and be done with it”, said Aegon

“No”, sentenced Aemond, “not her”

“Aemond, they have your grandfather”

“Let them keep him”

“Aemond!”, shrieked Alicent, “he is your grandfather”

“He is a cunt that whore you out to Viserys, manipulated you for years, made you believe Rhaenyra would kill us, only to place this whoremonger, drunk cunt on the throne”, he said, Alicent was so enraged she didn’t know what to say, “let them kill him”

Aegon laughed, approving of his brother’s words, Alicent just covered her mouth

“How could you say something like that? everything we have done has been to keep you all safe”

“We are in the most dangerous position”, he said simply, “he will throw us all into war, for his ambition, we could all die for it”, he said, “yes we could kill them also, but it is naive to think all of us will survive”, he said, “Rhaenyra has the numbers”

“We have dragons”

“They do too”, he said, “and an the most powerful armada of the seven Kingdoms”

“Aemond, you did it”, she said softly, “you… had her, dishonored her… showed to everyone what she is…it is done”

“I’ll decide when it's done”, he growled, Aegon slapped the table, wanting the attention

“I am the King!”, he said, “i’ll decide when it's done”

“She is with child”, Aemond said, Alicent paled

“Aemond”

“She is with my child in her belly”

“It's been less than a moon”, she said then, “you can’t be sure”

“I’m sure”

“I don’t care”, said Aegon, “she goes”, he said. Aemond raised from his seat enraged, “careful brother, or we might start thinking you care about her”, Aemond walked away from the room, enraged

He found you reading, cuddling by the fire in the hearth of the room

As you always did you trembled when you saw him, and he give you a satisfying smirk

“Your treacherous family has my grandfather”, he thought he was going to see relief in your eyes, but he only saw fear

“I’m sorry”

“You are going to be”, he said, taking off his vest and undoing his breeches, “get on your knees”

You stood up from your place, walked towards him and did as he said, kneeling in front of him, who had sat on the bed.

Aemond released his hard cock

“Suck”, he was impatient, and angry, he didn't wait for you to make up your mind, he grabbed you by the back of the head, grabbing into your hair roughly, you whined, but he didn't care you opened your mouth and he stuck his cock in it, until you were choking and crying

“Do you hate me yet?”, he teased, you shook your head, “auw, aren’t you sweet?”, he pushed until your nose touched the hairs on his groin, you whined, not being able to breathe. He grunted above you, you tried to look at him, and his eye were closed in pure pleasure. Droll fell from the corners of your lips, making your chin burn

It didn’t last long, still grabbing you by your hairs he pulled you up only to throw you to be the bed

“Lay back, spread your legs”, he commanded, and just like the night before, you obeyed him without fighting

He took his time to admire you, specially the brand he had drawn on your thigh, the A could be seen, clear as day, he caressed it with his thumb

“We have to take advantage, in a moon’s time we have a summit with the high lords, they are going to try and trade you for my grandfather”, he muttered

He kneeled on the bed and he grabbed your hips, raising them and drawing you to him, and then he thrusted into you, making you whimper

“No need to prepare you this time”, he mocked, “I knew you were a wanton little whore”, a single tear fell from your eyes as he started pounding roughly into you

It was foreign, for him to cuddle you like he had been doing for the past nights

You didn’t even know how long it had been since he had you here, trapped in these chambers

“Do you hate me now?”, he insisted, you didn’t know why is was so important, the answer was the same

“I don’t hate you uncle”

“What do I need to do to you for you to hate me?”, he asked quietly

“Why would you want my hate?”, you asked, tired

Yes, why?

Perhaps to make himself feel better, perhaps if you all hated each other this would be much easier. Perhaps he was angry, because he had spend all these years hating the lot of you, and you didn't hate him back, he had barely been in your mind those years you were in Dragonstone

He was desperate to coax some feeling into you

You had loved him, you had said so yourself

Had

You clearly didn’t love him now, so the next best thing he could do, was make you hate him

Because he had loved you to

Since he was a child and you a little girl, he loved you innocently, with a still pure heart.

But then his mother and grandfather poisoned him, poisoned his mind, his heart, putting into his head that you were just a little bastards who was out for their inheritance, their birthrights, that you were a little whore even if you were a young girl, just like your mother, that you were there to manipulate, to whore yourself out to get what you wanted

So his sweet, innocent, healthy childish crush became a dark obsession, because he shouldn’t want you, he should hate you, and yet… He started desiring you with his whole being… It was wrong, he was a prince, a prince taught by the teaching of the New Gods, and you were a bastards born of filthy and impure desire

At that point you were already in Dragonstone, but Aemond never forgot about you

By the time he saw you again during Driftmark, he couldn’t hide it no longer, despite what he knew his mother was going to answer, because she was intended on making peace with Rhaenyra

But that cunt took you away from him, scared

How could you refuse him? him? a prince of the realm, a Targaryen Prince, not a bastard like his children

When he came to his senses, he felt a warm liquid on his chest, you were crying, and he was grabbing so hard into you he was bruising you

“I just want to know why you hate me and my brothers so much”, you whined

Deep down he knew it was wrong, he knew that you were not at fault…

But you flaunted it

You and your little bastard brothers flaunted your inheritance, your dragons, always laughing, forgetting practice, not taking it serious enough

And then that little bastard took his eye

After he rightfully claimed Vhagar

He took his eye and his own father wouldn't defend him against them.

He hated you because you were happy, and you had the love of the man who was supossed to love him the most

And he was wretched

And yet he couldn’t answer, he didn't find it in himself to look until he found a clear answer

So he didn’t

You hugged him, hugged his torso, your face on his chest

“I don’t want you to hate us”, you whined

Perhaps they were just children, manipulated by their parents, their frustrations, anger and hate rubbed into them, passed onto them like a twisted disease

“Why?”, he asked

“Because I’m scared of that hate”, you answered, “all that hate is going to get us all killed”, you whispered, “I don’t hate you uncle”, you said then

“Even though I killed your dragon?”

“I don’t hate you”

“Even though I raped you bloody?”, he asked in an even tone, you shook your head, “and I called you a whore, and a bastard?”

“I don’t”

This cycle of hate had to end with you.

“You don’t want me dead?”, he asked

“No”, you whispered, “I just wish we could all be small again, and play together like we used to, we could have been good friends”, you said childishly

You had been so protected and guarded your entire life that you still held onto that childishness

He chuckled

He had killed your dragon, drowned you, raped you, choked you, humiliated you, defiled you, and the only thing you wanted was for him not to hate you, to go back in time and start over, so you would all be friends

Oh you were so innocent

So pure

“I don’t hate you Zaldrïtsos”, he said finally

He just enjoyed hurting you

He just enjoyed possessing you, it was much better, to take you by force... But he wanted you, you didn't want him back, but he had the power to take you by his own. It was exhilarating

But he didn't hate you

He wanted you so much that it hurt him

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Unravel

König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Read here on Ao3)

(Part 10 of 'Little Mouse')

Word Count: 4.2k Rating: Mature Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Hints of yandere König, Price Whump, Injury mention, Kidnapping, Capture, Angst, Violence, Torture, Slow-burn, Cliffhanger, König POV Warnings: Torture, Graphic depictions of violence, References to Rape/Non-Con, please read at your own discretion A/N: Please heed chapter warnings and note rating has changed

There's a steady drip of water inside the basement that grates at the back of König's senses, leaking from an overhead pipe and pooling in an oily puddle just past the toes of his boots. Fluorescent colors reflect off the surface, a viscous abstract of color that shimmers with every new drop. It's the kind of detail his mind would normally fixate upon, thoughts elsewhere and needing something to anchor to as the tides of his own emotions swirl uncertainty inside him. Roiling, churning, stretching and yawning wide inside the confines of his mind, seeking more space inside him than he can provide.

König comes down here into these rooms often to do just that, a secret hiding spot away from his team where he can exist in peace, calm the tumult of his mind in the dank, dark silence. Here he’s usually alone, has space to let the shadows of his doubts fester inside him, allow himself to pace the space endlessly in search of answers he cannot summon. König knows the dips and grooves of the uneven concrete floor like the back of his scarred hands, and can navigate the room blind if he needed to. It's quiet here, still, a desolate sanctuary in which to indulge the refuge of his psyche.

Now, the room fills with the iron tang of blood, grunts and creaks of a metal chair as the man in front of him receives another brutal blow across his jaw, spits blood onto the worn floor where it pools viscid and red.

Price.

The captain's arms are wrenched behind him at a jarring angle, fastened up to his elbows so he can't even have the mercy of trying to bend them to lessen the strain on his shoulders. Red drips from a contusion hidden somewhere under his hairline, his nose leaking- evident of it being broken by brute force. One eye is deeply purple, swollen, clotted with blood from a cut above his brow. He's lost his hat somewhere between Serbia and the satellite base, and no doubt some mercenary somewhere has kicked it uselessly into the dirt, forgotten.

Both Price's feet are cuffed to the iron folding chair under him, the legs wobbling precariously with each punch that rains down on him. Each blow is met with a mild grunt, a barely audible noise that attests to the captain's endurance, his refusal to break. There’s no voice in him, a refusal to bare even his pain to his enemy, an injured predator that snarls and retreats into its red, seeping wounds. Yet there's a pale pallor to his face that's evident of days of no food and little water, stuck here in this deep, dark basement, at KorTac's mercy.

At O'Conor's mercy.

THWACK-!

Price's head snaps to the side, opposite of where it had been knocked only a moment ago, and the force of it is enough to give even König whiplash from where he stands, arms crossed, leaning on the wall and observing the scene with a lidded, heavy stare. The shadows of the room, drawn by one single, flickering bulb above their captive, slant across the towering soldier's body, glinting off his bracers, the darks of his eyes.

Price's shoulders rise as he inhales, and König can hear the sound of something wet, grinding in the captain's chest before he hacks and spits another mouthful of blood at O'Conor's feet.

KorTac's commander laughs.

"Atta' boy, John." Declan huffs, shoulders rising with a barely restrained fury König has become fascinated by. There's an energy that coils in the commander's muscles, hidden under his gear, that reeks of an age-old wound, one that's long since festered and soured in his veins. It’s the thing that captures König as opposed to the man at O’Conor’s mercy, the Austrian’s eyes enraptured by the strange, vicious tale that seems to lie just under his commander’s flesh. He thinks for a moment that if he slices the skin, peels back the layers that the truth of it will come oozing free, dark as tar and dripping over his fingers.

Declan reaches forward and grabs Price by his hair, and Price snarls at the contact. There's a brief moment where König thinks the captain might twist and bite at his former comrade, seize skin between his teeth until he can't be sure where Declan's blood starts and his ends. The thought spikes a familiar interest in him, the low, simmering obsession with the color red, the purr of König's veins thrumming with energy at the violence that comes with war.

Yet Price doesn't rise to Declan's jab. It's remarkable. He's been silent this entire time, barely speaking for days unless asked about something of bare necessity. No doubt the man has conducted enough interrogations during his time in the military to know the exact strategy to keep his captors frustrated but invested, keen on keeping him alive if only for the promise of answers.

What answers Declan seeks, however, remain unclear.

The commander has taken his time to brutalize the captain, knocking him bloody unless Price can barely keep his eyes open. It's nothing short of a miracle the man hasn't passed out from a concussion yet with the punches Declan rains down on him. König thinks that the captain may be staying conscious through sheer willpower alone, and the thought is enough to summon a strange, reverential murmur of respect towards his enemy. Yet while O'Conor had offered only jibes and taunts, he hadn't begun to dissect Price in the way König imagined he intended to.

Truth be told, König is getting bored.

He attends these sessions not to witness Price's suffering, but because it's Horangi's words that needle in the back of his mind, itching at him and leaving him searching for something more.

"You haven't thought about it? That she and O'Conor seem to know more than the rest of us?"

"There's something here we don't know about."

It shouldn't bother him, but it does. Leaves something uncomfortable pricking under his skin. Like poison, the treacherous and horrid doubt of his comrades slithers through his veins. Horangi’s voice seems to float unsummoned in his ears, echoing a ruinous prophecy König can’t seem to ignore. The answers he seeks seem to slip through his fingers like smoke, the scent of blood and charcoal burning through his nose.

Why was O'Conor so obsessed with the 141? What agenda motivated this drive to hunt, to kill? Why was he so intent on capturing Price alive- only to use him as the outlet for a frustration König couldn't understand?

"I think he's had enough, Sir." He offers to the commander idly, watching as Price slumps forward in his chair. The sight pulls something inside him, something sour and uncomfortable, suddenly reminded of the face he saw striving to rescue the captain even as you were hauled away into the night by your comrade. Even now König can hear the scream of pure panic, of fear at losing your captain, petrified and utterly frantic. Your voice overrides everything else for a brief moment, ringing shrilly and leaving a shuddering tinnitus in his ears.

König grimaces under the mask, trying to ignore the phantom ache in his chest.

Idly, he wonders if you'll forgive him for this.

He hasn't lifted a finger to Price, hasn't once stepped forward to strike him as O'Conor has. Yet neither has he aided the man, stepped up to his commander and intervened. To do so would raise a suspicion he cannot afford, not with Roze whispering nefariously in Declan's ear, murmuring about König's persistent distractions, his fascination with the enemy's sniper. With you.

It's too risky now to expose himself like this. Not when the job pays well and he has no way to return to the Austrian armed forces with the trail of destruction he has left behind there. Here is the only place he can exist, can feed the yawning hunger of destruction within him- the slice of flesh and the crunch of bones the only remedy for a need for carnage he struggles to feed. König is resigned to the fact he was fated to be a weapon of war, that there is no gentle epilogue for him.

Besides, he's coming to realize O'Conor wouldn't let him leave even if he ever wanted to chase a destiny unfit for a monster such as him.

"Sir." König says again as Declan seizes Price by his collar, drags him an inch off the floor, only to drop him back down again. The chair valiantly holds despite the sudden weight, but wobbles precariously for a moment before Price goes still once more, head dropping forward and lolling. He doesn't move, but König can tell from the rise and fall of his shoulder the man is still conscious.

O'Conor sighs, smears his bloody hands on his pants before turning. He doesn't look at König, doesn't even seem to notice he's there. His shoulders are coiled tight, eyes sharp, looking for all the world like a wolf poised to pounce, a deadly and inescapable predator. Again, the remnants of an age-old anger seem to simmer just below the surface, a wound that has refused to heal, has deepened and rotted, festered until it has rewritten the man himself.

The commander drags a chair from the corner of the room, the metal scraping sinister against the concrete floor as he brings it to face before Price. He settles backwards in it, heaves a sigh as his arms prop against the back of the seat, regarding his captive.

"Well John." O'Conor speaks after the heavy, oppressive silence that follows. "I suppose we should talk about the elephant in the room then."

König narrows his stare at the commander, tilting his head and regarding the Irishman. There's a tone of familiarity to his words he doesn't fully understand, a thread that needs to be pulled to reveal the red dyed sinew of it.

If Price hears O'Conor, he gives no indication. He remains still, silent, offers no response except the steady rise of his shoulders and his shuddering exhales that shake free of his injured chest.

Declan gives the man a moment before he speaks again.

"You were there, weren't you John?" He asks, quieter now, harder. His voice a low, ominous warning. "In Mozambique, when we were sent into the viper's nest. You were on the other team."

That seems to do something to Price, because the captain's lips tighten into a thin, bloody line, as if he's convincing himself to not speak.

"We were sent to infiltrate the compound of a terrorist leader. Capture him alive at all costs. Two teams. Two helis. Isn't that right, captain?"

It's subtle, but König sees it, the way Price's shoulders just barely deflate, the smallest indication of the words O'Conor speaks are true. König is fascinated by it, finds his eyes tracing a rivulet of scarlet that drips down onto the floor from a cut along the captain's jaw. He doesn't know this mission O'Conor speaks of, but he can begin to understand the vague picture of it, the hazy strangeness of it becoming clearer as Declan speaks again.

Two brothers, comrades in arms. A common oath. Bad intel. A mission gone wrong, and in the aftermath of devastation- a man left behind. A deceit so raw and rotten it managed to change him forever.

"We didn't know that there were armed turrets at the compound. How could we have known? It's not as if there were sat images given to us beforehand. Right, Johnathan?"

A tick. A tiny one in Price's jaw, there and gone before König could fully glimpse it.

"Though I suppose we did know, didn't we?" O'Conor continues, years of anger, of putrid hatred scraping hard against the inside of his throat. "Or...you knew, captain."

He spits the word like it offends him, as if Price's title is a personal affront. It elicits the smallest of reactions from Price, a tightening on his shoulders, an unsteady breath through his broken nose.

O'Conor listens to it, leans forward in his chair and turns Price's bloodied, bruised face to look him in the eyes. Price doesn't flinch, doesn't blink, and König feels something akin to respect at the unflinching, unwavering determination in the captain's blue-eyed stare.

"Who made the call?" Declan asks, voice fatally low, a whisper of imminent lethality.

It's a threat, thinly veiled, a lurking shadow that falls with ominous silence over the room. Yet Price remains entirely unaffected, silent, scowling at his captor. König blinks idly at the expression on the captain's face, noting that even though Price does not speak, the untamed fury in his eyes remains ever clear. A blazing rage that even in silence seems to simmer under König's skin, remind him of the lives this man has taken, the brutality of which he is capable of.

If it unsettles O'Conor to see, he doesn't give any indication. Instead, he exhales through his nose, sits back in his chair a bit, studying the captain.

"I should have known you wouldn't crack so easily." Declan declares, and there's a sudden tint of respect in his voice, and admiration at Price's resolve. Yet then his eyes slide over to König's form, and under the mask König allows himself to frown at the sudden keenness in his commander's gaze.

"I guess we'll have to start using alternative methods so we can have the conversation we want." He says cryptically, his eyes never leaving König's, a piercing stare that suddenly has the Austrian's skin rippling with awareness.

Declan removes his touch from Price, and there’s a moment where König notices a flutter of relief in the man’s eyes. He watches the Irishman turn for a moment, sitting upright in his chair before he looks at König.

König nearly flinches under his stare, feeling a disconcerted uncertainty at the meaningfulness in his commander’s gaze, a message he doesn’t yet understand. The words there whisper an ominous warning, a cryptic clarion of danger he can’t decipher.

"Maybe we'll have to ask that corporal of yours." O'Conor states then, turning back to Price, and that manages to elicit a reaction from the captain, whose head rises and his eyes focus on O'Conor with the briefest flicker of shock.

Declan catches it though, and König sees the sudden light of sadism that passes over the commander's gaze just as confusion fills his own chest.

"That's right, John." He rumbles, voice dipping low, a smile creeping across his face. "You probably don't remember, but we caught that little sniper of yours too. She's a feisty thing, isn't she?"

König resists the urge to shift uncomfortably where he stands, lips pursing under the hood. It's a lie, the idea that KorTac has you in custody, but Price doesn't know that. He was unconscious by the time you escaped, his memories likely a vague haze of fire and destruction and a voice screaming out his name. He doesn't know that you're safe, that the man in the corner had let you go, released you in a moment of pure choice, knowing he was sparing you from the same fate Price faced now.

The thought that even now you could be in another room, restrained, beaten, bloody in the way Price is...

König clenches his fist in the crook of his elbow, forces himself to steady, ignoring the sudden flash of rage that alights within his veins.

"You're lying." Price says then, and König's eyes shoot up to fully regard the captain, who stares not at Declan, but at König. "You don't have her."

König feels something akin to relief then, knowing Price won't fall for this farce, that even now you can't be weaponized against him. It's a strange reaction, this sudden sympathy for his enemy, and König's brow furrows as he considers it, tries to suppress the need to look at Price in pity.

"Are you sure, captain?" Declan asks then, and he wrenches Price's gaze back to him, only for the captain to grimace at the touch fisting his short hair. Yet he doesn’t return Declan’s stare as he did before, full of fire and brimstone and ruin. Now it feels strangely uncertain, and if König stares at him long enough, he thinks he can almost see something akin to despair flicker behind the captain’s eyes.

"Maybe I could have my subordinate here bring her in for a show.” Declan goes on, and there’s a near waver to his voice, like a child that is trying to contain his own inexhaustible excitement. “He's been having quite a lot of fun with her, after all."

There's a moment where König processes the words the commander has just spoken, body rigid, eyes wide, entirely still.

Price snarls.

"You keep your filthy fucking hands off my sniper!" He grates then, throat thick with blood as he thrashes in his restraints. The insinuation is not unlost on him, and now that fury in his eyes has risen to the point of something feral, something primal at the thought of his enemies defiling one of his team in such a way.

Revulsion rises in König's chest, wet and sickly, and for a moment he suppresses the urge to gag at what O'Conor has suggested. Yet Declan's eyes are now turned to König with an unblinking, smirking stare, as if the man seems to know what he's doing, knows the reaction he wrenches from the Austrian.

It doesn’t make sense, this sudden sadism directed not at his enemy, but at his own soldier, his comrade. The confusion and disgust of it roils inside König’s chest as he tries to understand, tries to decipher the look in his eyes, the meaning behind his stare-

Then, in a single instant, the air and the warm, damp air in König’s lungs seems to suck into a void-less vacuum, a dark and repulsive dread rising to take its place.

He knows.

He knows about König's fascination with this enemy sniper of which he speaks, knows how you dance in his thoughts- untouchable, magnificent, a creature he wants desperately to touch to know it was real. Like the strange mythical creatures in his childhood fairytales, König watches you from a distance and wishes he could somehow capture you, and yet knows the beauty of you is that you remain just out of reach, a desperate wish he can never have.

And Declan knows. He knows the lengths König has gone to in order to get the barest glimpse of you, seems to know the confines of his heart through his piercing stare, the whisper of Roze in his ear.

"You." Price suddenly growls, and König flinches at the sudden rise of Price's voice that cracks like broken bones in the silence of the dark basement. The captain's eyes have landed on him now, focused their scopes on the massive figure laying dormant in the shadows.

"I know what you did to her, you bloody bastard."

Price’s voice cuts through König, sharper than any blade and serrated as it slices against his exposed form. The raw, vulnerable center of him, drawn forth by the horror of his epiphany, thumps deafening in his chest. Yet it’s the insinuation of Price’s words that have him recoil in revulsion, the accusation unspoken and yet dangerously clear. If O'Connor's stare has flayed open the bleeding center of him, it’s Price’s words that have landed a fatal blow, driving a jagged sword straight through his festering soul.

“I’ll KILL YOU!!” Price suddenly bellows, thrashing in his restraints with such severity König thinks they might somehow snap and set the man free.

There's a moment where König almost has the urge to press himself against the wall further away from the captain lest he somehow free himself. If the way he nearly suffocated Aksel was any indication, König doubts that size alone will be of any benefit if he ever had to face the captain.

Yet it's not that, but the dripping, sneering ichor of Price's words that have König shrinking backwards into himself at the captain's accusation. That he had...touched Maus, had tainted her in such a way, robbed her of her own autonomy in a way that makes his stomach lurch with utter disgust.

I didn't. He wants to say, wants to plead. I never would hurt Maus like that, or anyone, I'd-

Yet then König's eyes flicker to O'Conor, realizing the emotions painted clear across his eyes, and he flinches at the change in the commander's stare. Gone now is the sly, smirking sadism in the man's eyes, a dark pleasure at Price's fury. Instead, there's a warning, a threat in his gaze that ruminates with consequences, dire implications at König's treacherous thoughts.

Don't speak. It seems to say. Say nothing.

This is your punishment for straying away from your duty.

Traitor.

A dark, uncertain void fills König's chest, the air suddenly stale, his own doubts cracking at the frame of his body, pushing outwards from his chest. Price snarls again, a threat, but one that König doesn't fear as much as the commander's dark, warning stare that seems to seize him and drag him downwards into that pool of ichor that puddles at his feet. He sinks into it, thrashes at the tar that binds him as he descends, fury swallowed by a franticness that has him somehow reaching for you within his mind, if only to drag you down with him.

The panic of his carefully guarded lies, of being accused of something so rotten by the one you respect so much, makes bile rise sharply in his throat, and without a word König pushes off the wall, turns and throws the door open to the room before storming away in disgust. Price’s voice echoes after him, thunderous and utterly furious, a promise of a slow, painful death should the man ever be set upon him. König can hardly blame him, not with the things he must believe, the murderous contempt he must harbor for him.

Yet there’s nothing König can do to try and defend himself, not with O’Conor’s watchful stare, his finger on the trigger to destroy the Austrian if he so wished.

He’s such a fool.

A fool for allowing himself to be exposed like this, for letting himself be obvious, rendering him helpless against the truth. Yet more than that he’s a fool for allowing himself to be mystified, entranced by the one thing he could not have, for daring to believe in fairytales from his youth, for reaching for you despite himself.

