Cat and Mouse | Ch. 2
Pairing: Dark!Quentin Beck x Female Reader
Synopsis: You found out who Mysterio really is behind closed doors. You’re about to learn just how dangerous a man seeking revenge can be when you get in his way. He’s a predator on the hunt. And you’re the prey.
Warnings: explicit sex, unreality and use of illusions, restrained sex, dubcon, Dark!Mysterio, predator/prey sexual dynamics, (almost) choking,
It’s still dark all around you but you don’t stop running, not even to familiarize yourself with newest illusion. You just keep fucking running hoping to get some distance between you and Quentin Beck. You wonder if it’s pointless to try and hide, he can probably see you right now, waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to pounce on you. You think you’re in the maze he showed in the display, but who knows anymore. Certainly not you. You’re turning endless corners, praying and hoping you don’t end up in a dead end. You can hear Quentin treading behind you, but you don’t know where or how far behind you he is.
It scares you to think he’s so capable of acting like a sweet and loving man and completely destroying your sense of reality moments later. You believed in Mysterio. In Quentin Beck. You cried when he retold the story of him losing his wife, his family. Of how powerless he felt to save them because of one unexpected final Elemental. You fucking cried of real sadness while he shed crocodile tears for a family that never existed in the first place.
It’s only been a few minutes but it feels like an eternity navigating this dumb fucking maze. You can’t see barely anything, let alone if you’re going the right way. So far you haven’t fucked up, and you take solace in that.
But then you hear it: multiple sets of footsteps. He’s using the illusion technology to find you. There could be dozens of Mysterios hunting you right now. You continue to navigate, listening hard for approaching steps as you run tiptoe. There are only two turns in the corridor you’re in and you pick the wrong one, falling into a body of water. What the hell even is this outside of the illusion? You swim around trying to find your way out and drink some along the way. It tastes clean, making you wonder if it’s a natural body of water or if it’s a pool of some sort. You realize the only way out is through the way you tumbled in and swim to it.
It’s hard to get to because of the depth of the water, but you manage to climb up into the maze again. You’re sopping wet, but hydrated and somewhat cleaner than before. Count your blessings, you suppose. Not a moment too soon are you so sure you’ve been punished for prematurely celebrating. It’s only seconds later when you feel him behind you.
“Found you.” Quentin says in a song-song tone, mere feet away. But just as he’s about to grab you, you dart into the other turn of the corridor, wet feet slapping against the ground. He’s close behind you, not quite running but not quite walking either. “I love a good chase!” He yells, with just a hint of exertion behind his tone. He’s working hard to keep up with you, clearly preferring hunting you down slowly to running up behind you now. You wonder if it’s part of his foreplay, if he needs to do this to get off.
And then it finally happens. You hit a dead end, and turn to see he’s blocking the only way out. Jesus fuck, Quentin is smiling like he’s about to devour you whole, with a gut-churning sexual glean in his eyes at the same time. You begin to cry, silently as he takes a step towards you. You back away, until you’re flat against the wall and then he’s right up against you. He leans in close to your face, and when you raise your hand up to strike him he grabs it tightly and turns you so your chest is against the wall, twisting your arm behind you. You squirm against his grip, but you’re just too weak to be able to get it loose.
“Now,” Quentin grunts, twisting your arm further to stop your squirming, “Good girls don’t have to be pliant. In fact, I don’t want you to be pliant. Not immediately of course.” You yelp in pain and he groans deeply, taking pleasure in your hurt. Quentin leans in close to you, forcing you to bear most of his weight. The armor presses into your wet clothes with an uncomfortable chill.
“I prefer this. You, fighting me. It makes it all the more worth it when I fuck it out of you every time.” A shiver rolls up your spine as his lips brush your ear as he adds, “And let me tell you, honey, I cannot wait to unravel you.”
You fight against him again with a more urgent panic, jerking around harder this time as adrenaline courses through you. You manage to get your arm loose from his grip and you elbow him in the ribs, hard. Quentin reels backwards in the pain but he’s also laughing, darkly and in no way cheerful. You run, you run and you don’t look back. You get three turns in when two mysterios grab you unexpectedly, and they take you forcefully by the wrists and pin you against the nearest wall. They’re twice as strong as Quentin is, though not nearly as dangerous. You swallow hard as he appears in front of you, not seeming too angry at the fact you tried to crack his ribs. You realize now that the elbowing has probably only encouraged him.
“That was fun.” He smirks, rubbing the spot where you had gotten him. “But now it’s my turn.”
Quentin takes this moment to look at you, scared and disheveled, before your shirt is torn away along with your bra, and you’re left topless and defenseless in front of him. He’s rubbing his cock through his suit, eyes dark with lust at your state. A lion appreciating its kill.
You let out a defeated and humiliated little sob as the two mysterios lift you higher against the wall by your wrists and your biceps so Quentin can tear your pants off, leaving you in your underwear. Your crotch is face level to him now, the two mysterios hovering as they keep you restrained. He pushes his face into your panties, and inhales your scent with a dark groan. It’s humiliating, and yet it feels titillating all the same.
Having had enough of smelling you, he pulls your underwear to the side unceremoniously to push his face in further, licking into you. You try to close your legs to stop him but his clones grab each of your knees and force them apart, and when you squirm more Quentin licks deeper and harder, clearly more turned on the more you resist.
