#warning noncon

[latenightdaydreams]

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2 🚚, Part 3

🚫MASSIVE TRIGGERS FOR DARK THEMES!!!🚫 If this is disturbing for you please turn back now. Your mental health is important and I hope you have an amazing day even if you keep scrolling! ily all! I hope you are all well and please take care of yourselves! You matter 💗

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Master List

>cw: fem/afab, oral, cum play, non-con somnophilia, non-con, sleeping pills, kidnapping, non-con recording

2.3k word count

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“Fuck!” You shout slamming the hood of your car down. On your way through the countryside on a road trip, your car decided to break down. You’re in a foreign country, the sun is setting, and having no one to help leaves you feeling overwhelmed and defeated. You sit back in your car and begin to cry. In your mind driving solo across Europe was going to be a piece of cake, yet here you are because you tried to save money and got a piece of shit car.

The sound of a semi-truck braking gets your attention as you look into your rear-view mirror to see a blue truck had pulled off and stopped behind you. In a hurry you pull down your visor to check yourself as you wipe tears away and try to relax your face. You close it just in time to see a massive man jump out of the cab of the semi and walk in your direction. A wave of fear rushed over you as you realized you have no items for self-defense on you.

 A knock on the driver’s side window, and the tall trucker steps back and stares at you with piercing blue eyes. Taking a deep breath, you open the car door and step out. His eyes look you up and down.

“Are you stranded?” His voice is smooth with a thick Austrian accent.

“Yes, I am.” Your voice cracks from the nervousness you’re feeling. He is built like a tank and like, really fucking tall.

He gives you a small nod before extending his hand to you, “I’m König.”

“Y/n,” you grab his hand and shake it. His hand is massive and swallows yours.

“You’re not from here, are you?” He gives you a warm smile trying to be nice.

“I’m not…”

“Do you have anyone here you can call?” The question seems innocent enough.

“No, I don’t. My phone has no signal either.”

“Hm,” König looks at your car and then to you once more. “Well, I can’t possibly leave you here alone, especially with it getting dark... where were you heading?”

“I was heading to the German border.”

“Hm, that’s a six-hour drive Maus.”

“It’s okay if you can’t-”

“I can, I’m heading that way. I’ll drive you as close as I can get and help you get set up with a ride in.” He gives you such a genuinely warm smile that you feel your guard beginning to drop.

“I- I really appreciate that, König.” You turn to go to your car and open the back seat to grab two small suitcases out.

“I’ll grab those for you Fräulein.” König walks behind you and gently reaches past you to grab your bags. The sweet vanilla body lotion you’re wearing catches his attention and he tries to take a deep breath as discreetly as he possibly can.

You back away, slightly bumping him. “Oh, sorry. Thank you so much König. You’re like a God send.”

He smiles back at you while holding your bags and closing the car door, “Is this all there is?”

“Yes, that’s it.” You two begin to walk towards the semi-truck as you look around the farm land.

Once to the truck König opens the door for you and helps you climb into the cab, his hand grazing your butt seemed innocent enough so you brush it off. It was most definitely not innocent. He is simply testing your boundaries and seeing how you’d react.

You set you bag down on the floor as König walked around to the driver’s side. He walks to the back of the cab and puts your bags on his small bed back there. He finally sits in the driver seat and looks over at you.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks in a gentle voice.

“Yeah,” you look out at the car that broke down on you feeling slightly sad.

“Don’t worry about that car,” König says, noticing your sad gaze. “I will help you out, I promise. I can’t leave a young woman stranded.” His smile is so warm and genuine, but the look in his eyes shows he has different motives with you.

As he pulled back onto the road König found himself checking you out. His eyes are drawn to the curve of your breast in your tight shirt and the way your thighs look as you sit down in the seat. He was going to have fun with you.

“So, where are you originally from?” He asks, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

You answer and explain how you have always wanted to visit Europe so on impulse you decided to come.

“A bit far from home aren’t you Maus?” He asks with a sly smile on his lips. “Do you even have any friends or contacts in any of these countries?”

“No, I don’t.” You shake your head not realizing these are questions you shouldn’t be answering truthfully.

“That’s a shame, you could get hurt out here. Good thing I came across you and not some… pervert.” He turns his gaze from the road to you and looks at how your breasts bounce with every bump he hits. He couldn’t wait to see what they actually look like, but in his head, he is running through every possibility.

“Yeah…thank you so much for all of your help. Really. I was about to give up and go back home.” You giggle softly.

Your giggle was so genuine and soft. Your lips look tender and kissable. He wanted to see how your lips look wrapped around his cock or sucking on his full nut sack.

“That would have been a shame, it’s good to explore. See the world and expand your horizon.” He says it so casually as if he isn’t thinking of shoving your head down on his dick and making you give him road head. I wonder if she does anal…

You both drive while having small talk. Innocent topics like your hobbies, home life, any little question he can drop to get more information out of you. The sun was now completely set and König noticed your eyes becoming tired as the drive went on.

“If you need to rest, there’s a small bed in the back. It’s not much, but if I can sleep on it, you’ll do just fine.” There’s a friendly chuckle in his tone as his eyes look over at you. Watching as you turn in the seat and look into the dark tiny cab with the bed. His eyes trailing up and down your legs before going back up to your eyes.

“Oh,” you couldn’t explain this feeling in your gut. It was as if it were screaming at you, telling you no and that you should stay awake. You really shouldn’t even be in this truck. Shoving those feelings to the side and excusing them as anxiety, you look back at König.

“Don’t worry, y/n, I don’t bite.” König says with a big smile revealing his sharp K9s. “You’ll be safe with me.”

You nod your head as you begin to stand and walk to the back, it was dark so you used your hands to guide you back there. It was simple since it’s a small space. Taking your bags off the bed and setting them on the floor, you lay down and rest your head on the pillow. Grabbing the thin blue blanket on the bed to cover yourself, you feel so happy to be in a bed, even if its this tiny.

König turns his head slightly to look back at you. It has been ten minutes so he wanted to know if you were asleep or not. 

“You settled in alright back there?” He waits to see if he hears your voice.

“No…” Your voice meek as if you feel bad you can’t fall asleep.

“Would you like a sleeping pill Maus?” Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes… “My doctor gave them to me to help with the uncomfortable sleeping situation.” He chuckles softly. That was a bold face lie, he got them from his handy dandy street dealer for a moment like this.

You know it isn’t smart to take medication from others, especially prescribed and from a stranger. You hesitate for a moment trying to think of your answer.

“Here,” he opens up a small pill organizer with one hand and holds them out for you to grab. His eyes are straight ahead still on the road.

You slowly get up and grab one, “Thank you.”

“You can take a sip of my water. I promise I have no gross germs.” He laughs, his laughs so warm and welcoming.

You take the sleeping pill and thank him again. Returning to the tiny bed in the back of the cab you try to get as comfortable as you can. You keep your eyes open for a while, looking at the little bits of König and the road you can see from the angle. By the time I wake up we should be close to the German border, and I’ll be able to continue on my way. This is just for a few hours…just…a few…more…

Twenty minutes pass as König continues to drive. There is a truck stop coming up where he can refill and where he’d usually rest. He looks over his shoulder at you again, “You still awake?” He asks rather loudly.

No response.

“Are you asleep?” He asks again at the same loudness, no response. “Perfect.”

König pulls into the truck stop as usual. He pulls up to the gas station and gets out of the semi to refill the tank and make sure all his wheels are in good condition. He buys you a drink and something to eat when you wake up from the concession area inside before you pay. He grabbed himself another water and a snack as well. Casually he got back to the truck and drove it around back to the parking lot where truckers can park and sleep for the night. He took his time setting up the window covers and making sure the doors were locked and safe. Standing in the now total darkness of the cab, he looks in your direction.

“Hey,” he said, lightly shaking your leg to see if you would wake up. You didn’t. Good.

He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and pulls the blanket off of you. His hand caresses the curve of your waist, hip, and ass slowly taking his time to enjoy the way the curves feel. His hand wrapping around your ass and squeezing.

He turns on the light from his phone and illuminates the small cabin. He crouches down beside you and gently pushes your body back so you’re lying on your back now. His hand gently runs under your shirt and caresses the soft skin of your abdomen. His hand reaching up and cupping your breast over your bra. He lets out a soft sigh as he withdraws his hand.

“You’re so beautiful Maus, so beautiful…” He says as he slowly begins to pull your pants down. He opens the photo app on his phone and begins to take photos of your exposed body, only your panties and bra to cover you.

As he continues to shine a light on you, he pulls your bra down and records himself gently shaking your breast and caressing your nipples until they harden. He leans in and begins to suck on each nipple, making sure it’s all on camera. With his free hand he rubs the erection that is growing in his pants.

Pausing the recording he stands and undoes his belt buckle and then his pants, pulling them down to around his ankles. He releases his aching cock, a bead of precum dripping from the pinkish red tip. He picks back up the phone and points the camera back at you as he jerks off over your body.

His loud pants being picked up on the camera as he stops occasionally to rub your pussy through the fabric of your underwear, feeling a wet spot begin to form, or play with your breast before continuing to pump his fist on his cock.

You remain asleep, completely unaware of what was going on as König kneeled into the bed a little and scooped your drool up with the head of his cock, gently rubbing his tip over your soft lips. He spread your drool around the tip of his cock and used it as a lube for himself. He slapped your lips with his cock twice before gently trying to push it inside of your mouth. He moved his hand from around his cock to your jaw to hold it open as he slid himself in. His breathing shakes as he feels the wet heat of your mouth.

He slowly bucks his hips forward into you as he inches his cock in your mouth little by little. “Ja, that’s my good little Hure.” He moans out, his free hand traveling to your breast and squeezing your breast.

“Oh fuck,” König quickly moves his hand back to his cock as he begins to cum. He pulls out slightly so he can cum on your lips and in your mouth. His breathing heavy and he moans your name. Releasing his full balls completely on to you he smiles at his artwork. He slaps his cock on your lips a few more times before scooping it up with his cock and shoveling it into your mouth, making you eat all of his cum.

König stops recording once he is done and puts the phone down on the bed and he picks his pants back up. He would usually have his fun and drop the girl off somewhere safe, but you… you’re so beautiful. Your tits are perfection and he didn’t even get to try that pussy yet. You’re the type of woman that would never even give him the time of day outside of these circumstances. He’s keeping you. You’re his now.

Part2, Part3

#please read the warnings #tw: noncon #dead dove do not eat #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig mw2 #könig cod #konig #cod konig #könig call of duty #könig x y/n #könig x you #konig x you #konig x reader smut #könig x reader smut #smut

[highpri3stess]

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

pairing: Mikey Sano x Fem Reader x Izana Kurokawa

series summary: Your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. And now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

chapter summary: izana kurokawa decides he has to teach you a bitter lesson that you wouldn't forget any time soon

chapter warning: 18+ dark content, misogyny, religious themes, smoking, mention of drugs, brief description of child abuse, childhood trauma and sex work, violence (against both character and reader), emotional incest, night terrors, allusions to sex, sexual harrassment, mention and brief description of rape, asphyxiation (non sexual), manipulation, slut shaming, near death experience, sexual assault, noncon, oral (m.recieving), face and throat fucking, attempted murder

Please read ending credits for important annoucement

wc: 7.5k

masterlist||chapter 1||chapter 3

  IZANA mindlessly fiddled with his lighter as he leaned on the wall, waiting diligently for Emma.

Unlit cigarette between his lips, his purple eyes scanned the people leaving the English department one by one, hoping to find a mop of golden hair amongst the students. A small vivienne Westwood shopping bag hung between his fingers loosely, perched beside his faded out black jeans. There was no way that Emma would avoid him in public at least, not with the entire student population watching the both of them. He knew that his little sister hated being the subject of rumors, no matter how trivial it could be.

His plan has to work. It just has to.

Whatever bullshit Mikey was spewing about you being the key to getting Emma to speak to him, can go to hell. He and Emma had a strong bond that transcended anything casual. This was his little sister he watched for the first eight years of his life, a bond doesn’t just break like that. Not over a stranger.

Not over you. Over your dead body.

A few minutes passed and still no sign of Emma. Deciding that he didn’t want to stand around and gape like a moron, Izana lifted his lighter towards his cigarette, flicking the light twice and bringing the warm flame to his lips. Breathing in the familiar scent of nicotine, smoke filled his lungs as he tucked the lighter back in his pockets. His free hand took the cigarette from his lips and he exhaled, releasing plumes of smoke from his lips.

His smoking habit had gotten worse within the past week. Izana couldn’t help it, reaching for a light anytime he saw his gifts in the dustbin. Emma hasn’t been this angry at him for more than a day before, usually a new plushie was enough to wash his sins clean, no matter how grevious they were. Now, not even the most expensive shoes she’s been eyeing for months could satiate her anger.

All because of you.

Izana knows his little sister like the back of his hand. Like how she loved sleeping with plushies because it comforted her whenever their mother brought men into the house and they were loud. Or how he picked up a guitar to learn multiple barbie songs because their mother had destroyed Emma’s CD that he bought with his money to punish her. He knew she liked warm tea during her periods and gentle back rubs to ease her pain.

Izana knows he’s not the best person to be around. Emma may have been young when she left their mother’s home, but Izana had stayed there until his teens before going to the orphanage, enduring unimaginable horrors. Life hardened him, made him so jaded that the only thin thread connecting him to his humanity was Emma.

And little by little, his humanity was slipping away.

First it was Mikey’s stupid friend, Ken Ryugi, who waltzed his way into Emma’s life. Izana didn’t like him one bit- didn’t like how Emma would bite her lip, waiting for him to reply and cry herself to sleep when he didn’t. Her heart was soft, fragile and that brute tore it apart by telling her he wasn’t interested in a relationship yet. The only reason Ken wasn’t in an unmarked, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere was simply because Mikey was involved.

Now it was you. Taking the space in her life that belonged to him and him only. He was fine sharing with his younger brother, no matter how much that little shit pisses him off but now, you’re pushing both of them out of the equation. How could someone so insignificant be so important to his sister?

He took more puffs, letting the smoke out through his mouth. He skimmed throughout the campus once again, nervousness creeping onto his consciousness with every passing moment. Had he missed Emma?

‘Has she gone to her room already? Don’t tell me I missed her-’

His thoughts were cut short the second he caught sight of a familiar blonde hair bouncing in the wind. He stood up straight tossing the cigarette to the floor and crushing it underneath his black shoes, before rushing to catch up to his little sister.

Izana pushed through the throng of people, violently shoving anyone that got in his way until he finally fell in step with her, slowing down to match her pace. Without wasting time, his hand curled around the girl’s wrist, stopping her in her tracks instantly. A shocked gasp escaped her lips, her head twisting fast and her free hand even faster to hit him.

“Get off me - Izana?”

Her hand stopped mid air, inches away from the smirking male’s face. He noticed her tension leave her body, relief washing over her, only for irritation to take its place on her face, instantly displeased at his actions. “What the hell? I’ve told you to stop doing that.” she hissed at him.

A mischievous grin made its way to his face at Emma’s irritation. She always had a pout whenever she was angry at him and it made look even more adorable.

“Were you scared?” He teased her, pulling Emma closer to him until she was practically smushed at his side, his arm hugging her tight despite the irritated glare she gave him in response. “You know that as long as I’m alive, no one guy would ever have the balls to hurt you. Unless they want to die.”

“Stop joking about things like that.”

‘I’m not.’

Shaking his head, he decided to change the topic to what he came here for originally. “Here I got you something for your…” he sneered at the thought of Draken being near his little sister. “date with Draken.” He released her from his side hug before extending the perfume bag to her with a smug look on his face. “It’s Vivienne Westwood, your favorite.”

His hand hung in the air as Emma trailed her pointed glare from his hand, back to his cheerful visage. She crossed her arms in response slowly, her yellow eyes rapidly looking at the bag to his face before her lips curled into a sick sneer.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me Izana! How many times have I told you that this is not a situation you can bribe me out of! Not this time!”

Emma’s voice was loud enough to garner wandering eyes of other by-standers, watching the event go down. They were wise enough to hide that they were staring, so as not to piss Izana off even further after she left.

Izana kept his composure, still holding out the bag towards Emma with a smile -albeit stiffer than before. ‘She’s just being emotional’ Izana whispered to himself, still trying to be rational. ‘Just take it easy with her’

“Easy Em, I said it was a joke” his words were smooth, buttery, flowing out of his lips like it was the truth. In his own opinion, you were the one in the wrong for wearing such a provocative outfit, showing your body off. He was just trying to tell you off so that you would be more decent next time when you’re around seniors. “I didn’t know your friend was that sensitive-”

“Are you listening to the bullshit coming from your stupid mouth?” Emma roared, her voice echoing throughout the entirety of the department, her face red with fury. Izana had never seen his own beloved sister ever look at him with such disgust in her eyes, her teeth gnashing against each other and hands at her side, clenching against each other. “Is that what you think a joke sounds like?”

“Calm the fuck dow-”

“No wonder you’re fucking single, you’re such a piece of shit to anyone that isn’t Shinichiro!” Emma screamed, interrupting Izana once again, her temper fiery enough to burn a hole on the ground she stood with how heated she was. “How does anyone even stand you for so long? You’re unbearable!”

“Excuse m-”

He doesn’t like where the conversation is going, with how furious Emma was right now. He tried to raise a comforting hand to Emma’s shoulder to ease her tension but she was quick to smack it away from her hard, stinging his fingers a little.

It hurt.

“You’re so unpleasant, how do you even have any friends? How do they tolerate you? To think (name) wanted me to forgive you! Thank god you aren’t my fucking brother, I can’t imagine being anything like you!”

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

It was as if the world froze over for Izana. He stood there, wide eyed, his heart beating loudly in his chest as all the voices around him faded into the background. His hand extended weakly at his side, mouth drying up as a lump formed in his throat. He can see the flash of regret in Emma’s eyes, the way her face changes when the weight of her words crushed the both of them.

Suddenly he was sixteen again, thirteen year old Mikey taking Emma’s place and uttering those soul-crushing words to him after another fight. It was just a silly xbox game that Shinichiro forced them to share, one of his many futile attempts to make them get along with each other. Izana remembered how he looked at all of them. Mikey. Emma. Shinichiro, hoping to god that it was spite that fueled Mikey’s words, not conviction.

“It’s not true right? Shin-nii? Em?”

The terrified look on Shinichiro’s face sealed Izana’s fate forever.

“I-I-i didn’t mean i-” she starts to stutter, tears gathering in her eyes. It’s obvious that she can recognize the heartbreak in his violent hues, blankly staring at her, disappointed. He wants to say something, but all that manages to come out is air. Of all the things she could say to him, why did it have to be this one?

“Izana please-”

He doesn’t let her finish, turning on his heel and walking as fast as possible. People were quick to clear out of his way, not wanting to be his target of aggression when he eventually snapped. He ignored Emma trying to reach him, shouting his name at the top of her lungs with strings of apologies as he walked back to where he bike sat.

“Izana, wait please-” she screamed from the crowd of people, tears streaming from her yellow eyes. He continued to ignore her as he hopped on his bike, sliding in the key and revving up the engine before she could reach him.

“Izana please I didn’t mean it! I’m so-”

Izana zoomed away, turning Emma’s cries into background noise.

"THANK god you’re not my real brother.”

Izana narrowly avoided crashing his bike into the tree right next to the house, hitting the breaks just in time for the bike to stop.

‘It’s all that fucking bitch’s fault!’ He seethed ‘That useless excuse of a human being caused this.’

You. An unimportant little rat that scurries around his little sister. From the first day Izana set his eyes on you, an intense hatred filled his gut. You were just there, sitting awkwardly while Emma tried to involve you in their conversation and it irked him. He hated everything about you - the way you picked your finger when you were nervous. Your bright smile you gave to only Emma when you talked about the most mundane of things. The fact that Emma would cut short their outings just to see or meet up with you.

Just your mere presence in general. He couldn’t stand you. He couldn’t stand losing his beloved sister to you

Blinded with rage, Izana throws his helmet on the tree with a guttural scream, breaking it in half. Unsatisfied with his rage, he clenched his fist and stalked towards his fraternity house, ready to beat up the first person he set his eyes on.

The doors of the fraternity house were thrown open by Izana. Shion was the first person Izana just happened to set his eyes on, the blond carrying a box of tools in his arms as he headed towards Ran’s bedroom. The taller male turned his attention just as Izana was entering the house and smiled at him.

“Hey boss, did you see your lil si-”

Izana pounced on the poor man, sending the toolbox and a confused Shion to the ground, shattering the glass table underneath them. Ignoring the broken glass digging into his skin, Izana slammed his fists straight into Shion’s face, dealing him powerful blows, cursing you as he beat up Madarame.

“(name) you stupid slut. You ruined everything! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you-”

“Izana!”

“Stop it! You’re gonna kill him.”

Two sets of hands pulled Izana off Shion, dragging him away from the injured man. Ran is quick to help Shion up from the floor, holding the barely conscious male up. Eyes burning with irritation, Ran turned his attention to Izana who was held back by Kakucho and Mucho, heavily breathing after his rage induced breakdown.

“Izana what the hell man?” Ran cursed at him. “He was supposed to help me set up my humidifier. Look what you did!”

“Let’s take it easy, Ran, it seems like Izana had a bad day.” Kakucho reasoned, still holding Izana away from lunging at Shion once again. “You know he’s only like this when he’s stressed-”

Ran put his free hand up, silencing Kakucho completely. His violet eyes moved to Izana who was still huffing and puffing, still in Kakucho and Muto’s grip. “Look.” Ran sighed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We don’t want to deal with this anymore, Izana. You can’t keep taking out your anger on us. Especially for that (name) girl.”

Izana growled, his teeth clenched against each other at Ran’s words. Deep down, he knew Ran was right. Each time he saw his gift in the dustbin, it would send him into a panic induced rage and end in hitting one of his friends. Beating up everyone that wasn’t you was not the solution at all. No matter how violent he got, it still wouldn’t change the fact that his sister doesn’t want him anymore.

And it is all your fault.

Eventually, Izana relaxed, breathing through his nose gently. The two men released Izana once he calmed down before helping Ran with the barely conscious Shion to his room. The white haired male now left to his devices, crashed onto the chair, his hands on his knees. If he was going to get his sister back, he had to do it right. Maybe teach you a bitter lesson that you would never forget. Punish you for angering him and changing his little sister into something else.

Anything really, to satiate his anger.

His hand fished out his phone from his pocket, going straight to his contacts. Purple eyes rested on a familiar name, one that he hadn’t spoken to for the past eight months after a hookup. She tried to elevate herself from a hookup to his main girl, texting him non-stop and throwing herself at him.

Pathetic.

Izana liked thrill and adventure. Women who were wild on the dance floor and even wilder in the sheets were his favorite, for the same reason he loved riling up Mikey. The dopamine rush.

Sex was a drug to him. Not necessarily a favorite, just something he got a high from that was different from cocaine or LSD. The experience was a thrill, bodies meshed together in bliss as they gave into carnality until they fell over the edge. It was why he couldn’t stay with the same girl all the time, eventually their holes get accustomed to his dick and they try forming attachments to him. It gets boring.

Like this one.

He dialed the number and not even up to a minute later someone picked it. “Izana! Hey babe!” She chirped. Izana bit back a groan to avoid voicing his displeasure. She was so fucking annoying. “It’s been so long. Do you want to see me tonigh-”

“You’re (name)’s roommate right?” He could hear her deflated sigh from the phone and decided to butter her up. “Don’t worry, she’s not my type. Just need her schedule for a friend.”

“You sure?”

Izana rolled his eyes before deepening his voice to lure her in. “Sure babe. You’re the one I wanna see tonight. I see the cute pictures you sent to me. The one with you wearing those cheetah print panties, your bare tits hanging out is my favorite.”

“Really?” She sounded so excited that he liked something she sent. Pathetic.

“Really.” he breathed out. “You should wear it when you come here tonight. That is, if you tell me about your roommate’s schedule.”

“Alright!” She began excitedly, the prospect of being Izana’s girl tonight looking very tantalizing, to the point she is willing to sell out her friend. “I’ll tell you everything I know baby!”

Izana shook his head. Too easy.

  YOU haven’t been able to stay asleep for the past few days.

It’s easy to fall asleep after a hard and stressful day at school and your part-time job. Your limbs ache from all the walking and lugging a bookbag far heavier than what you could handle -since all your e-textbooks were on your (now destroyed) laptop and phones were not allowed during lectures. And working from 5pm until 9pm at a restaurant, serving food to rude, overbearing customers only to be paid in pieces was another added stress in itself. Not to mention, studying.

But then, in all your dreams, everything you’ve pushed to the back of your memory is at the forefront. Your dream starts typically, your normal school day, waking up, dressing in your cute little blue crop sweater and jean skirt with socks. You go to classes, and then you see Mikey’s car waiting for Emma.

Things take a different turn. He’s the one getting out of the car to meet you. It’s like a siren call, him holding out his hand for you to take despite someone screaming for you to stop. And you try to reject him, you try to run away like the voice said but you end up getting trapped.

But this time, he’s not using his hands. He’s fully sheathed inside you, robbing you of every thing you hold so dear and you kick, bite and claw at him until you wake up screaming, sweat soaked all over your sheets.

You consistently dream of being violently raped by Manjiro Sano.

The next few hours until sunrise were equally horrible. You’re quietly sobbing into your pillows, praying to God to forgive you for letting Mikey touch you in the first place, assuming your reason for having such dreams was God’s divine judgment for your grievous sin. You’ve lost count on how many Bible verses you stay up reading until your eyes are bleary and the sun comes up.