Now the world around him begins to shatter at the seams, and there’s no doubt in his mind O’Conor will take the barest hint of weakness and pull on it until König becomes unraveled at the seams by his secrets.

There’s a thought then, dark and looming like a thundercloud over green pastures. If Declan knows, he knows now König’s weakness, knows how to use it against him, how to restrain and muzzle him like an animal lest he be allowed to roam free in search of you.

Caged.

A dangerous, wild thing that can’t be tamed. Only killed.

The hallways blur around König as he paces in a mindless fury through them, cursing under his breath, caught in a web of his own design. The familiar ache of regret, of self-hatred bristles and growls inside him, snapping at the fraught sinew of his soul. It’s too much, and the one place König knows to retreat is occupied by the last man he wants to see. The fabric of his hood itches at his face, the air feels too warm, his skin feels like it’s blistering-

He rounds a corner, his boots thundering on the floors, and there’s a smaller figure that doesn’t recoil from his massive stature but instead launches forward. There’s a glint of metal in their hand, and König reacts on pure reflex, massive hands outstretched as he grapples with the smaller person, a grunt of effort escaping him as they thrash, plant a vicious kick to his knee that briefly has him stumble. Yet one hand manages to ensnare the wrist holding the blade, and König hoists it high, throwing them off balance.

The smaller figure backpedals as König pushes forward, and he snarls when their back hits the wall, leaving no room for them to retreat.

There’s a moment where König towers over his attacker, pupils blown wide, chest heaving with a feral exertion summoned only by his anger. The person under him seems to freeze upon recognizing the fury stored inside him, and their eyes dart up towards his own- shocked, fearful, bright, and-

König freezes, the hot, searing rush of anger in his blood cooling so quickly it forces the air from his chest.

“You.” He whispers, slightly breathless, voice still rough but now full of wonder.

“…Maus?”

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#König #könig x oc #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #reader insert #x reader #fic: little mouse #cod #cod mw22 #cod konig

640 notes · View notes

melodygatesauthor · 10 months

Text

The Fractured Moon - Part 3

Yandere! Moon Boys X f!Reader

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Not Beta Read - Series Masterlist

Summary:

After Steven's ruthless beating, you need time to recover, and the boys are going to show you how nice they can treat you, if only you'll let them, and as long as you behave.

Tags/Warnings (for entire series):

Disclaimer: I created this fic for the sole purpose of exploring the yandere thing as a fanfiction "kink" in a safe way and in a safe space. I in no way would want this to happen to myself or someone else. This fic is not a reflection of my moral beliefs. - Further, this fic is not an accurate representation of people with DID (dissociative identity disorder). These men happen to have DID and I'm putting them in a situation where they would have an unhealthy obsession with the reader character. NSFW, Stalking, non-con, somnophilia, rape, mentions of murder, drugged sex, kidnapping, manipulation, dacryphilia, voyeurism, threats of physical harm, copious amounts of sex, copious amounts of unprotected sex, blood, unrealistic refractory period, biting, slapping, hitting, reader is smol, choking. This is a Dead Dove Do Not Eat situation.

Word Count: 4079

----

Steven came into your room in the afternoon, the day after the beating you’d endured by his hand. He looked at you with a guilty expression, seeing immediately that your skin was discolored in places where he’d hit you. It didn’t go unnoticed either, the way your face looked panicked when he stepped into the room. He’d never seen you so afraid that you were driven to get up and scurry to the corner, sliding down the wall on your back and tucking your knees into yourself, as though you were hiding from him. Jake didn’t even make you this afraid.

“What did you expect hermano? What you did wasn’t discipline, it was torture,” Jake said coldly.

If Jake was the one telling Steven that he was out of line, then it must’ve been true. He didn’t mean to hurt you that badly, he was just so angry when he saw you with that filthy plastic toy. The idea that you chose something like that over him when he was right there, warm and ready to give you what you needed, still made his cheeks flush with rage. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Darling, I–” You tucked your head down further at the sound of his voice.

Steven’s entire body felt cold. He’d really gone too far, hadn’t he? Jake was right. It was one thing to teach you a lesson. A few welts on your rear, and maybe some bites to remind you who you belonged to, but what Steven had done…it was reckless, and monstrous. He’d never felt so terrible in all his life.

“I’m so sorry.”

He walked over and knelt down in front of you. You gasped when he reached out and touched your forearm gently. You pulled your arm back, afraid he was going to hurt you. He felt the butterflies in his stomach flutter when you looked up at him. Still so stunning, even with, sometimes especially with, fear etched in your pretty face. He gave you the softest expression he could, brows knitted together and turned up in concern.

“I shouldn’t have hit you that hard,” he admitted. He could’ve left it there, but he didn’t want the lesson to be lost in his kindness. “I hope you understand why I had to teach you a lesson, despite my being a little too harsh.”

You shook your head, “you’re a nasty man.”

Your words stung, and Steven had to try and keep his cool. You were upset, and you had a right to be, he knew that, but hearing you call him nasty…that was a lot to overcome. Steven wasn’t nasty. Rapists were nasty. Murderers who killed innocent people were nasty. Steven wasn’t any of that. He was kind, loving, protective, and anything you could want in a man. That was why he knew you loved him. He would never hurt you…not really. He reached out his hand again, and that time he brushed your cheek with his thumb, despite your flinching.

He shook his head, “I don’t want to hear you saying horrible things like that love. I’m not a nasty man. S’not nice for you to say that. I’ve done nothing but care f’you, and love you, right? How can you call me nasty? How can you say something like that?”

You furrowed your brow, “you kidnapped me, raped me, all of you–”

He covered your mouth quickly, “no, no, no, shhh,” his eyes were wide. “That is not true.”

You saw his eyes start to well and his bottom lip started quivering. Was he so delusional that he didn’t see the truth? That he and his brothers had brought you there against your will and tortured you? Did he really think you were happy? No one could be that blind to the truth…could they?

“Can’t have you sayin’ things like that love, lyin’ and whatnot. S’not nice to do yeah?” He looked at you with what looked like desperation, “I brought you home to us, I give you love, I make you feel good. That’s all. You can call it whatever you like, but lyin’ is a bad habit to get into darling. I don’t wanna have to teach you another lesson.”

It was clear that no matter what you said, he was going to spin this around to fit his twisted fantasy, so you decided to remain silent. Speaking out against him would only lead you to more pain. He took his hand off your mouth slowly, as though you might explode if he released you too quickly. His expression softened into a look of adoration. It made you uneasy.

“I’m gonna do somethin’ special for you tonight, alright, so do me a favor, yeah? Get yourself all cleaned up nice, put on somethin’ pretty f’me, and I’ll give you a nice reward for being so good an for taking your lesson so well last night.” He stood up and started walking toward the door.

“I don’t have any clothes,” you reminded him.

He turned around, “oh god, you’re right. Silly me. I’ll have Jake pick somethin’ out for you, he’s got good taste.” When Steven smiled, you noticed how handsome he really was. You hated yourself for thinking it, but it was true. “I think you’ll like what I’ve got in mind f’you tonight. Gonna give you a chance to get out of your room for a bit.”

That was, unfortunately, the thing that made you behave better than the beatings. The promise of even the smallest dose of freedom. To be able to get out of the room you’d spent the last week in. Or was it longer than that? You couldn’t recall. You shouldn’t be that excited for something so simple, but you couldn’t help feeling a little giddy at the thought of getting out of the room, even if it was under their supervision.

You washed yourself well, and the hot water soothed your aching body. When Jake came in later, he brought you something to wear. It was a sheer babydoll lingerie top. You held it in your hands while the man looked you over. He grabbed your chin in his gloved fingers, tilting your head side to side. He tsked as his eyes trekked over your body.

“He really got you good, hm princesa?” Jake brushed a finger over one of your bruises forcing a wince and hiss from your lips. You stepped back. “Steven doesn’t understand the craft of fixing bad behavior. He gets a little…carried away.” He smirked, looking you up and down. “Put the top on, let me see it on you.”

You took the baby blue top and slid it over your head. You felt pretty in it, and you hated that you liked the gift they gave you. There were no bottoms it seemed. Despite their kindness, they still wanted to leave you open for their needs at any time. You didn’t see the point in arguing, panties or no panties, they were going to take you any time they wanted anyway.

“Muy hermosa.” He stepped forward and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. “Steven’s the lucky one tonight.”

Later, Marc brought you some food to eat, and he nearly dropped the platter when he walked into your room. You looked like an angel, donning your beautiful, sheer top. He knew that he was going to have his time with you another day, but he wanted to take you right then. His breath hitched in his throat while he watched you eat, taking your small bites as usual, as though you still didn’t trust the food they handed you.

“You’re so sweet baby, love seeing you in this little outfit. Jake’s got good taste,” Marc commented.

“Always have amigo,” Jake said amusedly from the headspace.

“Will you make her hurry up Marc, m’gettin’ impatient. She’s just so beautiful and I…I want her now.”

“Take your time honey, don’t want you getting a tummy ache,” Marc said, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

Steven was hurt after that, feeling wronged by Marc in the worst way. It was already hard enough to share you between the three of them, and now the man was just taunting him. None of the boys were ready for you to know their secret yet, and that was the only thing keeping Steven from fronting and dragging you out of the room to spend time with him in that moment.

He was relieved when you were finally finished eating, and Marc took away your food, kissing you gently on the cheek before leaving the room so Steven could get ready. He wasn’t getting all dressed up, all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch with you and listen to you read. He had no other demands, no requests for you other than to hear your beautiful little voice while you read from the pages of the book they saw you reading in the library. Steven felt like that was ages ago.

----

The Beauty and the Beast.

The book seemed ironically fitting now. You held it in your trembling hands, unable to peel your gaze off the book. You wondered if you’d ever stop shaking, but you supposed that so long as they kept hurting you, you’d be afraid of any interaction with them; even if the interaction seemed as innocent as curling up on the couch and reading.

“Come now love, lay here with me,” Steven felt his heart skip several beats when you looked up at him from the pages you were shuffling through.

You looked radiant, lit by the flames of the crackling fireplace. They licked over your skin, illuminating you in a way that made you look even softer than Steven thought possible. Sometimes he forgot how lucky he was, until his eyes fell over your body once more. You were his, and you weren’t going anywhere. He held out a hand to you, a love-drunk smile spread across his face.

You flinched back when he presented you with his hand, gasping sharply and dropping the book on the ground. Steven’s demeanor shifted from pleasantly affectionate to scorn. He stood up from the couch, forcing you to jump back, fearful that he might hurt you more. You dropped to the ground, grabbing the book and holding it to your chest tightly, keeping your eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry!” You said loudly, feeling your entire body shaking in terror.

“Get up,” he demanded, “tired of seein’ you acting like you’re afraid of me.”

You slowly stood, knees practically knocking together while you tried to stabilize yourself. Your breathing was shallow, and you felt tears welling in your eyes as you turned them up to look at him. Steven’s mouth was turned into a dark frown, brow furrowed in frustration. He felt so damn guilty for hurting you. He really did, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being a bit dramatic. He didn’t hit you that hard, right?

“Turn around.”

It was a simple command, and you weren’t too dumb to obey it, but the fear they’d instilled in you had left you paralyzed. What was he going to do when you turned around? Not being able to see him made you even more afraid. You found the courage to do it anyway, knowing that your punishment would be far worse if you didn’t comply.

You felt his hands, gentle, but still forcing a flinch out of you, as they traced along your spine. He brought them to your sides, along your ribcage and then he held your waist. You grunted when he lifted you, and he backed up to the couch, where he sat slowly, resting you on his lap, your back resting against his chest.

He was hard already, cock prodding against his sweats as though it were reminding you that it was still there. You hadn’t forgotten, your cunt was still aching from the last time he’d been inside of you, just the night prior. You let out a soft whine, to which Steven smiled against your ear. He let out a long exhale, one that told you he was going to want more than just a little story time before the night was through.

“Go ahead love, start reading f’me,” his breathing was ragged and desperate in your ear.

Steven listened as your pretty voice began reciting the book obediently. You were acting so much better now; better than when you’d first arrived. He felt a swell of pride through his chest as he pressed his lips against your cheek. You stuttered as you read, breathing becoming more shallow as he worked his kisses down your neck.

“Don’t stop love, keep goin’,” he demanded in a breathy rasp.

You’d managed all that time to keep your physical feelings at bay, but you couldn’t deny the heat pooling in your core at his touch. His hands that were resting casually on your outer thighs were now rubbing against you slowly as he became more and more restless. You knew he was preparing to take you again, never giving you a moment’s rest despite how badly your body still ached from everything he’d done. You stopped your reading, a small whimper escaped your lips; a feeble attempt at begging him to stop without saying it verbally.

“Now, now darling, I’ll have none of that,” he roughly grabbed your waist in one arm, holding you in place while he slid his sweatpants down underneath you, “you’re gonna take me like you’ve taken me before, and you’re going to keep on readin’ like the good little girl I know you can be.”

Steven could feel the way you pressed your thighs together tightly and it pissed him off. He still didn’t understand why you were acting like this, like you didn’t want him as badly as he wanted you. It was obvious that his touch made you feel good. He felt it every time he was inside of you, and he felt it now, the way your cunt was leaking all over his lap, soaking everything it touched.

“I think you’re just a little tease. I think you like makin’ me work for it, you like seein’ how bad I want you? Is that it, love?” He let a dark snicker escape his lips, breath still hot against the soft skin of your neck. “Well…” Steven brought his hands over your legs and then between your thighs, forcing them apart easily, despite your efforts to keep them closed, “I’m quite over it now love. I want it, and I’m gonna take it.”

He lifted you with ease, lining himself up with your hole before sheathing himself inside of you. He let out an exhale of relief, as though he needed to bury his cock in you the same way someone might need cold water on a hot day. You dropped the book on his leg and held onto his thighs tightly, choking on your pained grunts as they tried to leave your mouth. He sat there, unmoving, save for the way he continued to pepper your neck in gentle pecks.

“Didn’t tell you to stop readin’ did I, love?” He asked, reaching for the book and placing it back in your shaking hands.

You continued reading, feeling his cock throb against your walls with every word you read from the page. You felt one of his hands snake around to grab your breast, while the other moved over your thigh and between your legs. You stopped reciting the words again, unable to spit out another sentence as his fingers searched for your sensitive nub in the sea of your juices.

“See, this is why it seems so silly when you try to act like you don’t need me, love. You can’t even read a damn book when I touch you,” he said in a low growl while circling his finger over your clit. “Keep going.”

You gulped and let out a shaky exhale before continuing. His breath brushed over your neck while he continued leaving soft kisses there. You were overwhelmed by the sensations, feeling his cock twitching inside of you every time his fingers passed over your clit, making your cunt contract over him again and again. When you felt the trickle of his drool running down your throat you stopped reading again.

“If you keep stopping, I’m not going to be very happy darling. M’trying to get immersed in the story and you’re making that very, very hard,” he moved his hips a little, forcing his cock to brush against your cervix.

You gasped, “o-oh god! I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, it’s t-too much,” you whimpered from the over-stimulation.

“Oh love, that’s not true, you can handle me, you’ve handled me before, keep reading.”

Steven started pinching your nipple while you read, making it even harder to continue, but you persisted. Your wounds from the night before, and the reminder that they provided you with, were enough to keep you going. If his goal was to terrorize you into behaving the way he wanted, he’d succeeded. You would do almost anything he asked at this point in order to stop a beating like that from happening ever again. He let out a deep, rumbling moan against your neck, rutting his hips upward.

“So damn wet f’me, how can you lie and say you don’t want this? Such a silly little girl, soaking everything underneath you and saying you’re not enjoying yourself.”

He was right, you’d begun to crave their touch, the feeling of their cocks inside you, their spend filling and spilling out of you. Your heart stopped when you realized you’d stopped reading again. Steven chuckled.

“Since you’re not going to read it…” he pulled the book from your hands.

“Steven…” Marc said with a tone of warning.

Steven had half a mind to bend you over the arm of the couch and spank you with the book until your ass cheeks fell off, but Marc brought him back to reality. Despite his desire to teach you another lesson in obedience, he knew your body couldn’t take it. Instead he positioned the smooth, rounded, leather spine of the book in front of your cunt, resting it between your wet pussy lips.

“I want you to fuck yourself on me, and rub your needy little clit on this book since you don’t seem interested in what’s on it’s pages.”

“B-but–”

“Shh!” He shushed you harshly, “you be quiet now and do as I tell you. I really don’t want a repeat of last night, d’you?” Steven asked, tone deathly serious.

“O-okay, I’m s-sorry,” you said, voice trembling in fear.

You positioned yourself on your knees and started gliding on his length slowly, rising up so the tip was barely in and then dropping back to his base. You were wetter than you’d ever been, and it made you feel embarrassed. You didn’t want to enjoy it, but you couldn’t help yourself. The leather spine of the book had ridges that brushed over your slick clit, and it felt…good.

A shuddering whine left your body, your head fell back over his shoulder as you kept moving, grinding your folds along the book. Steven couldn’t believe you were falling onto him like that, that you were laying over him. You were so pliant, like a sweet little doll chasing your release on his cock. You started moving even faster, breathing heavier with each pass. Steven licked a stripe up your neck, sucking on your skin when he reached the base of your jaw.

“Yeah, you like this don’t you darling? Feels good dunnit? O-oh-god-yes-love-shit…”

His breath was ragged and hot against your skin, causing mind numbing waves to course through over your body and to your core. You felt him grab the back of your head, turning you to face him before covering your mouth in his hungrily. He was so messy, and so noisy when he kissed you, forcing you to swallow his loud moans. His hips moved, rutting upward roughly as you moved back downward, brushing your cervix lightly.

Steven heard a little shaky whine leave your mouth forcing a smile from his own. He looked up at you, precious face stained with tears, lips puffy from all the crying you’d done. He chuckled softly, feeling nothing but pure bliss when he saw you looking at him with cock-drunk eyes. Steven removed his hand from the back of your head and brought it around your side to your breast, tucking his hand inside the baby blue, sheer fabric so he could feel your skin.

“So soft, love…oh yes…”

Steven pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger to which you gasped and whimpered noisily. Those sounds were enough to make him come without ever touching himself, and with the feeling of your little pussy squeezing around him as your orgasm approached, there was no way he could hold on any longer. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close against him while he slammed into you from below.

As Steven started thrusting even faster and harder, your loud cries filled the room from the ache of the stretch. You had no choice but to reach back and hold onto his messy curls for stability, an action that he would misconstrue as intimacy. You were gasping and arching on him, feeling the way his cock filled you while the book’s spine caressed your swollen clit. You could feel it…you were right there…

“Ah! Oh darling, ah-ah–”

Steven’s throat clamped up as his cock twitched and throbbed within your walls. Your soft little hole was so warm, engulfing him and squeezing around his length while you came. He noticed the way you continued sliding your folds over the book, using it to work yourself through your orgasm. Your movements eventually slowed, and as they did, Steven pulled you up off his cock, letting your combined juices spill onto the leather-bound novel when he did.

“Ooh lookie here,” he tsked, “what a mess we’ve made,” he chuckled, “would you look at that?”

He lifted the slick, dripping wet object up to his mouth and licked a stripe along the leather spine.

“Gonna need some help with this, can’t leave it like this or it’ll get damaged yeah?”

You nodded, knowing exactly what he was asking of you. You leaned in, tongue joining with his while you lapped the book together to ‘clean’ it. Steven’s cum tasted sweet and salty, a delicious combination, though you’d never admit that out loud.

He found your mouth with his once the leather was free of both your messes, kissing you with both your combined cum on your tongues. He kept going, he couldn’t resist the taste of you, and he felt himself getting hard again already. You had such an effect on him, he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted you again. Steven grabbed your hips harshly, turning you to straddle him.

“Steven, that’s enough. You have to give her a break. We talked about this, and you agreed,” Marc reminded him sternly.

Steven growled, but you didn’t understand why. You’d done everything he asked. You behaved perfectly, as far as you could tell. He pushed you off of him and pulled his sweats up over his erect cock. You felt frightened, not sure what you should do now, but the last thing you wanted was for any one of them to be mad at you, but especially not Steven. The thought alone was horrific, you felt the panic rising in your chest.

“I’m sorry!” You said quickly, rushing off the couch and over to him.

You grabbed the outside of Steven’s pants with your hand, feeling his bulge through his sweats and hoping that it would make him less upset with you. You touched his chest, showing your willingness to obey, looking up at him with the most pathetic doe eyes you could muster. He chuckled when he looked back down at you. “Oh darling, you’re so adorable I can hardly stand it,” he said, letting out a heavy breath, “you see, I’d love to give you more, I can tell how bad you want it again…” he looked over in the mirror, scowling at Marc, “but it’s Marc’s turn now,” he took your hand off his groin and kissed your fingertips, “we’ll be together again soon, not to worry my little darling.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

458 notes · View notes

pinkcottonlatte · 1 year

Text

ＢＥＯＭＧＹＵᵳᵢ𝓬 ᵣₑ𝓬ₛ

[part 1]

⦾ Ｓｅｒｉｅｓ

⁃ Lover = Lo$er by @wildernessuntothemselves (complete, sub!beomgyu, dom!reader, virgin shaming, degradation, slut shaming, foodplay, mommy kink, breeding kink)

⁃ You are my queen now by @wildernessuntothemselves (complete, switch!beomgyu, switch!reader, dry humping, cumming in pants, dirty talk, unrequited love, non con, extremely unhealthy relationship dynamics, manipulative characters, mentions of and justifications of rape, mentions of miscarriages, spanking, cheating, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, orgasm denial)

⁃ Love affair by @yvesjun (complete, alcohol consumption, swearing, smut (drunk sex, fem. oral receiving, slight degradation, orgasm denial)

⁃ here I come by @ijhyo (complete, horror, swearing ,injuries, character death, mentions of blood, stabbing, knives)

⁃ run by @loveliestfelix (complete, angst, best friends to strangers)

⁃ ghosting by @jjunis (on going, swearing, family issues, abusive parents, mentions of domestic violence , mentions of some light injuries, anxiety ,depression, insecurities)

⁃ stranger things!beomgyu by @bb-eilish (mentions of death, sex, rough sex, dirty talk, pet names, dom!gyu, sub!reader,mutual pining, condom use)

⁃ ugly district by @jjuxii (on going, enemies to lovers, bullying, cursing)

⁃ bj!ben by @minnieves (on going, camboy!beomgyu, mutual masturbation, fingering)

⁃ fuck you series by @fairyofshampgyu (complete, nsfw, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, enemies to lovers, degrading & slut shaming, smut)

⁃ live now! Series by @fairyofshampgyu (on going, camboy, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, solo beomgyu, anal, smut)

⁃ anti-romantic by @tokkibbang00 (on going, college!au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, humor, ex! hyunjin, best friend! yeonjun, indie band! txt, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex)

⁃ one way by @rosewould (on-going, hate sex, mean!gyu, slut shaming, breath play, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, post orgasm torture, dubcon, blood, pain play, breast play, biting, hair pulling, choking, spitting, unrequited crush, failed confession)

⦾ Ｏｎｅｓｈｏｔｓ

⁃ honeymoon by @beomsight (edging, clothed sex, subspace, unestablished dom/sub roles, top!bg, he’s loud, mutual masturbation, drooling, biting, marks, crying)

⁃ needy thing by @beomsight (afab! reader, use of pet name, protected sex, hand job, oral)

⁃ surprise! by @beomsight (subby!bg, voyeurism, edging)

⁃ good boy by @beomsight (strap on, hand job, nipple play, softdom!reader

⁃ rude awakening by @beomsight (afab!reader, smacking, mention of temperature play, sleeping naked, tummy hickeys)

⁃ (blood) lust by @beomsight (afab!reader, lots of mentions of blood, hand jobs, fingering, slight dubcon, penetration, creampie, no protection, light choking, marking, biting, feeding, bloodplay, teasing, slight teasing

⁃ be sweet (I wanna believe in you) by @beomsight (angst, crying, mentions of insomnia, arguments, debilitating anxiety)

⁃ endorphins by @beomsight (poly! Featuring Taehyun, scratching, unprotected sex, creampie, oral)

⁃ control by @beomsight ( ot5, fem!reader, subspace, voyeurism, spanking, orgasm denial, crying, manhandling, fingering, oral), attempt at double penetration (no anal), nipple play,degradation, pet names)

⁃ rush by @idollemon (best friends to lovers, dirty talk, foreplay, no actual intercourse)

⁃ boyfriend by @hyewka (sub!beomgyu, harddom!reader, degradation, slight mommy kink, overstim, dacryphilia, nipple play (m receiving), titty sucking, bed humping, praise kink, dumbification )

⁃ puppy hybrid thought by @hyewka (smut, sub!dog hybrid beomgyu, corruption kink)

⁃ yandere!beomgyu thought by @hyewka (18+, smut, toxic behaviour)