“Please, stop…” You cry, unable to get away from his mouth. Your vocal protests do the same to egg him on and you realize this is a situation where you can’t win but you just. Can’t. Stop. Fighting. You haven’t stopped fighting against the mysterios, and they’re so much stronger than you, and you’re still weak from the running. But you don’t want to give up. Even when you can feel your body acclimating to Quentin’s mouth, your entire being softening to feel what’s being done to you. Your own body, betraying your terror. You think he knows it, too. He works harder and swirls his tongue around your clit, wanting to you to climax, needing you to climax.
You can’t stop fighting because you know part of you lies this. Even with how much you’d have preferred never knowing Quentin this way, of wanting to go back to when he would just take you to dinner in whatever country you were in, he feels good working his tongue on you. You’re horrified of who he really is, but part of you is drawn to him still. You’re disgusted by it. You hope it’s some sort of sick survival instinct and not just you. You hope.
You can feel yourself getting close to orgasm, reluctantly but all the same. You know you’d be enjoying this if it weren’t in the depths of his illusions, if you were back in his hotel room. If you were being eaten out like a fucking human being instead of a sexual meal for a dangerous predator. If Quentin Beck was really Mysterio.
He fucks you with his tongue as you climax, hard. He doesn’t stop until your legs are shaking and you’re whimpering and thrashing against him from overstimulation, and only because he can’t wait to finish off himself.
He waves his hand and you’re lowered enough that he can reach you, grab your hips and have the Mysterios support your legs for him. He starts fingering you, and though he starts with only one finger he’s clearly impatient to fuck you and it’s not long before he’s using two and three to stretch you to take his cock. You feel shame at the slickness he’s able to use from your own body and the sounds as he pumps in and out of you, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.
The entire time he touches you he’s grinning, and humming to himself triumphantly. You’re a conquest to him. A prize he has taken or a piece of meat he’s appreciating. He uses his thumb to circle your clit, still sensitive, and you let out a overstimulated whine in response.
“God,” Quentin groans, fingering you faster, “I hope you sound like that when I’m inside you.” You cum again, shaking harder with it being so soon after the first orgasm. He starts pulling off parts of his suit, getting his cock out and rolling on a condom. At least he’s not trying to get your pregnant, you think. He’s hard already, and though you try not to look you realize he’s on the bigger side and if you don’t relax right the fuck now you’re going to get hurt. No matter how fucked up this is you’re going to have to take it, no matter how fucked up you are for wanting to take it.
“I can’t wait until you’re begging for my cock, honey.” He says, rubbing the head of his dick on your clit, against your vagina. “Until I own you and you don’t want anything else besides me.”
“Quentin please don’t, please—“ You try to beg, despite knowing its likely useless. He pushes inside you and doesn’t stop until he’s buried his cock to the base and he lets out a deep moan, dropping his head against your shoulder. A human at last. You let out a gasp, in shock from the sudden change in pressure inside you. The stretch makes you ache, the warmth inside you unpleasantly comfortable and betraying the atmosphere. It breaks you a little, knowing what you must look like. Getting fucked by a fake superhero in a fake, dark maze while his fake clones hold you up for him. The only thing real right now is your two bodies, pressed together. Reality at last.
He sets a quick and unforgiving pace, fucking you hard into the wall behind you. The grit digs into your back uncomfortable and you fight against him again in protest. Quentin isn’t having it, and he grabs your throat in response to force you to look at him.
“Tell me you’re a good girl.” He says, hips snapping into you. “Tell me who you belong to.” He squeezes your throat as a threat to say the right answer and a tear threatens to fall on your cheek with the shake.
“I’m your good girl Quentin.” You whimper, body strung out and breaking. “I’m yours.”
He moans again, louder. “That’s right. You’re fucking mine now.” He fucks you even harder, clearly chasing his own release supplied by your words.
“I’m going to break you until you’re nothing but fucking putty in my hands. Understand?” He’s close, you can tell. He’s trying hard to get just the right rhythm to cum. He reaches for your breasts and pinches one of your nipples to get you to answer.
“Yes, sir.” You yelp, twitching and arching away from the pain. It puts him over his limit and he cums with a guttural groan, stilling deep inside you. He just sits there for a minute, breathing heavily and you can feel his cock idling inside you. It’s a horrible and primal feeling, one of being marked and being used.
When he regains his composure minutes later, he slides out of you and the Mysterios drop you to the ground without ceremony. Once Quentin gets tucked back into his suit, he picks you up onto your feet. You feel so disgusting as he strokes your cheek sweetly, and smiles, “Yeah, that’s a good girl.”
While you stand there, arms crossed to shield your chest and shoulders haunched to protect yourself, you watch him change into the Mysterio character, just like that. He smiles at you sweetly, and your soul twinges at its near genuineness, aching for comfort after this ordeal. He claps his hands cheerfully, and puts an arm around you like he didn’t just obliterate your sense of reality and fuck you in a digital maze.
“Let’s go get dinner, shall we?”
And that’s chapter 2! This is as far as I had saved up on my computer. Please by all means send me concrit and how you feel about this writing! I really only get the writing bug when I’m extremely tired so my sentence structure is quite poor, but rest assured I’ll edit tomorrow when I’m more awake.