No matter how much you pray and how many times you recite psalms 127 before you sleep, you can never escape Mikey in the world of dreams. He’s a virus that has invaded your thoughts, corrupting every dream you had and twisted them into nightmares.

You don’t know how long you can hold on being this sleep deprived. It’s been impairing your school life, trying to find a way to stay awake during classes only for you to fall asleep and miss the rest of it. Even when you got notes from the person next to you, reading them was always difficult because your eyes hurt so much.

 Work was even more taxing and stressful, rush week adding more stress than you could ever imagine. You found yourself spacing out more than usual when you were supposed to be taking orders. You were unable to keep up with the fast paced environment, your body feeling like a ton of bricks with every moment you make. Your eyes were heavy lidded, tired from forcing them open throughout the day.

You were so, so tired-

“Hello! Are you sleeping on me young lady?” A voice snapped at you.

Your eyes shot open and immediately you stood back straight. You must have been dozing off while taking the older lady’s order -the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid all day long. “No, not at all Ms-” you started to explain. “-I was just … what was your order aga-”

You flinched when the woman angrily slammed her fist on the table, shutting you up instantly! “So you were sleeping on the job! What kind of establishment allows this?” She screamed, attracting the attention of customers around. “I need to speak to your manager. NOW!”

You instantly began to panic at the mention of your manager. If he heard you’ve been sleeping on the job, for sure he was going to fire you, especially when he was angry you rejected his advances on the first day. You cannot afford to lose this job right now, with all your school expenses and saving up money for next session’s tuition.

“No mam” you begged, keeping your voice even as you tried to reason with her. “Th-there’s no need for that! Please! Let me take your order and I’ll-” you racked your brain for an excuse, knowing fully well your establishment does not offer free meals. “- I’ll pay for your meal! On me-”

“So you’re trying to imply I’m poor?” She interrupted you again, her tempo even higher than before. “You disrespectful little wretch! How dare you? GET ME YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”

You started begging the older woman, trying to calm her down and de-escalate the situation, but each plea only fuelled her rage. By now, every customer, every employee and just anyone in that place watched you grovel and beg this woman to calm down, some people even videoing your altercation. Your body was trembling as she screeched in your ears, calling you all sorts of names while you relentlessly apologized to her.

“What is going on here?”

You winced at the sound of your manager’s voice emerging from the backrooms. You stood stiffly as he walked to your side, using his shoulder to nudge you out of the way. “Is there something wrong Ms.?” He asked the lady. “What happened?”

“This little wretch!” She practically screeched at you, her finger wagging straight at your hung face. “She was sleeping while I was ordering! And when I pointed it out to her calmly, she called me a hag!”

Your eyes snapped open. You can tolerate people yelling at you, but lying against you is out of the question. “I did not call you anything! That’s a lie-”

“You be quiet!” Your manager yelled at you, silencing you. He turned to face the woman again, apologizing profusely for your so called rude behavior. “I promise you mam, she will be dealt with accordingly. Your order is in the house, please take that as a token of our humble apology and forgive us.”

You stood there in shock as the woman smirked satisfactorily at her now free meal. “Well. You better get rid of her!” She snarked, eyes scanning you up and down, plopping back down on her seat. “Or you’ll lose me as a patron.”

“Of course mam.” He said sweetly before switching his countenance towards you into a more irritated one. “You, come with me.”

You lowered your head once again in disappointment as you started following your manager towards the back rooms, your head lowered in shame as the eyes followed your every move to your damnation waiting for you in the manager’s office.

Your skin crawled as you felt his gaze roam your body up and down, before regaining his composure again. “You know how many complaints I have received this week just from you, (name)? How many orders you’ve messed up?”

You shook your head no in response, not trusting yourself to say anything reasonable at this point. He eyes you up and down again before scoffing at you rudely. “I only let you stay here to see that tight virgin body of yours roam around. It’s not like you’re even good at this kind of job.” He spat out, rolling his eyes. “Unfortunately for you, this is the end of the road for you here. Change out of your uniform and leave.”

“But s-”

“I said you’re FIRED. GET OUT.”

You sighed weakly, obeying your now ex-manager’s order and leaving the office. You ignored the eyes of everyone watching you exchange the too tight black jeans and green top uniform back to your white bohemian skirt and light blue top with your white jacket. Calmly, you packed your school bag and everything you owned with you and slung it over your shoulder, replacing the uniform back to the locker, dropping the key on top.

No one said goodbye to you as you left through the back door.

  THE walk back to your dorm was quiet.

By the time you managed to catch a bus after your walk of shame and get back to campus, almost everywhere was dark and deserted. Save for only the street lamps that were beginning to dim, everywhere else was darker than usual.

You had read that there was going to be a lunar eclipse tonight between the hours of 10pm - 12am. The time boldly written on the bus’ digital clock before you got down was 10:45pm, so you already assumed it was the cause of the unnatural darkness tonight.

A long time ago, things like this would have made you excited. You loved watching the stars when you were young, trying to check on the papers your father bought to see if there was any space news available. You remember borrowing your immediate elder brother’s binoculars as a makeshift telescope, trying to piece out the stars in the sky or see if you would catch a glimpse of the comet that was said to pass through that week.

Unfortunately, you were young and foolish. Wanting to impress your father, you told him all about your book of constellations that you drew up, detailing the first star that appeared every evening, down to your crazy childish theories about aliens and space.

“Can you show me the book?” your father had asked calmly. You should have known it was dangerous for your father to be this calm, but you were too blinded by excitement to think and you gave him the book, a bright smile on your face.

Your smile fell as his large hands ripped your book into shreds, before telling you “women don’t dream.”

Maybe that was the day you stopped loving your father. You were so young and impressionable, all you wanted was for him to be proud of you, like he was with his sons. Now, you can’t even look at the stars.

The memory leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you try to shake it off as you continue on the path.

You wondered what grievous sin you’ve committed to be so down on your luck like this.

You passed by Emma’s dorm building, another sigh escaped your lips. She told you that Draken wanted to take her out for dinner tonight, which shocked you because friends with benefits - according to what Emma herself told you- don’t go on dates or do lovey dovey stuff with each other, to avoid complicated feelings from budding.

Then again, their relationship is based on the fact that they both have feelings for each other, but Draken was not interested in a relationship.

It was already complicated before it began.

Your eyes darted up to her window, hoping her lights were on. Whenever she was alone, Emma hated sleeping in the dark. She said it reminded her of the times her mother would lock her and Izana in a dark room whenever she brought her customers in. Anytime she was in a darkened room, she told you she could still hear the sound of her mother moaning and a man grunting. Izana would try his best to distract her, playing games or even stealing an earphone and plugging it to his own so that she would listen to music instead of what was going on.

A frown graced your lips when you saw two bodies from the curtain, one tall figure you recognize as Draken and Emma’s smaller dainty figure perched on him, kissing. You quickly averted your eyes and walked faster, ignoring the unfamiliar pang in your chest. Maybe you’re jealous because you needed your friend’s comfort right now and she wasn’t available.

‘She has her own life to live. And I have mine’ you muttered to yourself as you trudged along the path, slowly dragging your feet. ‘I have to stop being so dependent on her.’

Eventually, your thoughts drift back to your reoccurring dream. Losing your job made you realize that if you didn’t do anything about it, your tiredness would eventually catch up to you and ruin everything else you’ve worked for. With an important test scheduled for tomorrow, you knew you could not afford to take another loss this week. You had to power through your sleep tonight, even if it traumatized you.

‘Maybe I should pretend that I like it. Pretend it’s okay and enjoy it so that I won’t have to wake up.’ You shook your head, cursing as you drew closer to your own dorm building. ‘How far I’ve fallen. Look at me trying to enjoy a disgraceful act-’

You paused in your tracks at the sound of a leaf crushing. You quickly turned around, trying to ascertain who could be lurking there behind the bushes. Your palms started sweating, your nerves firing at the thought of being watched by someone or something.

Silence.

You decided to continue walking, assuming that maybe you were hearing things and there wasn’t anything at all. Night time always had a way of making you nervous, especially with all the horrible stories you heard about innocent women being attacked around these times. Besides, looking around for whatever may be lurking was a dumb idea.

You should just try to get out of here.

Still, the nervousness and unease you feel doesn’t leave you. Your heart rate became abnormal as you started walking faster, only for you to hear mismatched footsteps behind you.

‘Run.’

You sprinted away as fast as possible, not even bothering to look back to see what was chasing you. At this point, all that was important was for you to get into your dorm room as soon as possible, the fear of the unknown running down your spine.

Your lungs burned from having to sprint at full speed after not exercising for years now, your leg muscles aching but you dare not stop running from what might be behind you. A glimpse of light peeking through the cracks of your dorm house beckoned you to run even faster, until you reached the door.

Your heart rate picked up as you attempted to twist the door handle open, only for you to realize that it was locked early today -of all the times that the school took security seriously it just had to be now. After a few more frazzled and failed attempts, you started pounding on the doors and screaming for anyone to let you in. “Please! Open the door, I’m being chased! Help!” You screamed frantically, shaking the large doors with how hard your fists hit them. “Open the door-”

Unfortunately, your luck ran out and nobody answered you or said anything. You kept on screaming as footsteps approached you, slowing down as you harshly pounded on the door for someone, anyone to help you. Your cries became even more frantic, shouting for help anywhere, anyhow, fear taking over your rational senses.

‘God please, please, please save me, please please please’

A loud blood curdling scream rips out of your throat as arms around your waist and chest before dragging your body into the nearby bushes, discarding your bag on the floor. Your limbs flail around, trying to hit your attacker in any way so that they can release you, and you can run back to Emma’s dorm.

All it did was enraged them.

The person threw you on the ground, the grass and dirt harshly brushing against your face and body, dirtying your white skirt and jacket. You attempted to get up, only for someone to jump on top of you, pushing their weight onto you so that you can’t.

‘No. No. No-’

You reached up to the person’s chest, trying to shove them off your body, but they didn’t budge pushing themselves further onto you. You decided to use your long nails to scratch them, drawing three long lines on their cheek, anything that could distract them so that you can fight back.

“You bitch.”

Your world froze over the moment you recognized that voice, heartbeat almost stopping completely. Your eyes fearfully locked with his bloodshot purple ones staring right back at you, silver hair reflecting in the street light just a few steps ahead of you.

‘Izana-’

What did you even do to him? After the Mikey incident, you avoided the brothers like a plague, not wanting to piss them off or a repeat of what had happened. You even told Emma she should start talking to them, so why was this happening to you?

Before you could scream, his fist came in contact with your face. The pain was unbearable, black spots clouding your vision as you tried to make sense of what was happening. He hit you again, this time on your jaw, forcing you to bite your tongue so hard it bled.

“This is what bitches like you deserve. This is what you get when you don’t stay in your fucking lane.” he spat out, slapping you across the face hard, your eyes rolled back and blacked out for a second, only for him to keep beating you up, emphasizing on each syllable with a violent slap. “Everything was fine until you came. You evil little bitch. You ruined everything!”

Tan hands found purchase around your neck, both pressing down until your air supply was cut off. Panic filled your gut the moment you looked at his face once again, eyes blown out wide, teeth gritted against each other so hard, it could crack. His face twisted grotesque with how hard he was looking at you, white dust scattered around his nostrils. You reached out to his hands, clawing and scratching at them until you drew blood, kicking your legs so that he’ll become unbalanced and loosen his grip.

It was as if he was immune to pain. Nothing you did worked.

“I’m going to kill you.” He hissed slowly, bending his face towards yours until his hot breath hit your skin. “I’m going to kill you and send your dead body to Emma. Nothing will EVER come between me and her. I’ll kill anyone that comes between us!”

‘God. God. God’

You watched as his lips curled up into a smile at the frightened look on your face when you realized how serious his threat was. Your nails dug harder into his skin, tears rolling down your face as you fought for your life. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Alone, terrified, in the hands of a crazed man and his vice-like grip forcing you to stay in place.

Izana loved every second of it. Watching you tremble in fear as you fought back was nothing short of priceless. Sure he was holding back majorly because this was a lesson, but watching you beg for your life whilst fighting him has his blood rushing down to a particular place.

Eventually all your fight gave way to fear of death. You didn’t know when you started begging for your life, until your lightheaded brain began to register that the garbled, choked and broken pleas and apologies were coming from you.

“I’m s-orry, i’m so-orry- s-orry-”

You don’t know how long you’ve begged, waiting for death to take you while your body writhes in agony. Your eyes glance up to the moonless sky, memories of your younger self flashing before your very eyes, staring at the stars with wonder, dreaming of being amongst them. Your head feels light, your eyes unfocused and body turning cold-

Your eyes shot open the moment his hands left your neck. Instantly, you’re gulping for air, coughing and sputtering as he sits on top of you, his hands on either side of your head. Izana scrutinized you under his watchful gaze, eyes drinking in the sight of your mascara running down your bloodied face, glossed lips parted open for him, taking in air.

You’re so… weak and powerless underneath him, unable to do anything and yet you fought for your life, knowing you would lose to him.

That rawness of fear that acted up as your life flashed before your very eyes shifted something in him. You’re just a weak girl. A weak, vulnerable little girl who thinks she has a bark that he can do whatever he wants to her.

He almost cannot believe the boner growing in his pants right now. He’s never felt this way for you. Meek girls were always so boring to him and yet he wants to fuck you. He wants to claim you as his own personal toy only he can play with.

The familiar thrill, once again. He’s feeling it with you.

You’re still coughing and sputtering as you lay on the ground when Izana mindlessly gets off you. He’s conflicted within himself, wondering if he should leave you for another time or relieve himself there and then. There’s just something so sexy to him about your helpless body at his mercy, he could decide if he wanted to take you here and you would never be able to fight back.

His eyes flickered to your open mouth. That will do.

“Get on your knees.”

Not wanting to take another chance at life, you obeyed instantly ignoring your body aches as you kneel in front of him. Your mouth goes dry when you hear the clinking of his belt and his zipper go down. He moves closer to you until his crotch is right next to your face, shuffling his boxers until his cock springs out, slapping your cheek hard before resting his tip on your lips.

No.

Not again. You can’t go through this again. You already have nightmares of Mikey raping you, you didn’t need Izana there too. 

“Please, I don’t want-”

“Open your mouth.”

You gulped, forcing your eyes closed as your lips parted, opening it for him just enough for his cock to enter. “Izana, please. I’ve never done this before. Please don’t make me do this. Pleas-” you tried to beg, but Izana did not care, rubbing his shaft with pre leaking from his tip.

“Unless you want me to kill you, keep it open.”

A hand reached behind your head ignoring your protests holding it in place as his cock forced its way into your oral orifice, hitting the back of your throat with a loud groan of pleasure escaping his lips. Your gag reflex acted instantly, making you want to pull away but his hand was too strong, forcing you to stay put and take his cock.

Izana wasted no time, his hips rolling his cock inside your wet mouth at a brutal pace. Strings of curses left his lips with each thrust, relishing in the euphoric pleasure of riding your face, fucking into your pretty little mouth. The hot tears rolling down your cheeks, spittle pouring from your lips and the vibrations of your gagging nearly drove him mad.

Why hadn’t he done this earlier?

“That’s it -fuck- you little slut.” Izana hissed, each thrust into your mouth making a loud, wet pornographic noise. “This is -ahn shitshitshit- what you’re good f-for.” He groaned, his hips thrusting faster into your mouth. “Ahn, ahn ugh- f-fuck, s-should h-have fuck-ked you a-at that party ahn-”

You felt dizzy as he continued assaulting your mouth for his pleasure. Dark spots began to gather around your vision as he increased his pace, choking hard on his fat dick with each roll. Your knees ache from digging into the ground hard, your fingers buried in the sand as he fucked your mouth with reckless abandon.

You don’t think you can stay awake anymore. Your head hurts from how hard his grip is. Your throat hurts, your knees hurt, your head feels like you’re floating with how you’re not breathing properly.

You don’t feel good. It hurts so much but you can’t fight back.

“That’s it- ahn ugh fuckfuck-” he quickened his pace to speed up the process of his orgasm. Makoto had only given him three hours, and he is sure they’re almost up. “Yeah, this mouth is for me! Only for me-ahn ahn- you’re my fucking tight slut. Mineminemin- ah-”

Izana thrusted deep into your mouth thrice before cumming hard, pushing his bitter cum down your throat with a low groan, his purple eyes rolling to the back of his head. At the same time, your body instantly gave out, going limp in his hold as his cock slid out of your mouth, falling on the grassy ground with a dull thud.

He adjusted himself again, tucking his now flaccid cock in his pants and wearing them properly. Izana gave you one last look, glancing at your unconscious body before laughing to himself, kicking your shivering form out of his way as he started his journey back to the Tenjiku house.

“Perhaps Mikey was right. You have some use.”

Bonus scene:

LOVE hated mornings.

Groaning at the fact that she had woken up so early in the morning - 5am to be exact, when her first class was by 2pm, the gyaru tried going back to sleep.

After tossing and turning underneath her blanket, the girl huffed, pushing herself off the bed until her feet touched the ground. Running her hand through her blond hair, she sluggishly walked towards the door, careful not to wake her roommate up.

“Maybe I should get some air, I’m sure it’ll help me sleep back.”

The girl found herself trudging out of the dorms, pushing the door open for her to leave. Not even two steps out of the dorms, Love tripped on something, falling face first on the mahogany floors.

“Ouch!” she hissed, grimacing as she sat up, rubbing her nose. “I just got this nose job done. What gives-”

She stopped short on seeing a blue bag with books scattered everywhere. Her hand reached out to one of them with a name written on it.

“(name) (last name)?” She read it to herself, scoffing the moment she recognized who it was. “That girl always follows the Sano girl like a lost pup. Tch. What’s her stuff even doing out here?”

Deciding not to care about the bag, she dropped the book back and stood up. “Whatever, I’m going on my walk.” She shrugged, walking away from the building to the empty roads. The morning breeze danced on her skin, playing with tendrils of her bleached hair as she walked.

Despite the peaceful aura, Love couldn’t feel at peace with herself. A sense of nervousness crept upon her as she walked, as if there was something wrong. Come to think of it, maybe she shouldn’t have left your bag just like that. It was strange to see your stuff left on the porch.

Unless.

Love didn’t know why her feet started taking her to the hedge just across her dorm building. She was always told that from her young age, she had a heightened sense of danger and as of now, she didn’t doubt that something was wrong.

“Alright. Let’s see what’s going on.” She breathed out, opening the hedge completely.

Her stomach dropped the second she caught sight of a white skirt dirtied in the sand. Quickly, the gyaru ran over to where your body laid and stopped, gasping at the extent of the damage done to your face and neck. She knelt over, picking your unconscious body onto her lap. Her fingers checked for a pulse, realizing how weak it was against your cold skin.

“Oh no, no.” Her voice trembled, throwing off her comfy jacket and wrapping it around you to warm you up. “This isn’t right-”

As her fingers started to dial the emergency number, she wondered what you could have done to deserve this. Yes you followed Emma around, but you were a good girl who hasn’t done anyone harm. Love had always seen you as too sweet, so whoever did this to you was evil.

“Please, stay with me, (name). Stay with me.”

The line finally went through and an operator spoke. “911, what’s your emergency?”

“A girl… a girl was attacked, please hurry, her pulse is weak.”

Special thanks to: @honeybleed @manjibunny @reiners-milkbiddies @izanaki707 @rukiaslvr @ilovetwodmen @bbykoo-7 @tenjikusstuff4 @cockonoi @koffeenoe @kodzukein @lostsomewhereinthegarden @cashout-princess @aliyxh-o @kay-bear200 @iluv-ace @vixensbrainrotts @missgab @urmomsksk @sweeytheart @charcoal-xl @kokoch4n3l @aliss0n-love-blog @haikyuusboringassmanager @eattmeowt

monica's after note: honestly, after everything that has happened to me last week, I debated if I should put this chapter out or just give up on the project completely. the only reason i put it out is because i made a promise to myself to finish this series this year and i already have the skeletal work drafted out.

please it doesn't take anything for any of you to be respectful to me and yourselves. if you're angry that an author is delaying posting a chapter a few weeks always remember that we are real people, with real lives. the bigoted and racist comments i got last week should be the first and last i should ever see on my account. you saw that i made due with my threat and posted this as i said i would. if you wish to send anon asks, i apologize but they are off permanently. this is also due to the misbehaviour of a certain individual that caused this. do not also go to my mutual's inbox and start talking about me.

to everyone who supported me and sent me support throughout that difficult period of my time on here, thank you very much. you inspired me to keep going and really did not taint my image on this fic. i pray each one of you finds help in the day of your trouble. y'all are real ones.

on a lighter note, i'm pretty salty no one got my haruchiyo reference in the first chapter 'laugh haruchiyo' 'smile (name)' like cmon 😭😭😭 it was THAT obvious /j

edit: please comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. Forgot to add this.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo revengers smut #izana kurokawa #izana kurokawa smut #izana kurokawa x reader #izana kurokawa x reader smut #izana x reader #tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #manjiro sano #sano manjiro x reader smut #mikey sano smut #tw. dark content #read the warnings #tw. noncon

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare 

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

I. in media res

     -the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

     -intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

     -fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

     -avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

     -broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

     -kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dddne #tw noncon #non con #dark fic #tw abuse #seriously heed the warnings #don't like don't read #deaddovedecember2023

[jessamine-rose]

꒰ The Spider and the Fly ꒱

This is for my hormones every artist/ writer who dragged me into the Miguel O’Hara fandom. Your content is absolutely amazing, and I hope this piece can measure up to the brainrot you’ve given me  ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

Tw:: YANDERE, kidnapping, manipulation, blood, violence, self-deprecation, mention of suicide, bondage, noncon, nsfw, MDNI

Note:: Female reader, double POV, ATSV spoilers, Best Wingman Award goes to LYLA

♡ 7.6k words under the cut ♡

i. spiral orb web

You’ve always been attracted to pretty things, and that includes spiderwebs.

In your eyes, the spider’s craft is the closest thing to art in your everyday life. It is a natural phenomenon marked by intricacy and utility, yet one so easily overlooked due to its associations with pest behavior.

Fortunately, public reception has shifted since the emergence of Spider-Man. It is thanks to your “Friendly Neighborhood Hero” that the spiderweb has been rebranded as a symbol of safety. Be it a weapon or a life-sized shelter, there is a certain beauty to those human creations.

Though the same cannot be said for Miguel O’Hara’s.

Spider-Man 2099’s webs belong to their own category. His are scarlet, bright as lasers, conspicuous and dangerous in equal amounts. When Miguel traps a villain in his webs, one is reminded that a spiderweb is the tool of a predator.

Miguel’s webs are not the only thing which set him apart from the other Spider-Men. He has more inhuman powers—claws, fangs, paralytic venom. His jaded personality and intimidating stature are also far removed from the public image which inspires hope in civilians.

Perhaps that is why you find him all the more alluring. Or it could be simply because he is the one who saved your life.

He’s done more than rescue you. After catching you midfall, Miguel regards you with shock and…pity, you think. It is the only logical explanation as to why he is being so gentle with you when your dimension’s stability is a greater concern.

It also explains why he allows you to follow him into the departing portal. No, follow is a self-preserving term. More like burst into tears, ran after him, then told him your pathetic life story and how anywhere is better than here.

Much to the surprise of his coworkers, he relents.

꒰♡꒱

At first, Miguel thinks you are an Anomaly.

It is one thing to find you in another dimension. It has happened before, and he always avoided your Variants for their sake. But you are inescapable.

Among every version of you, the happiest one was his Variant’s wife. Then there’s you, the one whose life would’ve ended if not for his interference.

He tries to justify his decision. Your departure doesn’t affect the Canon, so no harm will come to your universe. And judging by your personal data, you would be much safer in a different dimension.

His dimension, to be specific. Where he can keep a close eye on you.

He is also logical enough to recognize you as your own person. You aren’t his wife, and his observations support that theory. Your hairstyle is different. You code-switch more often. You sleep and wake up at earlier hours. You’re not as confident in your abilities.

You are alike and unlike her in so many ways, yet he still sees a spark of his sun in you.

ii. funnel web

Since then, you’ve resided in Nueva York.

In return for permanent residency, you are hired as a secretary for the Spider Society. It’s civilian work, nothing dangerous, but more purposeful than what you’d ever achieved in your old job.

Strangely enough, you encounter Miguel quite often.

At first, it feels totally warranted. He is the only person you know in Earth-928, so he guides you through every step of your adjustment. He gives you a Dimensional Travel Watch, shows you around the facility, and instructs you on how not to mess up the multiverse.

After your first week, he invites you to move in with him. Miguel claims that his home already has an extra bedroom, though LYLA’s remarks suggest otherwise. Regardless, you accept since it means a familiar roommate and better living quarters.

How thoughtful of him.

꒰♡꒱

“It’s easier to look after her if we’re under the same roof,” he rationalizes.

“Sure,” says LYLA. She flickers above his shoulder and watches the holographic screens with him. “And it’s not because she reminds you of a certain someone?”

Ignoring her, Miguel switches to a different camera angle. Peter B. Parker walks past your desk and does a double take, and he is promptly summoned for a meeting.

No doubt, there will be questions about you.

“What about the redesigns?” LYLA pulls up a screen showing two bedroom layouts, one collapsed and the other abandoned. “Should we pick one? Merge them? Think of a new design? Or we can ask for her input, seeing how she clearly has better taste than you.”

One of the monitors catches their attention, announcing an Anomaly in Earth-131222.