⁃ perv bestfriend!gyu thought by @hyewka (smut)

⁃ gamer!beomgyu by @cheolhub (smut)

⁃ how to get the girl by @ijhyo (college au, strangers to friends to lovers, swearing, lots of food mentions, two small mention of a creepy teacher, making out/kissing, drinking, social anxiety)

⁃ then I’ll be yours by @loveliestfelix (fluff, angst, best friends to lovers)

⁃ take me where your heart is by @loveliestfelix (fluff, some angst, friends to lovers)

⁃ movie night by @loveliestfelix (fluff)

⁃ the best thing that I got by @jjunis (some pining, fluff, college!au, best friends to lovers)

⁃ for worse and for better by @jjunis (angsty fluff, cursing, slight mention of sex, mentions of a breakup, mentions of mental and emotional struggles)

⁃ all one shots of @wildernessuntothemselves (smut mostly)

⁃ stalker!beomgyu by @clubeomgyu (Stalker!Beomgyu, Dom!Beomgyu, Psycho!Beomgyu, Possessive!Beomgyu, Sub!reader, stalking, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, drinking, jealousy, dirty talk, praise, body worship, panty kink, crying kink, overstimulation, orgasm control, forced orgasm, fingering, oral, choking, degradation)

⁃ gyu + incubus!fem reader by @clubeomgyu (intentional lowercase, vouyerism, wet dreams, masturbating)

⁃ sub!gyu & dom!reader by @clubeomgyu (Best friend AU, swearing, use of viagra, masturbation, teasing, praising, degrading)

⁃ beomgyu fingers you in public by @bb-eilish (public fingering, beomgyu cums in his pants, lingerie, changing room, pet names, established relationship, praise, cum eating, licking)

⁃ mini skirt by @gyuubear (Dacryphilia, rough sex, hair pulling, dom!beomgyu, spanking/hitting, public sex, oral, bent over, orgasm denial/edging, degradation, explicit language/pet names, choking, deepthroating, humiliation kink, creampie, MDNI)

⁃ adrenaline rush by @sugarcherriess (Dark themes, noncon, manipulation, use of force and fear, sadism, mind break, piece of shit gyu, use of toys, pussy slapping, lots of internal conflict, cream pie, cum play)

⁃ all one shots of @minnieves (smut mostly)

⁃ all one shots of @fairyofshampgyu (smut mostly)

⁃ dom!gyu x sex tapes of @bangchanswolfpelt

⁃ hey emo boy! by @koqabear (friends to lovers, fluff, smut, lots of piercings, needles, nipple piercings, snake bites and a tongue piercing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of food, cursing)

⁃ only you, darling by @koqabear (featuring yeonjun, yandere au!, cursing, mentions of food/alcohol, unrequited love, pining, possessiveness, overprotectiveness, jealousy, mc is oblivious/trusting, hacking, stalking/harassment, toxic relationships, infidelity, lying, manipulation, brief sickness, nausea, tracking, panic attacks, paranoia and anxiety , threats, arguing, violence, weapons, blood, injuries, MCD, subspace (not explicitly named), unhealthy coping mechanisms, power imbalance, recurring nightmares, hallucinations, PTSD, forced isolation, Stockholm syndrome, guilt tripping, use of collars, brief starvation, choking, guns, vomiting)

⁃ take it! by @koqabear (fluff, angst, smut, featuring Taehyun, constant teasing)

⁃ traces you left by @koqabear (hurt/comfort, Angst, MCD, implied non-verbal characters, mentions of panic attacks, grieving, coping mechanisms, mentions of weight loss/eating disorders, mentions of depression, brief mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief mentions animal death/animal surgery)

⁃ all one shots of @bugsbinnie (some are smut)

⁃ brat by @rosewould (smut, fluff, non idol au, virgin!reader, corruption kink)

894 notes · View notes

her-satanic-wiles · 6 months

Text

Masterlist ⛧ Hellish Delights Masterlist

Words: 8k.

Warnings: Copia’s a piece of shit, rape, non-con elements but more dubcon, mentions of rape, use of the word rape, violent sex, rough sex, dubcon, cnc, filmed having sex (unknowingly), filmed having sex (knowingly), piv, vaginal sex, rough vaginal sex, blood kink, pain kink, rape fantasy, masturbation, semi-public sex, semi-public masturbation, dirty talk, Copia is a creepy old man, rape recreation, spit as lube, fear kink, fear play?, degradation, misogyny, references to free use, reference to bondage, somnophilia, dacrophilia, vaginal fingering, rough fingering, exhibitionism, caught masturbating (close call), groping, coercion; slut shaming, nipple play, fingering, hair pulling, breeding kink, victim blaming, naked woman clothed man, under-negotiated to non-negotiated kinks, possessive, marking kink, use of safeword (sort of), praise, objectification, poor mental health, detailed trauma, aftercare

Author's note: Hey, all! I promise I will get on Divine Desires soon, but this just kept itching away at my brain, and whoooo Nelly, was it difficult to ignore. But here we are now! Please heed the trigger warnings!

The Ghouls aren't demons in my fic. They're humans who work in the Ministry, but they're a different class of profession, somewhere between personal assistants and body guards, depending on the importance of Papa's task.

This is a work of fiction based in the extreme horror category and should be treated as such. I do not condone the actions the characters make, nor am I actively encouraging others to participate in such actions in everyday life. It also does not reflect the personalities of the performers who play these characters.

The purpose of this fic is to shock, scare, entertain, and make readers entirely uncomfortable. If you are not in a headspace where you can safely read and enjoy this story, or even if the trigger warnings make you uncomfortable, I highly recommend and encourage you not to read this. Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction.

If you are struggling to come to terms with past trauma, please talk to someone and seek professional help.

You deserve to feel safe, loved, and cared for. Thank you.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

Phantom didn’t need to be unmasked for Papa Copia to know something was wrong. The ghoul barely made out two words before Copia stood and grabbed his candles. The frantic explanation was given as Copia whipped around his room, trying to find the correct materials. On such short notice, certain members of the clergy wouldn’t be available to help. So Copia would just have to make do with what he had. Or rather who he had. Phantom had told him the situation at hand, but none of Phantom’s words were able to prepare him for what he was going to see.

He could hear your moans - no, screams- echoing down the corridor from the other end - the loud pleasure in your voice bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears atop the sounds of the ten or so pairs of feet clambering down the hall to reach you quickly.

“Will you cum on his cock?” It was Swiss’ voice that sounded above all else, dual-toned and demonic. He was well and truly lost to the possession now. “Will you cum on the cock that rapes you?” Rape. Satan only knew how long you’d been subjected to demonic torture. Yes, your voice was oozing with pleasure, but he could still hear the pain sneaking through it. He could taste your fear on his tongue. You’d consented in the end, as it sounded, but how much of that was genuine want versus the deluded, terrified mind clouded in order to protect its host from life-altering trauma.

“Yes!” You screamed looking back up into his eyes. “I’m gonna c-cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-!”

Copia swung the door open right as your orgasm hit, your mind clouding over and drool dripping from your mouth as you came all over Swiss’ cock. His eyes locked with yours and he had the unfortunate pleasure of watching the light fade, and your body go limp, bouncing with the rough force of Swiss’ hips as he continued to use you for his own gratification.

“You’re just in time, child.” The demon said, thrusts growing erratic. “Witness the gift of the Olde One.”

“He doesn’t advocate for such torment - especially on those undeserving.” Copia remarked as his clergymen took their positions in the room. The demon knew it was outmatched, and thus continued his assault on your body.

“Perhaps. But he advocates for rewards for his finest soldiers.”

“Ah, Asmodeus.”

“In the flesh, child.”

“Not for much longer.”

As the clergy began their chant, and the exorcism truly began, the demon Asmodeus made his final thrusts before releasing his spend into your unconscious body. Two of the Ministry’s ghouls, gargoyles more like, came forth to apprehend Swiss’ body and pull him away from you. Your hips fell onto the floor, ricocheting off the wood. Both Copia’s and Swiss’ eyes were trained on your severely abused core, the white flowing from you and dripping onto the ground, turning the faintest shade of pink as it mixed with the blood Swiss’ cock had forced out of you as he broke you. Copia could feel Asmodeus’ ferocity, his power surging at the sight of you, battered and bruised on the ground, leaking his cum. Given the surge of power coming from him, Asmodeus’ lust had mixed with Swiss’, both of them now fighting to bury themselves deep inside you again and have you once more to quench their lustful thirst.

Copia felt guilt wash over his body as it merged with an ocean of arousal. At the sight of Swiss’ cum spilling from you, his cock began to stir awake, wanting nothing more than to just get on his knees and take you as Asmodeus did. But he was your Papa, he could never bring himself to betray you, like that. If he was buried deep inside you, it would be with you as a willing participant, screaming beneath him, sure, but because he was taking you to paradise.

He shook himself out of the gross thoughts he was experiencing, and joined in to chant with his brethren. When he looked at Asmodeus finally, the demon shot Copia a knowing look before he was banished back to Hell, and Swiss’ unconscious body flopped exhaustedly to the floor. That look he received, told him that the demon saw right through him down to his very tainted soul. And though he knew the clergymen couldn’t read his mind like Asmodeus could, he still feared that someone could tell what he was thinking.

“Phantom,” Copia began, his voice shaky and weak until he cleared his throat, “we must take them all to the infirmary. Please go down and get as much help as you need. Wheelchairs should suffice.”

“Yes, Papa!”

Phantom, eager to save his closest friends turned on his heels and began his journey to the infirmary. Copia looked around the room, his eyes lingering as subtly as they could on each of the clergy’s lower regions, hoping he could find solidarity in such a fucked up situation. He couldn’t - which only added to his guilt.

He waited until everyone was settled on their chairs before he spoke again, giving specific instructions to each of the nurses who had come to assist with the tragedy, then addressing the clergy. “We must keep Swiss and the Sister separated,” he told everyone, “she has been through enough tonight without seeing his face again so soon.”

“What punishment for him, Papa?” a cardinal asked.

Copia sighed. “He was possessed - he would never do this in his right mind. I am… hesitant to sentence him. I’ll leave that up to the Sister’s good graces when she is strong enough to make those decisions. In the meantime, keep them separated.”

Copia followed you all the way down to the infirmary and stayed with you as you were getting immediate treatment. The bruises on your jaw were beginning to show, and your body was incredibly battered and red from the attack. But even so, even as he watched them mend you and put your broken pieces back together, his mind kept showing him your face - the expression twisted on it as you came around Swiss’ cock. The way you sounded still ringing in his ears - the sight of his seed dripping out of you.

He politely excused himself after making sure that you’d be okay and trotted back to his office, slamming the door shut behind him. By now, his erection was full of blood and aching to the touch against the confines of his jeans. His hands fumbled against his robes in desperation, throwing the garment over his head and onto the floor and leaning against the doorway as he pushed his jeans down far enough to expose himself. The cool, crisp autumn air making his balls tighten and his nipples erect beneath his shirt. His hand, still hidden beneath his leather glove, received a healthy glob of spit before he wrapped it around the head and began to stroke, spreading his saliva around and lubricating the slide.

He groaned at the sensation, his back fully pressed against the wood of his door. The slide was impeccable, but nothing compared to how you’d feel. Swiss wasn’t a small man by any capacity, and so Copia swallowed some guilt forming as he let his mind wander. Did he ruin your cunt? The amount of time he was inside you was so great, did he form a space just for him? Or were you still as tight as Copia wanted you to be? He imagined you’d still be nice and tight for him, though, he couldn’t help the way his cock twitched at the thought of him invading a space carved out by another man.

Copia always made it abundantly clear he wasn’t like other men, and sometimes that was to his detriment. For you, especially, he wanted you to feel safe around him, loved by him. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable in any capacity because he prided himself on being one of the “good guys”, that he’d never betray you in the same way the other men did. He worshipped women, he’d never be misogynistic to one. He was a stand-up, tolerant man. Yet there he was, walking slowly towards his desk and positioning himself against it, rubbing his erection so hard and fast, his arm was beginning to ache in discomfort with the image of you being roughly taken by one of his hardest-working ghouls. And he couldn’t help imagine what it would feel like to have been in Swiss’ - no, Azmodeus’ position - how tightly you’d cling onto him as he used you for his own pleasure; how your delicious cries would travel all the way down to his erection and have you weeping below him. He wondered how deliciously you’d sound begging for him to stop, pleading with him to show you mercy as he took what he wanted and gave not a single fuck for your wants, desires, or even personal pleasure.

His eyes shut tight as he savoured the sensations he experienced when he swung the door open, the painful pleasure painted on your face as you came for Lucifer knows how many times. How you passed out and your body went limp from exhaustion, yet bounced at the violence of Swiss’ thrusts. How his mouth went dry when he saw your red and swollen pussy eject Swiss’ seed, and pool amongst your blood on the floor. And with that final sight, his own orgasm reached him - his cum spurted across his desk and gathered on the wood, sending flashbacks to Swiss’ cum gathering the same way beneath you. He grunted animalistically, mouth hanging open as his body tingled from the force of his orgasm, toes curling in his boots and hand slowly coming to a halt, yet still wrapped tightly around his cock.

This was when the guilt was beginning to set in. Though you may have consented towards the end - you weren’t in your right mind. Copia had no idea just how long you’d been the subject of Azmodeus’ torment - or rather, torture - and thus knew that whatever happened to you earlier was not done with your willingness and permission. Yet there he was, eyes fixated on his cum as though it had tumbled from your delectable core, with disgust filling him from bottom to top as he realised just how gross he’d been. If you found out about this - you’d never trust him again. The Satanic Church didn’t welcome things like this in the same way Catholocism did. Granted they pretended they didn’t, but no actions were taken against the perpetrators of such crimes. And he was Papa. He was supposed to keep you safe. He’d failed you then, and as he wiped his spend from the mahogany, he realised he’d failed you now.

Life passed without incident until a few days later, when it had been brought to his attention by one of the guitar techs that Swiss kept disappearing from his duties and no one knew where he went for hours at a time. Copia knew. He didn’t want to believe it, but he had his suspicions. Immediately, he went into his office and switched on the computer, clicking away at menus and windows until he found what he was looking for: the security camera footage. He clicked on the first video in date chronological order and sat there, studying each frame. At first, nothing happened: it was just Swiss sitting at the foot of your bed, and by the looks of his shoulders - he was sobbing. He saw you two engaging in conversation - how your eyes widened in apparent fear as you registered who was there with you. He couldn’t help the stirrings of excitement at the sight of you visibly recoiling from Swiss’ presence, and then later from his comforting touch. Then, it all happened so fast.

One moment you were having a conversation, you nodded at him and then Copia watched as Swiss climbed on top of you. He was like an animal - a desperate, hungry animal that needed to be sated immediately or he’d die of whatever ailment was afflicting him. Swiss pawed at your bedsheets and hospital gown as he exposed your heavily bruised body to the elements, and spreading your legs wide enough to fit himself in between them. Swiss immediately pushed into you, and you winced as though you felt the same searing pain you felt the first time he did. But after a few uncomfortable thrusts, the pleasure returned once more, and your hands, now finally responding, flew to his shoulders and grasped on, digging your nails into his skin.

Copia’s cock was standing to attention at the sight of Swiss taking you again, and you accepting him willingly. And this time, he knew it was willing - your head nod was enough for him to know that you wanted Swiss inside you again - you wanted to feel that fucking cock take you for a second time. Copia was all but foaming at the mouth, fumbling with his robes once again and freeing his achingly hard cock. He barely even had the wherewithal to spit on it, so desperate to time his hands with Swiss’ hips, he was more than willing to start rubbing himself dry. Any pain he felt could be retribution for his perverted actions.

He cursed - partly at the feel of his cock being abused by his own hand, but also in frustration at the stupid, shitty fucking cameras they put everywhere had no fucking sound! Sweet Satan, he’d give his left nut to hear what Swiss was saying to you, and he’d give his right one to hear your response. He couldn’t even see Swiss’ lips to lip read anything, so instead he let his mind to the work.

He imagined Swiss telling you how much of a whore you were for him, letting him fuck you in an infirmary where anyone could walk in. He imagined Swiss reminding you of what he did to you the day before, and how he would do it again and again if he could. Lucifer knows Copia would. Copia would keep you bound and gagged and spread wide open for him to use as and when he saw fit. Copia would take your tight little cunt for hours at a time, and offer you no reprieve until he had his fill. What if Swiss was telling you that he wanted to do that very thing to you? Would Swiss let Copia have a turn on you? Would Swiss watch? Before Copia had chance to cum, Swiss had already done so, and was climbing off you. Copia loosened the grip on his dick but still continued to watch as Swiss walked away.

The next video was dated to the very next day, and began with Swiss entering your room while you were asleep. His hand reached up your legs and dipped below the comforter. That fucking scrap of fabric was obstructing his view, but Copia understood exactly what was going on, especially when your hips started bucking in response. He was fondling your body as he played with your clit, biting his lip and molesting you as you slept. Your body clearly wanted it, though, given how willingly your legs parted and your hips chased the pleasure. When your eyes fluttered open, so achingly innocent Copia wanted to bite you, again there was a flash of fear behind your eyes before you became soothed at Swiss’ face. He was smiling, a devilish grin that would no doubt make even Copia quake in his boots, but you, still sporting bandages and unable to make full expressions, were staring at him, daring him to take it further. You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t, but instead you pointed up at the camera, and for a brief moment, Copia felt his heart fall out of his ass as both you and Swiss were looking directly at him. Neither of you knew Copia was there, of course. At that time, no one was. But it didn’t stop Copia from feeling like he’d just been caught by you both with his cock in his hand and said hand rubbing it vigorously, like a horny teenager who’d peered into the girl’s locker rooms.

Swiss took the comforter and pulled it off your body, folding it haphazardly over the foot of the bed and exposing your pretty, little cunt to the room. Given the camera was positioned to your right and in the corner of the room, he couldn’t see everything he wanted to see, but he got a glimpse of your labia parting as Swiss’ fat fingers spread them to access your cunt. His fingers entered you, and wasted no time stretching you open for him. Copia watched your body jiggle helplessly beneath the wrath of his hands, and how little Swiss cared for your hands grappling onto him and holding on for dear life. Copia’s hand once again matched Swiss’ tempo, and found himself coming to the edge far quicker than he wanted, but he just couldn’t stop himself.

Ashamedly, Copia came before he could even finish the second video. Your face was contorted in absolute agony as Swiss pushed into you and fucked you hard without giving you a moment’s rest to recover and get used to his size. Copia’s cum landed on his screen, splattering all over your pixelated face as a fucked up cum tribute. Copia wondered how your face would look covered in his cum in real life, and that almost got his cock standing on edge again. The guilt settled in soon after, but not as much as it did the first time he came to you. This time because your consent was all over these encounters. You let Swiss fuck you now, legs spread for him willingly and screams no doubt wanton for his cock. You let him maneuver your body in ways benefiting the security camera. You nodded, and cursed, and screamed out your consent as Swiss played with you. His only guilt now was that you didn’t know he was watching you.

Yet, he downloaded each and every single one of those videos (there were seven in total, one of each day of your time in the infirmary), and each one a varying degree of fucked up with you in a varying state of healed. In one of those videos, Swiss had just decided to stick his dick inside you as you slept, and you had no idea he was even there until he’d been gone thirty minutes and you felt his cum oozing out of you. Copia watched you use Swiss’ cum as lube and masturbate for hours, cumming four times just with your fingers and glistening with both his release and your own. If he wasn’t such an old man, he’d have joined you in your multiple orgasms. Alas, though his cock was very much interested, his body would have no more of it today.

A day didn’t go by where he’d load up one of the security camera videos and jerk off in his office. By the end of the two weeks you’d been out of the infirmary, and when you’d recovered enough to return to your duties, he’d replayed each of the videos several times. It was like he was addicted, choosing only those videos. When he’d decided to quit them, for fear that his actions and attitudes would change towards you, he’d become unbearably miserable and frustrated with everyone and everything. Everyone noticed the difference, and even gave him a wide berth, just in case he snapped or shouted, something he never used to do. It got to the point where those videos became a necessity, and he hated himself for it. He would continue to hate himself twice a day or a week further before the inevitable happened.

All that time spent with his hand on his cock in his office meant that one day, a knock would come mid-stroke, and he’d be forced to conduct a meeting with a raging boner. It happened, and as he scrambled to close the video and cover his modesty, you walked through the door. Satan, he wanted to pounce on you. Despite all you’d been through the previous month, your demeanour had barely changed. In order to appear respectful to your superiors, you still crept through the door with wide, innocent eyes, body closing in on itself in shyness and submission. Before, he thought this was endearing - telling of your sweet personality. Now, it made him want to rip your clothes off you, bury himself inside you, and take you until you were screaming his name, and shaking beneath him. His cock twitched when you made eye contact with him, and spoke in a soft voice, “You wanted to see me, Papa?”

He did? Fuck - he did! How could he forget he sent one of his ghouls to find you this morning? He needed to know what to do about Swiss - although, the CCTV footage of your infirmary room told him all he needed to know. You didn’t know that he knew, and so he had to at least keep up appearances. “Yes, tesoro.” He gestured to the sofa in front of his desk. “Please, sit.” You sat so prettily on his sofa, making sure your habit was draped in such a way that preserved any modesty you may have had. It all seemed like a viscous facade now. He knew who you truly were when you were naked and vulnerable. “How is your recovery?”

There was still a faint bruise on your jaw from the assault, but otherwise it looked like you were almost completely healed. You confirmed as much in your response, finalising it with a sincere, “thank you.” Those two syllables felt like punches to his gut. ‘Thank you, Papa, for caring about me, and worrying about me. I appreciate you.’ Meanwhile, he used one of the most traumatic experiences of your life as his masturbation material and betrayed your trust twice daily.

“Are you starting therapy now?”

You nodded. “I’ve only had two sessions so far, but she’s already helping me work through things.”

Copia nodded. “That is excellent news, tesoro. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you, Papa. And, I wanted to say thank you for saving me back then. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to tell you, but I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t have come when you did.”

He swallowed, the guilt eating him alive as his mind showed him your face as it came around Swiss’ cock - the first time he’d seen it. His posture changed, allowing his right hand to naturally rest on his thigh, before travelling true north and beginning to rub over his clothed bulge as subtly as he could manage. “Please, do not thank me. I only have your safety and wellbeing at heart.” Fucking liar. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Even still, thank you.”

“It is actually why I wanted to see you today. I wanted you to be strong enough to have this conversation with me. Swiss committed a vile sin, even one Sathanas cannot support. As you know, He is all for depravity but only when all are happy with said depravity. He needs to be punished - let the punishment fit the crime. I wanted you to decide the punishment, as you were the victim in all of this. How do you think we should punish him, tesoro? No limits, what you say goes.”

As expected, the look on your face was made up of stunned silence. Your eyes widened in fear. You didn’t want Swiss to be punished. You’d already forgiven him. The look on your face had his hand applying pressure to his cock. Fuck, you had no right looking this sinful. “I don’t want him to be punished, Papa.” You said quietly.

“But, tesoro… he-”

“I know. But he didn’t, did he? He was possessed. And you sent the demon back to Hell, right? I think that’s punishment enough. Let our Dark Lord punish the demon for his crimes and have him suffer for eternity in the pits of Hell.”

“Well, no punishment will be given to Swiss, if that’s what you ask. I must say, this is highly irregular. A testament to your kindness, I suppose. How do you feel about Swiss?” He was skirting dangerous territory now, but he couldn’t help himself. He wondered if he could use your trust in himself against you, and have you admit to sleeping with Swiss. Copia didn’t know what he’d do if he heard those words fall from your mouth, but he poked and prodded nonetheless. “Would you be comfortable being around him again?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Copia raised his brows in fake surprise. “You truly are incredible, tesoro. After everything? I’m in awe of you. I’m surprised to hear that. Perhaps we can start with - eh - supervised socialising until you’re used to seeing him again.”

You nodded in response, eyes to the ground and refusing to make eye contact. You were shifty. You were withholding the truth. You were obvious about it.

“Tesoro?” He asked, allowing his voice to be just a fraction sterner than usual. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Papa.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” There was silence for a moment. “You’ve already seen him, haven’t you?”

You nodded.

Copia deliberately sighed. “Well, you are a grown adult, tesoro. I cannot stop you from seeing anyone you do not wish to. But you should know I disapprove. He could still have been dangerous to you. I couldn’t bear it if he hurt you again.” There was silence again. “What are you not telling me, Sister?”

“I- Please don’t be disappointed in me, Papa.”

“I could never be disappointed in you. Please, tell your Papa what’s troubling you.”

The flood gates opened. You were desperate to share the information with someone. Clearly, you’d not been doing so with your therapist. You confessed to everything, how Swiss came to you when you first woke up, how he’d fucked you every day since. Not that you used such explicit words. He’d taken advantage of your nervousness and lack of eye contact, and had gotten more and more brazen with the movement of his hand over his cock, openly masturbating now beneath his desk. He didn’t expect you to look up - he didn’t think you would. But as you were talking, you glanced at him every now and again, so quickly he missed every one. Until your talking had slowed and a soft, “Papa?” Fell from your lips. Your eyes were now fixated on his hand, a hint of betrayal glistening in them. Copia didn’t stop now - he couldn’t. The look on your face had travelled straight to his cock, and now he was going to take this opportunity to take you. “You already knew that I’d seen Swiss, didn’t you?”

“Sì.”

You swallowed. “H-how?” By this point you’d stood from the sofa.

“I think you know.”

“You saw…?”

“Every one.”

You turned your back to him, hand over your mouth and tears of humiliation threatening to spill. The second you saw the camera, you should have refused Swiss. But the thrill was too much and you couldn’t say no. You also couldn’t lie and say you felt completely and utterly betrayed by your Papa - because while you were, and had every right to be, you also felt heat pooling between your legs at the thought of Copia watching every single time Swiss was inside you.

You didn’t hear Copia stand or approach you. You only knew he was there when you felt him press up against you, hands snaking round your waist and pulling you towards him. Any piece of you that he could get his hands on, he did so: gripping your thighs, stomach, breasts. His chin rested on your shoulder, lips mere centimetres from your ear as he spoke. “Perhaps there are other ways to work through your thoughts, hm? Do you want that? You know, for all I saw, I didn’t hear much of anything. That first night in the infirmary, what did he say to you, tesoro? What did he say that made you part your legs so willingly, so soon?”

“H-he…” You felt Copia remove your veil, pulling it to the floor and exposing your hair.

“Go on?” He urged as his hands began to unbutton your habit. They were moving sinfully slow, almost painfully so. It was as if he were dragging this out on purpose just to spite you, or drive you insane. Perhaps both were true.

“He told me that he was sorry.” Copia had dipped his hands beneath the shoulders of your outfit and dragged it down your body to pool at your feet, his lips immediately attaching themselves to your near-naked shoulder. If it wasn’t for that infernal bra strap, he’d have you completely bare for him. “He told me that he felt bad for what he did.”

“And that’s all you need, Sister? An apology has you spreading your legs for any man who offers one?”

“No! He-” You bit your lip, now feeling his hands unclasp your bra, one hook at a time. “He told me that he felt guilty for finding it so hot. But that he…” Your bra fell to the floor and you swallowed.

“Keep going.”

“He couldn’t stop touching himself to the thought of it.”

Copia groaned behind you, his teeth grazing your delicate skin. His gloved hands moved up to your nipples and began to pull and play with them, rolling them through his index finger and thumb. His hard cock rubbed gently against your clothed ass, showing you just how desperate he’d become.

“He’s a talker, isn’t he?”

You nodded.

“Tell me, tesoro. What else did that filthy mouth of his tell you? What got you so riled up for you to let him fuck you in your hospital bed?”

One of his hands released your nipple and gently traced the curves of your stomach all the way down to your panties. His fingers dipped beneath the waistband, and immediately went in search of your clit. He needed no map to find it, it as as if he already knew your body and how it worked - perhaps it was all the videos he watched of his ghoul doing the exact same thing to you. He worked your clit in gentle circles to begin with, fully content on just teasing you until he got the information he wanted out of you. You released a soft moan in response, reaching your left arm behind you to grip onto his greying hair. Your right hand clutched at his wrist, and held on tightly as he continued his assault - an assault you welcomed with open arms.

“Papa!” You whispered. “I can’t.”

He tutted. “She’s getting bashful on me now, no? Seems a bit late for false modesty when I watched your cunt get spread on a camera. You can and you will. What did he say to you?”

Though his voice never raised, it did become more stern. It didn’t feel as though he’d take no for an answer. Just like Asmodeus, he would use you with or without your willingness being present. Unlike with Asmodeus, you knew Copia would stop if you really asked him to. He could be an asshole sometimes, but he wasn’t a monster. You didn’t want to tell him no. That night unlocked something in you that at first you’d only thought about doing again with Swiss, but now with Papa willing to give you what you wanted, it turned out you wanted this again, over and over until you were some kind of brainless toy.

Copia pinched your clit between his fingers when you were taking too long. “I won’t ask again, Sorella.”

“Fuck!” You screamed. It was painful, of course it was, but your scream was oozing with pleasure, just like it was when Copia had walked in on Asmodeus taking you. “He loved how wet I got! He - fuck, Papa! - He loved me c-creaming on his cock. He loved hearing me cry out for him, and begging for him to-”

“To what?” Copia’s finger now rubbed in circles, faster and with a lot more pressure. “Say it!”

You were talking much faster than before, the words spilling from your mouth before you could even process them. “He want to hear me beg him to fuck me over and over. Wanted to turn me into his toy. Get me pregnant. Papa, please!”

He bit your ear softly. “Did you enjoy it, tesoro? That night with the demon? Did you love it?”

“Mmmmm fuck! Not at first! He - shit - hurt me. But then it - it felt good towards the end.”

“How many times did you cum?”

“I d-don’t remember. Maybe twice?”

Copia groaned again. “Puttana.”

Your hips were bucking wildly, chasing a high that Copia was right on the precipise of giving you. You were so close. You needed it. “I’m gonna cum! Papa! Papa!”

“Cum all over your Papa’s fingers like a common fucking whore, that’s it!”

The dam broke and the floodwaters emerged, your orgasm hitting you like a ten-tonne truck and tensing your body from head to toe. Those very toes were now curling into the rug, your fingers tightening in his hair causing him to let out his own screams. You had no idea what your body was doing, and the fact that you were yelling throughout the entirety of your orgasm, howling like a banshee as tears fell from your eyes at the intensity of it all.

“On your back on the floor.” Copia instructed.

You did as you were told, lying your bare back against the plush of the rug. Copia’s face crumpled at the sight, though. He wanted you on the wood. So, he nudged you with his shoe to get your attention, shook his head and pointed to where he wanted you. You obliged, and spread your legs as soon as the cold shock had dissipated from your body.

“You get off on this, don’t you?” He said, removing his robes and reaching for his zipper. “On being used and manhandled against your will.”

You nodded.

“Is that why you let Swiss use you every fucking day, eh? Are you trying to relive it?”

You hesitated for a moment too long, and Copia took that as confirmation. He chuckled darkly, unzipping his jeans and removing his cock from its confines, finally letting it breathe after you almost catching him at the beginning. “Do you know what, tesoro?” He began to position himself above you, lining up with your sopping heat and rubbing himself against your clit. Your fingernails dug into the floor at the oversensitivity that had now begun to set in, your heart racing with anticipation. He pulled your hips closer to him, having you partly resting on his thighs, immaturely laughing a little at the sound your body made as it was dragged against the floor. “I got off on it too.”

He delighted in the way your eyes lit up with so many emotions, before finally allowing your face to contort with the pleasure of him pushing his cock inside you. There was lust in your eye, of course, remembering how you made eye contact with Papa as you reached your second orgasm that night. You remembered the last thoughts that raced around your head before you blacked out. Now that you’re thinking about it, you remembered seeing a primal look in Copia’s eyes underneath his concern, and the thought made you tighten around Copia’s cock that had begun slamming into you, after deeming you ready enough.

“Swiss was feral for you afterwards,” he told you, eyes fixated on your cunt as it squeezed him, “we had to restrain him with multiple gargoyles because he was going to go back in for a second turn.”

“Fuck, Papa!”

“And now I see why - cazzo!” A string of Italian fell from his lips that you couldn’t quite understand. But it didn’t matter, the thought of Swiss fighting against the Ministry’s protectors in order to get inside you a second time had set your body alight - the primal need to satiate his hunger now ingrained in your mind for the rest of time. You allowed loud moans to fall from your lips as the angle Copia fucked you at had his cock hitting your g-spot each time. “His - his cum… and your blood - fuck! - I wanted to taste it then see how my cum would look mingling with both of you. If I wasn’t surrounded by the clergy, I might have had my fill there and then too.”

You bit your lip and gripped onto his strong arms, those arms and hands grasping onto your hips for leverage as he roughly fucked into you, getting deeper and deeper to now have his tip hit your cervix and his shaft rub constantly against that sweet spot. You were losing your mind, mewling out for Papa as he took you on his office floor. “You sh-should have anyway!” You mumbled through your moans.

Copia’s eyebrows raised. “Yeah? You wanted me to fuck you in the ritual room with the clergy watching? Fucking Jezebel. You always seemed so sweet, Sister. Who knew you were so filthy? Is that why you agreed to the ritual in the first place, tesoro? You like it when people watch?”

“Yes!”

At this revelation, Copia began to thrust harder. This wasn’t usually a turn on for him - in fact, he’d never really thought much about it before - but the idea that you would get off on it had him harder than he ever had been in his life. He wondered how far it would go - if you imagined the other members of the clergy joining in in some capacity. How many of them could you have taken before it became too much? How many before you woke up? What about when you were awake? How would you react knowing that all the clergy members were touching themselves in a circle around you as Copia railed you for a ritual? Would you willingly open your mouth for them? Would you let them cum on you? Had you done this before? Was this a revelation that was new to you after Asmodeus? Copia’s mind was racing with questions and possibilities.

His mind snapped out of its musings to watch you beneath him, taking his cock to the hilt and loving every second of it. It felt so good, your mouth was hanging open and drool was slipping from the corners. Your eyes rolled back, eyebrows furrowed and sweat glistening over your body. You were so wet, creaming on Copia’s dick and he watched the strings of your juices pull and snap with his movements. With every passing second, every thrust, he understood why Swiss couldn’t get enough of you, why Asmodeus fought tooth and claw to get inside you again. Copia would be inside you every single day if you let him. He wanted to watch you bounce off his cock every day, watch your body jiggle at the force of his thrusts, how your tits jerked while his cock ravaged your insides. The way your ass ricocheted off the ground each time he moved had him damn near feral for you. You resorted him down to his animalistic instincts, his primal urges. He just wanted to bite you as he fucked you, mark you, claim you, show the world that you were his.

He wondered how Swiss would react to finding marks on you that didn’t belong to him. He imagined Swiss getting angry - he shouldn’t but he did. Fucking you within an inch of your life, bruising your body in multiple ways while he was deep inside you, reminding you that you belonged to him. Sathanas, he wished he could strip you bare and uncover Swiss’ artwork on you, and add more of his own. It was fucked up but he needed it and so, without much thought, he lifted your leg, bent himself over you and bit wherever he could reach, painfully biting and sucking hickeys onto your body. You screamed with the onslaught, your own fingernails and hands digging into his flesh and leaving marks of your own. But, after the third bite, you let go with one hand and began to furiously rub at your clit, relishing the pain and fucking yourself to a second orgasm, and shaking with the force of it. You tightened impossibly around Copia’s cock, forcing him to rest while you finished yourself off. But Copia wasn’t done with you. Not even the slightest bit. “On your stomach, tesoro.”

Your eyes widened a little, a small inch of panic setting in. “What?”

“Stomach. Now.”

“Copia…”

The use of his name hit him like a punch to the gut. “What’s wrong?” He said, his voice dripping with concern, not an ounce of lust in his eyes anymore. He noticed. He was taking it seriously.

“Please not my stomach.” He wasn’t there for the first half of your torment - he didn’t see what Asmodeus did to you. You wanted to explain why, but you couldn’t find the words. But Copia seemed to understand immediately.

He nodded, “Of course, tesoro. D-do you want to stop?” He asked the question almost like an afterthought, but it came to him nonetheless.

“No. Please.”

“Please what?”

“I-”

“We can go as dark or as soft as you like, amore. Please what? Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

“Take what you need. Use me, Papa. Please.” You said, your voice tapering off to a desperate whimper.

Copia groaned, a visceral, gutteral sound. “Spawn of Satan, begging me to use her like a fucking toy, eh? As you wish, tesoro. Take my fucking cock. It’s what you were made for, right?” He dropped your hips dramatically, kind of showing you now that he had no interest in making you feel good now. It was all about him from this point onwards, and you were going to know about it. He positioned himself above you, completely trapping you beneath him now, and began to slam into you so hard, your body moved across the floor each time. Grunts and groans were ripped from your throat involuntarily, spilling your truth into his ears whether you liked it or not - the helpless feeling had you wrapping around him like a vice, and refusing to loosen the grip.

“Gonna fuck this cunt every day.” He continued, muttering mostly to himself. “Might keep you in my chambers, spread out and ready for me to use at any point.” You tightened. “Or better yet, keep you naked and tied to my desk so I can use this hole when I’m stressed. You want that, hm?”

“Yes, Papa!”

“Tell me.”

“I want t-to be your toy! I want you to use me every day. I want your cock inside me every day. Please, Papa!”

“Such a good slut for me. Swiss trained this cunt well, didn’t he?”

“Yes! Made me ready to please my Papa whenever he wants me. Trained me to take all of Papa’s cum and not spill a drop.”

“Filthy whore. Take my fucking cum. T-take it all. Merda! Cum- cumming!”

Copia’s groan filled the room much louder than any of your moans ever did, drowning out the sound of his hips slapping against your wetness over and over again. His thrusts became more and more erratic until he eventually stilled inside you, completely emptying his balls and filling you to the brim. He felt so good inside you, like you were made to take him. He stayed inside you for a little while before pulling out and removing himself from your body, and that was when you felt it.

All of the helplessness from before returned the moment Copia stopped touching you, and you realised just how vulnerable you’d allowed yourself to be with someone other than Swiss. Tears began to fall, and wracked sobs took over your body as you lay naked on his floor, an ache beginning to form in your core as you tucked your body in on itself. Copia, who was putting himself back together, immediately dropped his robe and dropped back to his knees, enveloping you in a tight hug and pulling you close to him, allowing you to hide your face in his chest. “I got you, schricchio.” He said, bringing back the pet name that you loved. The ultimate comfort nickname. “You’re safe. I got you.” He rocked you back and forth, shushing you gently and rubbing your skin. “I got you.” He let you cry. You obviously needed to.

With Swiss, it all felt different because he was just as tormented as you were. His body was assaulted too, and despite his body being in the dominant role, he had no control and no way to stop it. The guilt ate him alive when he wasn’t inside you - when you weren’t begging him for it. But Copia? Copia was your boss - the head of your church - a man who you’d spent the better part of a decade trusting and loving. You’d never let him see you like this before, never let him catch you being weak and powerless. You saw that despite the nature of your coming together, you could still trust him. He still cared deeply about you and your emotional needs. When you almost told him to stop, he would have, and in fact, he almost did.

“I’m sorry for being too rough with you.” He told you. “I’m sorry for starting this.”

“No.” You said through tears. “I liked it.”

“No, schricchio. I took advantage. I’m sorry.”

He let go of you just for a brief second to grab his robe, and wrap you up in it, trying to warm you up as soon as he heard your teeth chattering. It was the adrenaline wearing off, he knew that, but still he wanted to do everything he could to comfort you after that. “Thank you.” You whispered through tears.

“I want you to listen to me, okay? No one is ever going to do any of that to you again without your consent first. I should have protected you better the first time, ___. I’ll do better in the future.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours, either. And I’m here if you want anything. A talk, a distraction, a friend.”

You sniffed. “Were you serious about locking me up in your chambers and having your wicked way with me?”

He chuckled. “Why are you interested?”

“I might be.”

“We’ll see. For now, lie on my sofa. I’ll get you cleaned up soon, but for now get some rest, schricchio.”

He helped you off the floor and led you to the plush couch you sat on before. He sat on the floor while you got comfortable and held your hand as you began to drift off to sleep. All the while, his thumbs rubbed against your skin, and every now and then, you felt a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. You were safe with him. You always would be.

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steviewashere · 1 month

Text

Loving Who You Are, Not What You Offer

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Referenced Rape/Non-Con (Not Between Main Pairing), Panic Attack (Sort of) Tags: Post Season 4, Post Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Asexual Steve Harrington, Coming Out, Protective Eddie Munson, Patient Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has Sexual Trauma, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Slight Comphet Steve Harrington, Dialogue Heavy

Okay, honestly, this one comes from a more personal place. So I'm gonna have to ask y'all to be kind about this one. I've recently come to terms that I'm somewhere on the asexual spectrum and I just needed to apply that somewhere, so. Also, writing from Eddie's point of view rather than Steve's helps me, so I don't wanna hear shit about it.

Read the content warning one more time before you continue and let me know if I missed anything <3

🩵—————🩵 There was an uncovered layer to Steve Harrington, that much Eddie has deduced.

It’s a subtle, blink and you wouldn’t notice, kind of thing. But even this uncovered layer had layers. And he’s not sure if anybody else has caught on. He was able to catalog several odd things about Steve that just…didn’t match his character. Not at all. Which has led, though it started casually and accidentally, to Eddie making a whole new doctrine.

The Odd Steve Behavior Doctrine. With a few noticeable bullet points:

-Don’t touch him without asking -Don’t ask him about his sex life -Don’t talk about sex around him, at all -He especially doesn’t like casual intimacy -Earning Steve’s trust is like climbing up a rocky mountain

He follows these rules he’s made for himself. Tries to keep himself casual and known in Steve’s presence. And hopes that it’s enough to get Steve to crack, even the slightest. Maybe he’ll say why these things bother him, Eddie initially thought.

Maybe I’ll just keep my mouth shut and let Steve come to me in his own time, he eventually noted. Because he doesn’t need to be in everybody’s business all the time, which is a typical thing for Eddie. He likes being nosy and involved with the lives of people around him. He likes to think of himself as the person his friends can come to, no matter the reason or the intensity of their need. And maybe part of it is selfish, too. He can admit that to himself. That he, in turn, wants to be everything Steve needs at the end of the day. Bearing the brunt of all that Steve has going wrong or right in his life.

Things come to Eddie little by little from Steve’s mouth. None that answer to any of the bullets in his doctrine, but things that are important, too. Like confessions, moments that Steve saw as flaws.

“I called Jonathan Byers a queer in 1983. That’s why he beat me up. I deserved it,” he told Eddie one day. Casually, complete nonchalance, as easy as discussing the weather. Steve had been cradling a mug of coffee at their local diner. Picked at the pancake platter he ordered all for himself. And, at Eddie’s coming out (“I’m gay, Steve,” Eddie admitted quietly mere moments before. He brought up love lives. Was poking around what was going on with Steve’s. And casually, he realizes, it just came up.), Steve took a sharp inhale. Confessed this bomb of a statement. Grimaced at the memory that must’ve played out behind his eyes. Then, murmured, “But thank you for trusting me with that, Eddie. I just need you to know that I was somebody you wouldn’t before. In case that…In case maybe you wanna take back that trust. Wouldn’t blame you, that’s all I’m saying.”

Eddie sat in that for a good several moments. As they slurped at their room temperature, rather mediocre mugs of Joe. “I still trust you,” he eventually said, “You don’t have to keep proving yourself to me, you know?” Steve merely shrugged. And that was confessional number one.

Following that, Steve mentioned being tortured by Russians. Which, Eddie thought that was reason for him not liking touch. It may be part of the reason, but there was something to Steve’s eyes that told him that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Eddie didn’t ask. Steve didn’t elaborate. Tortured by Russians, beat up by his peers, chewed up like a dog toy, the list in Eddie’s mind of All the Bad Things That Happened to Steve was growing longer and longer by the day. But Steve was telling him things, letting him in. It was a start.

So, Eddie had two catalogs all about Steve to keep up with in his mind. All the Bad Things and The Do’s and Don’ts of Steve Harrington.

Being his friend was an earned thing and it was a pleasant thing, but it also broke Eddie’s heart bit by bit. He’d never admit to this, but he had to realize that at some point. He wondered if Robin ever felt the same. Maybe even Nancy. But he wasn’t going to ask. Because who asks something like that? Eddie won’t be the first, but it won’t be the last somebody thinks that, he’s sure.

Even though Steve was breaking through his own mold, cracking his mask, shattering mirrors of who he was, none of it actually answered any of Eddie’s don’ts regarding him. None of it eased him. None of it lended itself in any sort of way. If anything, all of these other greater things only added to the incessant itch that couldn’t be scratched under Eddie’s skin.

Who are you really, Steve, Eddie asked himself all too much.

He doesn’t want to upset the poor guy.

But he’ll never know, he’s coming to realize. It’s just not in the cards.

———

It comes to a head, because of course it does. And he didn’t mean for it to, but it just happens.

They’re hanging out at Steve’s new-ish apartment. Lounging around on his, frankly, ugly floral second-hand couch. It’s musty and not all that soft on the cushions, lumpy and shifting. But they make do with it as they have a movie marathon. Steve is sprawled between the far right and middle cushion, Eddie is leaning against the left arm rest, legs crossed one over the other, head in his hand. Then, his stomach grumbles all too loudly in a room full of droning noise.

He leans into Steve’s space slightly. Reaches out a hand and places it on his thigh. Squeezes Steve’s leg and opens his mouth to ask if he’s hungry. But, for some reason, Steve tenses to the extremes underneath his touch. His hands grip harshly to the back of the couch and the throw pillow near his head. Legs going taut and straining against Eddie’s touch.

“Steve?” Eddie calls softly.

“Stop,” musters from Steve. It’s tiny. Cracking in half. Brings tears to his eyes immediately.

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, though. “What?” He asks. “What am I doing?” There’s a thrum in his chest. Something unsettling and obtuse. It pulsates and shifts and bitters his throat the way acidic bile does.

With force Eddie’s only seen in the Upside Down, Steve latches onto Eddie’s wrist. Tight enough that Eddie has to bite back a yelp of pure and unadulterated pain. Nearly enough to break the bone that Steve’s thumb digs into. He shoves Eddie away with just his grip. Scrambles to the far corner of the couch, legs tucked in close to his chest, knees colliding with his chin. He wraps his arms around himself.

And then, the softest noise breaks through between them. It’s quiet, yet somehow louder than the tape playing. It works its way under Eddie’s skin. Into his stomach, through his throat, and into his brain. Steve’s gentle, manufactured cries. Stifled behind his lips. In real time, Eddie watches him shatter. The way his eyes gloss over, his cheeks going splotchy with the sounds, his shoulders shake.

“Woah, hey,” Eddie whispers, reaching out again. He wants to ground him. Wants to comfort the way he knows how. How he soothes Wayne’s panic episodes. And how he calms Dustin down from lashing out. Or when Robin talks herself in circles. Wants to just…be there. “Hey, Steve, are you—“

“Don’t touch me,” Steve bites out, “I don’t have anything—You—I don’t want to.”

Immediately, Eddie drops his hand to the now unoccupied middle cushion. The fabric meeting his palm. Going cold. Warm where Steve had just been relaxed. And Eddie—he may be a dastardly fool most days, dumb as rock the others, three time senior—knows exactly what he did, now that he’s focused on every small movement he makes. He’s perceptive to the way Steve is leaning as far away as possible. How crumpled he makes his body. Eddie notices how much space has been created and where his hands lie.

I’m so stupid, he thinks, that’s like rule one.

Don’t touch him without asking.

“Fuck,” Eddie softly curses. He pulls himself away. To his own corner of the sofa. And swallows the bit of panic that rises in him. His eyes drift away from Steve’s fearful face, to his own hands. Twitches them in his lap, against his knees. Wants to cut them off. Throw them into a blender. Feed them to the birds. Something. But he forces himself to look back up.

Steve trembles against the couch. In a way that is not the Steve Harrington that Eddie met when fighting other worldly creatures. That dismantles everything and anything he once knew.

“Shit. I—Steve, I’m so sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “I’m sorry. I know that you don’t like that unless people ask. And I just—I wasn’t thinking, I promise. It was just—You know, I’m touchy with all my friends and I was just going to see if you wanted me to make some dinner or order some food. I was just trying to get your attention, y’know, and I didn’t mean anything by it. I promise, I swear. I swear on my mom, Steve. I would never—“ He takes a deep, gasping breath. Coughing on the inhale. His hands shake, now. And he doesn’t think he’s ever seen fear paint itself so clear and bright on a person’s face, but he’s looking into it. Steve’s pallor and yet still red cheeks. And his all consuming, though far away eyes. His built body, yet childlike hold.

A part of Eddie wants to cry, too. I’ve fucked up, he panics internally, I’ve fucked everything up and now he’s not going to be my friend and he was such a good friend, too. Why did I have to do that? I just wanted to make sure he was fed, too. That’s it. He’s such a good friend and now I’ve fucked it and I just—I—

“You wanted to make me food?” Steve quietly croaks.

Eddie, in an instant, nods. “Yes!” He exclaims in his own panic. “Yes, I swear, Steve. I wasn’t thinking when I touched your thigh. And I—What do you want to eat, Stevie? Say the word, I’ll find a way to make it or…something.”