“We can talk about this later.” With that, Miguel opens a new screen and analyzes the data. On second thought, he adds, “She prefers thin bed sheets.”

-

Later that day, he escorts you home. Your mood has greatly improved since your change in environment, though you’re still quiet around him. LYLA compliments your coat, a purple remnant of her closet which Miguel lent to you, but he ignores her knowing glances.

You wear it differently, he notices. It’s the same article of clothing, but fully buttoned with a silver brooch on one lapel. The effect is significantly less casual.

“So, this is it.” Your expression turns hesitant as Miguel unlocks the front door. “Are you really sure that I can stay here?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure,” he points out.

And it means less time monitoring the CCTVs.

“And you haven’t seen your room yet!” adds LYLA. “We know you’ll love it.”

“I guess it would be impolite to back out now.” You follow him inside and remove your coat. “I’ll try not to be a nuisance.”

He pauses.

That green dress…he could swear that he’s seen it on you before. Many shades lighter, paired with a bright smile, to match the T-shirt of the little girl by your—

“Miguel?” You frown at him, then your gaze flits to your dress. “Is there something wrong with my outfit? I didn’t commit a serious fashion crime in your dimension, did I?”

“It’s nothing,” he says quickly. But upon noticing your lingering anxiety, he admits, “You look good in it. That’s all.”

You nearly drop your coat. “W-What? Are you serious?”

Miguel could swear that you look more shocked than during your first meeting. If he were to come close enough to touch your face, it would surely feel warmer than average.

That’s enough.

“I meant what I said,” he replies, walking ahead. “Do you want to look around or are you just going to stand there?”

That snaps you out of your fluster. You follow him into the living room, a small smile making its way to your face. “The living room is pretty. Was it you or LYLA who designed it?”

The change of topic is a godsend. As Miguel shows you around, you recover from his comment and focus on your surroundings. LYLA is the next to admire your dress, winking at Miguel as she asks about the color, and he takes note of your reaction.

More vulnerable to flattery, regardless of speaker. Extremely happy afterwards.

His wife wasn’t like that. Usually, she’d be the one teasing Miguel with praises, pick-up lines, and inside jokes which he pretended to understand.

Still, it’s nostalgic to sit next to you on the sofa. He could get used to this again.

iii. lace web

In the following months, you fully adjust to your new life.

Your job in the Spider Society is manageable, fun even. Aside from the Spider-Man of your dimension, your close coworkers are kind enough to welcome you into their group. They look out for you, include you in their conversations, and appreciate your hard work.

They even indulge your aesthetic interests! One word from you, and they are already comparing webs. Among the various designs and techniques, however, none have fascinated you as much as Miguel’s.

…You do wish he’d let you roam Nueva York more often.

In case of Canon events, you need to get his permission first. Then you have to wait for him or an assigned Spider-Man to accompany you, and the latter is always a stranger whom you find difficult to bond with. Conversations with LYLA can only do so much.

You’ve recommended your coworkers before, but Miguel doubts their reliability. And every time you invite them to go with you, a new mission cancels your plans. If not for the official records, you’d suspect them of making excuses.

It’s a bit frustrating, honestly, but you know better than to complain.

You should already be satisfied with Miguel. He is an agreeable roommate, he trusts your capabilities, and he acknowledges your efforts. And no matter how closed-off or overworked he is, he's still deemed you worthy of his company.

…He is also very nice to look at. Muscular physique, handsome face, a serious gaze occasionally tinted in red. It’s a shame that he rarely smiles.

In another dimension, a better version of you would have definitely pursued him.

꒰♡꒱

“...and get this, he can shoot webs with stabilimenta. The designs are so detailed!”

“Oh, wow.” Miguel barely looks up from the monitors, grimacing at yet another Anomaly. He quickly sends an alert to the dimension’s Spider-Man. “What else?”

Behind him, you suddenly grow quiet.

“Now that I think about it, you must already know that since you recruited him. Sorry if that wasn’t anything worth listening to…are you sure I’m not bothering you?”

“You’re not.” It comes out faster than intended.

He turns around. Once again, you look surprised by his words, but you don’t ask for confirmation this time. You just nod and return to your digital reports.

Why did you visit his laboratory again? You said it was a false alarm from LYLA, who’d likely sent it on purpose. Lately, she’s been on his case about how rude it is to “avoid” you through extra work. He thinks he could easily do without distractions or triggered memories, however.

Miguel opens a private file and thinks of what you’d just told him. Apart from concerned looks from Jess and Peter B, most of the Spider-Men haven’t given you any trouble. Your coworkers, however, are a different matter.

-

23) ______ laughed because of some stupid pickup line from Web-Slinger. Smiled when he complimented her outfit (purple blouse, black high-waist skirt, favorite heels, pearl hairpin).

24) ______ talked about the other agents’ webs again.* She admires stabilimenta.

-

“You should be careful with your friends,” he tells you. He types a few more observations and closes the screen. “The last thing I need is for you to get involved in their mess. Don’t think that I can’t see them slacking on the job.”

To your credit, you don’t apologize. “Noted.”

“Miguel!” LYLA appears and moves the screens around him. “We have an Anomaly in Earth-332. Spider-Woman called for backup.”

Great, another one. It must be a persistent villain if Jess needs his help.

“I’m on it.” He types the coordinates on his watch and activates the portal.

“How dangerous is it?”

He stops, just a few meters short of leaving.

You leave your desk, an anxious look on your face. “I know you told me not to worry before, but I really have no idea of what your battles are like. So…will you be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you. A hug comes to mind—it always calmed her anxieties—but he instead gives you a shoulder pat. “Don’t wait for me. If it takes a while, LYLA will call someone to escort you home.”

“Okay.” You’re still standing in front of him, but he can feel the tension leaving your body. “It’s my turn to cook dinner tonight, right? I’ll prepare a nice victory feast so look forward to that.”

A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “You don’t have to.”

You pout at him. “But I want to. Besides, it’s not fair that you are so good at making my favorite meals. I still haven’t perfected yours.”

Secretly, Miguel thinks your cooking tastes better than his wife’s. But whatever keeps you distracted while he is saving the multiverse.

It’s also…nice to talk about work with you. With her, he had to act normal and make up excuses for his sudden disappearances. It’s refreshing to see your concern and know that you are praying for his safety. To imagine your relieved smile when he comes home.

“Miguel!” LYLA reappears between the two of you. “I hate to ruin the moment, but Spider-Woman could really use some help right now. I know you’re counting the seconds!”

No more time to waste.

“I’ll see you later.” He lets go of you and walks into the portal.

“Take care!” you call after him.

iv. triangle web

“Welcome home, love!”

As the door opened, Miguel resisted the urge to flinch. The lights were always too bright.

His Variant’s wife wasted no time hugging him. “What took you so long?”

“Something at work came up,” he explained, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Again?” You closed the door behind him, a frown replacing your smile. “That’s the third time this month. Is there a problem in your office?”

“It’s…classified information. But nothing to worry about, mi sol.”

The house felt lively, even with Gabriella temporarily away. Warm lights. Family photos. Personal belongings scattered about. Your cheerful presence leading him.

The TV in the living room was on, paused at the beginning of a new film. Movie nights were an old family routine, he’d learned. The first time Miguel arrived in your husband’s place, you and Gabriella had agreed on an animated classic.

“Okay then. I’m just glad your office isn’t in the same area as that crime from earlier. Was there any debris blocking the road?”

“Not much.” And definitely none on the route to your workplace.

Upstairs, Miguel took a shower and contacted LYLA. The Anomaly had been returned to its original dimension. If he were lucky, none would appear tomorrow.

You were on the sofa when he came back. Wordlessly, he sat next to you and you rested your head on his shoulder. The film began playing.

“I called Gabriella,” you murmured. “She and her friends are already planning their next sleepover. I’ll pick her up tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good to hear. Have you gift-wrapped her present?”

A pearl ring glinted above your intertwined hands. “It’s in my closet.”

Note to self: Ask LYLA to record the party. It will be a nice memory to revisit.

He smiled at you. “I can’t wait to see her reaction.”

The movie had a happy ending. It was, in your words, a cinematic masterpiece.

-

“That’s how it ends?”

Your outburst prompts Miguel to face the opposite end of the sofa. In the dim light, he can easily make out the unimpressed look on your face.

“The ending looks decent to me,” he muses. “If you ignore the logistics of their reunion, the film is entertaining enough to rewatch.”

“I think it could be more realistic. And you’re saying that across the multiverse, this is the most common version of the movie?”

“In five dimensions, to be exact. Others have the same ending but different actors.”

You pause. “I’ll admit that Earth-928’s version has superior costume design. But I still prefer my dimension’s neutral ending. Maybe it’s because our societal values are different.”

The closing credits continue, but neither of you leave the sofa. You’re still criticizing the film under your breath, unaware that Miguel can understand every word. He does agree that the happy ending causes a few plot holes.

At least with you, he can adjust the brightness levels.

“We can watch your version next time,” he offers, reaching for the remote with his webs.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

He turns off the TV. “We can do it on my next day off.”

Knowing LYLA, this won’t be the last time she plans a movie night without telling him.

“Well, what else could I do?” she asked after he privately demanded an explanation. “You’ve been working yourself too hard, Miguel. You could really use a break, and so does ______.”

You take the remote from him and untangle the web fluid. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

Miguel gives you an odd look. “For what reason?”

You twist the web in your hands, forming string figures.

“As a decoration, maybe. Oh, and for the record, I don’t go around collecting webs from your coworkers. I just find yours particularly interesting.”

Weirdo. “My webs are functional like the others’. That’s all there is to it.”

You look him in the eye this time. “Hey, you should give yourself more credit. It’s my belief that every spiderweb is a work of art. And before you call me overly romantic, there have always been artists who thought they were worth noticing."

The web loops around your ring finger, in the place where her wedding ring used to be.

He averts his gaze. “I don’t see it that way. But whatever works for you.”

Another moment of silence.

“There is another reason,” you add softly.

He side-eyes you. “Is it about that day? You don’t need to keep thanking me for saving your life. As I said, I was doing my job and anyone would’ve done the same.”

“I wasn’t talking about you catching me.”

Oh, you meant that.

The web tangles in your hands.

“Listen.” You take a deep breath, eyes on your lap. “I know you’ve been avoiding this subject. Maybe it's so I don’t feel indebted to you or pressured into reliving bad memories. But…I just want you to know that I’m glad you foiled my plans.”

…It would be best to let you finish first.

Your voice shakes. “I mean, you’re smart, aren’t you? Even without my meltdown, you would’ve figured out that my fall had nothing to do with the Anomaly in my dimension.”

He did. And that was precisely why Miguel mistook you for one at first. It wasn’t just your identity but the fact that you were found in danger after the Anomaly had been captured.

Ten minutes post-battle. The undamaged state of the nearby buildings. The passive acceptance in your demeanor.

He can vividly recall the rest of that day. Those hours spent studying your personal data, identifying every action and condition which diverged from his wife's path.

A loud sigh. “I just—I couldn’t take it anymore, okay? I thought it would be easier to put an end to my mistakes, then you had to show up. And thanks to you, life has been great! I like this world, I’m not alone, I still have my personal issues to work through but I’m trying to do better. But yeah…I’m just sorry for forcing you to get involved.”

“It’s not your fault,” he insists. He scoots closer to you and puts his hand on top of yours. “I made the choice to bring you here. And I couldn’t exactly leave you, knowing your situation.”

That is a lie. Rather, half of his thoughts were about his wife and how he’d been able to sustain her happiness. How that farce proved he could do the same for you.

“Either way, I’m grateful.” You look up, your lips curving into a shy smile. “I’m really happy now, Miguel. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’ll never regret my decision to follow a cryptic stranger into a portal. Even if it meant learning that the multiverse is in constant danger. Or that my favorite film has an alternate ending which makes no sense to me whatsoever.”

Has his wife ever looked at him like that? There is a soft brilliance to your gaze, wholly reserved for him. It triggers a warm feeling in his chest.

The moment is quickly ended when you cover your face with a cushion.

“Anyway! If you don’t mind, I’d really love to move on and talk about something else. How was your mission earlier? Is Earth-199999 still giving you a hard time?”

You’re still seated next to him, legs touching. Your tone leaves no room for objection.

He lets go of your hand. “You would not believe what kind of shocking messes we’ve had to deal with. We are never recruiting Dr. Strange or his little nerd.”

“You can tell me all about it.” You untangle his web from your hands; it loops around your pinky finger this time. “I’m here for you, okay? For as long as you’ll have me.”

v. mesh web

There have been more Anomalies lately.

You walk past the detained villains, silently counting them. Their increase in numbers has kept the Spider Society on high alert for the past weeks. While it means more documents for you, the effect on Miguel’s stress levels is concerning.

Come to think of it, has he returned from his mission yet? If not, you hope the cafeteria’s takeout boxes have a self-heating function. As you get closer to Miguel's laboratory, you hear the door open. The sound is followed by two sets of footsteps.

“Do you think it’s healthy for him?”

“I’m more worried about ______.”

You stop walking.

Is that Peter B and Jess? Why are they talking about you?

Jess’s tone is reproachful. “The poor girl has been through so much already. It’s not safe for her to be here, at least in HQ. He knows that she is a different case from Gwen.”

“You know how Miguel is. I’ve already asked about her, and he won’t tell me anything new. Not even my Super Adorable Mayday album could convince him.”

“I don’t like this, Peter.”

Their footsteps become louder. You go back to the entrance of the hallway, just within earshot but hopefully far enough to evade their Spider-Senses.

“Neither do I. But you should’ve seen him when he lost their daughter, Jess. Now think of his wife: He never got to see ______ before she disintegrated. Then one day, out of nowhere, after staying away from countless Variants, he finds a version of her who needs him.”

…What the hell are they talking about?

The walls close in on you. You take a step back, followed by another.

Then, at the sound of a sharp “Is someone there?”, you drop the takeout box and run.

Their daughter. His wife. A version of her.

You already know that Miguel lost a family in another dimension. It was briefly mentioned when he warned you about Canon disruptions, but he refused to share the details. Is this why?

This whole time…you are a Variant of his wife?

You aren’t followed. Your coworkers cheerfully greet you, but you ignore them and return to your desk. It’s arranged the way you like it, complete with personal decorations. The drawer holds a stress ball in your favorite color, a gift from Miguel of all people.

You never did tell him that it is your go-to stress reliever. Was it the same for her?

You squeeze the ball and take deep breaths, but the action does little to calm you.

It all makes sense. Why else would Miguel take an interest in you?

Your gaze lands on your Dimensional Travel Watch before you remember that the idea is futile. Yours is only a modified version which prevents glitches but can’t be used for travel. And the Go-Home Machine would require Spider-Byte’s help.

…Why are you even wasting your time on an escape plan? How are you sure that you won’t mess up and make another mistake?

“______?” LYLA appears in front of your face. Her greeting sounds different.

He knows.

You force yourself to answer. “Y-Yes?”

“Miguel is back.” She flickers as usual, but it doesn’t change the nervous look on her face. “He wants to see you.”

꒰♡꒱

Peter B will be dead when he gets to him.

Several screens surround Miguel, each playing CCTV footage. He focuses on a live recording of you on your way to his laboratory.

At least you are complying with his orders.

The platform is fully lowered by the time you get there.

“Hey…welcome back,” you stammer. “How was the mission?”

“It was fine,” he replies brusquely. “Jess and Peter B spoke with me as soon as I came back. I was just confirming the status of Earth-67 when I checked the CCTVs. Care to explain?”

A heavy silence falls between the two of you. LYLA is nowhere to be seen.

Your panic is evident. Your gaze wanders, at everything but Miguel, until it stops at the dented takeout box on his desk. “Is that…is the food still warm? Or have you already eaten in Earth-67? I forgot to ask in advance.”

He glares at you. “Are you seriously worrying about my lunch right now?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say?” you shoot back. The anger in your tone is unmistakable. “‘Hey, Miguel, when was I supposed to know that we were a family in the dimension you accidentally collapsed?’ Does that sound any better?!”

“Believe me, I was going to leave you alone at first.” He grips the edge of his desk, resisting the urge to raise his voice. “But how could I do it after the way you reacted?”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You could’ve easily said no! This whole time, I wondered why you were so willing to help me. I thought you were being nice, that you believed giving me a better life was worth all these risky accommodations. Was…was I wrong?”

Your voice cracks at the last part, and you hastily wipe your eyes. It’s reminiscent of your first meeting, the distressed shock which Miguel had never seen in his wife. Only that time, you had sought out his comfort.

“Tell me, was it because of her?” you whisper. Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill. “Is that all you’ve ever seen in me?”

“You have the wrong idea.” Miguel approaches you, but you instinctively back away. He raises his hands in a placating gesture. “If you would just listen to me—”

“How can I?!”

Your hand settles on your wrist, unconsciously fiddling with your Dimensional Travel Watch. The clasp loosens, and his reaction is immediate.

He grips your arm. “Don’t do that! You’ll get yourself—”

“Let go of me!”

You pull back, clawing at his wrist, but Miguel's grasp only tightens. His other hand taps the watch’s controls to activate the Lock feature.

“This is for your own good, ______." In the split second that he releases you, his webs shoot out and bind your limbs together.

“No!” You collapse onto the floor. The scarlet threads dig into your skin, emitting a harsh glow in the dark. “Please, just let me go!”

After everything he’s been through, he is not losing you again.

Ignoring the stab of guilt, he picks you up and salvages what is left of his composure.

“You see, this is why I didn’t tell you.” He sighs, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.

You’re still shaking in his grasp, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I…I’m not—”

His kiss easily silences you. It’s far from intimate but the sensations are familiar. Warm lips. The scent of your perfume. The addictive rush of euphoria. Physical and chemical reactions which couldn’t be adequately explained in words.

And the whimper that escapes your lips when Miguel pulls back to press a light kiss to your forehead.

“We can continue this conversation when we get home.”

vi. cobweb

Your days in the Spider Society are over.

Not permanently. Miguel says that you can resume work once you’ve calmed down, but you doubt it will happen under any pretense of freedom.

Since your confrontation, you’ve been confined in his home. As it turns out, Miguel had already prepared for this—locks, alarms, hidden cameras, a comprehensive speech which only elevates your horror.

“She wouldn’t want this,” you keep insisting. You writhe against your restraints, but the webs remain taut against your skin. “How would your ______ feel if she knew?!”

“She’s not here anymore.” Miguel looks away from your face, as though the reminder physically pains him. “What matters now is that I have you. The both of us can start over.”

“How can you say that?!” At this point, you’re on the verge of hysteria. “You…you don’t actually love me. You’re only doing this because I’m the closest you have to getting her back!”

The hand on your cheek makes you flinch. The gentle caress does little to soothe you, not with the underlying threat of his claws. His eyes flash red in the dim light, brimming with—what do you call it? Grief? Desperation? Obsession?

You can’t tell, not when those sentiments are for someone else.

“You only say that because you don’t know any better,” he says softly. His lips meet yours, trapping you in a deep kiss. “Now get some rest, mi sol. It’s been a long day, and we know how you get when you’re stressed.”

My sun. What a lie. Since when have you done anything to deserve such a title?

You can’t bother to fight back. You’re too tired to think, to resist the kiss, to move an inch as Miguel undos your restraints and tucks you into bed.

Instead, you close your eyes and retreat into slumber. But even in your last seconds of consciousness, his gaze is strongly felt.

-

As it turns out, Miguel really did consider all possibilities. Your Dimensional Travel Watch has an exclusive Lock feature, should you ever be tempted to escape him through death. It can only be removed during your scheduled baths, with LYLA acting as your timer.

You rarely talk to her, either. She clearly feels sorry for you, but not enough to help. She monitors your daily activity, keeps you company when Miguel is away, and tries to cheer you up. She has yet to accomplish the last task.

Against your better judgment, you ask her about your Variant. She is resistant at first, knowing the negative outcome, but you are persistent. In the end, LYLA decides that it’s better to show you a few videos than for you to ask Miguel directly.

…Your Variant is perfect. Pretty. Carefree. Successful. A calming presence. You can see why Miguel would fall for her, with how she effortlessly puts a smile on his face.

Among your Variants, isn’t there one who bears a closer resemblance to her? Or were they too important to leave without disrupting the Canon? Is that why he settled for you?

“You have a better sense of style,” LYLA offhandedly mentions. “It was Miguel who said that. And do you know that he calls you one of our best workers?”

It doesn’t make you feel any better. “I see. Thanks for letting me know.”

As LYLA predicted, the information only makes you feel worse. You can’t stop thinking about your other self. How did she turn out like that? How did she succeed in your failures? How has Miguel perceived his moments with you, as new memories or a replica of lost time?

You don’t want to ask him. You’ve had enough disappointments for one lifetime.

Neither do you make an escape plan. On the low chance that you succeed, you don’t have anywhere to go. The Spider Society, or most of them, is loyal to Miguel. And it’s not like you’d be better off in your dimension, back to your empty home and dead-end job and daily reminders of your insignificance.

At least here, you can feel valued. Even if you owe that to someone else.

꒰♡꒱

“I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but I told you so.”

Miguel doesn’t look up from the screens. “Now is not the time for this.”

LYLA is anything but smug. ”Are you sure? Because you said that when I asked if you’d ever tell her the truth, and look where that went. A civil explanation might’ve been nice.”

“How is she?”

“No better than with you.”

The CCTV switches to the kitchen. By now, you've established a new routine—lie awake in bed, rearrange your room, watch TV, cook your own meals. It's repetitive but easy to follow.

He zooms in on the ingredients. “Do you see anything suspicious?”

“No potential poisons,” LYLA responds, equally focused. “Oh, is she cooking dinner again? Last night’s meal looked really good.”

“It probably helps. Gives her something to preoccupy herself with.”

In the end, you’ve chosen the docile route. You’re still tense around Miguel, but your behavior can’t even be counted as malicious compliance. You just go through your new routine, trying to create some semblance of normalcy in confinement.

Though internally speaking, he has no access to your thoughts.

“She’s quite different from his wife, isn’t she?” asks LYLA. “I like this version of ______.”

Miguel zooms in on you this time. In your current state, you’ve revealed more contrasts to his Variant’s wife. It actually doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

When did his feelings for you begin? Was it when he saved you? When he saw a spark of his beloved in you? When that spark turned out to be your own brilliance?

All he knows is that you’re the one who consumes his thoughts nowadays. Your distinct preferences, your little quirks, your quiet words, your uncertain expressions, your attitude towards him and no other Miguel.

...There must be a way to persuade you. If Miguel was able to play along with his Variant’s family, to the point that his love for them became genuine, the same can be said for you. He just needs to prove that you can and will be happy together.

The only thing missing would be Gabriella.

vii. sheet web

You’ve been promoted to Miguel’s bedmate.

His room isn’t much. It is dark, minimalist, often empty due to the nature of his work. There are zero mementos of his lost family, not even a framed photo or something of her influence.

They’re probably hidden somewhere. How considerate.

On most nights, you act oblivious to your new sleeping arrangement. You just say good night to Miguel, lie down on your side of the bed, and try to fall asleep as quickly as possible.

…That turns out to be more difficult than expected. Try as you might to feign sleep, you can’t relax in Miguel’s grasp. He holds you tightly in his sleep, your back pressed against his chest. You wonder if it is a familiar position or a means of keeping you close.

Lately, he has switched tactics. Movie nights have become a regular pastime. You’ve received permission to work from home, sans contact with the Spider Society. The two of you have even gone outside for a few dates, though his grip on your hand discourages any escape attempts. Awkwardness aside, he’s been more physically affectionate.

It’s absolutely jarring, but you’re somewhat grateful for the added comforts. If your choices are different from his wife’s, Miguel doesn’t seem to mind.

This should be fine. It’s better than when he was acting like an overprotective control freak…even if those methods had left no speculation as to who the intended receiver was. With this approach, you can never be sure if Miguel sees you or his wife in front of him.

You try not to dwell on it more than you already have. You’re still here. Your living conditions have marginally improved. Miguel doesn’t expect you to be more like her.

You just need to keep it together, like you always have.

That is what you keep telling yourself, up until the night Miguel asks for your thoughts on starting a family.

-

“No. Please, stop!”

Red. In the dark, all you can see is red.

The lurid color wraps around you, binding your wrists to the headboard. The webs are taut, no-frills, effective in their sole purpose of keeping you trapped.

No, what’s worse is Miguel. His gaze is trained on you, scarlet orbs alight with crazed desire and your own terrified reflection.

“Stop struggling,” he sighs as he pins you down. Blood decorates his bare arms, from where your scratches failed to stop him. “You’re only going to get yourself hurt.”

You continue, anyway, only to scream as he leans down and sinks his fangs into your neck. It hurts, the flesh burns, everything feels heavy—

You can’t move.

It doesn’t take long for the venom to kick in. The numbness spreads throughout your body, leaving you dizzy and helpless. Your limbs won’t cooperate at all.

Yet despite the paralysis, the pain stays with you. It’s the only sensation you can feel—the sharp ache in your neck, the chafing around your wrists, the sting from where Miguel accidentally scratched your thigh while tearing off your clothes.

“Mi sol, you are still tense,” he mutters. His lips remain on your neck, administering light kisses to the fresh wound. A clawed hand presses down on the bed, puncturing the fabric, to support his weight. “You need to calm down.”

You can only bite your lip as he moves on to your chest, tainting the skin with love bites. His other hand retracts its claws and strokes your stomach, tracing—are those patterns supposed to be her stretch marks?

Of course he memorized them. She must be on his mind right now.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but the ministrations continue. His thumb strokes your hip, eliciting a stifled moan, and the self-inflicted darkness gives way to the sight of Miguel’s irritated expression.