His hands twitch in his lap once more. Thumbs catching on the ripped holes of his jeans. The threads soft and wearing away under his skin. The scratchy, dry bit of skin that peers through. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t think he breathes. Just makes eye contact with Steve. Which, surely, is overbearing and unnecessary and…I’m probably freaking him out more, calm down. He takes a deep breath, blows it away from him, and lowers his shoulders from where he didn’t know they were hiking.

“It was nothing more than to check-in. I promise,” he reiterates, murmuring.

Steve, finally, draws away from himself. With his own breath. He unravels his legs, stretching them out to their full length onto the middle cushion. Arms going limp at his sides. Hands resting against his thighs. His eyes dart—left and right and left and right—between Eddie’s. Nods once. “Okay,” he meekly musters. “Okay, Eds. Can…We can order pizza. There should be a menu on the kitchen counter. I’ll—“

Eddie stands from his own cushion before Steve gets the chance to. “Nope, don’t worry about it. Just try and relax, yeah? I’ll go put in an order, pay for it. You…Pepperoni pizza?” Steve just nods, tentative and surprised. “Cool,” Eddie states, “I’ll be right back.”

The phone call goes by quick and he easily sets the money out for when the driver gets there. But he’s not entirely sure his presence is going to be a warm welcome in the living room again. He gets a glass of water anyway because, surely, Steve will tell him to go if he isn’t wanted.

Steve’s in the same position as when Eddie left. Though, his gaze isn’t entirely there. Somewhere beyond Eddie’s shoulder. But there’s a gleam, a little shine that tells him that Steve isn’t gone from himself, not yet at least. He sits back down in his own cushion. Glass on the coffee table. And turns, keeping himself tight to his own body.

“Hey, Steve?” He calls out, watching as Steve blinks sluggishly back into his body. “I—uh—I got you some water, if you want it. Drinking water usually helps me feel better after…After a down moment, y’know?”

Next to him, Steve hums. He sighs. “Can I trust you with something?” He asks, forgoing the water entirely.

Eddie nods in haste. “Of course, Steve. If you have something you have to tell me, I can keep things to myself,” he states. Which is one hundred percent true. He may be a loud guy, screaming and yelling when need be. May be somebody that fills a room with noise, if only so he doesn’t succumb to the silence. But he knows how to keep a secret. It’s sort of a survival tactic, is what he’d say if somebody asked him about it. He’s kept secrets about his parents, things behind lock and key in his ribcage. Granted, he may forget, but he won’t say a damn thing. And he surely won’t spill Steve’s beans, especially with the way he looks to him in open earnest.

“Okay,” Steve responds. His legs fall away from the couch and he rights himself into being completely upright. Ramrod straight. On the far right cushion. Mirroring Eddie’s tight pose. Feet flat to the floor. His eyes trace something on the coffee table, cracks probably, but Eddie can’t exactly tell. “Okay. I…You’re going to be the second person I’ve ever told this to, alright? And I—I figured that it would come out sooner or later, but you’re gonna need an explanation for whatever the fuck just happened. And I don’t know how else to talk about it without just going all-in. So…I just need you to listen. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, “you have the floor, Stevie. My mouth is shut.”

Steve nods slow, a ghost of a smile on his face. Breathes in through his nose, it traps in his chest and comes out as one gentle gust. He swallows heavily, words seemingly rising in his throat. And that smile falls away just as it sprung.

“In middle school, before I was popular and whatever, I had a group of friends that I ran with. We were all nerds, I won’t deny that. And—And I would involve myself with some of their interests, if only because I wanted to fit in,” Steve explains first. His eyes roam again. Not picking a spot, but Eddie won’t fault him for it. He continues, voice fracturing, “One of the guys I was closer to, we’ll call him R, he was interested in this club. It was kind of like a tech club? Focused on radios and channels and math and…Things that I was actually kind of good with, but needed a better understanding on. So, I figured, I’d sign up for this club. Go with my…friend.”

Before he goes on to say more, he leans over for the glass of water on the table. Holds it gently between his hands. Doesn’t take any sips. The condensation droplets roll down his fingers. Cold most likely keeping him grounded to the room.

Eddie can already tell he’s not going to like wherever this part of Steve’s past leads him. How Steve has to take breaks, it upsets Eddie greatly. He’s not sure he’s entirely prepared for whatever confession comes from Steve this time, but he’ll digest it. Get through this with the guy and figure out all he needs to.

Another steadying breath. And Steve’s voice is like gravel, but he keeps talking.

“It was a weekly thing. And we’d go in. Be taught about gadgets and whats-its and whatnot. R was there, though. He was always there. We’d talk, laugh, shoot the shit. Normal friend bullshit.

“One day, though. One day, something was…different. He looked at me. There was a sense of hunger. Want. A drive to him that I’d never seen before. He’d lean more into my space, drop his voice lower, whisper right into my ear.” Steve blinks in rapid succession. His breath keeps stuttering. And something in Eddie’s stomach sours. He goes, though. Pushing through. “I told him to stop. To knock it off. Kept telling him that I was trying to learn. That I wanted to focus. And he just…He wouldn’t,” he explains.

Eddie spikes with great unease and anger. Never at Steve. But whoever this so called ‘friend’ is, Eddie wants to maybe kill him. He keeps quiet, though. Steve wanted to share and he needs this out. And Eddie can listen. He can, even if it makes him want to cry, too.

“I thought that’s all it would be,” Steve speaks quietly, “Just him talking to me in this new tone. With this new level to his voice. But…I’m kind of stupid, I guess, so of course that’s not all he’d do. The next week at our club meeting, he got closer than before. He began to…” Steve stops and swallows. A single, silent tear crawls down his face. It doesn’t even phase him, the way crying usually does. It’s just background at this point. “…He began to—to touch me in ways I’d never been. And I—I told him to stop, I remember doing that. I remember putting distance between us. And saying no and saying stop and shoving his hands off me. But he just—“ A broken little sob. “—He was supposed to be my friend,” he states, small as a child.

The sobs rack Steve in such a way that his whole body is jolting with it. Nearly toppling off the couch. He chugs the water between cries, but doesn’t move from his spot. Tight and closed off within his own body.

“I wanted him to just be my friend,” Steve continues a moment later, nasally and choked. “But he didn’t want that. He kept overpowering every single decision I made. His breath on my earlobe. And his hands on my thigh, on my…He fucking touched my crotch. Tried to coerce me into having sex,” he spits. “That guy…He made me feel fucking disgusting. About my own body. About things I loved. About sex,” Steve growls, “Made me sort of dislike all those things, too.”

Eddie, for how loud he can be, is completely silent for once. Unable to form words. Not sure how to comfort. And if he could comfort, isn’t sure if that’s something he can do the way he wants to. He can’t touch. Can’t do what he’d normally do. And his body aches to take care of Steve or to simply hold him. To be…well, to be a friend. But that’s not something Steve can exactly trust.

He feels sick to his stomach.

The last bit of water is sipped at slowly, as Steve comes down. Then, he turns to face Eddie. Making direct and purposeful eye contact. “It’s not your fault, that I reacted like I did,” he states lowly. “And it’s not your fault that I close up when you want to talk about sex. Or you wanna talk about all that intimate shit. It’s something with me. Like something’s broken. It’s like a deep crack in me, Eddie.

“And I just wanted to clear up all that. Explain what I can, I guess.” He snakes out a tentative hand. It’s shaking and hesitant, but it still lands softly on the back of Eddie’s right. Squeezes. “But thank you for taking notice. And being concerned. And for apologizing. I feel safe with you, Eddie. I trust you a lot. Which is like—That’s probably highest honors you could earn with me.” And he chuckles slightly. It’s not a humorous thing, but it’s not exactly humorless either.

Eddie lets himself soak in this, though. Smiling warmly back at Steve. Because he needs it. They both need it. He murmurs, “Thank you for trusting me with that, Steve. That wasn’t easy and I’m proud of you for speaking up about it. I’m glad to be somebody you can trust.”

With another exhale, Steve relaxes back into the couch. His hand doesn’t move from Eddie’s. “I also want to say that you’re allowed to talk about your relationships with dudes,” he states quietly. “Seriously, I don’t mind. But just…Just check in with me? Before you do?”

“Of course,” he agrees instantly. “I’ll keep that in my noggin, promise, Stevie.”

Ghost of a smile on Steve’s face again. “Thanks,” he whispers.

A lull floats in the conversation. Steve removes his hand, watching as his fingers twitch, and there’s a little uptick to the corners of his mouth. Something pleased and almost…reverent at the way he looks at his hand.

Before Eddie can get up to change out the movie, he heaves a little sigh. And says, “Y’know, if you ever need any sort of physical comfort, need to talk about this, or you just need somebody to tell you that you’re okay, you can lean on me. Don’t even need to ask, really. I’m all arms.”

“I’ll think about it, Eds. This has been enough for me."

——— Steve comes out to him at the same diner Eddie did only a few years later.

It’s 1990, Eddie’s twenty-four and Steve’s freshly twenty-three. He has a certain spark to him. A sparkle to his smile and a pep in his step. And Eddie’s happy to see him happy.

Happy to eventually call their relationship romantic. Happy to share spots on the couch, curled around each other. Happy to kiss him slow and sweet or not at all, just able to gaze over coffee mugs and across the room and when Steve thinks he can’t be seen.

Eddie’s just happy to be allowed this love that fills his chest and in the colder, vacant spots of their lives.

But he realizes he still hasn’t heard everything about Steve. He gives it time, though. Because the second most important thing to Steve—first just being there for him—is patience.

The next of their chats happens when things get heated on the couch.

Soft kisses turn hungry, carnivorous. Hands wander over heated skin. Steve’s fingers against the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt. But his hands shake. And Eddie places his own hands off to the sides of the couch, pulling himself away before things can get any farther than they already are.

“Hey,” he softly speaks, “Steve, we don’t—I’m okay with just kissing right now. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Steve stops next to him. Tensing up only slightly. “Are you—You’re sure about that?” His voice is so tiny, so unlike him. And though Eddie’s heard this tone before, it still breaks him.

He says easily, “I don’t want you to be scared of our first time, baby. It’s okay if we need to take things slow.”

He watches as Steve heavily swallows. “And if I asked if we never had sex?”

Eddie eyes him for a moment. Not wearily. With something like subtle pride. “Is that what you want?” He asks in turn. “Would that make you more comfortable?”

Subtly, Steve nods. “I—“ He sighs sadly. “I’ve been thinking about how to talk to you about it. With girls, I never even liked it. I just did it because it…There was something to say about a guy who could have sex with anybody he wants. But I also…I don’t know.” He shrugs as if trying to dismiss it, but Eddie doesn’t like that.

He sets a hesitant, soft hand on Steve’s shoulder. Squeezes when he doesn’t move away. “If you never want to have sex again, I’d be okay with that. I’d be more than okay with that,” he states assuringly. “You being happy and comfortable is what matters most to me. Not sex. I don’t give a shit about sex, not when I get to see you every day, smile on your face, and your eyes shiny and beautiful.”

Steve gives another small sigh, but the smile he has doesn’t waver. “Okay. I—Eddie, I don’t think I want to have sex,” he admits quietly. It shakes from his throat, but it’s still confident the way it lands between them. “It just doesn’t feel good to me. And I—I don’t want to force myself to do it. And it wouldn’t be fair to you, either.”

Another affirmative squeeze to Steve’s shoulder. “Alright, baby. Then we don’t have sex,” he agrees softly. “And if you ever change your mind—not that I’m forcing you to—then I’m okay with what you want.” He scoots himself closer so that their bodies are one single line, warm against each other. Reiterating, “Your happiness and comfort matter the most to me.”

With both of his hands, Steve wraps Eddie’s free one. Traces the veins on the back of his hand. Toys with his fingers. “We can still kiss, though,” he states quietly. “Maybe I want a kiss.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Mhm,” Steve hums. So, he closes the gap. A wet peck to Eddie’s lips. Soft and venturing. One that last only a few seconds. He draws back with the softest smile adorned on his features. Murmurs, “Thank you for hearing me out on this. And for understanding. And for accepting this.”

“I love you, Steve. Just for you. Not the sex or touch. We could never do anything except sit next to each other and talk, and I’d still love you,” Eddie swears.

Steve sniffs something wet. Shoves himself a little closer, cuddling into Eddie’s chest. To which Eddie wraps his arms around his back in response. And he sighs, but it’s a sound of long awaited relief. “I love you, too, Eddie. God, I love you.”

The conversations are tough and they are stomach turning, but after it all, Eddie gets to have Steve. How he is. How he wants to be. And that’s all Eddie could hope for.

He kisses the top of Steve’s head and relaxes back into the couch. “I’m proud of you, Steve,” he murmurs, “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you for being patient. Being here.”

Eddie squeezes them together even tighter. Warm in his chest at the content noise that draws itself from Steve. This could be all that they do forever and Eddie would never ask for more.

🩵—————🩵

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst and hurt/comfort #cw referenced rape/non-con #read the content warnings #asexual steve harrington

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jade7b · 4 months

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Terrible sleep paralysis torment you for months. The problem does not seem to be psychological... what really happens at night? As much as you’re afraid to admit it, something seems to torture you... maybe rape you?

❗️I’m not trying in any way to romanticize what will happen in this shot! Everything you read will be quite dark and strong, so please, if you are sensitive to this, do not interact!

18+/ sleep paralysis/horror/gore/mahito rape you

Rape/Non-con ElementsRapeRape FantasyRough SexVaginal SexRough Oral SexPenis In Vagina SexVaginal FingeringFingerfuckingMahito is His Own Warning (Jujutsu Kaisen)Mahito Being an Asshole (Jujutsu Kaisen)Yandere Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)Creepy Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)Slutty Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)Top Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)Blood and GoreGoreMild GorePsychological HorrorBody Horror

Sorry for any errors, this fic is translated from italian!

SLEEP PARALYSIS

-Mahito x Reader-

«How long have sleep disorders been going on?».

«Months», your lips had rippled, «about six months», you had corrected yourself, while you made to wander your tired look on the furniture of your doctor’s office.

He called your name, taking you away from your thoughts.

«I read your medical records, you changed more than three psychoanalysts before you got to me. I wonder, are you sure that it is only this?».

Your eyes had met his. Two heavy shiners made you look like a rag, and the young man in front of you, no matter how professional he tried to be, couldn’t help feeling sorry for you.

What I’m trying to tell you is that even sleeping pills don’t work, and you know that? I tried everything, natural remedies and not-», you were angry, you hated, when they suggested that your problem was only in your head, because it wasn’t.

The more you convinced yourself, the more the doctors turned against you, and even this time it was no different.

«I mean the presence and the phantom sensations of pressure on the chest can be a symptom of post traumatic stress. It is easy for you to experience frequent sleep paralysis for this reason. Perhaps if we faced the problem psychologically it would be better. I think you understand, I can not continue to prescribe drugs, without knowing what could be the trigger».

You had sighed, swallowing. Yet another hole in the water.

Coming out of the clinic where you had gone in the morning, you had inhaled the air of Tokyo as if it were the best air in the world- it was absolutely not and your lungs filled with smog and tar.

You swallowed, your throat was dry, your eyes were burning, your head was beating.

All feelings you had begun to endure.

You were a young girl in your twenties, with a wonderful career ahead of you, a capable and brilliant woman, yet, life had decided to put you in front of all this.

As you walked through the crowded streets of Tokyo, the chaos of the metropolis seemed like a distant echo in your mind. The doctor mentioned the possible link between the trauma you suffered and your sleep problems, but it was difficult to accept that the solution could simply be psychological. You had sought comfort in sleeping pills and remedies of all kinds, but nothing seemed to relieve your tormented mind.

The memory of the incident kept haunting you, the details of the horrible day bouncing around in your head like an incessant echo. You had tried to escape reality, but the pain persisted, crept into your dreams and attacked you in the form of night paralysis and feelings of pressure on the chest.

A few months before the accident happened. A terrible car accident took away the love of your life, your sister.

Seeing her half beheaded between the sheets of the car had horrified you to the point of making you vomit on the spot. You screamed desperately, your brow ragged with blood, and his dead eyes now filled your nightmares.

If only that day you had not chosen the wrong path, you were sure, that now life would not be so unlivable.

Your soul weighed like an anvil, dragged you down, and your wings struggled to give you the push you needed to survive.

The nights were all the same: you lay down in your bed, trying to calm down, trying not to think about anything.

And what happened was you fell asleep... but then... then...

At first, you could only feel the languor of falling asleep. However, soon that numbness turned into something more sinister. An invisible but inexorable presence began to tighten your ankles, crawling along your hips and even creeping into your belly. It seemed like a subtle force, unpredictable, penetrating the depths of your bowels.

The sensations became more and more invasive, as if invisible hands shuffled you from within. As you tried to fight against the immobility that imprisoned you in your bed, your ability to breathe was being tested. An invisible but oppressive weight made every inspiration a titanic task.

«We will make it grow», a voice whispered, «we will make it grow», again.

And then the same hands came to your chest, squeezing you, choking you.

Then you’d wake up, turn on the light in panic, your forehead full of sweat, and your heart rate.

The monotonous routine of this anguish was constantly repeated, night after night. Something, a dark, elusive entity, crept into your intimate space and tortured you mercilessly.

It wasn’t just passing visions or post-traumatic stress hallucinations. Reality was carved into your skin, in painful bite marks on your breasts and bruises scattered all over your body. You couldn’t ignore the physical testimony of what happened during those nights of terror.

You looked for answers everywhere, you explored every rational possibility, but the conclusion was inevitable: you were not crazy. Those marks and scars you were carrying were tangible proof that something dark and insidious was happening.

It was a night predator that fed on your terror and vulnerability. And there was no room for rational explanations or psychological excuses. It wasn’t a matter of post-trauma, something real, at night, crawling into your bed, and it wasn’t something you were hiding from yourself: this presence was raping you.

You couldn’t explain how you came to this conclusion, but inside you the answer was becoming more and more obvious.

And so, desperate, you decided to adopt plan B.

The medium you asked for an audience with seemed to be one of the best. You paid her handsomely, and when you let her into your one-bedroom apartment, she twisted her nose.

You had no knowledge of this world, you had no interest in it, and despite your attempts to pretend, you still felt perplexed.

«Miss», the woman in her fifties had called you, while she was searching the living room, «can you take me to the exact place where the "contacts" take place?».

You had gasped, as a slight fear crept into your bowels and appeared in your face.

« I feel your discomfort, how could you not have it? This apartment is full of cursed energy».

Failing to understand what she was mumbling about, you had obeyed her request, making your way down the narrow corridor, and then opening the door.

You stopped in the window and nodded.

You didn’t mean to cross that threshold, just the thought of it made you sick.

The medium, however, had proceeded with her head held high, turning on the lights of the chamber.

The steps resounded muffled in the carpet, while carefully inspecting the desk, then the blankets and pillows of your bed.

«It happens here...», she whispered. She walked the blankets with her hand, until she reached the foot of the bed, «rising from here», she had crouched, as if she were imitating what that presence did to you. Her hands were on the covers. «it blocks your ankles», her hoarse voice resounded in the walls of the room, «it runs through your legs», she crushed the fingers between the unmade blankets, «coming to your belly», she crushed the mattress as if under her there had been you.

«And then...», her hands went up again, cup-locking on those you imagined your breasts might be.

The woman, lowered her head, had no idea what she was actually doing, but you had to admit that her explanation was accurate enough for you to understand that she was not a charlatan.

«It tastes you».

An unpleasant sensation made its way into your stomach, «I understand», she had said to herself, as she was getting out of bed.

He went through her purse, pulling out what appeared to be a talisman.

«In the realization of the talisman it is very important to respect the hourly and planetary correspondences, in fact there is always a specific day and a precise lunar phase to build and consecrate it. You are lucky, today the Moon and the stars are clearly visible», said the woman while consecrating some.

She placed one right under the bed, one above, and another in your bedroom door.

Perplexed, you frowned, «that’s all?» you asked, «three stupid pieces of paper?».

The medium smiled, «do you have other alternatives?».

The question left you motionless, unable to answer.

«no...», you had answered, driving her back to the front door.

«The curse is powerful, but I am sure that this will be able to keep it at bay for a while».

«What?! With all the money you asked me for? Did you manage only to "keep it at bay for a while"? Are you kidding me?» The woman smiled, then gave a small laugh of derision, «maybe you should have called an exorcist?».

You were so frustrated, so... so...

Bitter tears had run down your cheeks, you had dried them almost immediately, trying to keep calm.

Don’t worry, you thought, crashing on the living room couch, wait to see if these talismans work.

***

With wonder and relief, the sleep paralysis that had tormented your nights seemed to be a distant memory.

A week had passed since you could finally close your eyes without the fear of being trapped in a limbo of impotence. Your night’s rest had become a precious refuge, an oasis of peace that you had begun to fully enjoy.

The evenings followed a reassuring ritual: the return home from work, a hot shower that dispelled the accumulated tensions, a satisfying dinner and finally the refuge in the blankets of your bed. Everything seemed to fall into the natural order of things, as if normality had finally returned to claim its place. However, the tranquility you had so longed for was perhaps only an illusion, a prelude to a new chapter of horror.

In the second week of serenity, a strange feeling had crept into the air.

One night, while you slept deeply, the pungent smell of something burning had disturbed your sleep. Your awakening was immediate, and in the darkness, putting the blankets aside, you realized that something was wrong.

Your eyes slowly adapted to the darkness, and before you, the atmosphere lit up with a sinister light. A crackling blue fire enveloped the talisman hanging from your door.

A sense of disbelief enveloped you as a figure began to take shape.

It was a robust body, but its humanity seemed distorted. A man, or perhaps something that might have looked like a man, materialized before your eyes.

Your mind tried to deny what it saw, but terror took hold of you as the breath became disjointed. Your lips rippled in a desperate sigh, while your terrified eyes closed as if they were denying reality. Gasps and sobs were released from your chest as you carried your arms in front of you, as if that impotent gesture could protect you.

You just hoped the last talismans could protect you, but... well...they couldn’t.

You saw it when they both caught fire at the foot of your bed and a cold breath began to move some of your hair.

«You surprised me», a voice made your blood freeze, «closing me out like this...» it was distorted and gruesome as it echoed in the darkness. It had a stamp that sent chills down your spine, and as you desperately tried to move, your impotence became more and more overwhelming.

His scornful laughter echoed through the air like a macabre background. «You tried, you and that stupid bitch», his mocking tone crept into your ears, causing you another sob of terror.

«Go ahead yes, continue to be afraid, it is even better if you cry».

His body locked you in a corner of the bed, leaving you with no way out. You were alone, you and his dark presence, which seemed to devour the air around you. Every word spoken was like a direct blow to your soul, bringing out a sense of degradation and unspeakable terror.

«Did you really think you could stop me from still possessing you? Naive, stupid inferior human», he whispered in your neck, his breath cold as frost on your skin. «I thought you would behave well, like the good pet you are».

His words were filled with contempt, a humiliation that imposed itself on you like a chain, enveloped your spirit.

His words didn’t make sense to you, and yet, you didn’t have the courage to argue, you had the feeling that if you tried to move a muscle, he would tear you apart right in that moment.

You hadn’t yet had the courage to open your eyes to look your tormentor in the face, let alone have the strength to escape from his clutches.

His hands ran down your hips, embedded in their retracting curve.

They put pressure on you, made you scream in fear.

«I had a continuous thought, I have always had it from the first day in which I have seen you», his lips settled languid in your half uncovered belly. Your chest was hurting, your hiccups were shaking and your throat was parting, making it sore.

«Please», you had whispered, «don’t hurt me», your eyes were still closed, full of salty tears.

You had finally had the courage to speak as you laid your hands on his in a desperate attempt to divert them from yourself. You put a little pressure on him, but the guy on top of you didn’t seem to want to cooperate with you. In your desperate act, you saw that his hands presented what appeared to be scars, perhaps... seams?

«Hurt you?» he laughed almost out of control, «I don’t know, I’ll probably do». Your eyes became two saucers, so scared that who was in front of you couldn’t help but notice it.

«Are you afraid? Yes, I imagine it is so, otherwise how could I feel so regenerated?».

Then his face took shape in front of yours.

His two-tone eyes peered at you in the darkness of the night, so evil, so frightening that they cut your breath. His hair covered his sewn face, it was so surreal it felt like a horror movie.

His hands grabbed your wrists with a surprising force, far beyond what would be expected of an ordinary man. Despite your attempt to resist, his grip intensified, and in response to your affront, he gripped your wrists until they broke.

A deafening and desperate scream broke free from your mouth, but the man’s reflexes prevented you from venting your pain altogether, resting his lips on yours.

Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.

He had the urge to lick your lips and grunt angry when you didn't want to.

With your wrists completely broken by now, you couldn’t defend yourself, so he freed them, putting his big, rough hand in your cheeks.

You were hurt and violated, could something worse have happened?

When his hand slipped in your belly to make room between your legs, you knew there was something worse.

«No!» you cried desperately, «no... no, no-».

«Yes, yes, yes, cute, little…».

Your head was beating, your heart seemed to want to explode in your chest, your sore wrists, victims of a broken fracture, were hurting so much that you missed the air.

«You will love this, you will love to take it, won’t you? Will you become the key to my experiment? You will carry my child so well, yes... you will be perfect».

You weren’t listening to almost anything that was vomiting on you, too traumatized, too aching to focus on his words, and it was bad, since he had just confessed his no longer hidden desire to impregnate you.

His hands stripped you of the oversize shirt you were wearing, lifted it up to your breasts, leaving your sensitive boobs exposed.

«I have raped so many women in my life by curse... but you... you are by far the most beautiful of all».

His hands landed in your ribs, forcing you to settle under him.

With one hand he would block you from the neck, keeping you under control as his head went down into your chest, tickling your collarbones with his hair.

When his mouth closed in your turgid sensitive nipple, you tried to look at the ceiling as much as you could. You just hoped it would be over soon, yeah, it would be over quickly, you’d just be estranged, and everything would just seem like a bad nightmare, right?

You told yourself that, but it seemed more complicated than expected.

His mouth sucked mercilessly, popping into your irritated reddened skin.

Bites and bruises took shape in your body, immediately you were back to being the pitiful girl of a few weeks before, while your body lay untidy between the covers of your bed.

Another sinful kiss reached your lips, but you, once again, had not returned it. Your muteness was followed by some hiccups and supplication but nothing seemed to stop the monster above you.

Your body’s natural reaction to his touch made you felt sick . Your bowels twitched at the thought of pleasure, you hated it, you hated that feeling so much, you would rather die.

«Now you will be a good girl, but there is no danger that you will be a bad girl, isn’t it true, pet?» Your half-opened lips made the curse above you even more aroused.

He bit your shoulder and made you bleed, and then, under your increasingly obvious shock, he took off your shorts and panties.

In a moment of lucidity you had brought your sore hands towards your intimacy, crying like a defenseless little girl and still begging him to let you go, to stop, not to do this to you... but nothing seemed to change his mind.

The curse slowly and forcefully pulled your hands from your most sensitive spot, giggling at you and your despair.

«How rude I am», he smiled , «I didn’t even introduce myself».

You struggled frantically in his grip, «As if I could give a fuck! Disgusting monster!».

The sick look of those who were torturing you became even more intense, He licked away your tears, while keeping you perfectly under his control.

«Oh, then you too have a spirit of survival, I thought you had lost the desire to fight», two fingers crept into your wet folds, surprising you.

You had bitten your lips, unable to restrain your weeping, disordered moans.

«I am Mahito», he had whispered in your right ear, while he was fucking you with his fingers, «keep this name in mind», he said kissing your ear shell.

«I am sure that soon you will shout it of your own free will».

Overwhelmed by his brute strength, you couldn’t help but cry.

Your sexual experiences could be counted on the fingers of a hand, what it was doing to you was something so abominable, and yet, your body could not help but react to unwanted caresses.

Dissociating seemed like something impossible, no matter how hard you tried to prove it, the feeling of his fingers inside of you wouldn’t let you get distracted.

Beyond that, the pain in your wrists grew stronger and stronger.

When you saw the face of the curse dipping between your thighs, settling on your violated pussy, you thought this was the first time someone was eating it, and no, it wasn’t something you wanted to get done; your shyness had always blocked you, but now there were no alternatives.

Still clenching your eyes, salty tears fell down your cheeks, now in a silent cry that heralded your destiny.

It was obvious, you couldn’t save yourself, it was too late, and when his tongue had sunk into your wet folds, you couldn’t help but arch your back to get away from his ruthless mouth.

In that desperate refusal, Mahito grabbed you by the side, trapping you in a cruel vise.

He licked all your excitement, lingering on your little feminine bud, there was nothing more annoying when his teeth grabbed him making your lower abdomen numb.

«No... I beg you, enough... I don’t want it», a guttural lament made you tremble like a leaf while the curse didn’t give sign of wanting to yield.

He sucked, then dipped his fingers in your tight opening.

You would have cum, you would have orgasmed, and you would have hated it, you would have hated yourself so much, so much...

With a choked-up moan you let yourself go into the spasms of orgasm, and as much as you hated to admit, it was painfully enjoyable.

He continued to overstimulate you as your thighs squeezed into his face, prey to a primal instinct that even you didn’t understand.

He caused a few complaints, while, horrified, you had noticed that his hand had rushed to rub the erection in his pants.

With a trickle of saliva tying his lips to your messy pussy, you couldn’t help but think the scene was tremendously erotic. Something made you pulse down there, and you certainly wouldn’t forgive yourself.

«Try to be honest with yourself», his voice teased you, while his hands spread out your legs again.

«And don’t hide», he said by rubbing your clitoris quickly.

Your sighs had become little squeaks of torment.

«e-enough... Enough... Too-»

«Poor little pet», he said slapping you in your core, «you are so desperate... You want more, don’t you?»

You were still crying, louder and louder, as you felt something rigid make room for yourself.

«Indeed...», he said, turning on your stomach, his lips in the shell of your ear, «I want to fuck you like a fucking dog, yes, as if we are two animals».

You were shaking like a leaf, and your wrists were throbbing with pain.

«they hurt me, this position... I can’t...», a slap angrily hit you on your buttocks.

«Shut up... be quiet», he bit you in the lobe, while his hands pushed you in the back, forcing you to adhere to the mattress.

Your butt was high, your femininity completely exposed to him, who was still torturing you with his fingers.

When he penetrated you with his monstrous cock, the squeaking from your throat intensified.

When he had started to move his hips in slow but deep and angry thrusts, you had screamed in pain.

Your pussy opened up to him, wrapping his long and big excitement.

A ring of delicious cream had formed around the circumference of the curse, and the more he stopped to study it, the more his horny cock enlarged.

«Don’t you feel what you’re doing to me?» he pulled your hair, forcing you to suffocate in your pillow.

«Don’t you feel how much we are made for each other?» one more push, one more scream from you.

You were a total mess, so physically challenged, you couldn’t even think straight.

The thrusts had become stronger and faster, his hands now, had run down your delicate neck, clutching him in a vise.

Her teeth sank into your back and shoulders as you trickled blood down and dirty the bed and your shirt crumpled over your tits.

«h-help», you had whispered in terror, unable to think clearly, «please».

«I’m sorry to tell you, sweetheart, but nobody will help you», with three other pushes he had come angrily inside you, filling you with his hot cum. You could hear it drip, while in an animal act, it continued to penetrate you without mercy.

«s-someone... Help me».

As you closed your eyes, you couldn’t help but feel the evil laugh of the curse above you.

«We will be together forever», He kissed your back , imperlated of sweat and blood.

«we will be together forever and you will adore it, you will love me, you will give to me a half cursed son».

Completely unconscious, your vision had become clouded, and even this could not block the cursed spirit.

«Open your legs, it will be a long night, you know?».

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narcissarina · 3 months

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Darkened Desires

Prologue and Chapter 1: The sun || Chapter 2: The moon ||

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 873

Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.

Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.

Your mental health matters.

CHAPTER 3:

THE MOON

I sat on my chair, legs crossed and seeing Mr. Parfez all beaten up, nose damaged and a severe cut on his legs. As far as I could count, my men stabbed him twenty-eight times on his thigh, used a knife and cut his cheeks—making his smile much wider and disturbing. Blood all over the tiles and how he is pleading for his life. Cigarette in hand, I puff out a smoke and stood up, using the end of my shoe—I lift his chin up.

Holy shit he looks horrible, this would be very horrifying for my girl.

I puff out another smoke and tilt my head to the side, his eyes met mine and I tap an excess cigar on him, he yells in pain and I push my remaining cigar into his eyes as he bleeds out in my hand—he tried to back out, lift my feet up and step on his chest to make him fall back in to the cold tile full of his blood. His screams can be heard in every corner of this fucking torture chamber of a room. I love how it’s also soundproof, no one can hear his cries for help and how much he pleads for mercy.

But I show neither sympathy nor mercy.

This if the price he must pay after making a fool out of myself, after scamming and breaking our contract like that. He fucking deserves it.

After pushing my remaining cigar to his eyes, he neither moves or struggles. He was dead, I killed him and I don’t feel a thing.

I stood up, and oh my fucking god. Blood all over my attire, fuck!

“Clean this up, and if you all fucked up cleaning this corpse, you all will ended up dead like him.” I snapped and they started moving.

Snapping my finger and one of my men came to me, “Report.” I spoke, he has a mullet cut and ash blonde hair, his tone flat as he speaks, he tells me her full name first and I smiled wickedly.

A beautiful name equals to a beautiful lady.

“She just recently graduated college and with her and her friends family support, they put up a café. She also has two siblings, she’s the middle child.” He reported, his tone loud and clear. I gave him a nod as he handed a file to me, I flip and turn pages full of her personal background.

Her birthday, her hobbies, favorite colors, pets, names of family members, her exes, what degree she graduated, who are her enemies, and more. A picture of her when she’s a child captured my attention, my fingers glide to it as if I were caressing a little girl that grown to be a wonderful and carefree woman.

Too bad she wouldn’t be carefree when she discover who I am.

Hacking one of her cameras are too easy, her surveillance in the café and her own home. She lives in a butt-fuck nowhere where forest surrounds her house. In her papers, it said that she has deep love for nature and how the smell of the leaves brings comfort to her.

Naughty girl, doesn’t she know that many people had gone missing because of houses like this? Tortured, raped, harassed, and more. Tsk, tsk, luckily she’ll have my protection every now and then. I don’t want someone lying their hands on my girl, no one.

There she is, lying on her bed with phone in hand—she doesn’t know that I’m watching her. Why did she install a camera in her bedroom? I laugh on how oblivious she is, hackers can easily hack her cameras then they either can sell her or their footage on the dark web.

I see her, in only in her thongs and fitted shirt, she walks around almost naked in her own home—well, she is surrounded by the green trees, no one can see her—she thought she is free exposing herself in just thongs.

My eyes lingers on the screen, I could feel my cock twitch and throb under the fabric of my pants. How it begs to be buried deep in her pussy, how much I want to penetrate her—to fuck her senseless.

Lost in wild thoughts, a voice came into my small earpiece, “Sir?” it called, I turn away from my computer screen, lean back and light up a cigar.

“speak.”

“I have reports on the missing children, and a leaked video.” He spoke, my attention snatched and my body stiffen, “leaked video?” I repeated and he confirms.

“These fuckers are sick in the head, even targeting helpless women aren’t enough.” I curse under my breath, my blood boils knowing that they even target little kids.

Sick wild motherfuckers.

“There is also an update for sir Niro, would you like me to send it to you?” he asked, I sigh and clenched the light up cigarette in my hand. It burns but it didn’t hurt I have my gloves on.

I nod and turn back to my computer screen, I nodded and have my mind relax when I see her lovely face in the screen, checking the surveillance.

I should probably keep my distance… for now.

Link:

Chapter 4: THE SUN

#genshin impact #scaramouche smut #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche #Mafia!Scaramouche #Mafia!Scara #genshin smut #Darkened Desires Series #dark romance #Sorry if the this chaoter is short TT #I'll try harder next time:(

134 notes · View notes

romana-after-dark · 3 months

Text

Room's on Fire: Girl on Fire

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Everyone is together, everything is complete.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

WARNINGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED!!!

Extra warnings for chapter: Pregnancy, breeding kink, violent sex, domestic violence on a man, gunshots, references to murder,, death, torture, all the horrors. The end was disturbing even to me, so read with caution. If you find the end was too much, just ask me what happens and I'll tell you. not super plot important but like it was pointed out, the sex is how we see dynamic shifts. Mentions of mpreg fantesy but no mpreg will happen bc they arent actually god, just insane.

3.7k words

A/N: Some pov shifts. Madonna, Jonah, Rey, Santi all get POV's.

A.N2: context for song quote, Alicia wrote girl on fire after the birth of her son.

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"She's on top of the world Hottest of the hottest girls say Oh, we got our feet on the ground And we're burning it down Oh, got our head in the clouds And we're not coming down This girl is on fire" ~ Girl On Fire, Alicia Keys

“It’s okay, you’re gonna do great.” Rey assured her, sitting on a table in the dressing room despite a chair being right there. His lanky legs liked to dangle, you noticed, or sometimes perch up in high places. He reminded you of a bird sometimes, lithe and graceful and seemed to float on his feet.

“What if they don’t like me? What if something happens? What if there’s another uprising or someone wants revenge on me because of my dad-”

“The people love you, and they were going to love you even more with this announcement. Jonah’s not going to let anything happen to you, you know that.”

Your face grows warm at the mention of Jonah. He had acted distant with you since the instance of Frankie and you on the horse, and wouldn’t let you see his face when he showed up the next morning with bruises. In fact, you’d hardly seen him at all. Rey was your primary guard, and Will had talked about moving your room to one with an attached room for Reyansh so that he could stay with you at all times. It seemed everyone knew Iris and Rey were an item, or at least they understood Reyansh was not a threat. You had begged Will not to switch around rooms. The reason given was that you liked your room, but really, you were hoping that you’d be moved into a room with one of your husbands. You weren’t visited by the incubus the night they all slept in your room.

Still, Jonah looked out for you. Under your dress right now was his bulletproof vest.

A knock on the door.

“Come in.” Iris called to the door, still working on your hair.

Will entered the room. “Are you ready, Madonna?”

Before you opened your mouth, Iris replied. “You could use her real name, you know.”

Will didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on you. “Her name is irrelevant, her position is everything.” When he turns and sees Reyansh, Will frowns. “What are you doing in here?”

Iris was quick to answer his unvoiced question. “He only came in after she was dressed.”

He instructs Reyansh to ready the carriage. Once he was out, Will turned to you with a smile. “You look stunning, Madonna.” Your heart swells with love for your handsome husband, dressed in his loose white shirt. In your hair, small white flowers adored you, carefully placed and worked in by Iris’s hands. She was incredible, making your dress too. It was colorful, with a color representing all four of your husbands. Under it, a bulletproof vest. No one in delta outside of guardsmen was allowed guns, but he wanted to be safe.

“Wow…” Will whispers, taking you in. There was just the slightest swell of a bump, you wondered if it was just weight gained from eating more these few months. Will took you into his arms kissing you deeply and feeling your stomach. Iris mumbles close enough as you’re pulled away. He turns back to her only a moment. “Make sure everything is ready when we’re back, please.”

Iris sighs, “It always is, Mr. Miller.”

Jonah cocked his gun. “Same as last time, honey. Anything happens, you come with me. Those guys can handle themself. I get hurt, do not stop for me. Just run. Someone will come find you, you just keep yourself alive, got it?” His brown eyes were on you for the first time in a long time, and you relaxed. Jonah’s eyes always calm you. It’s scary, knowing you were responsible for not just you, but someone else as well. The priestess stood at the balcony to the side, your husbands flanking you. Pope to your right, Francisco to your left, Ben to his left and Will to Popes right. Just as you were married.

“Men! Women! Children of Delta!” She shouts to the crown. “I present your Gods and your Madonna!” The crowd erupts into screams, and your heart fills with love for your people. “And!” A hush falls over the ground, waiting breaths quiet as they wait for the news. “I present to you, THE SAVIOR!”

The sound was deafening, a noise that shocked you and made you stumble back. To your surprise, Pope was behind you. It was a greater surprise when he rucked up your skirt.

Immediately your hands, out of instinct, go to bring the material down but his fingers quickly dig into your skin, warning you to behave. So, you stand there, humiliated, left hand gripping Francisco’s tighter. Pope loved you, he loved you and he’d never do something just to humiliate you! How stupid of you for feeling that way. This child was long prayed for, they and your body belonged to your husbands, belonged to Delta. Pope lifted your dress over the small bump,exposing your underwear to the crown. No one outside of your husband, a few house motherns and prefects had seen you in your underwear, so this was difficult…

But then Pope kissed your neck, and the worries melted away. Will, Francisco and Ben come to you, each placing a hand on your stomach as the priestess shouts, reaffirming that the savior’s parentage was of all four, that each of your husbands fathered this baby. You were called the vessel for their seed.

Then, you were placed on a tour. On a sitting carriage with all 4 of your husbands, you were paraded around to cheering people, the faces of women from your dormitory and even your room recognizable in the crowds. One woman whose bed was next to yours shot you a deadly glare as you passed by. She was mean, frequently detailing her escapades with Ben and throwing your own lack of attention in your face, but who was laughing now? Ben choose her for a short term fuck. You had a greater purpose.

When you reached the mansion again, the gates were crowded with people reaching out for you, and although there was fear as the mass of the crowd grew, there was also power. The savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned lay in your holy womb, you were the bringer of life. YOU were the divine mother.

The gunshot brought you back to reality.

“WILL!” You scream as your husband is shot backwards, stumbling into his brother’s arms who he shoved out of the way of the bullet. Jonah didn’t care about Will, however. He didn’t care about Ben falling at him brothers side under the weight. He didn’t even care about Francisco scrambling to grab at Ben in the chaos, and he certainly didn’t care about Santiago dragging Frankie away.

He cared about, sobbing in his arms desperately trying to get to your fallen love. Jonah wrapped an arm around you and pulled you away into the riotous, scampering crowd. You needed to get away from the shooter.

“NO!” You bawl loudly. Howling that he’s dying, that you need to be with him, but Jonah didn’t give a shit about that prick. He calls to Reyansh, who jumped out of the carriage the second the gun goes off. It was intentional, having Rey at the helm with him; only Rey would care enough about you out of all the guardsmen that Jonah could depend on him. Into the madness, you wouldn’t stop screaming and that rainbow dress of yours was not helping the situation.

“Rey! The tunic!” Jonah had to spin you around to disorient you enough to make you stop fighting in your hysteria, forcing your arms up while Rey slid a long, brown standard tunic over your body, making you blend into the neutral tones on the crown. Jonah clamped down over your mouth and pulled you away as the center of the shooting grew further away, Reynash covering you both. Once at the posting for a guard, Rey held you as Jonah mounted the steed and pulled you up, riding off with you.

You hadn't stopped sobbing for hours. Reyansh watched in concern, wanted so badly to comfort you lest the heaving and thrashing harm the baby or yourself. Rey loved children, he couldn’t wait for a day he could take Iris away and raise a family together, to finally be with her intimately and live a life with her.

Even if children weren’t in the picture (Iris wanted one in theory, but was hesitant to bring one into this world, understandably.) he’d cherish a life growing old with his lover. Maybe they’d some orphaned child; Iris had a soft spot for children in need. Her maternal instincts are why, despite not wanting to be friends or even really know her, Iris took care of the girl. Iris had ten years on the naive child. Continuously, she had warned him about keeping his distance, not raising suspicion that anything was happening between him and the girl, but it wasn’t his fault she was damn delightful. However, despite her obvious beauty, talents and sweet demeanor, nothing compared to Iris.

Reyansh could wax poetry about her all day long, and often did. He barely had any free time, most of the pockets of time he had, Rey liked to help Iris with her Herculean tasks, the laundry and dishes like Sisyphus and the boulder. He couldn’t take away the fact the next day would be filled with more dishes, more wall washing, more cooking, but he’d gladly sacrifice an hour of sleep so she could gain one. With him at all times, however, was his notebook and pen. As he sat at a mount or perch Rey liked to try his hand at poetry and writing.

Sometimes it was about the beauty of nature, the flowers he planted and gardens he kept, how they gave him joy during difficult times. Sometimes it was about the complex nature of family, of Iris and Jonah, Santiago and what he knew of Beatriz, which wasn’t much, the strained love and hatred between Will and Ben, or his own desire for fatherhood. Sometimes he wrote about the 5 lovers, the girl, the men who claimed to be gods, how each individual relationship strengthened them and weakened them in their own ways and how the girl changed things for better or for worse. Mostly, he just wrote about Iris, the prettiest flower he had.

He caught a glimpse of Jonah at the window, motioning him to come out. This safe house was his idea. Apparently, he and Marcus used to escape here sometimes.

Rey tries to tell you he’s stepping outside but you aren’t listening, curled up in a ball on the bed sobbing. He makes his exit.

Once outside, Jonah offers him a sip from his flask but Rey declines.

“I was going to ask how she is, but I can hear my answer.” The sound of you wailing penetrates the walls.

“How Will?”

“He’ll live, unfortunately.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.�� Jonah sighs, lighting a cigarette. “Wish those fuckers would just die.”

There was a long pause, Reyansh thinking hard before saying what he was thinking. He didn’t defy or talk back to Jonah, he respected him as his superior and, for all intents and purposes, his father in law. But Jonah was flawed. “You’re the one with a gun, Jonah”

Jonah inhaled a long drag before answering in a puff of smoke. “We’ve been over this.” He walked into the safe house.

They had talked, several times. Rey wanted Iris out but he didn’t have much power and knowledge. Jonah had the gun and a hundred reasons not to. There was no way to kill all 4 because everyone was armed. The community would riot. There was no where safe to go. A failed attempted would end Iris’s life. All these may be true, Jonah did have 4 decades of guard experience… but really, Rey thought he was just a coward, and maybe he cared for Pope and/or Francisco more than he’d like to admit. He’d been with those two since infancy, helped raise them, been a father figure most of their lives… it was understandable.

When he walked into the house, it was to crying but this time, relieved. He must have told her Will would be okay. You had your arms wrapped around his neck and he held you close to him, rubbing your back.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey, everyone’s gonna be just fine.”

Ben was changing Will’s bandages when you walked in and it made you nauseous to see the blood. Jonah said the bullet went straight through, that he’d be okay he just needed to rest, but the sight was disturbing.

Will groans. “Baby, don’t want you seeing me like this.”

Benny flicks his brothers arm. “Let her be, she was worried about you.”

The older Miller grumbled, but allowed you to kneel his side. He thumbed away a tear, “Don’t cry for me, beautiful girl.”

“What happened?” You sniffle, looking between Benny and Will.

“A girl from the dorms, she took the gun off a guard and tried to shoot-”

Ben interrupted. “You, Madonna.” He looked to his brother. “Melody, your old roommate, she tried to shoot you out of jealousy, she wanted to be with me. Will pushed you aside, took the bullet.”

You blink at that. Melondy wanted to shoot you? She wanted you dead? And Will. was he even standing by you? “But… I don’t remember being pushed.”

“Oh sweet girl…” Will cood. “Do you not remember? Poor thing, it was probably so traumatic-”

“No, I remember-”

“Your brain probably blocked a lot of it out, repressed it to protect you.”

Yeah, yeah that made sense. Memory was fragile. Will winced and Ben finished cleaning him and you took his hand as a new packing kit was applied. “Thank you for saving me…” You kiss his hand, feeling the rough knuckles warm skin. “For saving our baby…”

You fell asleep beside him that night, laying on his chest. He was warm, firm, inviting and protective. Nothing mattered more than the fact your husbands and your baby were safe.

Melody was dead. After the first shot missed, she approached where the four men had gathered intent on finding you, but Ben said Pope shot her square in the forehead, that he protected you while Jonah and Reyansh took you to safety. Ben said he had stood in front of his brothers and you, fearless, brave and bold. Pope loved his people, but he loved you most of all.

When you awoke, it was lae evening and although you wanted to go back to sleep, after some tossing and turning you realized you could. Not wanting to wake Will, you check his pulse and breathing, both strong and head out of the room to see if anyone is up. You know they dont like you wandering around the mansion without protection but you weren’t a child.

After Jonah and Rey had taken you back home, you were desperate to see William, but Pope demanded your presence with Francisco, both holding you tightly and checking you over again and again, tell you how precious you were, how loved. Pope knelt in front of you, hands on your belly, kissing it. You were thankful to have such loving and protective husbands. Despite the horrors of today, you felt blessed beyond measure

You came to the kitchen first seeing a light on. Sometimes Benny liked late night snacks. Instead, you see Iris and Reyansh slow dancing in the kitchen. Iris was actually smiling. No doubt Rey was fearful of his own women’s safety being forced in the cabin with you for so long after a riot broke out right outside where she was. Silent, you step away from the cute lovers and allow them their time. Rey helped save your life today, you needed to thank him, and thank Iris for all she did for your family, you were lucky to have them both.

You try to see if Pope is awake next. When you approach his room, the grunting sounds make you stop, peaking through the slightly cracked door. Pope was on top of Francisco, fucking into his ass with his legs bent up into a press. It was a position he used on you many a time. Francisco was a puddle beneath him, his curls stuck to the sweat on his head. He looked incredible. The way Pope kissed him so deep… You couldn’t help feeling warm inside. How lucky you were that your husbands loved each other so much.