“You’re not listening to me, ______.” His eyes flash, daring you to try again. The sight of his exposed fangs, speckled with your own blood, triggers another wave of dread.

Should you even be surprised that he knows your sensitive spots? He already made it clear that any form of escape is in vain.

It's pure torture. It would be easier if Miguel would just have his way with you, use your body to his heart’s content, leave you to your thoughts. But no, he is taking his time and making sure that you physically enjoy this. Ensuring that you will be ready for what comes next.

“S-Stop.” Your lips are still numb, but you manage to form words. “I said…I don’t want this! I’m not ready!”

“Shh.” He silences you with another kiss, his palm pressing down on your stomach. “You’re only saying this because it’s our first time. You have to trust me.”

It’s hard to believe him when you know that his composure is slipping. What is he trying to hide? His ragged breaths? The hardness pressed against your inner thigh? The urgency with which he lifts your legs up onto his shoulders?

“You’ll understand once our child is here,” he says. He breaks off the kiss, his voice hushed to a reverent whisper. “We will be so happy, happier than you can ever imagine.”

“You’re lying…I can’t—!”

You can’t stand to look at him. His gaze is so cruel, clouded with love, adoration, hope. Skies, he looks so hopeful. You don’t want to wait for the day he looks at you differently.

Was this how he looked at her? How did she return his gaze? It must’ve been passionate. It must’ve been romantic. It must’ve been so promising.

“I can’t give you Gabriella!”

The world stops as soon as those words leave your mouth.

“...What did you just say?” Miguel stares at you, eyes wide.

Of all Variants, why did it have to be you?

That is when you burst into tears.

How humiliating. It’s hard to breathe, it must be an ugly sight, and you can’t do anything to cover your face. But it’s enough to make Miguel stop and listen to you.

“I can’t give you Gabriella,” you repeat in choked sobs. “It requires an exact time, specific cells and DNA. And even if we succeed, I can’t raise her into the child you knew. I...I can’t restore your family. I can’t be her.”

In the end, you will only disappoint him.

“______…” He raises his hand to wipe your tears, but you interrupt him with a glare.

“Honestly, why did it have to be me?!” you shout. “Why couldn’t you have found a better duplicate of your wife? This wouldn’t be happening if you’d chosen the right ______!”

He doesn't respond.

For a few seconds, all you can hear is your own pitiful weeping. You vaguely register the feeling of your legs hitting the mattress, of the absence of Miguel’s touch, but you keep your eyes closed. It’s easier that way.

Suddenly, there is the sound of threads snapping. Then the sensation of strong hands coming under your back, lifting you upwards, pulling you into an embrace.

Your eyes fly open. “What—”

“Ya, calladita.”

Miguel…is he hugging you? He holds you tightly, repeating the words in a hushed tone. The message is followed by a string of curses which, judging by the way he turns away from you, must be solely directed at himself.

Paralyzed, you can only stare down at your lap. At his webs, still wrapped around your wrists but no longer connected to the bed. “What are you—”

“Could you let me talk for a second?" he snaps. He tilts your face upwards, allowing you to take in his glare. “You are my first choice. Not the version of you from Earth-94, Earth-835, or any other dimension in the multiverse. It doesn’t matter that you are different from her.”

This can’t be true. “Still, I—”

“As for Gabriella, you’re right." There is a flash of resignation in his gaze, so sorrowful that it clashes with his words. “I knew that from the start.”

“...Then why?”

Your head spins. His hands are still on you, caressing your cheek and keeping you in his grasp. The numbness gives way to warmth.

“Well, it doesn’t change the fact that any child from you will be ours,” he answers. His voice softens, as does his gaze. “Just as you are mine and I am yours.”

The words get stuck in your throat. “Are…are you sure?”

How can he say such a thing? Your sense of hearing must be damaged. It is the only logical explanation as to why—

The look in his eyes leaves no room for doubt. “I promise.”

...What else can you possibly say?

Your vision blurs. Miguel is still speaking, another quiet reassurance from the sound of it, but it’s all static in your head.

What the hell are you supposed to do with this information? It’s beyond your comprehension, too subjective and unproven for the likes of you. And yet you feel…good. Happy. So, so happy despite everything you have been through.

Skies, you are truly pathetic.

No, what’s more pathetic is the way you cry harder and melt into Miguel’s embrace. It’s the way you listen to his remaining praises and beg him to keep talking. To list everything about you that is good and faultless and desirable to him, everything he thought was worth noticing.

And when he kisses you, you willingly reciprocate.

-

The darkness is soothing.

The dim lights cast the bedroom in shadows. It’s a blessing to your dizziness, your eyes tired from crying. With this obstacle to your vision, you can pretend that the previous hours never happened.

Almost. The soreness, the deft hands tending to your injuries, and the immense euphoria are impossible to ignore.

It’s also painful, unbearably painful now that the venom’s effect has fully worn off. You can only sit up and wince as Miguel disinfects another wound.

He looks up in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I am.” You give him a weak smile as he bandages your thigh and mumbles a second apology. “I feel better already.”

His own injuries are equally evident, from your hesitant love bites to the scratch marks on his back. As guilty as you felt, you could only say so much before Miguel silenced you with a withering look.

…You will make it up to him tomorrow. If you are still capable of walking.

The thought leads you to cry into the pillow, muffling your curses. If Miguel can understand you, he doesn’t say anything. Rather, he closes the first aid kit and holds your hand.

“I’ll draw a bath,” he tells you. “Can you wait for a few minutes?”

Your thumb brushes against his pulse point. His heart rate is frustratingly calm, perhaps slightly above average if you are to flatter yourself. Maybe you can count the number of beats and ask LYLA tomorrow. She will be happy to confirm it.

You meet his gaze, intertwining your fingers with his. “Sure.”

You’d like to think that his last kiss is another promise.

With that, Miguel stands up and leaves the room. As for you, you lie down and go back to screaming into the pillow. Tired as you feel, you haven’t felt this thrilled in years.

Then the spiderwebs catch your attention. They’re still stuck to your wrists, albeit frayed. There are loose threads from where Miguel broke them.

Red. Illuminating the dark, holding you close, keeping you safe.

Carefully, you pick apart the threads and twist them around your hand.

No string figures this time. Your technique is clumsy, irregular, lacking beauty and order. Nonetheless, you continue until your left hand is covered in a glovelike pattern.

The final knot is above your ring finger. It’s a perfect fit.

It is the prettiest thing you have ever seen.

♡

Author's Note ๑ Side Story 1 ๑ Prologue ๑ Epilogue ๑ Side Story 2

“I’m just going to write a short post to purge my brainrot,” I say, shortly before Miguel O’Hara unlocks a core memory of me reading The Spider and the Fly and inspires me to write 7.6k words with literary references.

Thank you so much to @diodellet for beta-reading this and @yanmaresu for helping me with the Spanish phrases!! As for my readers, I hope you enjoyed my take on Yandere! Miguel and his darling. Do entertain me with your comments and brainrot ⸜(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)⸝

Tag a Miguel O’Hara enjoyer!! @kocherry @yandere-romanticaa @yandere-daydreams @bweoo @h2o2-and-baking-soda @ansy-tea @yandere-wishes @weebsinstash @curesi @robindere @crystalcrynight @mrlidocaine @handsomeunderwear-art @blughxreader @chiikasevennn @fortheloveofleon

#miguel o’hara #yandere miguel o’hara x reader #yandere miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #yandere spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: manipulation #tw: kidnapping #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: suicide #tw: noncon #spicy warning #mdni #fem reader #yandere miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #yandere miguel o’hara #yandere atsv #lyla #atsv x reader #atsv #atsv spoilers #atsv miguel #atsv lyla #spiderman 2099 #jessamine-writing

[syoddeye]

siphon, part four

john price x f!reader part one | two | three | four ~2.3k words cw: kidnapping, implied stalking, dubcon/noncon oral, blood, violence, gore, death

An opportunity arises more than a month into your 'stay'.

"I'm takin' off for a few hours," John announces.

The dishes in the sink rattle beneath the dropped scrub brush. You tuck your chin to your shoulder and glance back. "Oh?"

He stands in the mouth of the hall in a jacket, thumbing through a keyring. "Got an errand."

The question forms instantly, but you hold it back for fear of appearing too eager. Returning to the dishes, you finish rinsing a plate and set it on the drying rack. Behind you, you listen to him putter between the den and the kitchen.

"I assume I'm staying here?"

John hasn't left you alone since you woke up in the backseat of his truck, head splitting. Since then, you've studied the cabin, inside and out. Wherever you are, the location is remote, thickly wooded, and mountainous. A minimum of an hour outside of the city. It's clear he took great pains to ensure you remain indoors. Although he's yet to employ the many security measures beyond the locks on doors and windows, you've observed an alarm panel. You've seen the gun. Then there is his favorite method of control - his sheer physicality. John's built, solid, and efficient. From the books on history, war, politics, and self-sufficiency, your working theory is he's former military. There is no need for a leash when he can outrun you.

He doesn't answer.

You turn to face him, untying the ridiculously frilly apron you might've thought was cute if a boyfriend had given it to you—not your kidnapper. Captivity has a way of killing romance.

His eyes fixate on your hands loosening the garment, and you watch as he selects two keys from the ring by feeling alone. The keys are simple brass, two different sizes. He plays with them idly, evidently lost in some sick domestic fantasy. You stare at them a moment longer – oh. You know where the keys go.

With his preternatural instincts, John returns to earth, raking his eyes from your form as you hang the apron. You cannot stem the burgeoning panic mounting in your chest.

"Sweetheart–"

"No." 

As if you have a say.

John considers you, his gaze light and careful when he glances at the kitchen around you, but it settles heavily upon your person. He cracks his neck and pushes the key ring back into his pocket.

"Care to repeat yourself?" He echoes.

You inch to the right. Steps away, a pair of kitchen shears sits. Tonguing your lip, you reach for a reason—any reason—to let him hear reason. "I'll be good. Cuff me to the couch, lock me in the bathroom…Please. Don't put me back in there."

He tracks your movement. He tracks everything. "Not how it works, 'm afraid. C'mere."

This isn't how it is supposed to go. Maybe fucking John didn't grant you the access you thought it would, but it is supposed to make him believe you housebroken. Amicable to whatever plans he has for you, which, you know, he has. He's ruining your plans. Ruining everything.

"Please, I'll-"

"This is not a negotiation. Now come here." He beckons.

A petulant anger flares in your belly. Asking John into your body every night is supposed to mean something. If he puts you back in the kennel, it's all been for naught. He acts as if it's beyond his control, that he didn't contrive the entirety of this nightmare. It shatters something inside of you.

With the force you pull the shears out, the utensil holder cracks on the counter. John curses, closing the distance in three giant steps, and you fight a losing battle. He wrenches them out of your hand, tosses them, and drags you by the hair. You kick and slap with your free hand, but with a cruel rip of his hand, you feel hair come away.

He hauls you down the short corridor. Your breaths come in quick gasps as panic claws its way up your throat. You bark and fight like a stray dog on the business end of a catch-all. It's fruitless.

"Fuck you!"

"Later."

John fishes the keys out, unlocks the room, throws you into it, and slams the door behind him. You bolt into the corner. He ignores you while he opens the cage.

"Now," He points a finger at the entrance. 

It isn't fair.

"I'm going to kill you." You blurt out.

John looks unimpressed, sighing. He advances slowly. There is no gentleness in his posture.

"Fuck you." You repeat in a hiss, tensing for the fight you know you'll lose.

His frustration laces with undisguised lust. "Say 'fuck you' again. It sounds like an invitation."

It's inexorable – he violently collects you as if for a dance in the kitchen. You glare through the bars, and he closes the padlock. You both breathe heavier. His hand lingers on the door, and you see the faint imprint of your teeth on the webbing.

"Let's see how much fight you've got left when I come back, hm?"

You lunge for his hand, eager for another bite.

He draws back in time, and his laughter cracks like a whip. "I love you, sweetheart. Nothing you do will change that." He brushes himself off and admires your sulking. "And I've got all the time in the world to change your mind. You'll love me.”

The cabin falls into silence with his departure. You hold yourself tight and take deep breaths. You need to focus. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You could've rolled over and let him lock you up for a couple of hours. But no, you flipped the chessboard like a fucking idiot.

A dripping noise coaxes your eyes to the water bottle. There's a crack in the plastic between the nozzle and the body. Probably broke when he threw you in here. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, reaching for the comfort of sleep. The REM cycle evades you most nights, what with the monster snoring in your ear over your shoulder.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Water erodes even the most solid foundations, and you haven't had the luxury of stability in weeks. You grab the dispenser with both hands and pry it from its fastenings. It hurts your hands and takes more energy than you'd like, but it comes loose, and the plastic zip ties snap. Cursing the damned thing out, you hurl it awkwardly through the cage. It doesn't travel far. Doesn't feel as triumphant as you'd've hoped. A stream of water pools from its belly as it bleeds out on its side.

A despairing voice wishes it were you.

~~

Your mouth is dry when he fetches you.

"I'm sorry."

John's grip is ironclad. His face pinches in mild confusion as he helps you from the kennel before a smug smile replaces it.

"What for?"

"Being difficult," You murmur, stretching your legs. "Breaking the water bottle"

"You're a fuckin' brat," He corrects, pointing to the plastic and metal and slurs into your temple. He reeks of whiskey. "Pick it up. Then do the dishes."

You follow him out into the kitchen and suppress a groan. Your stomach grumbles, smelling the late dinner he cooked for himself when he returned and before he let you out. Beside the sink, your destination sits a tin of tuna singled out from the others. You open and eat the bland fish before he changes his mind. You fill the sink with warm water and soap and start in on the chore. 

John sits in the living room, well within view, smoking a cigar. The stink carries in your direction, cutting through the sterile scent of the dish soap.

For a few minutes, the silence sits like a third person in the room, occasionally interrupted by the clinking of a dish and the dipping of the brush in the water.

"I'm in a better mood," He starts out of nowhere.

You strain to listen, gauging whether it's a conversation or a soliloquy, and then dunk the cracked bottle, massaging the pliable material and working it under the suds.

"I grabbed a pint and told some folks about my woman troubles," he snorts, laughing at his own joke. I got some good advice."

The image of John holding court at some smoky bar comes uninvited. What lies did he tell his fellow patrons? That his 'girlfriend' threw a fit and stepped out of line?

Beneath the water, the plastic cracks within your tight grip. Your arm jerks, sloshing a smattering of bubbles onto the counter. You swiftly clean up after yourself and move on to drying.

"Leave 'em in the rack." John orders, rising from the armchair in the dark of the living room, leaving his cigar to burn out on the ashtray.

You fumble in surprise at his steps. Should be used to it by now. You hurry with the dish towel. "John, there's only–"

"Now."

His tone brooks no argument, not that you were in a position to dare. Swallowing thick, you abandon the chore half-complete and slink into his arms. John bullies you down the hall, grabbing handfuls of your ass. "Told me to be nice to you, eat your cunt a bit." He sighs into your hair, nudging the bedroom door open with a foot.

You don't fight him or gravity and fall back on the mattress.

John looms, eyeing you like a second dinner. Leaves the light on to see every gruesome detail. He makes short work of your jeans and rubs your calves appreciatively before discarding your underwear.

"So I'm giving you a freebie, just this once. I upset you," he explains and kisses your thighs. “You thought you were ready, but have you ever heard of the three-three-three rule, darling?"

"N-No," You stammer when he pinches for an answer.

"Three days, three weeks, three months. The three most important dates when bringing a dog into a home. Though, by my estimates, it's been working just as well for you."

John chuckles before delving into your heart. The lurch in your belly barely beats out nausea.

Three months. You'd rather die. 

The sharp jab in your chest demands freedom.

You let him lose himself. It's easy. He's eaten you out for hours before. You carefully disguise your movements as enthusiasm. You shove your shirt up and over your bra, fondling yourself, discreetly withdrawing the nozzle you broke off of the water bottle in the sink.

Dread and anticipation mix, making you tremble and quake. John, of course, thinks it's all him. It is, in a way. You prop yourself up on your elbows, meeting his eyes briefly when he opens them to take in the parting of your lips.

"John, please," You beg, threading one hand through his short hair.

His eyes shut in focus, humming gleefully, and he doesn't see you coming on either front.

Swinging with everything left, you stab the sharp, concave end of the nozzle into his neck. It sinks in like his windpipe wants it. You both jerk, you with relief and him with a pained, wet scream. It's messy. Blood blooms around his fingers where he clutches the metal. You drag your jellied legs across the bed as he stands, stumbling forward to grab you with a desperate and angry hand.

At his peak, you cannot outrun him. Bleeding profusely from the neck? Tips the scales. You book it to the door and the hall, and he comes crashing after you. Adrenaline and pure fucking fear hurl you down to the kitchen. You skid to a halt on the linoleum and lunge for the drawers from which you've seen him draw knives.

John's steps are haphazard and clumsy, but the full weight of his body is behind each one. He thunders down the hall, slurring, trying to push out words. It all comes out in bellows. A dying animal. Seeing you grab a cook's knife, he stumbles, pausing at the threshold of the corridor. Locking eyes, he reaches for the metal tube stuck in his throat instead. He gurgles something that roughly sounds like you bitch.

"I wouldn't do that." You half-heartedly warn, brandishing the knife.

He wrenches it out anyway, hand slapping to the hole immediately after, but there's too much blood. It's too slick. Red sprays. More than you thought.

John makes it one step before he slowly slumps to the ground, and you stalk closer, giving a wide berth with the blade in hand. He sags back to the wall, feebly pressing thick fingers against the gaping wound in his neck. It's useless. You know it. He knows it.

You crouch, naked from the waist down. Even now, he ogles, the shitstain.

"Do you need help, John?"

His eyes narrow, struggling to focus. The blue looks flatter. Vacant.

A genuine smile splits your face.

"Why don't you just ask?"

~~

The truck dies just off the forestry road. Of course. At least hell is in the rearview.

The sun is barely above the horizon, and John's phone still can't get a signal. Cursing him out, you slip the rucksack full of supplies you found while raiding the cabin. You could've grabbed more but couldn't stay there any longer. You pussyfooted over the gun, ultimately deciding it wasn't worth the energy to find the right key or pry the door open. Not for a weapon you've never used before. Finding your shoes was the best discovery apart from the truck keys and his phone. You'll need them for the walk.

It's almost an hour before you hear a car. You hook a thumb, walking forward, staring intently at the bend in the road ahead. Seconds later, an old, two-seater pick-up appears, and though it takes a moment for it to stop, they do.

You clamber towards the driver’s side window as it rolls down.

“Need a ride?”

“Yes, please. My truck died. Can I get a ride to town?”

“‘Course. What’s your name?”

Giddy and relieved, you give your name as you toss the bag into the open bed. 

“What’s yours?” You ask, smoothing a hand over your forehead.

Your unwitting rescuer smiles. Jesus, he’s handsome. 

“Kyle.”

#john price x f!reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x f!reader #price x reader #price x you #cw violence #cw kidnapping #cw noncon #cw blood #cw death #darkfic #read the content warnings for the love of all things #got whatever that was out of my system

[tosuckmyweenis]

Bee's fic inspired me to finally get this one out of the drafts😵‍💫

On a day of freedom, Leon takes you to a donut shop, one that has your missing posters.

CW Yan!Leon, Smut, PinV, kidnapping, non/dub-con, Leon being a dick.

Two months of monotonous hell and not a chance of escape.

Waking up, the sun began filtering through the blinds, painting the room a soft, orange hue.

Carefully steadying your breath, you lift your head off Leon's chest to glance at the clock.

Too early, don't wake him up.

You slowly lay back down, gazing at him. His features were so peaceful in the golden morning light, highlighted by sunbeams that danced through the window and made him look almost angelic. A small smile touched your lips as you let yourself imagine a different possibility that was much sweeter than this one.

If only you had met him normally. If only he had just asked you out on a small coffee date, you would have said yes in a heartbeat; he was everything you were looking for.

Your body tenses as his hand rubs your back, pulling you out of your musings.

So close

"Good morning" his sleepy voice croaked.

"Good morning; how'd you sleep?" 

"The best in a while, thanks to you."

His hand continues to leave feather-light touches; as much as you want to hate him for what he's done to you, a part of you is drawn to him. Maybe it's his charm because he made sure he's the only person you have left, and you craved interaction.

He pulls you in for a kiss; His lips are soft and warm.

You know that you have to play along in order to survive. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he deepens the kiss you can taste last night's alcohol on his breath but ignore it. It's better to pretend that you're enjoying this, better to keep up the façade that you're falling for him. 

Gently rolling into the soft mattress, you pull him over you; he stares into your eyes, laced with slight confusion, waiting for the resistance he was sure to come like it always did; when it didn't, a small smile creeps across his face.

Cupping his face, you pull him in for another kiss, heart pounding in your chest as his hands move to your hips; he deepens the embrace, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine as your fingers entwined in his hair.

You lean into his touch as his fingers glide to your thighs with an electrifying tenderness, teasing you with the barest graze.

He runs a finger along your slit, drinking in the quiet moan that leaves you as he dips into your already soaked slit, your hips rolling into his hand.

"Please..."

"Shh...Be a good girl and take this for me."

He pumps another finger inside you, curling it rhythmically. His thumb rubs circles against your clit.

You throw your head back, pushing over the edge, bucking against his hand. He works you through your orgasm, slowing the pace of his fingers, bringing you down gently.

Groaning at the divine sight of your head pushed into the pillows, mouth opening in a silent cry, he pulls his fingers free before shoving them into your mouth.

"Suck."

You hazily comply, closing your lips around his digits and swirling your tongue over them sloppily. His breath shudders, cock twitching against you as his fingers thrust between your lips, fucking them into your mouth.

He pulls them free, pulling your lip down as he grins. "Good girl."

You whimper as his fingers knead your thighs again, parting them wide before settling himself in between them.

His cock slips up against your dripping cunt, slicking along your folds. His hand settles on your hip, pressing down firmly as he guides himself inside you.

You whine, toes curling as he pushes in

His eyes focused on his cock disappearing into you again and again.

"Fuck- you feel so good"

His words are mumbled, his head coming down to rest on your shoulder as his hips thrust into you, moving your fingertips to slide over his shoulder and down his back, feeling his muscles tense as he moves.

His hips snap forward, your lips parting in a breathy moan as his cock drags over your walls, and you clench around him.

"I'm not gonna last if you keep that up"

You feel his hand on your cheek, tilting your head to look up, sweat dripping from his temple. You kiss him softly and he groans, his thrusting picking up again.

"Gonna make me cum acting all sweet like that" nipping at your skin as he drives into you.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper as you grip the bedsheets beneath you. You can feel the tightening in your abdomen, your core clenching around him.

His cock twitches, dragging over you in thick, pulsing thrusts as his moans grow louder and louder in your ear.

His voice cracks as you feel his cock throb, a groan muffled into your skin as he pumps you full.

You tremble, arching your back as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips, his mouth on your neck as his thrusts slow. His soft moans in your ear are muffled by his teeth scraping your skin.

"Fuck" his hips stop as he falls against you; you can feel the thud of his steady heartbeat against your chest.

You let out a shaky breath, letting yourself sink further into the pillows as your eyes close.

The room falls quiet, you both taking the time to catch your breaths. His head shifts, nuzzling to your shoulder before he lifts himself up onto his hands, kissing you softly as he pulls himself free from you. You shudder at the feeling.

"Come on, let's go shower," he murmurs, his voice low.

Letting him help you out of bed before he leads you into the bathroom, running the hot water before stepping in with you.

Pulling you close as the hot water pours down over both of you. You sink against him, leaning into his chest as his hands slide down your back to your hips.

"Isn't it much more enjoyable when you behave?" he teases, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Finishing the shower, you turn off the water and step out, handing him a towel as you do. He dries himself, then helps dry you, letting his hands wander over your body again.

"I have to go to work now, but I'll let you stay up here, alright?."

you nod

He waits a second, expecting you to continue talking. He's slightly annoyedby your lack of response

"I have a special plan for tonight as a reward." He pulls you in for a final hug; then he lets go.

You watch him get dressed, admiring how the suit hugs his form. You've seen him wear it a few times now, and it looks good on him. When he's finished, he looks over at you.

"Don't disappoint me."

You wave him goodbye as he leaves. 

The thought of escaping crossed your mind, but you hardly think you could make it very far considering you had no idea where you were. so you tuck the idea away for now, not wanting to dwell on hopelessness of your situation on your free day.

You get dressed in one of the outfits he laid on the dresser for you.

The day was long, so you do the next best thing and explore.

You sit on the couch, flipping through channel after channel, not finding anything you really want to watch, you make your way to the bedroom and start looking through everything, theres bound to be something for you to do

you find books and magazines, but nothing worth wile.

You opt to just lay in bed, maybe he'll bring you something to do next time if you'd ask him nicely.

You wake up to light pushing on your shoulder, in your groggy state you slap it away alot harder than you intended to

"That wasn't very nice of you."

his dark voice ripped you from your sleep, shooting up, you apologize profusely not wanting to end up on his bad side when you did so well all day.

"Fix yourself up and meet me at the door."

His was being short, which meant he wasn't happy. the nasty feeling of dread sinks in the pit of your stomach and stays there like a stone.

The car ride was awkward, the silence hung heavy and it wasn't going to be you that brakes it, the running air conditioning being the only grace.

He takes you to a small donut shop you've never heard of; he ushers you to a small booth in the corner. 

Shuffling into the seat facing the wall, you glance around; it is cozy.