Ben was found in the gym. For a moment, you merely watch him. Shirtless in his red shorts and throwing punches at a punching bag. He probably had so much energy in him after everything today, watching his brother bleeding in his arms. She knew they didn’t always get along, Ben holding anger for Will so often and over what, you couldn’t yet discern. Maybe this tragedy would bring them back together. You admire his body, carved out and chiseled in perfect form.

You loved the bodies of all your husbands, in each and every different.

Will was largess; tall, muscular, wide everywhere. Everywhere. His body consumed you just as yours consumed him; he was like a shield, metaphorically and now literally.

Santiago was softer. A small belly that was only noticeable when he was bent over, plush though and a moon shaped ass. He was all curves, from his nose down to his calved you had massaged so ardently.

If Pope was soft, Francisco was a pillow. Heavy weight surrounded him, the broad expanse of his shoulders to the fat at his waist and you just wanted to bury your face into it, you want to bite, nibble, and worship the pudge that spilled over his pants.

Ben was lean, the tallest of them and slim hips under rippling muscles. Golden God, beholden before you and it was as if his glory radiated off him. Despite the strength he was light on his feat. He could have been a boxer in another life.

“How are you feeling?” His deep voice breaks the tranfiction of the way his body moved, stilling the punching bag.

“I’m good, just woke from a nap with Will.”

Still looking away, Ben nodded. His mood matched the storm clouds out the window. After wiping his face, Benny chugged water and then finally made his way over to you in long, quick strides. His eyes flashed with the lightning outside.

Pope fucked Frankie with a fury he couldn’t recall in years. Frankie had defined him, ignoring his orders to leave but no, he wanted to stay with Ben.

“You don’t think I wanted Ben and Will safe too?” He growled in his lovers ear.

“I know!”

“You’re more important!”

He almost lost Will, Ben, the savior, and most importantly Frankie today. The girl would pay, fuck she’d pay. He couldn’t do anything Madonna might see, she thinks she’s dead already… no, a gunshot was to quick for someone trying to harm his family, but he’d make her suffer.

His anger toward Francisco wouldn't be helped when today, when he went to make love to Frankie, he found him in Ben's arms, cumming on his hand.

Ben had you pinned against the wall, fucking into you with your legs hitched around his narrow hips. The wind outside picked up speed, displaying his anger, his frustration, his love and his lust. You let him take you, fucking into your pregnant womb with his face tucked in your neck. You felt as if you were floating, like you were the center of the world right now. The sun God orbited you. Someone had tried to take you from him, a women he used to claim as his own but she had been cast aside for a reason. In her jealousy, she though she could regain her place at his side but that was foolish. Ben would never have loved her the way he loved you, the way he loved his husbands. Will, Francisco and Pope could never love her.

She was not the Madonna.

She could never carry the savior.

She could only ever have a bastard.

“Gonna fill you up, Frank.” Pope grunted, breath hot against Francisco's cheek, mouth to mouth, lips to lips. “Gonna fill up this tight little hole of yours until you’re pregnant with my baby, you got that?”

Frank’s eyes went wide. “Santi, wha-” But he stopped when Santiago slapped him. This shocked Frankie, Santi didn’t slap him, he didn’t hurt him like that…

“Take it!” Santiago screams, tears of anger blurring his eyes. He chose Ben over him. He’d rather stay in danger with Ben than safety with him. “Your mine, under stand?!” When Frankie didn’t answer right away, Pope gripped his jaw and felt a warm tear fall down his cheek. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

Long fingers gripping your asscheeks, digging into the sensitive skin.

Firm abs rubbing against your body.

Hips stimulating your clit.

A finger fucking into your asshole.

Everything was better than your wildest dreams. No incubus, a child on the way, friends and family. This was a life your father tried to take from you, but you were like gold that’s tested in fire.

Ben came inside when the thunder cracked, lightning still flashing and illuminating him with light. He muttered Francisco’s name.

“YES!” Francisco shouted in pain, face grimacing. “I’m yours! I’m yours Santi, fill me up! Make me-” He swallowed, tears forming at his long lashes. He gritted his teeth. “Make me p-pregnant!” Francisco was saying anything that'd make Santi stuff, just to make him cum and end this. He just wanted it over. All of it. He didn't understand why he wasn't allow to be happy, to feel safe, to have peace. Instead he had to submit to Santi's whims just like Beatriz.

Santiago tucked his face into his lovedrsneck, biting him as he came inside. Whimpering, tears streaming wildly down his face, Santiago bit into Frankie’s tender flesh: neck, then shoulder, till finally he just continuously bit into the skin on his large arm, drawing the blood and bruising the skin. It hurt like hell, Frankie's head thrashing back and forth on the pillow trying to take the pain and bare it. Santiago's tears mixed with blood as he finished cumming, thrusts slowing into a lul.

Francisco didn’t know where his body ended and Santi’s began.

He wanted Ben, to be held and protected by him. To be touched gently, with love. To be not possessed but show off so that he knew Ben was proud of him, proud of what they had, not what the fuck Santigo was doing to him. He wanted Madonna with her sweet kisses and open adoration. He wanted Will with his healing nature, tender hands on his arching, bleeding arm. He wanted anything but Santi’s touch right now.

Santiago curled behind Francisco. His hand rested on Frankie’s stomach.

***********

This disturbed me writing the end asdfghjkl

Madonna crying Reminds me of tww bonus chapter where little one thinks joel is dead and is just ugly sobbing

Madonna has... a lot to process today, and absolutly no therapy and no one she can be honest with about what she's witnessing.

I hope you all enjoyed... or .... something....???

Thoughts on Santis episode, Benny having a fit because he wanted Frankie but had to take madonna, will being shot, madonna is pregant, rey's thoughts!!!!! Jonah protecting madonna, etc.

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love you all dearly <3 I hope to get at least one more tf fic for the triple frontier anniverary evnt before the end, and maybe something else like a TWW bonus chapter i've been wanting, but no gurantees. next week is spring break and i have 10k worth of commissions to write so il be busy! I wanna get the last chapter of my handmaids tale au out though, end that baby <3

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

Text

Dark! Feysand x Human! Reader: Tag, You’re It[***]

A/N: I have no words for how much I love this ask

Summary: eenie, meenie, miny, mo, catch a lady by her toes, if she screams don’t let her go.

Warnings: Non-con, smut, breeding kink, mean Dom!Rhys, dark!Feysand, mentions of rape, slight predator play, slight necrophilia (cut off fingers), mentions of torture, 7.5k words

Necrophilia part follows from: ‘He’ll never put his hands on you again.

Well…’

“I—…what?”

The High Lady stiffens at your shocked tone. Almost horrified. Besides her, Rhysand’s eyes sharpen, piercing into you. She sucks in a calming breath. “We can get rid of your husband, you won’t have to live here anymore. With him.”

Your lips part in shock, both of their eyes following so keenly that you snap your mouth shut. “I love my husband,” you utter. “And this home is one we built together.” Silver lines your eyes as you try to summon anger but all you feel is betrayal. “I understand it’s nowhere near your level of wealth,” you flush, eyes hot, “but my husband and my house are both very dear to me. I will not leave them.”

“Just give us a chance,” Feyre whispers, gently, reaching to settle her palm over yours but you jerk back. Pain flashes through her grey-blue eyes before she smothers it. “No!” You keep your hand close to your chest, leaning away from her in the chair. “I’ve told you very clearly, High Lady—” Feyre stills at the title, in replace of her name, “—I love my husband, and he loves me. We’ve grown together throughout the years and there’s no one I would be happier to spend my life with. Besides,” you add, voice quieting as your eyes pierce into the female’s, “we’ve decided to try for a child. By this time next year I will have a baby to look after.”

She actually flinches at the line. A reminder of how fae bodies take longer to reproduce, how slim the chances are. A private worry she had confided in you, many moons ago. The High Lord’s eyes narrow, thinking about all the ways he could make you submit to them. Rhysand watches as you raise from your chair, tension rippling across his chest as you move to the door. It would be so easy to sink into your mind, slide through your mental shields and force you to your knees.

But his mate is still young and would not approve of his darker methods. He needs to find a way around the obstacle of morality, and quickly. Before you leave and things begin to get messy. Who would’ve guessed you’d be so loyal to your scummy husband? Anger burns across his chest at the thought alone. How you could put up with the man was beyond him. He knew the two of them would treat you infinitely better than he ever could. You just needed your eyes opened, to see their side.

The High Lord is brought out of his mind when Feyre stands from her chair, striding after you on her elegantly fae legs, swallowing the distance. Her movements are sharp, precise. No soft edges to be found. Her mind is hardened and he sends a question across the bond. It rebounds off a wall of glittering, black adamant, so pure his talons hardly leave a scratch.

Her hands land on your hips and you flinch when she spins you around, shoving you against the unopened door. “It wasn’t a request,” her words are lethally soft, warmth freezing over as ice slices through her eyes. “I was giving you an order.” Then her hands pin you to to the exit, holding you still by the sweep of your bones, and her mouth crushes down on your own.

You completely freeze, caught in the crossfire as you still. Your mind blanks with utter terror as she forces her tongue between your lips, tasting you as she growls. The sound has your hairs standing on end, tingling sensitivity erupting across your skin as her mouth overlaps your own.

The High Lord’s eyes widen, shock coursing through his blood as he watches, enraptured. His mate keeps you against the door, taking what she wants. Then she’s pulling back, a silver thread of saliva connecting your lips as you stare up at her. “Rhys,” she commands, and you’re paralysed as the male stands, exuding malice as he prowls forward, settling at her back. He towers over the both of you, and his violet eyes gleam with dark delight.

“Yes, my lady?” He drawls, hands settling at her waist, hunching over as he settles his chin on the elegant slope of her shoulder. Both of their hungry eyes remain on you, pinning you to the door like an insect to a dissection table. “Bedroom. Now.” Her voice cuts through the air, like a freshly forged blade through a narrow sheet of ice.

He presses a kiss to the space below her jaw, hands dancing over the lace at her sides. Violet eyes pierce into you before he vanishes, wisped away in a plume of shadows. Your eyes turn to the female’s, afraid, “Feyre—”

“‘Feyre’, now.” Her expression is stony, blue-grey eyes thunderous. “I thought you were content to address me as High Lady,” she spits out. You cower before her, power straining in the air, the metallic tinge shoving itself up your nostrils.

You swallow, raising your hands slowly in surrender, “I swear, I didn’t mean to offend—”

Her hand grips you jaw and you cry out, her nails biting into the soft skin of your cheek, “don’t back out now,” she croons, “you said what you wanted to. Chose your path.” Silver lines your eyes as terror screams in your blood. Her lips brush over yours as she leans down, eyes hard and unforgiving, “you dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Her lips once again crash over yours and you cry out, tears free-falling from your eyes, pouring down your cheeks as you try to scream. One hand snakes around your hip, keeping you still with her overwhelming strength. Her other snakes between your legs, fingers dancing through the fabric of your skirts, settling against your bare heat. She completely dominates your mouth, even as you thrash, her teeth nipping at your lips, tongue conquering your own as she shoves you into submission.

A growl rumbles across her breastbone as she feels wetness at your entrance. The heel of her palm rubs over your clit as you try to scream for her to stop, to get away from you. Two of her fingers dip into your cunt and you cry harder, writhing against her grip even if it’s utterly useless to attempt to escape her. She’s brilliantly, powerfully fae, and you’re undeniably, detrimentally human.

Your hands slide away from trying to shove her off, instead scraping at the door. If you can just find the handle—

The wood gives way behind you, allowing you to stumble back, crashing to the floor as your legs give out. She’s silhouetted in the frame, unusually tall, proportions too elongated to pass as human. Sharp talons protrude from her fingertips, glinting in the light. She snarls, and all it takes is that first step across the threshold that has you scrambling to your feet, sprinting down the hallways. An animal growl echoes along the corridor behind you, bouncing off the walls as your feet pound against the floor boards.

You swerve left, careen right, hit the stairs. You practically leap down them as you hear her following after you. Her steps are slow, leisurely, but you hear the menacing scrape of claws along wallpaper. It grates on your ears and you’re surprised you don’t trip with how weak your legs feel.

You fling a door open, dashing inside as you search for the final set of stairs to lead you down to the ground floor. It’s another hallway. There’s no time. You sprint down it, feeling the pressure of power in the air as she gains on you. You nearly trip on a rug but keep your balance, zipping down the corridors until you find a set of stairs. They only lead up.

Her footsteps echo on the dark mahogany floors, the deep red rugs doing nothing to soften their harsh thud. She’s practically behind you.

You take the stairs three at a time, breathing hard as you turn right at the top, searching for a place to hide. You run down more corridors with dark floorboards, more hallways with red rugs. Shit. You must’ve gotten turned around. Were you even on the first floor?

Where are you, little traitor?

The High Lady’s voice slices through your mind and you clutch your temples, the sound much too loud. It must mean she’s close. Fuck. You stumble along the narrowing hallways, but trip, sprawling on the floor. Pushing up, you see the loom of her shadow around the corner, lurking just out of sight. You turn on your heel, arms pumping at your sides, heart pounding in your chest.

You round a final corner and you know you can’t continue for much longer. Your throw open a door, spinning on your heel as you make sure to shut it as quietly as possible. You can’t hear it over the thunderous beat of your heart. In your peripherals, you can see your hands shaking as you release the handle, backing up on your tiptoes.

Powerful arms slide around your waist, pulling you tight against a strong chest, “there you are, little lynx.” You scream, pushing away from him as you turn. A vicious grin plays on his hellish mouth, stalking forward until you’re cornered against the wall. Your lungs are burning as you again reach for the handle, but it’s gone.

Disbelievingly, you stare at the flat wood, no sign to be found it was ever there. “What did you do?” You stammer, tears brimming at your eyes as his grin widens. “I didn’t do a single thing. That was all her.” You shrink away from him as he leans down, arms wrapping around your middle, the broad length of his shoulder pressing against your stomach.

Screams tear from your lips as he hoists you into the air with casual ease. You don’t weigh a thing to him. “Let me go!” You cry, slamming your hands into his back, aiming either side of his spine. He flings you down atop a wide mattress. Your marital bed, you realise. “Please, Rhys. My husband! What of my life!?” Your desperate pleas fall on deaf ears as his grin widens with pleasure.

“Keep still,” he drawls, arms folding over his powerful chest and you can’t find the will to move. It’s been taken from you. “I’m sure she’ll be along in a moment to decide what to do with you.” Tears blur your vision, and a moment later, the door swings open. A shiver licks up the High Lord’s spine as he sets his gaze on his mate, who is thrumming with dark power. Embracing the Night.

You scramble back on the bed, up to the headboard, pressing into the corner as she prowls across the room. Her talons glitter in the fading light, the room awash with blues and greys as darkness descends. “You want to make this difficult, little traitor?” She spits, standing at the end of the mattress. You shake your head, mouth trembling as your hands shake.

The grey-blue of her eyes shutter at your answer. “Come here.” One slim finger points to the spot directly in front of her. You swallow, tremors wracking your muscles but you manage to sporadically push forward. Maybe you should listen to her, get her out of that cold, wrathful state. Hands settling shakily into the sheets, you crawl forward, stopping before her as you sit back on your calves, kneeling placatingly.

“Rhys,” she addresses, never taking her cold eyes from you, “sit down.” He follows her orders, taking one of the comfortable armchairs facing the bed. He sprawls across the seat as if it’s a throne, long legs crossing over one another as he settles for the show.

Feyre’s claws retract, hand fisting in your hair sternly. “Eyes on me.” Instantly, you return you gaze to her, and her grip lessens. “Will you be good for me?” The question slices through your tender threads of hope. Your lower lip wobbles, but you nod. You just need an opening. Maybe you can throw yourself out the window.

The High Lady’s eyes pierce into you, staring deep into your soul. “Kiss me,” she commands, and you still.

“W—…what?”

“Prove you’ll be good. Kiss me. Show me you mean it.” Her brow narrows, “unless you’re lying.”

“Fey—” She glowers at the pet name you’ve had for her. “Feyre. Please.” Your hands raise to settle on her hips, holding her in reverent supplication, bowing your head, appealing to the friend you’d once had. “Maybe, if my husband could—”

She snarls, cutting you off as she jerks your head upright. “That useless sack of meat doesn’t deserve you.” You swallow down your tears at the way she speaks about the man you love, heart stinging, wishing he could be here to hold you. You were so close to your happy ever after. “But if he could just come with me! Then…then maybe…” You meet her gaze heart sinking. “You can have me.”

A thunderous growl resonates throughout the dark room and you try to shrink from her, hands pulling away as if stung. “The next time you mention him, I’ll kill him myself.” Despair wracks your heart, shuddering within its boney cage. You fling your arms around her in a last effort to summon forward the gentle friend you’d had, your closest companion, the one who you had thought you’d listen to above anyone else. Her word had been law unto you, until she’d changed.

“Please, Fey,” you sob weakly, shuddering in her arms. She stiffens under your touch, finally feeling your skin against hers as she’d dreamt about for so long. She can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the full press of your breasts against her own, the soft tickle of breath over her shoulder as your arms grip her tightly. As if you’re scared to let go of her. “I know you’re in there…” Hot droplets land on the bare expanse of her shoulder, pooling in the dip of her collar bone. “So please, come back to me. I miss you so much. Come back, Fey…”

Her hands brace your waist, gently pulling you from her. You settle back onto your knees, hands flat against her neck, just below her jaw as you look at her with dim hopefulness. You watch as her eyes glaze, in discussion with her mate. When she speaks, her voice has softened, something of her old kindness lighting the icy grey of her eyes. “Why do you love him?”

Tears spill as hope lights in your chest. “He completes me, Fey. Like how you say Rhys completes you. I can’t—…without him, I… I wouldn’t be me, Fey. He makes me whole.” You look up at her with pleading eyes, her own softening just a fraction. “It’ll pass,” she soothes, hand landing atop your head with a feather-light touch, stroking your hair calmingly.

“What…?”

Sadness lies in the depth of her dark gaze, “you’ll recover from him. Like I did from Tamlin. You’ll get better. My sweet girl…just let us help you.” The spark dims, snuffed out by her words. Then the torrent of emotions rain down on you as your hands fist in the collar of her low cut dress, pulling yourself up until you’re chest to chest. “How would you feel, Feyre?” You shout at her, tears pouring down your cheeks as you feel like you’re being cleaved in two. “What would you do if someone tried to take you away from Rhys? How would you feel if they tried to force you like you’re doing to me?”

“Why have one when they could have both?” She murmurs, looking deep into your eyes. You shake your head as her own hands slide adoringly up your sides, cupping your jaw. “No…that’s not… You’re not listening to me!”

“I drink in every word you give me, treasure every moment of your company in the chambers of my memory,” she breathes over your lips. You’re sucked into her mind, swallowed as she shows you yourself through her eyes. When you and your husband were struggling badly and you’d broken down, crying and shaking in her arms. When she’d tried to leave you alone on your birthday, thinking you’d want to share it with the man you claimed to love. Yet you had snuck out - after dark - to her own mansion in the human lands, where you knew she had made the journey to in order to at least be around to celebrate.

Her memories swarmed your mind, tainting the once dear images with a sinister gleam, a lurking presence waiting for the right moment to pounce.

The High Lady sees that same look in your eyes as the night you’d confessed to skipping meals to ration food over the harsh winter, the despair. The doubt you’d survive. She doesn’t want to hurt you, but she knows you’ll be better away from him. You just need the bandage ripped off, like what Rhys had done for her when he’d saved her from the Spring Court. She’d been dissonant at first, but had come back to life under his care.

And they could do the same for you. Nurture and guide you until you were healed of your husband’s marks. Until you wouldn’t question a lone grave dug in your back garden in the house you would leave behind. For them. They could keep you as you are, take you into their home, welcome you to their bed. She knows it will take a while, months perhaps for you to come to terms, to understand the past, but the time will come. Second by agonising second.

“But he loves me, Fey. I can’t leave him behind. He’s my husband.”

She doesn’t remind you of the threat she’s made. Of the promise she will now fulfil.

“I love you!” She snarls, pressing her forehead against your own. “We…Both of us. Rhys and I…we love you so much it hurts.” You stare up at her with wide eyes, stunned. Your head shakes subtly, trying to deny her. “We do, sweet girl,” she agonises, “you’re everything to us. The sun, the moon, all the stars. They’re nothing to you. Our Court, our people, our realm. We would pick you over them a hundred— forever.”

“No…” you whimper, hands going slack at your sides.

“We’ll take care of you. You’ll never be without a meal. Never sleep alone at night. Never worry you won’t survive a season ever again. We can be your stability. Just let us have you.”

“Fey…”

She pulls you to her mouth, swallowing down your pained whimpers as she drinks you down. Her hand twines around your waist, pulling your middle against hers. Your hands settle just above her chest, weakly pushing away from her.

She comes back harder, making you lean back in her arms, allowing her to splay you out on your own marital bed. When she pulls away, you’re panting, heart pounding. Through teary eyes you peer up at her, “you can’t do this, Fey…” you whimper, voice cracking, “you’re supposed to be my friend… You’re not supposed to…use me, like this.”

“We’re not going to use you, sweet girl,” she breathes over your lips, “we’re going to love you.” You shake your head frantically, attempting to pull away from her treacherous mouth, “but I don’t want that!”

“You will… You just need to understand. See how much better we can treat you. You’ll be bathing in pleasure before you know it. You’ll never want to leave our bed.”

You move to protest but a scent catches your attention, deep and musky. The High Lady’s eyes glaze, pausing as she speaks to her mate. You take the precious seconds to prepare yourself for the inevitable. They’re going to take you. On your marriage bed. You bite the inside of your lip, trying to prevent the tears.

Her eyes regain their life, sadness in their depths. “I’m sorry it had to happen this way.” Her lips brush against yours, a shudder slithering down your spine that she misinterprets. Her nose brushes you own in what’s supposed to be an affectionate gesture.

The High Lord raises from his chair. He’s seen enough. Now it’s time to partake.

You stiffen as he prowls closer, eyes widening as you stare up at the female. “You’re not…” you trail off, looking at her, stunned. “You’re going to let him rape me?”

Her eyes soften slightly. “We love you, sweet girl. It’s not rape.”

“My husband loves me, and yet he—!” Your eyes snap wide, hands slapping over your mouth as you freeze, terror icing your veins as they both still. “I didn’t— that—… I’m sorry…”

“He did what?” Fury sluices through the room as it blazes in her cold eyes. Their lips pull back from their teeth, rage burning in the air. You shake your head desperately, trying to swallow back the words you’ve already spat out. Talons slice from her fingernails as her canines sharpen, pupils slitting with pure outrage.

“I’m going to slaughter him,” she realises, breathing the violent words onto your lips. You flinch. “No…” you whimper, “Fey, you don’t understand…! He was drunk! He didn’t know what he was doing!” You cry. The High Lady moves to pull away from you but your arms grip over her shoulders, legs clasping around her waist. She just pulls you with her as she stands. Feyre barely even registers your weight as she steps away from the bed.

Your thighs squeeze her hips as you try not to fall, burying your face into her hair. “It was only once…he didn’t mean to. I know he didn’t. I don’t think he even remembers it.” Her body stiffens as you cry into her shoulder. Like you’ve done so many times before. And it feels familiar. A warm breath of summer air in the depths of a Winter Court snowstorm.

But your confession plays over and over again in her mind, a curse on repeat. “Rhys,” she murmurs, summoning her mate. They exchange glances, coming to an agreement. Strong arms sneak around your waist, holding your back to his chest as Feyre steps from your arms. Panic tears through you as you struggle against his iron grip. “No!” You rasp, voice breaking, “you mustn’t! You can’t kill him!”

She plants a kiss to your forehead, brushing away free strands of hair. “I’ll be back. Rhys’ll look after you,” she murmurs against your mouth and you cry. “I don’t want him! I don’t want either of you! I want my husband!”

“Don’t say that,” the male speaks from behind you, making you jump in his arms, “you want us to be gentle, don’t you?” The High Lady snarls, shooting him a threatening look. You can practically feel the smirk on his hellish mouth.

“If you hurt her…” Feyre snarls, and for a second, you think you see part of the old her shining through. Then the High Lord presses a placating kiss to your cheek, soothing his mate. “Now, do you want to deal with him, or should I?” He spits, and you know who they’re talking about. You attempt to crawl out of his arms but his head dips again, littering kisses to the slope of your neck.

You whine as you try to scrabble away, out of his dominating hold, desperately trying to escape the invasive press of something hard at your lower back. His hips roll against yours and a startled whimper that sounds a bit too much like a moan flies from your lips. Both of them still. You can feel their penetrating gazes piercing into you, willing you to repeat the sound for them. They’ve gotten a taste, now they want more.

The High Lady steps forward, cupping your jaw as she affectionately lays kisses to your cheeks and nose, as if kissing invisible dots. “Rhys’ going to take care of you while I’m gone. Okay, sweet girl?” You look at her pleadingly. “Please…” your heart pumps as you feel him twitch at the whimper. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone with him.”

Feyre kisses the bridge of your nose comfortingly. “He won’t be mean to you, sweetness. Just try to get along and everything will be fine. He won’t hurt you.” Tears spill down your cheeks as you try to grab for her. It’s a no-brainer to pick her over the High Lord who’s been ruling for centuries. You have no doubt he has near depthless experience in breaking those he views as heretics, bending them to his will.

Despite everything, Feyre still holds an modicum of safety to her person. Rhysand seems to view morality as a loose guideline if it gets in the way of what he wants. And right now, he wants you.

She puts a kiss to your lips and - praying to the mother for forgiveness - you kiss her back, desperately trying to sway her mind so she’ll stay. She moans, but pulls away, leaving your mouth cold. “I’ll be back to join before you know it. But for now,” her eyes turn ice blue, jaw tightening, “I’m going to deal with that man.”

And like that, she vanishes, leaving you alone with the monster at your back. He noses at your throat scenting you, picking up on something he likes. “That was mean, little lynx,” he mutters begrudgingly beside your ear. You shudder, and he forcefully guides you back to the bed. Rhysand pushes you forward, making you tumble down onto the mattress, bent over.

Frantically, your hands scramble for purchase, attempting to wriggle away from him but his large hands grip your hips. “Rhys…” you whimper into the sheets, too afraid to look at him. A deep groan resonates in his chest, grabbing you tight as he lifts you onto the bed, forcefully enough that your arms give out, sticking your ass in the air. You move to lift your upper half from the bed, but something prevents you—a dark power that laces around your muscle and bone, threading narrowly through cartilage.

You’re stuck, face pressing into the sheets, hind perking up.

Hairs raise all across your body as his fingers trail up your calves, catching on the material of your dress as he eases it up over the backs of your thighs. You struggled when he pushes it over your ass, revealing the thin slip of material that clings desperately to your hips.

“Rhysand…” you weep into the mattress. You don’t even know what you’re trying. If Fey hadn’t budged, there’s no way you could convince him. He shushes you—surprisingly gently. Horridly so. He shifts behind you on the bed, and you feel the invasive press of something between you—

“Rhys!” You scream. His hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, pulling you back against his face as he inhales. “Rhys! Stop that!” You cry, hips wiggling as you attempt to squirm away from him. His grip only tightens, and a soundless scream tears from your throat as he hooks his fae fingers beneath your underwear, pulling it away. Then he’s pressing straight back in, nose flush against your slick hole, mouth prone to attack your clit. It flicks out, gently, testing you out.

You feel the serpentine grin on his hellish mouth, before his lips part over you, groaning as his silver-tipped tongue gilds your glossy cunt.

Shame and mortification thrill inside of you at how quickly he has you unravelling on him. Tears wet the sheets, hot and salty. He moans at your taste, finally raising from between your legs, only to mount you like a whore.

A new wave of terror splits down your throat as you feel him against your ass. One powerful arm loops around your middle, the other snaking beneath your jaw so he can brush his words over your mouth. “That wasn’t so bad, was it, little lynx?” He lifts you so you’re on your hands and knees, back curving in an attempt to relieve the press of his skin anywhere from your body.

The High Lord’s grip tightens on your jaw, and you’re worried he’ll fracture the bone. “That damned husband of yours ever treated this cunt so good?” You don’t even try to move, fearful he’ll snap something. You wince as his grip strengthens, and panic floods your body. You attempt to squirm free of his grip, but your ass ends up pushing back into his hips, a growl sounding in his chest at the action.

“That desperate to have her treated well, huh?”

You swallow, jerking away from him. He releases you suddenly, chuckling to himself as you fall forward into the bed. Immediately, you’re rolling onto your back, scrambling up the bed to get away from him. The High Lord prowls after you, cornering you when your back presses against the wall, slotting himself between your thighs. He’s so much larger than your human form, deadly power writhing in the dark halo of shadow that surrounds him.

“Come on,” he chides, cupping your jaw as you squeeze your eyes shut, blocking him out any way you can. He makes a noise of displeasure, before his soft, cruel mouth lands over your own. A whimper slides from your throat as he nips at your lips, tongue flicking out carefully. You try not to thing about what that flavour is. “Open up for me.”

With a shake of your head, the tears fall and you feel the hot, wet trace of his tongue dancing over your cheek, lapping up the salty paths. When he reaches the damp underside of your lashes, you flinch away, peering up at him. “There you go,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the cleft of your cheek. “Stop struggling, and this will all be so much more enjoyable for you.”

Your lower lip trembles, but you say nothing. You’ve used up all your pleading words, all your exploring supplications. There’s no way to appeal to them, they’ve set their minds of you. Maybe you should just give up, as they say. Just let them have you. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad…

You hiss as you suck in a breath, realising what he was doing. Before he could fully grasp your mind, you spat at him, aiming just below his violet eye. It widened, staring at you in vague shock. He lifted one hand to his cheek, thumb swiping at the saliva as he wiped it away. The trembling swallowed your whole body as his eyes turned back to you, filled with cold violence. No more warmth. No more gentleness.

Good.

You could go down swinging.

A snarl thundered throughout the room as shadows engulfed the bed, obscuring your vision. You screamed when his mouth opened over your throat, viciously biting at the junction of your neck and shoulder. His teeth scrape over your clavicle, menacingly. His hands wrap beneath your ass, tugging you toward him as you’re manoeuvred into his lap, still rendered blind.

Through the darkness, you try to shove at him, at least pierce him with your nails. Maybe if you could find his eyes, you could dig into them. The menacing click of talons could be heard through the shadows, and you nearly froze with petrifaction as the glittering claws sliced, slowly, down your spine. The material of your clothes peel away the further he splits them. A ripping sound comes from behind you and you know it’s the last of your dress being shredded as he pushes it from your body.

Your hands find his shoulders and you raise them to his jaw, nails biting down into his skin, one thumb catching beneath his upper lip—and you nearly slice yourself on his canines. He snarls, and then you’re lifted from his lap, only to be pushed back down.

You scream bloody murder as his cock glides into you easily. You writhe and thrash against him, but every movement causes him to shift inside of you, making your inner muscles flex. He forces you down into the mattress, large hands tipped with glittering talons pinning you painfully. “You were rather cruel to my mate earlier, weren’t you, little lynx?” Rhysand drawls, tone dripping with malevolent vengeance. “Gloating how easily your human body can sustain life?” You whimper at the reminder. “I didn’t mean it,” you sniffle, eyes burning, “it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

“Uh, uh, uh. You said what you said, little liar. You know it upsets her, how slim our chances are, as High Fae.” You hiss as he draws his hips back, rolling them against yours. “So how about I put a baby in you instead, huh?”

————

Every second away from you is another second of torture, but she calms herself by scratching the itch. Her talons are glittering with blood, his eyes plucked clean out, mouth petrified into an eternal scream, a wound in his ribs surrounded by shredded flesh where his heart had been pulled from the cage of bone. His fingers are tucked away in the pocket of her pants.

It made her feel a little better, that he’d never lay a hand on you again.

Still.

She’d been gone too long, enjoying herself too much in tearing the man apart with her fae strength, and had forgotten you’d been left with her mate. The High Lady hisses in frustration. She’d wanted to be there, take part in the first time either of them got to touch you… But she’d had to. She wouldn’t have been able to enjoy you, otherwise, knowing such pain still haunted you.

Feyre would get answers out of you later, about why you hadn’t told her when it had happened. The Mother knows she would have whisked you away faster than winnowing. How long has you been keeping that from her? She grinds her teeth, spitting at the corpse, before leaving him in the chair. For later.

With a fraction of a thought, she’s cleaned the grin from her skin, talons retracting into smoothly padded fingers, slim and delicate. Perfect for you. She winnows to the top of your house, stood just outside, where she pauses for a moment. From inside she can hear the distinctive, pleading whimper of your voice, coupled with soft groans from her mate. The corpse is forgotten, her hand snaking between her legs as she listens.

When she opens the door, fierce arousal smacks her in the face, overpowering from being locked up in this room for so long. The High Lady’s mouth waters as she takes the sight in. Rhysand is tucked beneath you, strong, finely muscled arms set lightly over your hips, brushing over your waist. You’re spread over him, sitting tightly in his lap, chest to chest, your legs splayed out behind him. You’re completely at his mercy, unable to lift or move, just cling to him as he rolls his hips in an erotic lullaby of groans.

“Come on,” he whispers beside your ear, “be my good girl, yeah?” Your hips shift, back curving, breasts dragging over his chest. “Take it,” he implores, quietly, the soft caress of a lover’s voice. You try to bury your face in his neck, hiding from the world, but he doesn’t let you. His hand fists in your hair, tugging you backward, chidingly. His grip changes to your jaw, lifting your eyes to his. “You were so eager before. What happened? Too much?” He taunts, mouth brushing over yours and she watches as a shiver spider walks down your spine. The High Lady takes a step forward and your eyes loll to hers, rimmed with wet lashes.

Shakily, you reach out a hand to her. “Feyre…” you wail, lower lip trembling. “Make him stop…” Rhys’ hips buck and you slump into him, hand dropping as he lets you collapse into the strong lines. His hand brushes affectionately over your hair, soothingly as he basks in the hot wetness of drool spilling from the corner of your mouth onto his skin.

The High Lady coos, moving closer, leaning over to look at you. Your eyes are a little puffy, lips nipped raw, gaze glazed while your chin glistens with… heat licks between her thighs. Rhysand’s been having a lot of fun with you. Your stomach is gleaming with cum, and when he lifts you from his cock, slamming you back down, she sees the creamy ring circling base of his cock. Release has long since stained the sheets beneath you and she wonders how much longer you’ll last with your human strength.

Your head tips back, baring your throat as you flutter around his cock, tears dripping from your sore eyes. How many times has he made you come? On his thigh? On his fingers? His mouth, his cock? You’re on the verge of oblivion, yearning desperately to be swept away from the torment.

“Rhys,” she scolds, softly, helping you to lie back as he draws his hips back, pulling out. He shoots her a wicked grin, “just warming her up for you.” She shoots him a glare before her eyes settle on you. More the thick and constant leak of cum seeping out of your hole. Just how full had he gotten you?

Detecting the direction of her eyes, Rhys smirks, “we thought an apology was in order for how she spoke to you.” His attention returns to your bruised body, making you shrink away, attempting to scuttle up the mattress, but you’re so sensitive. So tired, and worn out.

Feyre raises a brow in silent question. He grins, prowling forward until he’s caging you in. With each movement you make to get away from him, your inner muscles flex, pushing small waves of come from your hole. Rhys tuts, three fingers pushing into you, tucking the creamy liquid back inside of you. “Why don’t you let Feyre what we were doing, hm?” Your lower lip trembles, but you answer obediently, too scared of what he’ll do should you fight back. “Wanted…wanted to put a baby in me.” You whimper, feeling the drag of his fingers against your inner walls. His thumb rubs gently over your puffy clit, making you whine. She wants to be the one drawing those sounds from you.

It’s her turn to play with you. Rhys’ had you to himself this whole time, while she doesn’t even know what you taste like.

“Rhysand.” She barks, drawing his attention. He knows he’s in trouble, but he offers a sinful grin none the less. “I think you deserve a break, don’t you?” She growls possessively, noting how your eyes warm to her with twisted gratitude. His eyes spark with anticipation, waiting to see what she’ll do with you.

Reluctantly, he moves away from you, leaning against one of the broad bed posts. Feyre’s attention switches to you as she coos, crawling onto the bed, ignoring the creamy stains decorating the sheets. Even if she wants nothing more to lap at them. “Was he being mean to you, sweetness?” She murmurs, lifting you into a sitting position as you hiss. She can tell just from looking to your eyes that your mind is muddled, either from Rhysand fucking you dumb for the past hours or from being tampered with. Either way, she’s not too bothered, if it works in her favour.

You nod with weary eyes, looking up at her with lost hopefulness. “Want me to help you feel better, hm? He was so rough with you, wasn’t he?” You latched onto her at the first sign of sympathy, nodding desperately. She kisses your lash line, “it’s going to be okay now. I’m going to take care of you. You want that?” Your lower lip wobbles as you nod.

She plants a kiss to your nipped lips, before descending between your legs. At first you squirm, hating the idea of having more between your thighs, but she pushes them open firmly. You whimper as her hot breath caresses your slick heat, puffy clit already aching. But when her mouth attaches to you, it’s soft and wet. No teeth to be found, just the gentle tug of tips and the soothing lap of her tongue. Slowly, you stop trying to shut your legs on her, thighs even opening a little wider.

Feyre indulges you, moving so affectionately over your pussy, lapping up the release that’s steadily leaking from your hole, even as she feels Rhys huffing in the back of her mind. “Does that feel better, sweet thing?” She questions, settling a kiss just below your clit, her nose bumping the sensitive nub. “…yeah.” She laughs softly, pulling away from your cunt as she crawls back up over you.

“Did Rhys use your pretty mouth?” She asks, and heat flushes your salty cheeks. You shake your head, tears welling, brimming at the edges. She smiles gently, “I’ll take that first, between us, then.” More tears fall but you nod, obedient. Fearing what will happen should you disobey. She’s being so gentle with you, and you don’t think you can stand another round of Rhysand’s games.

The High Lady swings a leg over your head, hovering above your mouth. The smell of her pussy is overpowering, making you go dizzy. Oh so gently, her arms loop beneath the small of your back, pulling you upward until her back is straight. The tops of your thighs settle seamlessly over her shoulders, baring your heat to her as if you’ve been served on a tray.

“Oh, sweet, sweet girl,” she breathes, pushing her nose to your entrance and inhaling deeply, like the High Lord had done. She seats herself on your mouth, and you can instantly feel how wet she is. You whimper. Her hips roll in response. “Come on, sweetness,” she encourages, “or should I let Rhys join?” Your tongue darts out, licking along to her centre. She moans, happily, basking in the feeling. “Perfect little thing.”

Feyre returns her mouth to your cunt, and for a while, you think you can cope. You think the worst of it has passed. Rhys isn’t able to touch you any time soon. At least, not while Feyre’s keeping him where he is, though you wonder how long that’ll last.

Her mouth disconnects from your cunt, and you almost whine in protest. “I did some thinking,” she murmurs, drawing your attention. “Your husband…” You can tell she still angry even at the mention of him. She takes in a deep breath, before delivering a small lap over your clit, as if to remind her that you are hers now. He’ll never put his hands on you again.

Well…

“I thought you might like to be with him one more time…” Your stomach drops. She reaches into her pocket, pulling out your husbands fingers, cloaked in magic. Even Rhys’ breath catches, before it’s exhaled in a quiet moan. “So I took the liberty of bringing parts of him to you, since he’s now incapacitated.” Pain lances in your chest, and Rhys blankets your mind to keep it from shattering. Dulling the information.

Her hips wind over you, slightly demandingly. “I think I’m being very kind, sweet thing. Show your gratitude.” You’re more or less unaware of what’s about to happen, following her commands brainlessly. He’s keeping you just to the surface of consciousness. Enough to give you breath, but not enough to escape.

Your mouth reattaches to her sex, even if a small part of you screams against it.

She presses the tip of something against your entrance, and you whine, hips bucking upward. She laughs softly, “you don’t even know what I’m doing to you, do you?” She pushes it all the way in, and Rhys’ hand fists around his cock. An open mouthed moan is released onto her pussy at the feeling of the slight, phallic object.

“Oh well done, sweet thing. Taking all of it, aren’t you? So good.” Her mouth reattaches to your cunt, and you release a pleasured moan that you can no longer contain. How did things get so messy? They were your friends. You could trust them. Yet here you are, with Feyre mounted atop your face, Rhys having already had his turn with stimulating your body.

She moans against your clit, lips kissing up and down your heat as she drinks you in until your fluttering on her mouth. Her tongue was a joyous reprieve from the High Lord, pleasuring you enough to gently spin you over that high, but not enough to throw you off the edge to crash down.

You’re swimming in pleasure, so overstimulated, so worn out, that it takes them a while to notice you’ve passed out. When they do, they stop—albeit reluctantly.

Feyre settles beside you, tucking both of you beneath the covers as her arms encase you, leaving her mate to clean up the mess. When he does, he crawls in beside you, his arms pulling both his female’s close to him. His wings materialise, wrapping over the both of you, concealing their crime from the world as they keep you slotted between them. Quiet, peaceful breaths puff from your lips as your human body recovers from the events.

They litter kisses over your exposed skin while you sleep, one for every star they see you in.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#dark!feysand #dark! Feyre #dark! Rhysand #Feysand x reader #dark! Feysand x reader #dark! Feyre x f!reader #x f!reader #June #dark! Rhysand x reader #dark! Feysand x reader smut

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julesthequirky · 26 days

Text

Hunted: Chapter Two

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: Drinking with a handsome man at the bar wasn’t all that bad. Until it was. Now, you’re trapped with a man you don’t know, in a place you don’t know, where noone can hear you scream. You’re starting to think that this was his plan all along. He mentions a brother, and you hope and pray that if you make it out, that you don’t meet him.

Warnings: Non-Con (Rape), Explicit Graphic Violence, Super dark fic, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Graphic Description, Non-Consensual Touching, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Forced Non-Consensual Orgasm, Forced Blow Jobs, Kidnapping, Psychological Torture, Physical Torture, Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Asphysxiation, PTSD, Murder, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Serial Killer Sam Winchester.

A/N: Please. For the love of God, if any of the above triggers you. Do NOT read. You are responsible for your own mental health and the wellbeing of yourself.

A/N 2: Each chapter will involve one or more triggers from the above list.

A/N 3: Please note that the warning list is not an exhausted list, and if something turns up not on the list, I will do my best to add it to the warnings.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Female!Reader, OC Nicole.

W/C: 1,386

“C’mon, wakey wakey. Eggs and bakey.”

Coming to consciousness, you groaned, your head throbbing, and the nausea rolled in your stomach. Semiconscious, mouth dry, you swallowed, and it felt like razor blades had lodged their way into your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut, gritting your teeth from the pain. You went to lick your lips, mind too sludgy to understand why your lips were stuck together.

You had to pick up some more garbage bags. And you had to text Mom back about that thing that seemed important but could wait. Whatever it was, it had slipped your mind. The urge to pee was forming.

Last night came back to you in vague flashes. A bar. Shots. The handsome stranger. Drinking with him. In his truck – whispers, kisses and sweet touches. And then nothing. Your mind drew a complete blank.

“C’mon, darlin’.” His drawl cut through the brain fog, and your senses came rushing back.

The urge to pee strengthened.

The cold floor seared you right through, chilling your bones. Snapping your eyes open, suddenly aware that something wasn’t quite right. Your muscles screamed to be released, hands tied behind your back, ankles stuck together, essentially hog-tied. All you needed was the damn apple in your mouth. Your skin pulled on the tape covering your mouth. You jerked to your side and gasped, eyes widening.

“There she is.” He crooned, his fingers trailing through your hair, tracing your face like a lover would.

Your pulse raced, heart hammering as your chest heaved, stealing breaths one right after the other.

The stranger from last night smiled, but this time, it made your blood run cold, and the at bay panic rose a little more. He laid his hand on your hyperventilating chest. You whimpered. Tears pricked your eyes, and you desperately blinked them away.

“My, your heart’s going hell for leather.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, dragging breaths in and out. You really needed to pee now. The pressure your bladder produced had your thighs clenching together.

From your side, the world was lopsided. It was dark, with a bulb flickering overhead. Four walls, bare. No windows—

A hand gripped your face, pulling your focus away from your surroundings to him.

“Remember me?”

You nodded.

How could you forget a face like his? Especially those damn green eyes. They were seared into your brain.

The cold cement flooring seeped into your legs, and you shivered.

That caught his attention. He turned from your face to your legs, a smirk working its way across his lips.

“Damn, I remember watching you walk in. You looked so confident. So ready,” he trailed a finger along your thigh. “I remember thinkin’ that will change. Every minute the clock ticked past, I could see you deflating.”

You tried shucking away from his touch. It didn’t work. It had you on your front, flopping like a fish.

His hand clamped around your leg, fingernails digging into the flesh.

“I swooped in, saving your desperate ass. And you fell, hook, line, and sinker. Y’see, Y/N…your date was never gunna show because it was me all along.”

He fished a hand into his back pocket and brought out his phone. It took him only a moment to bring his screen to your attention.

Chad Wells never existed. You realise that now, staring at the man’s profile on his phone screen.

Fuck.

Tears stung the backs of your eyes, and you pressed your forehead to the cold floor. It had been a scam. A ruse to cover up his true motives.

Was he going to kill you?

Probably.

Your bladder pained you, reminding you that your basic needs were being squandered. You bet that he didn’t give a damn whether or not you had to relieve yourself.

At least if you peed yourself after being mauled by a bear, the bear would leave you the Hell alone.

Then, in a quick movement, he ripped the tape from your mouth.

“I need to pee. I need to pee.” You begged.

Your lips felt sticky from the residue on the tape.

He looked behind him to a lone bucket in one corner. Your eyes followed his—he couldn’t be serious? But your bladder ached to be released. You nodded, babbled okay, yes, sure. He stood up and kicked the bucket closer to you. It scraped against the concrete floor, stopping beside you.

“I don’t want no funny business.” He said as he untied your hands but left your ankles alone.

Again, you nodded. He turned around, and you fumbled with the button on your jean skirt. You yanked them down and sat on the bucket, hissing as the cold rim bit your skin. You cringed when the sound of running liquid on a tin can filled the space, but the release on your bladder was relieving.

“God, you piss like a racehorse.”

You curled your body inward, acutely aware of how loud the stream was. Every second felt excruciating as it passed.

“You done?”

Nodding, you finished up, buttoned, and the man wasted no time. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you to the door, feet sliding across the concrete. You screamed, hands flying up to punch and smack at him to get off.

“No! Please! Please, oh, God!”

He flung open the door and dragged you along a corridor. Your screams bounced off the tiles, echoing down the hall.

He shook you like a ragdoll. “Will you shut up!”

You did as he said, whimpering, lip trembling, crying silently, wishing you had never gone out last night.

He stopped by a door. Mud brown. A strange type of star adorned the top quarter of the door, and you managed to catch the number before he turned the brass knob of the door. 21.

A walled grate ran across the room. Two cage doors split the room. One was open, padlock resting unlocked. He shoved you in.

Unable to step forward to catch yourself, you fell, hands slapping the ground, your forehead barely missing the floor. The palms of your hands stung, and your wrists hurt like Hell from taking the pressure of the fall.

Another walled grate split your…cell with another. Peering in the other side, you saw a curtain of dirty, unkempt blonde hair. A small face appeared from behind the hair. And you just knew you’d seen that face before.

The cage slammed shut. The panic rose to your throat. You turned, shuffling yourself to the cage door, fingers gripping between the iron squares. The padlock clicked shut. You looked up at him.

He smiled. Cruel and twisted. He knelt, fingers gripping the metal cage from the other side.

“Look atchu, doll. All caged up, like an animal. Beautiful and scared,” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I bet there’s still hope somewhere tucked inside. Your roommate soon learnt, aint that right, Nicole?”

He bashed the other cage door, the metal rattling. The small curled up figure jerked, startled, and came closer.

Nicole.

The name was familiar.

An abstract memory of a missing persons flier in your local grocery store, pinned to the wall with Nicole’s bright smiling face, sprung to your mind. She’d been missing for two weeks. Her face was splashed everywhere, accumulating with the other missing girls’ fliers, her parents and friends desperate to have her back.

They were all from the state of Kansas.

The Kansas Killer.

Now, your face would accompany the many victims he’d taken the lives of.

You swallowed thickly. The thought of your body never being found had your blood running cold. Because the police hadn’t found a single body yet.

Nicole was a husk of herself. Her hair hung in front of her face, and she avoided looking anywhere. She shook at being in his attention. He crooked his finger, gesturing for her to come closer. She cowered.

“C’mon, Nicole, show Y/N that it’s pointless to hope. Make ol’ Dean proud.”

Dean. The Kansas Killer’s name was Dean.

Looking at Nicole, she was doing a great job at pitting despair in your belly. She’d been here for two weeks. Is that what he did? Kept them alive. Only to ‘play’ with them. Whatever that was, you didn’t wanna know, but something in your head said you’d be encountering that pretty soon.

#Hunted #julesthequirky's fics #superdark fic #supernatural fic #reader insert #dean winchester #sam winchester #alternate universe #Supernatural multiverse

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