Without giving you much time to adjust, he pushes the newspaper towards you, his expression unchanging.

"Look under there."

Furrowing your brows, you pull the newspaper to the side

It takes you a second to process what you're looking at.

You stand transfixed on the poster, eyes widening as you absorb its vivid red and black colour

you know the face is supposed to be you, but the person that stares back looks nothing like what stands in front of the mirror anymore; it's a haunting reminder of the life taken from you, a life he took in a matter of seconds.

The rage boiling within your veins sears your skin from the inside out.

No wonder he let you come with him today; he wanted you to realize just how unrecognizable you had become. The fight was over.

Your eyes sting with tears; you don't even care enough to try and wipe them away, the tear splashing onto the paper, seeping into it so the ink bleeds slightly when you run your thumb over your printed-out face.

"Be good" his voice heavy with expectation

It wasn't a choice; it was a demand.

He expected obedience: not an answer or a sound out of you.

Sliding out of the booth, he makes his way to the counter.

Clutching the poster to your chest, you slump into yourself; the once spacious room feels like it's suffocating you. You take a deep breath, just wishing there was some way you could wake up from this nightmare.

Pushing the poster back under the paper and shoving it as far away from you as possible, you can't stand to look at it anymore. 

"That bad, huh?"

his voice breaks through your misery, along with the clanging of the tray on the table and clinking of the glass as he sets yours in front of you

Looking at the tray, a donut. You haven't had sweets in a while, so you should be excited, especially since he kept you on the bare minimum to keep you complacent.

Grabbing one of the donuts, he takes a bite before speaking, pulling the poster back into your view and taunting you.

"It's so sad, isn't it? A poor helpless girl, just up and gone with no one to find her" his faux 'concern' dripped with sarcasm

"I wonder what happened to her. Cut up on the side of the road, perhaps? Or maybe floating down some river with weights attached to her ankles."

He took a sip of his drink with an overtly faked smile

He kept going

"Or maybe, she just ran away to live a happy life with her loving husband, so he can protect her from all the dangers in the world; I like that option much more. Now eat your donut."

Staring at him unblinking as he shoved the donut closer to you,

you felt a deep sense of disgust for the man sitting across from you.

"Eat, or we're cutting our little date short."

You know that disobedience never ends well. So you reluctantly take a bite of the donut; normally, it would be a welcome taste, but this time it makes your stomach churn, the sweetness of the pastry contrasts heavily with the bitterness of your thoughts

can you live a life where you are constantly under the control of a monster?

You take a deep breath, trying to push away these negative thoughts.

Finishing the donut, you put the plate back on the tray; he finishes the last of his coffee and places the cup down.

"It's time to go now."

You trailed behind him like the loyal pet he had trained to listen and respond. You wished you could defy him, but you knew that any resistance would only lead to more hurt and after today, there's no fight left in you, nothing but a gnawing emptiness of a life you can never live.

#dont look at him too hard. good renders are scarce to come by #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #yandere leon kennedy #dark!leon kennedy #tw noncon #tw dubious consent #fair warning i read this like once #so god bless ignore any mistakes

[pfhwrittes]

oh god here we go. alright read the fucking warnings. 

18+ ONLY

TW: noncon, somnophilia, male masturbation, spit, facial, alcohol mention.

pairing: john “soap” mactavish x female reader

word count: 966 words of smut.

AN: this is @kaadaaan's fault. also i wrote this all in one go with minimal editing because my brain was being rotted and i needed to get it out. poor grammar and typos are likely, for that i apologise.

-- johnny is your friend, he’s been your friend for a long long time and as such he has a key to the door to your house to use and your blessing that he can just drop in whatever time he likes when he’s on leave. it’s not uncommon for you to come downstairs in the morning to find him sprawled out on your sofa wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, one foot planted on the rug under the sofa and the other hanging off the armrest. 

he’s larger than life, your johnny. the other half to your brain sometimes. jokingly referred to as your brother from another mother. you love him, but only as a friend. despite that, he’s got a key to your house and a piece of your heart because you know he’ll never do anything to hurt you.

johnny on the other hand doesn’t love you like a sister. he loves you with a capital L and something feral behind his eyes. his smile always goes a little too sharp whenever you crack that “joke” that you love him like a brother because he knows if you knew the way he’d been thinking about you for years you’d have locked up your heart and house tight instead of inviting the wolf to stay. 

-

that obsession is how he ends up in this position, just like he has countless times before, standing like a sentinel at your bedside. the only light to see your gorgeous face is the streetlight that curls probing fingers through the thin curtains of your bedroom window. you’re beautiful like this. he honestly doesn’t know how his gaze hasn’t woken you yet, surely you can feel the way he traces every shadow and highlight on your face. surely you can feel the way he stares at your open mouth, driven to madness by the slight spit at the corners of your mouth. fuck it’s almost too much for him. but still he stands frozen, just watching. never touching. not until tonight.

you’d both been drinking. johnny had switched to water part way through the night, you hadn’t and so with johnny’s help you’d stumbled up the stairs to your room and passed out flat on your back. not terribly unusual, he’s seen you do it before when you’ve been drinking. he’s heard your snoring through the walls before. but tonight is different. 

later, when he creeps down the stairs to slump onto the sofa, he’ll blame the lingering buzz of alcohol in his blood for daring to do what he’s thought about for so long. but right now, he’s staring at your open mouth watching a faint glimmer of light hit your wet pink tongue and fisting his cock over your sleeping face. grateful for the fact that you always sleep like the dead when you’re drunk and nothing except the world ending could possibly wake you. 

despite the reassurance that you won’t wake - can’t wake - the sound of his hand moving over his cock is loud in his ears. he’s sure the slick noises are drowning out even the gentle open mouth snores you offer into the air. he positive that in mere moments your eyelids will flicker open and you’ll look up at him, your corrupted sentinel, to see the way he’s gripping his cock desperately. his hips jerking in aborted thrusts as he thrusts into the tight fist he’s made around himself.

a groan slips through johnny’s gritted teeth as his thumb swipes another bead of precum over the flushed head of his cock. 

fuck. 

if he doesn’t slow down he knows without a shadow of a doubt he’ll end up coming on your sleeping face. a spurt of precum dribbles from his cock at the thought. oh fuck. he wants that. he wants to come on your face. he wants to let the thick white ropes coat your cheeks and chin. maybe even cover your open mouth with some of his come so you wake up with the taste of him on your tongue. 

johnny’s hips jerk forward as his orgasm blindsides him completely. his eyes roll back into his head and he whines desperately through his nose, teeth sinking into his lower lip to trap the moan that's burning his throat. 

moments or maybe aeons later, his vision clears and he looks down at you. 

“fuckin’ hell” it’s whispered, part reverence for the sight that greets him, part fear of waking you prematurely. 

your face is covered. johnny’s come drips from your cheeks. it slides down the curve of your jaw onto your neck where it pools, glimmering in the low light, before dribbling onto your pillow. a pearlescent string clings to your top lip and then - and johnny swears he feels his cock twitch out another dribble at the sight - you lick it off.

johnny takes a step backwards from you on shaky legs. he needs to leave, now. if he doesn’t, christ he doesn’t know what he’d do to you. he doesn’t want to find out how far the depths of his depravity go. he doesn’t want to know if he could get away with scooping some of his come off your chin and pushing it into your mouth. he doesn’t want to know if that would be enough for the taste to linger in the morning when you wake up.

with one last lingering look at your face he tucks himself back into his boxers and leaves you. covered, marked, his. 

-

in the morning you wake with blurry eyes and a thick head. god you’d really had too much to drink last night. you smack your lips together and frown at the taste in your mouth. it’s sour and slightly musky. 

oh well, you must’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open again.

--

here be kink taglist: @kaadaaan ; @waves-against-a-cliff ; @acenby-weirdo ; @greatstormcat

#pfh darkfics #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x female reader #tw noncon #tw somnophilia #tw spit #tw alcohol mention #heed the tags/warnings #this is all vi's fault btw #everyone say thank you to vi #jm

[gauloiseblue]

I'm Only Flesh and Blood

(König × Reader)

[Dead dove: do not eat | MDNI]

TW: rape, non-con, imprisonment, death, violence, overall dark theme

(I don't know why, but this song just resonates with the story, not because of the lyrics, but the way he sings it.)

You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You didn't realize there was a war on the horizon, before it all fell down upon the city.

Between the rumbles and the upstanding pillar, you coughed as the dust surrounded you.

You screamed for help, as the shattered walls trapped you in, leaving no space for you to move. You did it over and over again, until your throat scratched. Yet no one came to rescue, no one heard you scream.

When the night fell, you curled up your body, trying to find warmth in the harsh structures. There's no light that could reach your place, you only knew if it's daylight when the temperature rose up slightly, although it soon blurred as you lost track of time.

You were starving, your lips were cracked and split open. You thought you'd die like this, until you heard a heavy stomp of a boot.

There was a sound of a man shouting above you, and a heavy thud soon followed. You didn't have the energy to speak, as you watched a little light come through the rubbles. One by one, the wreckages were lifted, and you winced at the glaring light upon you.

There's a shout, and more shouts followed after in a language you didn't understand. You covered your eyes to see a soldier stretched his hand to you. Just like a fool, you reached up to him.

The event that unfolded between the rescue and the medical help was fuzzy in your memory. What you knew was, you woke up in a cold room, with men in uniform by your bed.

They asked you your name, and basic questions that you weakly answered. After they wrote it all down, you heard them mumble the word 'foreigner'.

"Where am I?" You asked them with a hoarse voice.

"Hospital." One of them said, before they both left the room.

Your brows furrowed, as you sensed something's off, but can't pinpoint what it was.

When the doctor declared you've made a full recovery, you were immediately brought to a different building. The man took you to an office, where a hunched figure in a mask sat at the desk.

He shooed your escort with a wave, and he left the room without a sound. Leaving you with the big man.

"What's your name?" He asked with a strange accent.

"(Name)." You responded.

"They said you're not from here." He stood up, and you witnessed the full glory of his height, "Visiting?"

You slowly nodded, nothing to add.

He shot you a sneer, as he walked closer to you, "You didn't know there was a conflict?"

"No," You lowered your head, "I thought it was safe."

You saw his polished boots as he stood in front of you, before he lifted up your chin so you'd face him.

"You're lucky you're inside the ruin, you know." He began to speak with malice slowly dripped out of his mouth, "Your kin were mostly dead or imprisoned. The women were raped, and the men were skinned alive. But you're still alive. You must be lucky."

The grip on your jaw became harder, and you whimpered, both from fear and the pain.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

He let go of your face, and you immediately took a step back with your legs trembling. Your gaze was down, and you couldn't see the smile on his face. He walked past you, and you heard the door open, before a soldier took your hand and led you through the hallway.

In the other room, you met several girls with the same expression as yours—scared, confused, unsettled. You stood beside one of them, and watched as the soldier left.

The girl turned to you, asking your name.

"It's (Name)."

"Oh." She responded, "Where were you from?"

You told her the name of your hometown. "You?"

"I lived in the neighboring country." She smiled, "I'm Nina by the way, nice to meet you."

You returned the gesture.

"Do you know why we're here?" You asked.

"I'm not sure." She said as she rubbed her neck, "But I overheard the soldiers referring to us as flowers, I'm not sure what that means."

"Flowers?"

"Pretty flowers, in fact." She clarified, "One of them even said exotic ones. I just hoped it's not what I think it is."

You opened your mouth to reply, but the conversation was interrupted by the opening door.

There's a man striding from the door, and stopping on his track to see the people in the room. He scanned them one by one, before he turned to the soldier on his side.

"Which one is the Colonel's girl?"

The soldier looked at you, before leaning in to whisper.

"Hmm," He let out a displeased grunt, "Well, take her away then. There's no point in choosing her when she's off the list."

The soldier said something to him, but he dismissed him.

"I don't care, take her away."

He pressed his lips together before he nodded.

"Come." He said to you, and Nina immediately grabbed your hand.

"Don't go." Her eyes were wide as she told you, and you were alerted by the fear in her face. But you didn't have the time to process it, as the man ripped you away from her, dragging you out of the room.

"No—" You tried to protest, "Let me go."

He stayed silent, while his hand was planted on your arm.

"Where are you taking me?"

"None of your business."

"It's my business to know."

"Shut up."

The two of you arrived outside, where he quickly called a car to the lobby. As the car parked, he opened the rear door and shoved you inside.

The door was already closed by the time you shouted at him.

The whole ride was silent, as you bit your nail, trying to make sense of the situation. You tried to look out the window, figuring out where the driver's taking you. Though you found nothing, not a single clue.

It took perhaps 15 minutes before the car parked in front of a house—a big house, in fact. At the front door, you met another man in military uniform. He didn't say much as he let you in, before locking the door behind.

It took a minute for you to process what happened, before you knocked on the door, asking why you're here. Again, you received no answer.

Deciding it's not worth the time, you began to roam around to find a way out.

It's a two-story house, with a big dining hall and equally big kitchen. It has a study room, and a meeting room right beside it, the two rooms were connected by a door. They looked like they've been used recently.

Upstairs, you found the bedrooms, as well as the bathrooms. There's a door leading to a balcony, but it was locked.

When you came back to the first floor, you tried your luck in the study room. It was full of papers, and you skimmed over it. But it's all written in a language you didn't understand, so you decided to move to the drawers. But as you bent down to reach the handle, you heard an unmistakable voice coming from the door.

"Don't touch that."

You lifted your head to see the same man you met in the office. He was leaning on the frame with his arms folded, watching you intently behind the mask.

"Curious, aren't you?"

You looked down to avoid his stare, "I'm sorry."

He took the time to examine your face, before he spoke, "I was planning to take you home with me, but it seems like my lieutenant sent you away without my permission."

"What do you want?" You asked him through gritted teeth, "You're not planning to send me back home, aren't you?"

He smirked, "Clever thing." He said, "Do you really wish to know that?"

You kept your glare at him as he explained.

"You see, you're still officially missing, and it's not our job to report every single person we found." He walked toward the bookshelves with his hands on his back and his chin up, "So if we found someone, it's our right to keep them."

He pulled a file from the shelves, and threw it onto the table.

"It's yours." He told you, "Go on and read it."

You looked at him with disdain, before you flipped the file open. There, you found all of your private information—the copy of your and your parents' IDs, your bank accounts, and detailed information about your background. Although it's written in German, you knew it from the written dates and a few familiar names.

"Do you understand now?" He spoke in a low tone, "You have no choice."

He left the room as you froze on the spot, unable to bring yourself together. The soldier by the front door took you to a bedroom and locked the door behind as ordered. Leaving you alone, at a loss.

You stared blankly at the window, and took notice how it's screwed shut. Even if you were to break the glass, it's already lined with railing. The same applied to the small window above the toilet, and you saw no possible way out in the bathroom too.

Maybe you could open it with something, something that resembles a screwdriver.

When the sun had set, you heard the lock turned, before the soldier entered with a tray and a jug of water. He set them down on the nightstand, before leaving without a word once again.

You looked at the food, and you had no appetite despite your stomach growl. You didn't touch the plate, but filled up the glass with water. That was it, that's your dinner for that day

At night, you couldn't sleep. You could hear the clock ticking, reminding you that you're still here. Pretty much alive.

20 minutes past midnight—you knew it from the toll of the grandfather clock outside—you caught the sound of the door opening, then closing. It came from the room beside you, the master bedroom.

That night, he spared you from the dreadful ordeal of sleeping together. But your luck was running thin after the third day of your stay.

You were laying on your bed with your thoughts, before the door of your bedroom opened. Your blood ran cold, as you heard a heavy step entering the room, and went towards your place.

The blanket rustled, as the man slipped inside. He settled into the bed, before pulling you into his chest.

Your heart beat hard against your chest, and you began to feel yourself sweating. You knew Fortuna frowned at you when he slid his hand under your neck, pressing his fingers on your pulse.

"You're still awake, aren't you?"

You bit your lower lip, and slowed down your breathing. All was an useless attempt to calm you down.

"Don't worry, I won't touch you tonight."

You took a sharp breath as you caught the meaning of it. It made him chuckle, as he buried his face into your nape.

"But if you try something funny, I can't guarantee that to you."

Your body turned cold when the words left his mouth, to the point that you stayed still, petrified by the threat.

He did keep his promise, as he fell asleep right by your side. Perhaps if you're a bit braver, you could lift his hand and escape that night, but his words hung on your head, as if it's a guillotine that'd fall on you if you moved an inch.

You didn't sleep that night. Drowsiness only came to you after hearing the birds singing, signaling the first arrival of the sunray. And you were too tired to notice the way he stirred, as it went closer to his waking hour.

In the afternoon, you found yourself alone in bed, with the door locked, and the breakfast on the table.

You survived that night, but it didn't mean you'd make it on the other days.

Unfortunately, it came sooner than you prayed.

It was your fault, you were careless. You thought he wouldn't pay any mind to a missing cutlery, but he did.

At the dinner, he asked you to accompany him at the dining table, and you sat there, blissfully unaware of the impending torture.

As you chewed the tender steak, he announced his concern about the lack of butter knife in the dishwasher.

You stopped at your track, as your body tensed up. The meat stayed in your mouth, as your throat tightened up, closing your chance to swallow.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He asked with a cold glare, "Did you think I'm stupid?"

You kept your gaze to the plate, as the alarm blared in your head.

"Answer me!" He slammed his fist on the table, and you flinched away in fear. The reaction caused you to choke, forcing you to cough out the meat into the napkin.

"I'm sorry." You whimpered, while gripping your hand so it would stop shaking. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, you thought the time had stopped for you. Until you heard the chair moved, and he stood by the table.

"Hands on the table." He retorted, and your body obeyed him without delay.

You jumped when he threw away your plate, sending it and the cutleries to the floor as it shattered upon the contact. You began to feel unsteady, as the panic was rising from your chest.

He stood behind you, and you trembled as you heard the sound of a zipper.

That was the day you found that he'd use sex as a punishment.

He made sure that it hurts, and left you bleeding, he'd render your legs useless by bruising your hip and insides, as he rammed his cock against your core. You screamed at him, begging him to stop, but he kept going until he ripped the orgasm out of you. By the time he finished, you're entirely spent, as you curled up on the floor.

In daze, you felt yourself being picked up, before laid down on the mattress. Leaving you wondering about it in the morning.

He was cruel, but he took you to the bedroom instead of leaving you. He was merciless, but he bothered to put a few medicines on your tray.

You didn't understand him, and you didn't like it one bit. You had a hunch that it couldn't be that simple—that he felt guilty, or he felt the need to take care of you.

To your disdain, he continued to do it for weeks. He helped you up, and gave you the medicines every morning. He kept it as a routine, until you could stand on your feet again.

While your body's recovered, the phantom pain still throbbed between your legs. Reminding you of the consequences for your misbehavior.

The memory of it kept you in line, as you unconsciously complied with his demands.

That was, until his demand became more outrageous.

It seemed that he was testing you—putting you through unnecessary trials of whether you would obey him or not. He'd put a choker on you. He'd ask you to get on your knees, and put your head on his lap. He'd tell you to sing, while his finger slipped inside your panties. He'd place you on his desk, and told you to spread your legs while he watched you pleasure yourself. He'd force you to watch an erotica without your pants on, so you'd leave a stain on your chair. He didn't ask for sex, but what he requested was way more improper, to the point that you felt dirtier after doing it.

And he seemed to be pleased by it, he delighted in your humiliation.

He also got off on your fear.

He'd play a cat and mouse game with you, and he'd scream threats that'd set you running. He knew you're scared of him, and he used it to his advantage. And when he caught you, you'd be forced on your knees as he shoved his cock into your mouth.

You're aware that there'd be an escalation from the moment he declared he'd take care of you, but you weren't prepared for the level of depravity he possessed.

The way he'd threaten you with sex, and soothe you with aftercare, it was too much.

One day, you sobbed as you begged him to end it all, with your tears running down your face. But he just sneered as he rubbed his member against your clit, forcing you to watch as your body trembled when you came for the fifth time.

There were times when it's all quiet, when he was wrapped up in his work. Those were the times where you could gather your thoughts, and planned for a possible escape.

You knew about his gun collections in the study room, you just needed the bullet. You couldn't really escape through the front door, except when it's night. So you began to devise a plan.

In the back of your mind, your rationality told you it's impossible; that even if you killed him, his affiliates would catch you so easily. You have nowhere to go. But you shoved it back into the water, as your feeling thrashed inside your chest. You need to go. You need to get away from him.

Fortunately—and unfortunately—you found out the answer to your plan.

He hosted a house party with all of the soldiers. Some of them were recruits, and some of them looked like they're on the same level as him, judging by the presence of a pretty partner on their side.

You were given the role of a quiet escort, and you were allowed to leave his side only when he told you so. You wrapped your hand around his arm, as he greeted his guests.

The last friend of his came a little later, and your eyes were widened as you saw a familiar face. It was Nina.

She looked thinner compared to the last time you saw her. Her eyes were hollow, and her face was pale, with the exclusion of the red mark on her cheek.

You had the chance to talk to her when they all sat at the dining table. While the men were talking over brunch, you made your way to her and stood beside her.

She was quiet, and you doubted that she heard you, but it only lasted for a moment before she muttered out I'm fine.

"He slapped me this morning because I forgot to brew his coffee." Her lips trembled as she spoke, "But he told me to prepare everything for the party last night, of course I'd forget it."

Your brows furrowed with sympathy, as she continued her snivel, "I should've felt grateful that he only slapped me. The other girls—the other girls got it worse. But I—everything I did was wrong in his eyes. I don't—I'm so sick of it."

She quietly sobbed, and you took the initiative to pull her aside, guiding her to the restroom.

In there, you got the full length of her story.

The man who took him treated her as a housemaid, but never addressed her as such. He'd shout at her constantly, and he'd shove her face against the counter, forcing her to look at the little dust spot she missed. At night, he'd force himself upon her, with little to no preparation. And when she tried to escape one time, he brought home the head of her mother. The only family she had left.

You didn't know what to feel, but you could see that she got it worse than anyone.

You tried to soothe her, but you knew the wound was larger than you could stitch. It could never be healed.

As you both returned to the dining room, you found the table empty, as the men had already moved to his study room.

And your heart triumphed when you saw the key in his hand, as he opened the locked drawer to fetch something vital for your escape.

The bullets.

You watched him as he slipped them one by one into the old revolver. You burned the image of it in your head—the silver, big barreled revolver.

He then invited everyone in the room to walk with him, with the intent of showing a demonstration.

"This thing is a beauty, a wild horse," He remarked as he exhibited the firearm, "You need to learn to tame it before you ride it, or she'll kick you off the mount."

The men laughed, as some of them added an equally filthy joke. He chuckled before turning his body and stretching his arm to aim at the target.

There was an apple on the fence, on the far side of the garden. And the red fruit stood still, before it exploded as his gun went off with a bang.

The men cheered, applauding the magnificent show that you couldn't understand. Why did they praise it? Wasn't a gun supposed to do that?

You didn't have the time to ruminate, as you heard your friend whisper under her breath.

"He loves you."

The chatter from the men almost drowned her voice entirely, that you had to double-check your hearing.

"What?" You asked her.

She turned her face towards you, and a tear rolled down on her cheek. The sight of her stunned you, as she reached to touch your cheek.

"He never took his eyes off you." She muttered as she leaned closer to you. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, you thought you felt her lips brush against yours, as she pulled you into a kiss. And you almost taste the wine in her tongue, until a sharp shrill flew past you with an incredible speed. Before you knew it, you were on the ground, with her body slumped against you.

You sat there, watching the open side of her head as it dripped dark fluid into your dress. It was warm, and slowly seeped through the fabric, spilling over your thighs.

You didn't know who was screaming.

You couldn't remember how long exactly before they removed her body from you. The party must be over since the men took you to your room, leaving you alone as you sank into your chair. Your hands couldn't stop shaking, as you saw them stained with red.

What happened to your dress? It was supposed to be white, wasn't it?

You stared at your knees, as the image of her head was still fresh in your mind. You felt your vision narrowed, as if you watched yourself through the third eye. You weren't there, you were still on the ground, with your friend's head on your lap.

The door was opened, but you didn't notice it. You didn't notice any presence, before a hand softly landed on your shoulder.

You jumped out from your chair, almost shouted for the second time, if not for his embrace.

It caught you off guard, and you began to sob against his chest. You couldn't help it, it was the only comfort you had, even though you knew that he had removed every other hand just so you'd choose him.

"Don't be sorry." He gently lulled you, "She brought it upon herself."

He removed the bloodied dress from you, before turning away to fetch a wet towel. You didn't have the energy to fight him, moreover to lift your finger. So you let him clean the blood off your face, and off your body.

You didn't resist when he put the fresh clothes on you, and he guided you to the bed, letting your head fall onto the pillow. He didn't do much and left the room without a word.

On the bed, you let your mind wander to your friend—her hollow stare, the gaping wound in her heart, you should've known it. There's a quiet anger in you, as well as a deep sense of loss. She used you as a means to end her pain, but she had no other choice. She had nothing left.

For days, you asked yourself if it's the only way for her, or if you could help her, reach out to her just a little further. But what came back was an echo, since she was already an empty shell long before you could help her.

You were angry at yourself, angry at him, angry at the man who took her. Yet you couldn't do anything about it, you were powerless.

He was smart enough not to bother you, since you'd erupt at any given moment. But he'd snap at you if you crossed the line, and you'd end up with tears, as you bit your lips shut.

You don't know what to do with this anger, you still don't know the answer to this day.

While you have the plan ready, you haven't chosen the execution date. You need to be close enough to him to take the key, but you're still repulsed by him.

A week has passed by, and you find the courage to close the distance between you and him. You begin to join him for dinner, and keep him company in his study room.

That's when you start to see the crack.

There's a time gap where you can carry out the plan, at least the first plan. When he comes home, he usually leaves his things unattended at dinner time. You would have the freedom to roam, and you could sneak into his room for a short time. You once made sure which pocket that had the key in, and did a double-take a few days later. When you're certain of it, you move to the gun collections. You had memorized the revolver, so it didn't take long before you found it.

With that in mind, you're ready at any time.

You maintain a good facade in front of him, as you wait for the moment to strike.

The chance comes to you one night, when he decides to postpone the dinner. He has to talk with someone outside, and leaves his things on the dining table.

The window of time will be short, since the time it takes for him to finish will be uncertain. But you take it nevertheless.

You don't waste any time as you pull the key from his vest's pocket, and march toward the study room.

Adrenaline rushes through your body, and you're shaking as you take the revolver off the padded wall. You then turn your heel as you approach the desk, sliding the key with difficulties, before unlocking the drawer.

Alas, you run out of time.

You hear the front door close, and a heavy step echoes through the house. You hold your breath as you slide the cylinder release, and take a few bullets in your hand.

"Mäuse?" Your panic rises as you hear his call, with trembling hands, you try to push the bullets into the cylinder. Alas, one of them falls to the floor.

The noise must've alerted him, as the sound of his step turns into a heavy bolt.

You only manage to put two bullets in, before slapping the cylinder shut and aim at the door, right at the same time as his arrival.

He stops in his tracks when he sees you inside, with the gun in your hands.

"Don't come any closer!" You shouted a warning at him, though you couldn't hide the quiver in your voice.

He stands by the door, with his face unreadable, as it hides behind the mask. You pull the hammer, while your finger rests on the trigger. You're ready to shoot, he knows it from your stance.

He sighs, shaking his head in disapproval, "I gave you time, and this is how you repay me?"

"Don't—don't move." You tried to warn him once again, "I'll shoot if you move."

"Can you even shoot me with those hands?" He leered at you, taunting you with his words, "You won't hit any target if you keep shaking."

He catches you off guard as he storms the room, forcing you to pull the trigger.

The bullet hit his shoulder, and he shouts in pain. The shot you released enrages him, as he pulls a sledgehammer from his side.

You don't have the time to aim as you shoot the second bullet, and it flies past him, leaving him unharmed.

A high-pitched scream escapes your mouth as the hammer slams onto the desk, causing the wood to crack upon impact.

The revolver quickly dropped as you fled to the connecting door, escaping the place through the next room.

You run towards the front door, trying to push the handle, but it won't budge. You hear him coming, and jump to the side, narrowly escaping his hammer of rage as it punches through the door, sending the broken pieces everywhere.

"YOU COME BACK HERE!" His voice boomed through the house, and you could almost feel the floor shaking.

You dash to upstairs, and push your bedroom door open, before locking it just in time.

Still, it can't protect you from him.

You watch in horror as the door shakes and fills the room with the cracking sounds, before it flies open by force.

And there he is, standing at your door like a nightmare.

You can't do anything except running away from him, running to the corner where you'll certainly meet your demise.

And you lift your arms and brace for the impact. You can see the hammer coming to you from the corner of your eye, and you cry out when it strikes.

It's all silence, before a quiet sob falls from your mouth.

His hammer crashed on the wall, just an inch away from your head, showering you with dust and smashed fragments.

Your body slides down to the floor, as your legs give up. You continue to weep, while he lifts up the hammer, and tosses it to the ground.

"Are you done?" He retorted harshly, and you shrunk away from him.

He yanks your hand away, and throws you to the floor. You yelp when he sits on top of you, pushing your face down to the ground.

"Should I treat you badly so you'd learn to appreciate what I did for you?"

"You took my freedom away." You hissed through your tears, "You kept me in here so you could play me like a toy."

"But I took care of you, didn't I?" He growled, "I never asked you to clean the house, you didn't even have to cook for yourself. What more could you ask for?"

You flinch at his tone. You've seen him angry a few times, but never this angry.

"Do you want a toy of your own?" He asked, voice dripping with bitterness. Your eyes snap open, as the phantom pain throbs in your hip. "I can certainly give you one."

"No…" Your lips quivered as he slipped his fingers under your clothes, "No, no! Stop!"

You tried to kick him away, do anything to get away from this monstrous man.

"Get away from me!" You screamed at him, but he ignored you as he ripped your clothes off. "Please! I'm sorry—"

"It's too late for that, don't you think?" He laughed when you tried to crawl away, while he undid his belt.

You cry out when you feel the head of his cock poking against your core, before he slowly pushes it inside.

It was excruciating, as he stretched you open with a force. He groans as your walls clamp around his member, as if repelling him from entering.

He snakes his arm around your shoulders, as he pulls you close until his chest is flush against your back. A bitter tang of iron hits your nose, reminding you of your own mistake. He hisses when you grab him on the place near the wound.

"Don't think you can escape me, (Name)." He snaps his hip against you, and you throw your head back, eyes tightly shut. "Not even in your death."

You scream when he buries himself completely, stuffing himself to the hilt, until you feel yourself full.

The pain comes back to you, as you feel your core burning. He makes it worse by feeding it frictions, as he begins to pump himself in and out. He tosses his mask aside, before he marks you with his bites. He sinks his teeth onto your neck and shoulder, before he lifts you by your chin, and crashes his lips against yours.

It was bitter, full of teeth. His kiss tasted like rage, and the jealousy he held since your friend stole it from him.

You cough from the lack of air, and fall down on the floor. The mixed saliva in your mouth drips down to your chin, and he runs his thumb to wipe it off.

He bends down to kiss you once again, and you whimper when you find yourself growing wetter against your will. The resistance from your walls becomes lesser, and he can easily slide his member in.

"You know, Mäuse," He mused as his hips moved like a piston, "I'm only flesh and blood, but I can be a good father."

He keeps his arm around your body, as you struggle against him.

"I can buy you a big house, taking care of our little ones." He covers your mouth when you begin to voice your protests, "As long as you're with me."

Your hand starts to flail around, trying to hit his wound, but it's out of your reach.

"I'll make you my wife, and we'll live together as a couple." He said with a smile, but through your eyes, it was a madman's grin. "You just have to be good, and I'll treat you as such."

His cock brushes against the spot that made your moan, and he keeps hitting it until your back arches, as you turn limp in his arms.

He soon follows after you, as his cum spills into your womb, filling you up to the brim. You gasp when his arms tighten around you, as his cock twitches inside your core. A sense of dread hits you as you feel his cock doesn't get any softer.

"I think you'll make a great mother." You heard him murmur, before he pressed his lips against your temple.

#I have “writing dark fic is my coping mechanism” syndrome 👍 #tw noncon #please read the warnings #dead dove do not eat #könig x reader #konig x reader #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #konig cod #he might be a bit OOC but I do believe that he'd turn cocky when he's the person in the high rank #like what's social anxiety? I'm the captain here #*the colonel #whatever

[captainjamster]

Observation Duty

Pairing(s): Price x fem!Reader Warnings: Manipulation, stalking, monitoring and surveillance, obsessive behaviour, non-consensual voyeurism, non-consensual mutual masturbation, non-consensual recording and photos Wordcount: 3.2k Summary: John isn't quite the captain everyone thinks he is, but he knows just how to act like it. No one would ever believe the things he does behind closed doors. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: PLEASE LOOK AT THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ MORE! This is the first part of what should be two chapters, because I can't stop starting things without finishing them <3

If I miss any tags you think should be there, please let me know!

Full fic under the cut <3

John’s line of work has taught him that people are so, so easy to play with. Know the right person, the right place. Know what to say, who to say it to.

Keeping you safe, under his ever-observant eye, is easy in the barracks and on the field. You don’t make a single move he doesn’t see or hasn’t approved. But when you go home, away from him and his control, he just can’t help but worry. Are you safe, alone in that big, empty house? What do you get up to? Are you eating and drinking? Taking care of yourself? Who do you see? Do you invite anyone around? The idea of another man in your home makes him shudder, and in your bedroom isn’t something he even entertains. John needs to do something about it.

He’s been thinking for a while. Some way to watch you, every waking moment. A permanent eye on the wall. He knows your address; it’s right there in your files. There isn’t a single legal document or piece of information about you that he can’t obtain if he wants to. Every place you’ve lived, your parents, extended family, even your friendship circles. Your school results, community hobbies, bank purchases, every doctors trip – especially your birth control and fertility, he paid very close attention to those details. He knows how to play you; he listens to your grumbling, observes what makes you happy. Notices the moments where you’re less resistant, records what makes you flare up in defensiveness or fury. John is a well-educated man, one who could’ve been a scholar in another life, and he’s decided his favourite topic to study is you.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

“Remember to fill out your forms, lads. New policies coverin’ house insurance and maintenance, let me know if y’need any fixin’ at home.” He hands out the papers, carefully keeping yours separate without being too obvious. Soap’s head bobs up, glancing at you and taking the bait John has set out perfectly. “Oi bonnie, weren’t ye chattin’ ‘bout fixin’ a light o’ somethin’?”

Your face lights up at the mention, a bashful smile gracing your lips, and John would be mad that it’s not in his direction if he wasn’t so satisfied with himself. “I can’t believe you remembered that, yeah! I was going to wait until I got home.”

Gaz hums, hunched over his own form as he signs it. “Maybe Ghost can buy a piece of furniture this year.” His sentence is rewarded with a pen smacking into the side of his head, bouncing off him and onto the table as Ghost snorts in amusement, answering gruffly. “Fuck off, Garrick.”

It never goes wrong, but he still feels smug at how effortless it is to orchestrate an entire conversation before it starts. Getting your signature is as easy as an extra sheet, you can’t even tell the difference. No one reads terms and conditions, and he’s made extra sure you don’t - a couple of edited test forms a few months ago - to rule out the chance.

With the paperwork completed, he contacts the company and gives them a boring, digestible cover story. “Yeah, her husband. Installing cameras, yeah. Keepin’ it safe while we’re both on deployment. Just a light out the back to fix, cameras to install in and outside.”

They’re so quick to listen to the man playing the big, strong head of the house, not a single question about why everything but the payment would be in his ‘wife’s’ name instead. Lying, John finds, is easiest when others do the work for you; give vague details that seem right, and let them come to their own little conclusions. Let them assume you’re some kind of military wife who doddles along behind him, just an obedient little civilian pet while he organises the household. If only they knew what you were and what you did, he thinks. Though still, an obedient little pet is how he would like you. It just takes time to get there.

They come over and install the cameras in less than a week. John’s antsy the day he gets the call that they finished, waiting for it to be over so he can experiment with his new toy. He ignores the questioning looks from his inferiors as he dismisses his last evening meeting early, pushing out the door into the stream of soldiers heading for dinner, only departing from the pack when he reaches his office door.

John prepared a room for this in advance – the moment he set the plan in motion. A room at home, his central control that he could run unmanned and long-distance, circumnavigating his occupancy at the base. It’s almost undetectable; no pesky windows to peek in from the outside, entry hidden behind a locked door in his office. The numerous screens flicker to life, illuminating the room in a blue glow. The cameras are perfect; detailed quality, blur-less zoom. Every angle. It quickly becomes his favourite room to be in, despite only being in it once when he headed home to initially set everything up.

At the base, all he needs is an electronic device and an app to access the command. His favourite to use is his phone, flicking through each screen to take in the rooms, committing each detail and decoration to heart. Though to keep up all professional appearances, he often settles for his laptop, flicking between reports and gazing at the screens with every spare second. John takes the weeks leading up to break to memorise your house, seeing each room flickering on the back of his eyelids as lies in bed, tracing each path you’d take morning and night until he falls asleep.

He protects it. Types your address into his maps app, virtually scouting the neighbourhood to make sense of all your outside cameras, memorising every surrounding street. Plans escape routes, recording positions of defence and any weak spots he could reinforce, windows or vents that are just too easy to wrench open by perverse men like him. Within a month, he knows your house plan like his own; enough to contemplate how he would reorganise it if you wanted him to move in, how many little ones it could hold, tiny feet pattering up and down its hallways.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

When the last week before leave finally comes around, he’s beyond ecstatic. John is a carefully controlled slate around anyone else, but his boys know each twitch of his eyebrow and quirk of his lip. They clue you in to his unusually excited behaviour with teasing jokes and remarks that have him rolling his eyes, gruffly ordering them back to work. Soap is betting on a secret missus, making a point to sneak up behind Price when Soap catches him texting away on his phone.

When he finally arrives home, he’s delighted to see your house is still empty. It gives him time to unpack, running loads of laundry and showering. He keeps an eye on his phone, monitoring the screens until he finishes, bringing a cup of coffee and dinner to his little surveillance room.

The screens fill the wall, a 3x3 set-up that basks the room in a pale glow, yet still isn’t enough to display every camera hidden around your house. Everything is silent, the occasional rumble of a car getting his hopes up, but nothing happens until a few sips of his coffee and an article later. Movement from one of the screen catches his attention, his head straightening to watch your front door swing open.

A bag is the first thing that comes through the door, flung down the hallway with a dull thud. Your figure follows it in, heaving another heavy bag behind you. John frowns at the sight, mindlessly tutting as he crosses his arms. He could be there to do that for you. None of this silly straining yourself.

Leaning back and settling in, he watches how you unravel from your long absence. It pleases him that you’re practical in your return, taking the time to wash your laundry, circulate and dispel all the stagnant air (although Price dislikes seeing your windows open, so unattended), and give the place a general tidy up. There’s a ping from your phone a few times that puts John on edge. Who’s texting you already, when you’ve been back for less than a day? His prominent guess is family and close friends, excited to have their beloved child home and safe, but he can’t help from worrying that he’s wrong. Maybe you’re so pent up that you just can’t help it, using those silly dating apps you talk about with Gaz, eager for someone to unravel all that need within you. Maybe it’s an old friends-with-benefits situation you already have that’s eager to climb back in your bed. Maybe – maybe he should bug your devices.

His deliberations are disrupted as you reward your productivity with what Price thinks to be a party in your bathroom. The small haven of what should be privacy isn’t free from his omniscient gaze, either. He doesn’t care if it’s disgusting; there are no boundaries to him. There isn’t a single side of you he doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to know.

The music comes through his speakers, some songs he recognises from the long travels spent in transport together. Melodies echo through your room as steam slowly gathers, whisps streaming in and out of his lens view as water slowly fills the bath. You trail from the room, meandering down the hall and grabbing some snacks from the kitchen, filling a glass with a carbonated drink you grab from the fridge. Snug in the corner above the entryway, paired neatly with the fire alarm, his camera catches the way you bend yourself over the counter, distracted by scrolling through some app.

He feels himself throb at the sight, fumbling to take a screenshot of the image. You tease him, staying bent like that as you wait for the bath, your ass swaying occasionally when a trendy song hums from your phone. Disappointment washes through him when you stand up, though he basks in the sight of your stomach peaking from under your shirt as you stretch, but his excitement is quickly renewed when you gather your snacks and head back to the bathroom.

The room has filled with a thick fog that blooms out into the hallway as you open the door. It clouds his vision, leaving him cursing for not considering the possibility. Your darkened figure is hardly visible as you move throughout the room, but from the soft, metallic clicks and flickering of light, he assumes you’re lighting something. Two lights blossom in front of you, remaining behind you as you crouch at the bath and start flicking the lighter again. The cloud has dispersed enough to let John see the fuzzy details of your face, watching as you bring a third candle to your face, inhaling with a hum of delight before you light the flame and return it to the bath’s edge. You strew the candles about the room, leaving a large one to glow on your vanity and putting the other one on your closed toilet lid.

You fiddle with the taps – running cold water, he guesses – and sit on the floor, sorting your snacks onto a long tray as the last of the mist spills from the room. He’s been lucky this time; had you not been treating yourself, taking the time to create a small sanctuary, the fog would’ve concealed any chance of John seeing you at such a vulnerable time. A flaw within his system that requires refinement. Perhaps a flaw he can turn into an excuse to visit you.

His thoughts fall flat when you stand up, slotting the tray into its position over the bath and silencing the taps with a few sharp turns. Finally. The point he’s been anticipating.

The captain waits with bated breath, eager to salivate over his uninvited striptease. It’s far from the first time he’s seen you undress, though it’s the first time you’ve been so beautifully unaware. Close proximity (and the resulting lack of privacy) is just another test of comradery – he’s showered next to you in just underwear and ripped your shirt or pants off to treat a stab wound more times than he can count.

But this time you undress, you don’t stop at your underwear.

There’s no to palaver or parade to your performance – there’s no real performance, just a one-sided show, and that alone has John’s cock aching. Capturing you without filter, pretences or social expectations, no song and dance of captain and soldier. You’re clumsy pulling off your underwear, catching the elastic on your toes and throwing it haphazardly onto the floor with the rest of your clothes through curses and grumbles. Inspecting yourself in the mirror, catching up on each new scar and burn, bending over and peering around to see the state of your backside and between your thighs. This is a side of you he can never glimpse on base, despite all his attempts.

The buzz of your phone distracts you, straightening up with a right, okay! and grabbing the small device, unlocking it to peer at the content as you gingerly slide a foot into the hot, soapy water. Bit by bit, you emerge yourself within the sudsy liquid, minding the tray as you let out an audible groan. John watches you melt into the bubbles, arms resting along the tub as your head falls back.

For a while, the two of you remain like that; John sat comfortably in his chair, ignoring the heat flickering in his lower stomach as he works through some papers, keeping an eye on your relaxed form as you decompress within the hot, sudsy water, picking at the tray of food and drink. His attention slips as the minutes go by, becoming more focused on his work – pushing the aching need between his legs further to the side - as he checks the screen every ten minutes.

The swishing of water becomes a tranquil ambience as you scrub at yourself, low voices from your phone that John doesn’t currently care to make out keeping you entertained through the process. You luxuriate in the tub for much longer than the barrack would ever allow, taking your time to scrub the build-up of product and dead skin that you give little concern during deployment.

A paper absorbs his attention, keeping his eyes occupied as he grumbles through writing. His concentration is only torn away as he finishes scribbling his signature, a sharp, unexpected moan filling his ears that has him looking up so fast his neck cricks. Scanning the screen, he quickly determines that it’s not coming from you – rather, your phone, and is now accompanied by a deep, masculine groan.

Your expression is clear on his screen, a flush to your cheeks as you gaze at your device, hand running along your chest teasingly to tug at a nipple. Whether it’s from the pornographic material playing on your phone or the heat of the water, John can’t tell.

The tent of his pants is already insufferably tight, and he swears there’ll be a zipper print against the red of his aching cock when he pulls it out. He wants to relish this, commit each moment of this first time to memory without the taint of his lust, but he can’t help the growing need between his legs. Ignoring it to finish paperwork, merely bask in the company of your unwinding routine, has been a challenge even for his steeled resolve.

As he watches your hand trail down the soft pudge of your torso, dipping into the bubbly water to follow the rise and dip of your stomach, he breaks. His cock springs out of his briefs like it’s gasping for air, bouncing angrily against his stomach with each haphazard tug at the elastic around his hips. He can only imagine how your fingers work between your legs at that sensitive skin, how you orchestrate your undoing.

The tray holds your phone conveniently, allowing both hands to roam your body, and John thanks his luck for at least the opportunity to watch you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers. You tug at the sensitive buds with whimpered moans, water sloshing as your hips buck against your hand, teasing John with actions that he can’t see.

He’s damp to the touch as he grips his shaft, fingers immediately sticky with precum that’s been smeared throughout his briefs. Pearlescent beads drool from his tip in a lazy stream, lubricating his motions as he tugs lightly at his foreskin, already teetering the edge of climax. The slightest stimulation has his stomach tightening, listening to your gasps and whines grow in urgency.

You chase your orgasm eagerly, working with a pent up need that comes from the absence of full privacy within the miliary. Convulsions rack through you in synchronisation, moans combining in a harmony he wishes wasn’t separated by the screen. He wants to time it perfectly; fuck up into his fist and release as you reach your own peak, as if a flawless synchronisation is key to unlocking some phantom sensation of being buried between your thighs, clenched down around him.

It doesn’t take much more teasing before you catch up, your tiles wet as water breaches the rim with each careless thrust. The video in front of you has ended, long forgotten as your head lulls back, lost in the sensations that envelope your consciousness that prove to be too much. They push you over the edge with a ragged cry, your knees peaking from the water as your thighs clench around your hand, and John loses himself too.

All it takes it a few weak thrusts into his hand before his balls are tightening, seed spilling in enthusiastic spurts, striping his shirt and pants before it dies down to a dribble that John coaxes out with a groan. He sits there, watching your breathing even out as you wipe away at your mess, spent and catching his breath as the cum dries on his clothes. You’re quick in cleaning up the mess, pulling yourself up on unsteady limbs as you pull the plug, bending down to rinse your hands one last time for John to relish.

He's almost heartbroken when you step out the tub, droplets cascading down to drip from your form, only to reach for a towel to wrap around yourself. The fabric is a slim cover, leaving glimpses of your behind and chest as you dry yourself, humming a tune with a note of content John wishes he brought instead. John tucks himself back into the soiled briefs, shucking off his shirt and pants to wash momentarily, but not before he glimpses you one last time getting changed.

Before you can reach for the underwear placed in advance on the sink and discard your towel, the camera barely picks up the vibration of your phone, catching both his and your attention. Leaning over to the tray, your process is halted by a text on your screen that makes you smile, and whether it’s the drunken, post-orgasmic haze that clouds his mind, or the way it makes him more vulnerable to the surge of jealousy that flares up at your giggle, John finds himself fumbling through the lockscreen and pulling up your contact before he can stop himself.

If you’re not going to think about him during your masturbation, he’s sure as hell going to make sure you think of him after.

Dividers by cafekitsune

#READ THE WARNINGS ON THIS ONE BABIES!!!! #price x reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #jams writings #cw: noncon #cw: dubcon

[florbe-triz]

Litchi ☆ Hikari Club

#litchi hikari club #Jaibo #Zera #Raizou #I really don't recommend this manga hahahaha don't read it! #BUT if you dare I take no responsibility #DON'T READ IT #if you do be sure you are okay with violence-gore-blood-BL-noncon etc it's terrible and you are warned #Yeah I do enjoy dark stuff too but I never NOT warn people about it #my art

[latenightdaydreams]

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader Part2 (fem)

MDNI🔞

For part one click here!

Part 3

Master List

🚫Same as part one, there are HUGE TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS STORY!🚫

Please do not read if you are not in a good mental health head space or cannot handle extreme content. Your mental health matters more than a story! I have other smut and fluff with a kind and consensual König, please enjoy those instead🥰 Remember you're all amazing and deserve happiness in the world. I hope you all have a fantastic day and take care of yourself🩷

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🚫LAST WARNING BEFORE TRIGGERS🚫

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>cw: fem/afab, p in v, non-con, recording, threats, breath restriction.

3.1 word count

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With the sun in your eyes, you wake up on a groggy state; the sleeping pill having been so strong, you feel as if you’re hung over. At first your vision is a little blurry so you try to rub your eyes awake. Going to pull your hands down, you realize you can’t. Instant fear sets in as you realize your hands are bound together with zip ties attached to a bar over your head. You feel the truck moving, König is driving. In a panic you look over to him and with a trembling voice, you speak up.

“König…” you can’t control your breathing.

“Ah! Guten Morgen, meine Liebe.” König’s voice overly cheerful. He looks at you quickly over his shoulder. “That pill took you out for quite a while.” He chuckles as if this is a casual situation.

“Why…why am I tied up?” You like to think of yourself as a strong woman, but you’ve never felt this level of helplessness before.

“So that you don’t run.”

Silence lingered in the air as you stare at the back of his head. “Please don’t do this.”

“It’s already done.” He shoots you an uneasy glare from over his shoulder.

You take a deep shaky breath as your gaze stays on him. “I have friends waiting for me in Germany-”

“No, you don’t.” He cuts you off swiftly. “You said you were here alone already, remember?” He lets out a low chuckle. “You should know better than to give out that type of information from a man you don’t know Liebling.”

In your mind you begin to play back every action from taking a sleeping pill from him, getting in the truck, getting the piece of shit car, to planning this trip. All the small things that added up and left you here. Tears begin to stream down your face as true panic begins to set in.

König stays quiet and lets you have your little tantrum, smirking as he listens to your sobs. He waits for you to relax before telling you the rules. He’s a patient man, he can wait. 20 minutes pass and he let out a sigh as he hears your sobs quiet down.

“Now, I want you to listen closely please. In public, you keep your head down and don’t speak. You’ll get one chance to use the bathroom a day, so don’t fuck it up for yourself. When I ask for something, I don’t want to get any push back. You’re mine now, you have to obey.”

You stay quiet and listen to the words as the world seems like a blur around you. His voice blending into the sound of the tires on the road.

“Do you understand?” König’s voice tone snapping you back to this moment.

“Yeah…” Your voice cracks as you speak.

“Gut.” König ignores you and continues to drive. His mind preoccupied with the thought of what he recorded last night and what he will record again soon.

A voice comes in over his radio and you see a spark of hope, a way out. You watch König press down on the button and respond in fast German that you can’t understand. An idea comes to mind, if you scream for help when König presses to talk, maybe someone will hear you and track König down to save you. Sitting and listening to the men talk back and forth in a language you don’t know, the urge to do it now just overcame you.

“HELP!” You shout as König presses down to speak, “HE HAS ME TRAPPED IN HIS TRUCK!” Your voice strained from all of the crying you’ve been doing.

Panic sets in as König turns his head to look at you, you’re waiting for him to yell or physically hurt you. He doesn’t. He simply laughs. So does the voice on the other end of the line.

“I can see she’s woken up!” The voice jokes with a strong German accent.

Your heart sinks. He knows? And is okay with this? Tears burn your eyes as you feel stupid now and are scared for how König might punish you for trying to get help. Dropping your head back on to the pillow, you let out a long breath and let the tears roll down your face.

“So,” König has an air of arrogance in his voice, “how did your little plan go Maus? Were you expecting to be saved?” He mocks you.

You don’t say anything as you just lay there feeling defeated yet again. You take a deep shaky breath, trying not to cry.

“I’ll let that one slide, but next time I will have to put a muzzle on you Maus.” König shakes his head. “I have a sandwich and water for you if you’re hungry.”

You look at him, your stomach growling. Did he drug the food? Poison it? You have to eat sometime though… “I am.”

“Good girl, I’ll feed you once we get to the motel.”

“Motel?”

“Well, I have to sleep and there’s not enough room for the both of us. Plus, I want to clean you up.”

His words make your heart sink into your stomach. The thought of him cleaning you- just seeing you naked puts you into a panic. Your jaw beginning to shake as you try to suppress your emotions, not wanting him to know how much he is affecting you.

As hours pass, the sun begins to set again. König hasn’t spoken to you this whole time and you’ve just been trying to dissociate so you can avoid a break down. You look out the windows of the truck and see the sign for a motel. König parks the truck and stands. He turns to you and looks you up and down.

“Now Maus, I’m going to give you a choice here.” He clears his throat and kneels in front of you, “You can either be a good girl and walk beside me with your head down not saying a word or I give you another one of those sleeping pills.”

“I- I’ll behave…” You don’t want to be in that motel room trapped with him and not be conscious.

“You better, I’m not above resorting to violence.” His piercing blue eyes bore into yours. He left the truck, leaving you tied up, to go pay for a room.

While he is gone, you try hard to pull your hands out of the zip ties as they dig into your wrist. Pulling with all you might nothing happens other than hurting yourself. You stop once you hear heavy footsteps approaching the truck again.

He opens the door and steps inside. He begins to gather his things before he turns and looks at you. He took out his pocket knife and kneeled beside you.

“When I cut these, if you try to run, I will catch you and it will be worse for you.” He threatens.

You nod in understanding feeling a deep-rooted fear from his words. You believe him and didn’t want to push him, but also didn’t want to go into that motel room. Getting out alive is your main goal, so you do as he asks. He cuts the zip ties and yanks you up by your sore wrist. With wobbly legs you follow him out of the truck into the parking lot. Looking around there are no other cars other than another semi-truck. Feeling the warm air with a nice breeze makes you feel free, fills you with an illusion of peace.

König pulls you up to the door and opens the door with the keycard. He gently pushes you in and quickly closes and locks the door behind him. You stand there with your body trembling as he turns to look at you.

“Take your clothes off.”

You don’t move and just look at him. In his mind you’re going over a hundred different ways you could possibly try to fight him and flee, but he is massive, has a knife, and you don’t know where you are.

“Now!” He barks taking you out of your thoughts and back to reality.

You grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head before pulling down your leggings.  His eyes stay on you as you undress. Your hands fumble with the clasp of your bra as you become nervous before finally letting it fall to the floor. He walks to you and yanks your underwear off.

“You’re taking too long,” he huffs. “Hands behind your back.”

You put your hands behind your back as he asked. He zip ties your wrist together again, your wrist sore and in pain. He pushes you forward and towards the bathroom. He turns the shower on and checks the waters temp. His eyes looking back at you up and down, lingering on the bush between your legs.

“Get in.” He demands.

You walk to the shower and step in, the water warm as you stand there letting the water hit your body. König grabs a wash cloth and begins to lather it with a soap bar. He begins to wash your body; you close your eyes and turn your head trying to not get soap in your eyes. He aggressively washes your body. Grabbing the shower head, he rinses the soap off of you.

“Get out and follow me.” König turns the shower off and grabs a blue towel. He walks to the queen size bed and lays the towel down. You follow behind him soaking set, leaving a trail of water behind you as you walk. He points to the towel and you sit on it.

“Lay down,” he walks away back to the bathroom as you scoot back on the towel and lie down. The weight of your body on your hands behind your back is uncomfortable.

He comes back with a soapy wash cloth and a razor. You look at him and watch as he drops to his knees in front of you. He opens your legs and rubs your pubic area with the wash cloth. He began to gently shave your pubic hair. You stay as still as possible so he doesn’t cut you, you keep your eyes directed at the ceiling.

“You have a very beautiful pussy Maus.” König’s voice is full of lust and makes your stomach churn. He uses the wash cloth to wipe the hair he has shaved away. “Perfect…” he mumbles.

His hands caress your thighs before he stands and goes to the bathroom to return the razor and wash cloth. He comes back and grabs you by the shoulders to sit you up. He walks to one of his bags and opens the cooler. Placing the sandwich and the water on the small desk in the corner of the room.

“You can eat once we are done. I don’t want you to throw up.”

Going back to the bag he grabs a tripod and a second phone. He pulls the bedside table away from the wall a few feet. He places the tripod on top and places his phone in the phone slot. Taking the lamp shade off of the lamp the room gets brighter. You begin to realize what is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, this is only for me to watch.” He lies.

König begins to undress, pulling his shirt over his head revealing his scarred body to you. He pulls his belt off and tosses it on the bed before he undoes his pants and pulls them down, stepping out of them. You look forward trying to ignore his body, but it’s useless as he walks in front of you now; his erection in your face now. He grabs the belt off the bed and begins to wrap it around your neck. This causes a fight or flight trigger response and you scream and kick.

He puts his hand on your mouth and pushes you back into the bed, “If you scream and the young man at the front desk tries to come and save you, I’ll kill him. So, either save a human life, or be selfish and take him down with you.”

He phrases this as if you’re the bad guy in this situation, as if it isn’t him that would be killing the innocent man. You lay there looking at him, struggling to breathe with his calloused hand over your mouth and nose.

“Do you understand?”

You nod your head in response and he backs off of you, sitting you back up. He tightens the belt around your neck to the point where talking and breathing was hard, but you could still do it. He walked to the phone on the tripod and hit record. He held his original phone in his hand.

“Lay back Maus.” His voice husky as he begins to stroke his cock with his freehand.

You do as he says. The phone in his hand is pointed at you, you assume it’s recording you as well. You turn your head the opposite way of all the cameras to try and disconnect form this moment.

“Look at me,” he snaps at you. You do as he asks. Your eyes meet his icy pale gaze as he smirks.

König moves forward, dropping his gaze down to your sweet cunt. He nuzzles himself between your legs and began to slap his heavy cock on your clit, slowly moving himself up and down. Finding your entrance, he pushes forward. No prep as he pushes in, your pussy tight and dry as it squeezes around him pushing into without warning. He eyes watch your cunt struggle to take his enormous size through the screen of his phone. The belt around your neck muffling the pitch of your pained sounds.

“Ooh, ja. That’s tight.” He groans as he pushes all the way into you.

As your hips squirm with discomfort your walls flutter all around the length of his cock sending waves of pleasure through his body.  Slowly he moves his hips back as he spits on his cock for lubrication. You watch in disgust as he records himself pushing back in. He begins to fuck into you faster, causing the bed to hit the wall. You try to focus on breathing as you feel slightly light headed.

König begins to let out small moans of pleasure as your body begins to react, betraying you, and gets aroused. He smirks as your pussy begins to get creamy and fucks you harder. His hips clashing harshly against yours.

“I knew you’d like this, Kleine Hure.” He laughs as he speaks those words.

With his free hand he reaches up and squeezes your breast before slapping them both harshly; leaving behind red marks and making you whimper slightly. His hand moves to your throat and chokes you. Already struggling for air, you begin to squirm. After a few seconds he lets go and slaps your face lightly.

König suddenly withdraws from you and moves up your body until he is hovering above your face, his cock covered in your creamy white arousal. “Open your mouth.”

You do as he says and begins to shove his cock into your mouth, bucking fast as his balls slap against your chin. The camera in your face making sure to record your struggle. You gag repeatedly, body arching wanting to push him off, but your hands are still bound behind your back.

Finally, he pulls his dick out. A long thick string of saliva hanging from the tip. You begin to cough and spit out more globs on to your own face to clear your airways. König spreads your spit around his cock and goes back down to your pussy. He uses his knees to spread your legs apart to fit his body. His cock easily slips back into you. He lets out a low moan as soon as he feels your grip on his sensitive tip again before pushing fully in.

He bucks his hips in a such a harsh motion he is slamming again your sore cervix. He moves forward slightly to put the camera in your face and record you as you get fucked. You try to turn your head but he quickly grabs your jaw and turns your head back.

“Look into the camera.” He demands and you obey. After a while the camera drifts down your body to your breasts and then back to your shiny cunt. “Schön, I got lucky with this one.”

Not able to hold off any longer, König pulls out of you quickly and begins to jerk his cock over you, moaning loudly. His cum shooting all over your body, landing on your breasts and stomach as some drips down on to your pussy. He stands there breathing heavy as he moves the camera over you to show off his work along your chest and breast. He slaps his cock on your clit a few times, recording himself playing with the cum that dripped.

Finally, König stands up, stopping the recording on his phone. He walks over to the one on the tripod and stops recording as well. He turns to you and walks to the bed beside you. Gently he removed the belt from your neck, it leaving behind a deep mark that will most likely bruise.

“You did well Maus.” His voice oddly soft as he goes into the bathroom to grab towels and wipe you off.

Grabbing your shoulders, he sits you up and turns around to grab the water and sandwich on the dresser. He opens the water and holds it up for you to drink. He is patient with you and doesn’t rush you as you gulp the water desperately. König holds the sandwich up for you to take bites. You’re hungry but lack an appetite after everything that just happened.

“Come on, don’t waste food Maus.” König still speaking softly to you, it disgusts you. Still, you continue to eat the food not wanting to anger him.

Once you’re done eating the sandwich, he moves your body up more in the bed and pulls the covers over you, not allowing you to get dressed. Hands still bound you feel terrible pain in your wrist and arms, causing you to fidget.

“I’m sorry, I hope you understand why I can’t untie you.”

You don’t respond, just look at him. He looks back at you and walks away. He gets dressed, boxers and a blue shirt, and pulls out a laptop from one of his bags.

“Get some rest, sweet dreams.” He gently kisses the top of your head and sits on the other side of the bed.

On his laptop he uploads the videos he took of you. He begins to watch and edit the videos before putting it up for sale. You lay there listening to the recordings over and over again as he works on it. Finally, you’re able to fall asleep. Wishing to wake up anywhere but here.

.

Part 3

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tag: @soosouyoung

#please read the warnings #tw: noncon #konig #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #könig smut #konig smut #könig mw2 #könig cod #konig x reader smut #konig x you #könig call of duty #könig x reader smut #könig x y/n #könig x you

[femsammy]

rape by patti smith // for @samwhump

#sam winchester #samifer #tw noncon #tw sa #i didnt like the text placement in the second image but i didnt want to cover the angel statue over sams shoulder #some of the subtitles are hard to read with the filter. but i didnt have time to go back and get the screencaps without the subtitles ;-; #if you want me to add any specific warnings please ask #spn lucifer #casifer #my edits

[copper-cu-29]

he just lays there

#helluva boss stolas #helluva boss #helluva boss fanart #stolas #stolas fanart #helluva boss stolas fan art #stolas angst #angst #implied noncon #wait does this count as a trigger warning? should;d I put that in my post? #digital art #drawing #illustration #artwork #digital artwork #digital drawing #digital illustration #art

[prettybabybaby]

bunny | peter parker !

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

word count: 10.9k

synopsis: Peter Parker has been your best friend for years. After you develop a relationship with somebody else, you see a side of him you've never seen before.

content warnings: RAPE/NONCON, blood, dark!peter parker, plus size!reader, negative self talk, insecurities, slow burn, implied stalking, oral (f! receiving), slapping, degradation, spit, unproteced sex, creampie, lmk if i missed any

¡ marvel masterlist !

You were sixteen when you met Peter Parker. 

He had shyly approached you, a blush high on his cheeks as he handed you a stack of papers. Confused, you simply stared at them, eyebrows cinched and lips slightly down-turned. 

You were well aware of who Peter Parker was. He was a member of the Midtown Academic Decathlon team that you were also part of; though you never directly interacted it’s him due to your nerves. He seemed kind, he was lanky and a little geeky, making him the butt of a lot of jokes. Much like you were. For opposite reasons, of course.

You were often teased and ridiculed for your size. You were heavier and much curvier than other girls your age. You had a puffy face and a matching plump body, most people couldn’t look past that. So, to say the least, you weren’t very popular.

Peter Parker knew all about you. He had been watching you since your freshman year. He was mesmerized when first laid eyes on you. He swears he had never seen a more beautiful sight than you, taking little, shy steps like you were afraid to make your presence known. Your hair was done in the way he would grow to like best, and you wore a pretty blue plaid skirt and a white sweater. The skirt was a tad too long and he could sense your discomfort as you tugged it down even further. He remembers staring at you as you looked around with unfamiliarity and slight fear in your eyes. The innocence in your eyes was also hard to miss. You held textbooks to your chest, in an attempt to conceal your tummy. He watched as you stood alone, your cute nose making slight movements as you stood. Your nose wiggled like a little bunny. He felt the desire to protect you, keep you next to him and out of harm’s way. He regrets not approaching you that day. It would have saved you from a lonely year. 

“I was told to give these to you,” he said silently, “I heard you missed a few days.”

“Oh,” you breathed, taking them from him, your chubby hands looking silly against his thin, veiny ones. Peter thought they looked perfect together. “Thank you, Peter,” you said, quickly pulling your hands away and hiding them behind your back when you saw his gaze on them. 

His eyes lingered on where your hand was against his before he looked up at you and gave you a bright smile, “no problem.”

Peter walked you to your class after that, taking the empty seat beside you and discussing the subject matter with you. And to your surprise, he followed you to your next class, and the next, and the next. By the end of the day, you were quite fond of the boy. He was a lot kinder than you’d imagined, he even promised to see you the following morning for breakfast with Ned and MJ. Of course, you tried to decline but he wouldn’t let you leave without the promise of arriving on time. 

This was years ago and your friendship had only gotten stronger. 

Being friends with Peter was refreshing and comforting. He wasn’t like the other guys you’d met in university. He didn’t have any ulterior motives nor did he fetishize you. He did not attempt to coerce you or manipulate you into getting what he wants because you owed it to him. No, Peter would never do that. 

Peter was actually the one to look after you, he made you aware of what those who sought you were really after. They want to take advantage of you, bunny, he’d said several times. They want to ruin you. He would never elaborate on what he meant when he said that and you didn’t like to pry. He just had a good judge of character is all.

Of course, Ned and MJ were your friends too and they were very nice to you as well, but you always felt that they were only acquainted with you for Peter’s sake. You never hung out with them without Peter present but you tried not to let it bother you.

Your goal for the year was to acquire your own circle of friends, and maybe even get a boyfriend after being single your entire life. Peter had a few girlfriends here and there, though nothing was ever serious. You couldn’t help but feel slightly envious of him, he had grown to be quite attractive, making it easy for him to make connections.

He had lost the baby fat on his cheeks, his jaw was now angular and his strong bone structure was one of his most prominent features on top of his big, brown eyes and muscular body. He was muscular in a lean way, a way that isn’t entirely noticeable under the sweaters he always wore. 

Today Peter sat across from you, latte in hand as he basked in the morning sun. His tight black shirt highlighted his muscular arms and chest, you caught yourself staring as you sometimes did when he ditched the ill-fitting clothing. His chocolate brown curls framed his face beautifully, looking golden where they met the sun. His lips, colored like pink peonies, rested with the slightest pout.

You sipped your London fog, squinting as you looked up in search of the singing bird in the tree above your head. You caught sight of it. The creature’s delicate red feathers looked like fire in the golden sky as it flew away. Your stare fell on Peter again, “our 8 AM lecture was canceled today.” 

Peter hummed, not moving from his previous state, “I know.”

You huffed, “why’re we here, then?” you set your cup down, “it’s way too early. We, no I, should be in bed.”

Peter’s lips quirked up into a smile, “I wanted to hang out.”

“At six-thirty A.M.? We could’ve hung out at a more reasonable hour, like, I don’t know, eleven,” you began ranting and you saw one of Peter’s eyes open slightly. “Or maybe twelve, we could’ve gotten breakfast or… or brunch!”

“You never eat breakfast,” he said, swinging his head forward, eyes now fully open and on you.

“I do…” you claimed, your nose scrunching, lips pouting.

Peter clicked his tongue, “not enough.”

“Well, whatever,” you opted to change the subject before he could continue further. 

“We still could’ve met up later. Like I said, brunch.”

“I don’t know,” he began, sitting up all the way now, “I kinda like being out this early. It’s nice and quiet.” 

“I guess so,” you murmured, leaning back to rest on your elbows.

Peter watched you, gaze moving from your Mary Jane-clad feet to your pretty hair. You wore a dress today. It was Peter’s favorite dress, not that you knew that. It was a lilac purple color and it had short, puffy sleeves. He liked the way the dress clung to your curves and complimented your skin tone. It was the shortest of all your dresses, so he especially liked the way it rode up your thighs when you sat down, making your pudgy thighs all the more visible to him. He stared at them now, noticing the way the plush fat pooled around you like a sea of soft flesh as you relaxed. He wanted to grab them, bury his face in them and drown in you. 

His eyes ran up your body further, over the curve of your tummy and swell of your breasts. The necklace Peter had gifted you last Christmas sat prettily around your neck, resting on your bare chest above the heart-shaped neckline of your dress, rising and falling as you breathed. He stared at it, not noticing when you opened your eyes to look at him.

“Okay?” he heard you ask.

“Mhm,” he replied, tearing his eyes away and giving you a soft smile. 

+

The morning had passed rather quickly and you perked up after your second tea of the day. Your last class of the day was your creative writing class. As you strode in, you took your usual seat in the front of the room, setting your things down beside you.

Your focus was on the board in front of you when you felt a gush of air on your left. You looked over, catching sight of a tall figure sitting down beside you. 

“Hey,” the man exhaled, setting down his things next to yours. 

You opened your mouth to respond but you ended up holding your hand up to signal a hello. 

The man smiled, “I’m Harry,” he held a hand out for you to shake.

You looked at it, quietly introducing yourself as you took his pale hand. Your touch was featherlight as it took you by surprise when he gripped it tightly with a slight laugh. 

Harry was effortlessly charming. He was cute and cool and he had a sharp sense of humor, you learned. But on top of that, he had a contagious smile and a gaze that made you feel like you were the most important person in the room. You often caught yourself gazing at him from the corner of your eye trying to be inconspicuous with your staring. He had shiny blonde hair that you thought resembled Peter’s. Only lighter and shorter and straighter and not really like Peter’s at all. 

You weren’t sure why your mind had suddenly wandered to Peter. Maybe a part of you wondered what he would think of Harry. Or maybe you were subconsciously comparing them. You weren’t sure.

“Hey, um,” you turned towards Harry who had begun speaking. The class had ended and you were gathering your things. “We should meet up,” he grinned, “maybe at the library?”

You weren’t used to social invitations, much less from men like Harry. 

“Does tomorrow at four work for you?” 

You nodded, unable to find your voice. You felt blood rush to your face at the look he gave you next. It was like he was trying to figure you out, understand you with a simple glance. Like he was trying to read you like a book. 

“Great,” he picked up your bag for you, “looking forward to it.”

+

Peter was laying on your bed when you arrived at your little studio apartment. He was half asleep, strong arms wrapped tightly around your stuffed bunny and surrounded by your assortment of other stuffed animals. He shot up at the sound of the door opening, “hey.”

“Do you ever go home?” you kicked off your shoes and set your bag down. “This place isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

In his mind it was. Just perfect. It kept you close.

“Why would I? You’re such good company, bunny.”

You snorted, “I’m sure that’s the reason and definitely not you trying to get away from Ned and Betty.” 

You moved towards your bed, plopping down next to him, adjusting the skirt of your dress that had ridden up when you landed. Peter watched your hands as they rested on your tummy. He could see right down your dress. He could see the white bra hugging your tits, a little bow between the cups. 

“What?” you asked, self-consciously moving your hand to your chin.

“Nothing. Don’t do that,” he looked at the ceiling. It bothered Peter when you did things like that. As if you weren’t the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

You simply huffed, “how did you even get in here?”

He motioned toward the open window, “you need to start locking it. One of these days a creep could just come waltzing in and you’d have no idea.”

“A creep like you,” you joked with a breathy laugh. You tore your stuffed bunny from his arms.

“Worse,” he said lazily.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds as Peter began to doze off again. 

“I met this guy in class today.”

Peter was suddenly very awake. “Oh,” a pause, “who?”

“He said his name is Harry, I don’t know his last name but he was very nice.” You sounded excited, “we’re meeting up at the library tomorrow to study and get some work done.”

Get some work done. Sure, that’s what you were gonna do. Peter knew better than that. You didn’t, of course. That’s why you were so lucky to have Peter with you, by your side, protecting you from evil college guys who just wanted to get under your skirt. They wouldn’t have a clue what to do to you. How to make you feel good and have you purring sweetly in their ears… 

“So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break into my home.”

“Huh?”

You gave him an unamused look, “you weren’t listening.”

He grinned, “I’m always listening.”

You rolled your eyes, “I said, don’t come by just in case we come back here.”

Peter furrowed his brows in disgust. What business would he have coming back to your apartment if you were just going to study? Did he ask you if he could come over? 

“Why would you do that?”

You shifted uncomfortably, “I don’t know…”

Peter felt sick. 

“We should do something else instead. There’s a new Vietnamese place not far from here. MJ says they have really good pho.”

“Peter…” you started. He knew you were going to say no. You rarely said no to him. “How about Friday? We can get takeout and come back here and watch movies. Your pick.” 

His first mistake was looking over at you. Your chubby cheeks and pretty lips pulled up into a sweet smile. Your eyes were pleading, please say yes, please say yes. His second mistake was giving in.

“Fine.”

+

Peter left your apartment shortly after that. You had spent the rest of the night going over the conversation trying to figure out where you went wrong. He seemed upset as he hugged you goodbye. His brown eyes didn’t hold the same warmth they always did. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to replace him. But that wouldn’t make any sense. You only just met Harry. You didn’t know anything about him besides his first name. 

“Hey!” Harry called a tad too loudly for the library. He stood from his seat, waving you over.

In all honesty, you didn’t expect him to be there. It was a little before four and you had arrived with low expectations. Though this was only intended to be a study session and nothing more, Harry was a very attractive man. He was funny and charming and extroverted and you… were none of those things.

“Hi,” you mumbled as you neared the table he was seated at. It was in the far corner, furthest away from the librarian. Or any of the other stressed university students. 

“I chose this table so we won’t have to whisper,” he smiled, patting the open seat beside him.

His eagerness made you blush. “Good idea,” your voice was still small.

He chuckled, “thanks,” he dramatically whispered.

You blushed further, “sorry.”

The both of you were silent as you took out your laptops. 

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time now,” he started. “I read one of your pieces when the semester started and I really enjoyed it. You’re a phenomenal writer.”

“Really?” he appeared nonchalant as he typed in his password. As if he hadn’t just given you the kindest compliment you had ever received.

“Yeah, it’s so obvious how passionate you are. I mean every time I look at you, you look so entranced by the books you read or by the professor or your work.”

He looked at you?

“Oh,” your face felt warmer, “um, thank you.”

He smiled at you, “no problem, it’s true.”

You felt butterflies in your tummy and you began to log into your laptop to avoid looking at him.

You began to work in silence, hyper-aware of every time Harry leaned in close to you, reading your story as you typed. He smelled of musk and vanilla. His head of blonde locks tickled your ear.

Eventually, you presumed he grew bored as he shut his laptop and turned to face you in his chair. You attempted to ignore him but your typing began to slow and your focus was only on the boy beside you.

You gave him a faux look of annoyance, “I thought we were here to study.”

“We are,” he propped his head up on his hand that rested on the table. “To study and get to know each other.” 

Get to know each other. 

That was unexpected. 

You couldn’t ignore the butterflies that erupted in your tummy, “Oh, okay, yeah.”

Surprisingly, you had a decent amount in common with Harry. Of course, not overly so. Not like you and Peter. But this is a good thing. You’re making your own friends.

+

“Oh, he’s so lovely, Pete!” you gushed, your nose wiggling as you spoke.

“Mhm,” Peter watched you with a strange look, mouth full of boba pearls, “you’ve mentioned that.”

You gave him a smile that normally would have made him turn to mush. Only this time, it didn’t. Had you smiled at Harry like that?

“I’m excited!” you waved your hands in the air, “I’m making my own friends, Pete. I’m an independent woman now.”

He rolled his eyes as he took another sip of his tea, “good. Good for you.” He couldn’t help the bitter feeling that rested in the pit of his stomach. 

Independent. You had made a single “friend” (Peter didn’t even want to think about that. He knew Harry was just using you, that’s not what friends do. You shouldn’t throw that term around like that. He was your friend. Peter was your friend.) and you already pegged yourself as independent. He could laugh in your face. You were far too pure to face the world without him by your side. Like hell you were independent.

You pouted, your eyes searching for his, “are you angry with me?”

Angry? Why would he be angry? Because you hadn’t shown at your arranged time? Because the reason you were late was that you wanted to squeeze in an extra “study date” with Harry? No, he wasn’t angry. Not at you anyway.

“Of course not, bunny. Could never be.”

It was true, he wasn’t necessarily angry, he was more so slightly bothered by what you had done. That’s how it usually was. You would do something that Peter did not agree with but he would never be angry. Just mildly annoyed. He couldn’t be angry with his sweet little bunny. You probably didn’t even know the consequences of your actions. He couldn’t blame you for that.

You smiled, leaning in to hug him. Peter was immediately enveloped in warmth, your soft body melding with his. The sweet scent of lavender and honey was all around him. Your hair tickled his neck where you buried your face. You were on your knees on the couch, allowing Peter a view of your backside covered in your loungewear.

He loved your hugs. They always succeed in lifting his spirits and making him a little dizzy. You were just so warm and soft and perfect for him. 

You pulled away, still smiling as you sunk back into your spot on your tiny, tiny couch and pulled your tea to your lips. 

He let himself watch as you wrapped your lovely mouth around the straw. A minuscule puddle of milk tea formed on your bottom lip, and you licked it up as you removed the straw. Your tongue was wet and a delightful shade of pink as you slid it across the expanse of your lip.

He felt a throb in his sweatpants. Shifting, he asked, “so, what else did you do today?”

You hummed, chewing the balls of boba in your mouth, “that’s all. Just hung out with Harry. We have a lot more in common than I thought,” you giggled. “We just don’t run out of things to talk about.”

He inhaled, feeling himself go soft, “that’s a lot of talking in the library.”

“Oh, we didn’t go to the library,” you shook your head. 

He gave you a look, “where did you go?”

You looked hesitant, “um, we went to his flat. It was nearby and he had forgotten his books, so it was easier to stay there.” 

How convenient. 

“Bunny,” Peter started. 

You had a guilty look on your face as you stared at him, “I know,” your voice was small, “not safe. I know… but he’s not like the other guys Pete. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“How can you be so sure, hm? You’re in no way prepared to protect yourself. What if he had done something to you? What would you have done?”

“He wouldn’t…” you looked down, “he wouldn’t do anything.” You bit your lip as you nervously whispered, “I think he likes me.”

Peter could hardly hear you. He was sure he hadn’t heard correctly because of how softly you spoke. “Speak up, bunny. I can’t hear you.”

“I said I think he likes me,” you said a little louder. He could see the embarrassment on your face. Like you couldn’t believe you had said that out loud.

Peter swallowed, “oh.” 

There was a pause, “what makes you think that?”

“Well,” your nose fluttered, “he said he’s never met anyone like me. And he,” you glanced up at him before returning your gaze to your lap, “he tried to kiss me.”

Oh. 

Peter didn’t know how to react. He stared at your pretty eyes with his brows cinched and an analyzing gaze. The first thought to pop into his was: did you kiss him? Then: did you want to kiss him?

“Oh,” he managed to say, “did you?”

You inhaled, “um, no…” you trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “I couldn’t.”

Good. He doesn’t deserve to feel your lips. He doesn’t deserve your first kiss. 

“I don’t know how,” you looked up at him. Your eyes looked glassy and you had a look of embarrassment on your face.

It should have been obvious. Peter did keep any potential love interest as far from you as you could manage, yet he was still flustered.

He hummed, feeling blood rush to his groin, “you don’t?”

You shook your head, “no… never learned how.”

Your lips looked so pretty as you pouted, shame present on your face. Peter wanted to reach over, pull you in close, and kiss you softly. He wanted to run his hands through your hair and up your soft curves. To hear your lovely noises as you gave into him. 

He grimaced as the image of Harry’s dirty lips inching closer to yours. Your pure, innocent mouth being tainted by his filthy one. He could have that. What else would he make you do?

He could only imagine your gasp of surprise, your inexperienced movements, your sugary taste. But you were sitting right in front of him, weren’t you? You had enough confidence in him that you would even confess such a thing. He was obligated to help you, wasn’t he? You’re essentially asking for help, right?

“I could,” he paused, unsure, “I could teach you.”

“Really?” You straightened your back a tad, eyes widening at the offer.

You trusted him so much. After all these years that you’d known him, Peter had never once misled you in any way shape, or form. He was the person you trusted most because you knew he had your best interest in mind. He was your best friend. He was there to keep you safe.

“Mhm,” he moved a little closer, “if you’d want that, I can.”

You nodded eagerly, “yes, Peter, please.”

Yes, Peter, please…

You sat still as Peter invaded your space.

He licked his lips, you reluctantly placed one hand on your thigh, and the other reaching up to cup your chubby face. The warmth of your being was seeping into him so deep he felt warmer than he ever had.

You looked at him expectantly, your glassy gaze flickering from his honey brown eyes to his lips. 

“Are you ready?” He whispered, mouth mere inches from yours.

You inhaled, “yes, Peter. I wanna be good for Harry.”

He ignored the pang in his chest, “well, you have to be good for me first, bunny.”

You nodded, fluttering your eyes shut. He watched you for a second. Your nose wiggled faintly as you breathed and you sat patiently waiting with your pouty lips puckered up slightly. 

He was able to see it all this close to you. All of your imperfections that he never had the privilege of noticing before. It only made him long for you more.

Peter ignored the thought in his head that said if he knew you’d give in to him so easily under the pretense of teaching you, he would’ve offered his services much earlier.

He leaned in, hovering just before your lips, eyeing how your eyebrows furrowed and your lips extended further. But not a single complaint about Peter’s excruciatingly slow pace because he knows best, and he knew you knew that.

He could feel your shaky exhales on his skin as he finally connected your lips. He felt himself twitch, once, twice, at the sheer feeling of your lips pressed against his. It was harder to refrain from going further - maybe a hand up your thigh, up to your belly and to your tits, maybe wrap them around your neck…

He felt your face contort as he began to finally move his mouth against yours, your kisses were as sloppy as he’d imagined them to be. And he was correct, your inexperience made him painfully hard. He reluctantly removed his hand from your thigh and placed it on his bulge. He just couldn’t resist. You let out a high shaky breath as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, tasting you.

Peter could taste the remnants of your milk tea on your tongue. You attempted to mirror his movements and he felt another throb at your feeble efforts.

He rubbed his hand onto his hard cock to resist the urge to do something completely inappropriate like take your hand to place it on his thigh to get him even closer to his release. He didn’t believe it would take much at all for him to cum. Your mouth moving against his was more than enough.

You began to get the hang of it and it somehow made Peter’s erection even more painful. His hips involuntarily jerked as you wrapped your arms up around his neck, tugging him close. Your thigh brushed against his cock, and he sighed. You gasped, your tongue halting its sloppy movements.

He could feel you pulling back and he chased your lips, pushing into you and not permitting you to disconnect your mouths. You leaned back against the arm of the small couch in your attempt to pull away from your best friend’s lips. Peter followed you, body against yours. His cock sat on your thigh and he hoped you couldn’t feel it twitch. 

As his hips made small movements, grinding into your thigh. One of his hands wrapped around the back of your head, keeping you against him, while the other felt up your sides, resting below your tits. You let out a whiny sound as you began to kiss him back again.

Peter’s thrusts became more erratic as he drew closer and closer to the edge. He felt your thigh tense and your hips lifted off the couch, pushing into his lower abdomen. Your arms tightened around his neck. 

Your kisses were still messy, you used far too much tongue and had little technique but Peter had never had a better kiss. He came abruptly when you moaned into his mouth again, hand pulling on the hair at the name of his neck. He pulled away from you and groaned, out of breath into your shoulder as he steadied himself.

“Pete,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so eager.”

Peter was taken aback. He didn’t respond as he regained his composure into your warm shoulder, inhaling your scent. His cock was slowly going soft but the proximity to you made him believe that it would shoot back up with any movement you made. 

“I just,” a pause, “I guess I got a little carried away.”

It baffled Peter that you thought any of what happened had been your fault. As if he didn’t invade your space and force your head into place so he could get himself off.

“It’s okay, bunny.”

You buried your head into his shoulder and there was no sign of parting for a while. Peter only pulled away when he felt his hot cum seeping through his pants in a wet puddle. His movements were quick when he grabbed a throw pillow and threw it over his lap.

“You know I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

+

You had spent an increasing amount of time with Harry over the last few weeks. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you’d thought he’d have grown bored of you by now. But it seemed the opposite. He texted you often, smiled at you in a way that made you feel warm and special, and he seemed genuinely interested and excited to speak to you. You hadn’t felt that way since you met Peter.

It had been the only thing on your mind for the last week. Well, that and your mess of a friendship with Peter Parker.

After the kiss shared with Peter, you had spent less time with him. On top of plans with Harry, you felt guilty for how you acted. You felt that you had taken advantage of him and his kindness. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed and in a way uncomfortable around Peter now. You knew it wasn’t his fault, it was yours. And he deserved better.

You began to ignore his calls and texts and you took different routes to and from your classes. You even stopped replying to Ned and MJ after they began questioning where you’d run off to. In a way that comment made you feel a little ridiculous. It was like they expected Peter to be dragging you around on a leash. Like you were his little pet or something of the like.

That wasn’t Peter’s fault though. You didn’t believe anything was. Peter was a saint in your eyes. Your savior of a life of solace. That’s why you felt the worst you ever had about locking your window. 

The first night, you had pretended to be asleep when you heard light taps on the glass. You closed your eyes and ignored the noise, waiting for what felt like hours to move again. 

Now, almost two weeks later, you had finally been confronted.

Peter looked at you in a way you had never seen and couldn’t decipher. His lips were pulled in a tight line and his forehead and eyebrows were creased, his eyes looked darker and his gaze was hard and they held a different feeling. Even the air around him felt different, it was cold and suffocating.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Hm? Oh, no, no, Pete m’not-“

“You are.”

You opened your mouth to speak but your words were caught in your throat. You were avoiding him. 

“Why? Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” you took a deep breath, “I’ve just been busy-“

“Busy? With what? Osborn? He keeps you so busy that you can’t even respond to my texts?” 

You felt your lip quiver and your eyes welled up with tears at his tone and his unwavering stare. Peter had never reacted this way towards you. You didn’t even know he could speak that way. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, so you looked down at your feet and attempted to blink away your tears.

Peter looked down at you, waiting for you to say something, anything. He wanted - no, he expected an apology. He had been restless the past few weeks, waiting for you to respond to him. He had been following you around as New York’s friendly neighbor Spider-Man, so he was well aware of what you were up to. He watched as you found new routes to your home, hid away in obscure places, and, of course, he watched your giddy expression as Harry Osborn gripped your hand or your waist and walked around with you on his arm as if he owned you.

It didn’t help that Peter had seen you locking your window. Double-checking, triple checking that you had locked it, and then periodically again throughout the day. At first, Peter suspected that you had known he got off on your thigh that day, that you were creeped out or disgusted by him. 

“So? What is it? Why have you been avoiding me?”

You sniffled and Peter surprised himself when he didn’t soften at the noise. He didn’t feel the usual tighten of his heart nor did his stare at you become less intense. He wanted you to feel like this. It made it feel a sort of power having you vulnerable in front of him, for him.

“Y/N, I’m speaking to you. I expect an answer. Did you lose your ability to speak to me when you started fooling around with Osborn? Neglecting me? Neglecting our friendship? Does it mean so little to you?”

Tears started falling from your eyes at the sound of your name. Peter never called you that. You were his bunny, his best friend. You covered your face with your hands in shame. You weakly shook your head.

“So you can’t speak, hm?” 

Peter could think of a few ways to get you to start talking. Many scenarios to get your pretty mouth moving.

Peter had thought a lot about you recently, somehow even more than normal. His thoughts had turned alarmingly crude the more time you spent away from him. What was once an innocent daydream of kissing your lips turned into a filthy, sordid fantasy of flipping your skirt and fucking you over the table in the library where you studied with Harry.

Flashes of your mouth and body were intrusive thoughts and the feeling of them on him lingered. They left him unable to focus on patrolling, ultimately leading to him jacking off on the roof of the building across the street from your apartment. Some days, he was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your bare legs through cracks in your sheer white curtains.

“M’sorry Peter,” you peered up at him through teary lashes, “didn’t mean to make you sad.”

He clicked his tongue, “well, you did.”

You let out a sob as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and tucking your face into his chest. His heart rate kept its steady pace and Peter stood still for a few seconds. Would he forgive you, no, could he forgive you so easily?

He focused on your warmth around him and he felt his walls lower. He begrudgingly hugged you back, taking in the feel of your curves under his fingers. He sighed, “it’s okay, bunny. Don’t cry.”

You wanted to cry harder. Normally, Peter would be cradling your face, wiping your tears, and pulling you close, enveloping you in his warmth. It was nothing like his tight grip and cold demeanor he currently had. You hadn’t meant to upset him so much but you just felt so guilty for possibly crossing or blurring the lines of your friendship. 

Peter knew he would give into you. The way you whimpered and cried into his chest made his heart feel heavy. He began to rub your back and he placed a kiss on your head. Your arms tightened around him. 

“C’mon, bunny. It’s okay, we’re okay.”

You whimpered again, doing all you could to collect yourself. Peter held you tightly until you lifted your head. 

Your face was red and puffy, wet with your tears and your eyeliner was smudged at the corners of your bloodshot eyes. Your lips were slightly opened as you breathed through your mouth. Your nose was runny and you sniffled, nose wiggling. Peter felt his pants tighten. You looked so wrecked and it was all for him. Because he was upset with you. He had that power over you.

“Are you okay?” concern filled his face.

“Mhm,” you said, shakily smiling. “Missed you.”

He smiled at you and you felt the warmth return, “I missed you more, bun. Should we catch up?”

You nodded frantically, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of your apartment.

+

Things had since gotten much better. You were in Peter’s grasp once more and Harry Osborn had been moved to the backburner. 

You sighed as you switched your kettle on for a cup of tea. Peter was busy and you were stuck at home alone again. You were bored beyond belief as your eyes flickered from your TV to the warming kettle. Your foot tapped on the ground and you all but ran to your phone when the familiar ping came from it. 

Your eyes widened and excitement erupted in your belly. Harry had sent you a message.

hey stranger… u around?

You contemplated an answer. A part of you felt you shouldn’t respond but another was happy to hear from him.

Maybe

The response was instantaneous.

meet me at the bar

You smiled, rushing to your closet.

After making up with Peter you had begun to neglect your friendship with Harry. You were so focused on keeping Peter happy with you. This had become an increasingly difficult task that required a lot of time and attention.

Peter was easily bothered with you now. His patience would run thin and he would turn cold in the blink of an eye. You had spent nights crying, wishing you hadn’t ruined your most important friendship. But none of that stopped you from trying. 

You knew Peter didn’t like Harry, that was obvious. He’d roll his eyes and stare blankly at you with an expression of disappointment you had seen so much of recently whenever you would mention him in conversation. He made sure to remind you that Harry was just like other boys who wanted to take advantage of you and hurt you but he said nothing more.

As you walked into the cafe, Harry waved his arms in the air. You smiled, a blush forming as you took a seat across from him. He looked happy to see you, and he told you that. 

“I missed you, y’know,” he looked down, a pink hue on his cheeks. “Haven’t seen much of you recently.”

“Me too, um, sorry about that. I’ve been a little, um, busy.”

He looked up with a shy grin, “s’okay, I’m happy you’re here now.” You were slightly taken aback by his shyness. 

He paused, licking his lips and taking a deep breath, “so, Y/N, I’ve been thinking…”

Oh no, here it goes. He’s gonna tell you that he can’t see you anymore. That he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore. 

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Your heart stopped, a date? You had never been on a date before. “A date?”

He cleared his throat, looking nervous, “uh, yeah. It’s just, that I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and I missed you so much the last few weeks. So I thought I’d finally ask.”

You exhaled, trying to process his question. “Yes, I’d love to,” you said, face warm and bashful smile.

+

It was cold outside as you walked back to your apartment. Harry had offered to drive you home but you declined, wanting some time alone to think. 

Your mind was racing as you turned into the alleyway before your apartment. You were going on a date with Harry Osborn. What would you wear? What would you talk about? What would you tell Peter?

You sighed, glancing around the dark alley. There was a spider web hanging from a pipe a few steps ahead of you. You began to walk a little faster. If Spider-Man was around there was likely some sort of criminal activity. Hopefully, it wasn’t too close to home.

As you rushed into your apartment, you didn’t bother turning on the lights. You shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your shoes, sighing deeply as you plopped down onto your bed. 

“Where were you?”

Your eyes darted to the source of the noise. The streetlight peering in through the window illuminated him just a tad, barely enough to see his face. But it didn’t matter, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Peter? How did you get in here?” You distinctly remember closing the window, locking it, and double-checking before walking out the door.

“You were out with Harry. I saw you.”

“Oh, um,” you sat up and pulled your dress down, “W-we were just getting a drink.”

He inhaled deeply and hummed, “just getting a drink.” He let out a dark laugh, “sure you were.”

“We,” you paused, “we were. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Peter scoffed, “and that’s why you agreed to go on a date with him, hm?”

You opened your mouth to speak but he didn’t let you.

“I thought we’d gotten past this, bunny.” Peter tapped his foot. Did you feel like you didn’t need him anymore? After all, he’d done for you? All these years by your side and you abandon him for the first man who gives you the time of day.

“Why don’t you listen to me? I only want what’s best for you. For us.”

You stayed quiet, looking down at your frilly, white socks. Peter sighed and you heard him rise from his spot on the couch. He lifted your chin with his cold fingers. His eyes looked dark again and the darkness of your room added to the eerie feel of him. He leaned down, fingers light on your chin as he drew closer to your lips. You turned your face away before he could connect your mouths.

What was he doing? 

He scoffed quietly as his hold on your face tightened and forced your face to its previous position. You furrowed your brows as you tried to turn away again. 

“Pete, what are you doing?”

“I’m tired of you treating me this way. I deserve better after all I’ve done for you. All these years I have been there for you. I made sure you were okay and I loved you through it all.”

He loved you? You didn’t like the sound of that. Peter was your best friend and nothing more and you dreaded the possibility that he could think of you as something more than that.

“I know that,” you whispered, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

A tiny smile graced his lips.

You returned it, “and I love you too Peter, you’re my best friend.”

His grip on your chin turned painful.

Best friend. 

He laughed darkly as he shook his head slightly, “best friend.” He smiled.

Feeling uneasy you smiled softly at him, forcing out a giggle.

His smile fell, “bunny, I love you. I want to be with you. I want you to be mine.”

You gulped, “um,” you looked down, “Peter, I don’t, I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Why? Because of Harry? Because you have ‘choices’ now, hm? I’m not good enough for you?”

You stayed quiet, trying to steady your breathing to keep yourself from crying as Peter used his free hand to move up your arm to your shoulder, holding it forcefully.

You didn’t even know Peter was remotely interested in you. The entire confession made you feel sick to your stomach. While you hadn’t known, the revelation didn’t change the fact that, to you, he was just a friend. This had nothing to do with Harry and his romantic interest in you.

“No, Peter, I just, I’m sorry. I don’t like you like that,” you looked down and spoke so softly you doubted he could hear you.

He scoffed, letting go of your chin and shoulder with a push. You steadied yourself, looking up to see him pacing around the room. You wanted to ask him to leave, but before you could he turned to you again.

“He could never treat you like I do.”

“Peter…”

“No! He couldn’t. I know deep down you know that. He wouldn’t know what to do with a pretty girl like you.”

You shifted uncomfortably.

Peter watched as you fiddled with the hem of your dress. It was the purple one again, his favorite. Harry would never be able to satisfy you the way he would. He just needs to find a way to let you know that. No, he has shown you. Everything he had done since you met should have shown you. You were just… ungrateful. He needed to let you know that you couldn’t get away from him. There was no one else that could love you as he could.

Your heartbeat sped up as Peter took long strides toward you. 

“He doesn’t deserve you like I do,” he shoved his knee between your own and forced them open just enough to fit his leg between them. “And I’m gonna show you, that only I know how to treat you. I know what you deserve and I can give it to you.”

You were confused and scared, you watched him cautiously as he stood before you. 

His hand reached for your hair, he touched it lightly. You let out a shaky breath. You didn’t know what he was about to do. You weren’t sure what he was capable of anymore.

His fingers caressed your face, giving your chubby cheeks a light squeeze as he moved his hand down to your neck. You let out a shaky breath as his hands ghosted over your throat.

“Peter,” you whispered, “what are you doing?” 

He smiled, “I’m gonna make you mine, bunny.”

You felt your lip quiver and you hesitantly pushed his chest, trying to get him away from you. “No, Peter. I don’t want this.”

His hands tightened around your neck, “you don’t know what you want. You’re just a dumb bunny. You don’t know what is good for you. I do.”

Tears welled in your eyes as he leaned down to leave wet kisses on your cheeks and jaw, his hands on your throat. 

You moved your face away, side to side, avoiding his lips. His grip cut off your airways as he gave you a shake, “stop.” He pushed you onto your back, attacking you with kisses. 

Tears fell from your eyes as you tried to push him back. You should’ve been able to, even if it was just a little. But he didn’t budge. Your legs kicked his own trying to get him off. He acted like you hadn’t touched him at all. You bit down on his tongue as it forced its way into your mouth, he pulled back in surprise. You took the opportunity to wiggle out from under him, moving as fast as you could towards the door.

Peter’s temper was running thin. With quick movements, he activated the web shooter tucked under the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

You barely made it a few steps when you were pulled back. Your eyes went to Peter who was seated on your bed, a cold look on his face. The sight of your hand stuck to the table left you in shock. The sticky substance was too strong for you to pull back. You began to sob as you connected the dots. 

Peter was Spider-Man.

You didn’t know how you hadn’t figured it out before. You should’ve known. The random bruises on his body, the overnight strength, and agility, the disappearances, the way he always knew where you were and what you were doing… it should’ve been obvious.

“Peter, please, let me go,” you cried, using all the strength you could muster to attempt to free your hand.

He stood from the bed and took slow steps to where you stood. “You’re my little bunny, and you’re not going anywhere until you realize that.”

As he worked to free your hand you took the other and impulsively delivered a harsh slap to his cheek. Peter didn’t react right away. He kept his eyes on your hand for a few seconds before glancing up.

“Ungrateful little bitch.”

You inhaled, trying to stare at him with the same venom that he did you. He continued to free your hand, sliding the little knife across your thumb, slicing it. You hissed in pain. 

You were so confused, this man was nothing like the Peter Parker you knew and loved. This man was pure evil and you wanted to get as far away from him as you possibly could.

Peter stared at you in disbelief. Could you not see that he was only trying to give you the best? He had to make you see it even if it meant by force. He looked into your eyes filled with fear, tearing threatening to fall and your lip quivering. He wanted you so bad and he was finally going to have you.

Peter looked down, watching the slow drops build on your fingertip before falling onto the counter. Your hand was barely trembling and he softened immediately. He hadn’t meant to cut you so deep.

“I’m sorry, bunny. Are you okay?”

His change in demeanor puzzled you, he had gone from evil to the gentle Peter you knew and loved. 

You nodded stupidly, “mhm, hurts just a little, Peter.”

“Aw, bunny,” he said softly, taking your sticky hand and bringing it to his lips.

His tender touch had you in his grasp again, like he hadn’t just assaulted you, screamed at you, cut you.

He placed a soft kiss on your bleeding finger, eyes looking lovingly into yours. You fed into it like you always did. A drop of your blood rested on his bottom lip, and you watched as he licked it up with a swipe of his tongue. 

He closed his eyes, relishing in the taste of you on his tongue. His cock twitched and he ached to taste your pretty cunt on his tongue. He wasted no time.

Before you knew it, he was throwing you to the bed with ease, flipping your skirt up. He inhaled deeply, feeling his pants tighten further by the sight of your panties. They were just as cute as you. Just what he imagined you’d wear, yet somehow it was better. Your panties were a pale pink color, little hearts a darker shade of pink littering the fabric. He couldn’t help but stare, taking in the view of your pretty panties covering your perfect, plump ass. 

Cries escaped you, pleas for him to just stop. He ignored them, instead of giving your right ass cheek a little slap. He moaned at the cry you made, the way your flesh rippled at the impact.

You had been fooled once again. The Peter Parker you once knew was long gone.

Peter looped his fingers under the delicate fabric, your skin warm, he pulled up roughly. You yelped, arching your back to relieve the pain, but it only gave Peter a better look at your puffy pussy, bulging against the fabric he had pulled. 

“Oh,” he cooed, leaning down and placing a kiss on your ass.

Tears pricked at your eyes again, threatening to fall as you tried to rack your brain for ideas on how to get yourself out of the current situation. You gasped at the abrupt feeling of cold air on your cunt. The tears began to fall.

Unable to control himself, Peter placed a sloppy wet kiss on your cunt. You gasped loudly, trying to move your ass away. He held your hips tightly in place, pressing pecks along the entirety of your backside. A strangled moan fell from your lips as he kissed your clit. 

Peter stared at your pussy, admiring the wet string of slick that drilled from your little hole. He felt a sense of accomplishment at the drip of slick, he was making you feel good even when you resisted. Extending his tongue from his mouth, he licked up your slit, flicking his tongue as he did so. He moaned at the taste of your sweet juices. 

He finally let himself loose, allowing himself to bury his head into your puffy cunt. His hands groped your thighs, kneading them, keeping them apart so he had good access to your cunt.

You tried to hold in your body’s reactions. You held your breath, curled your toes, and turned your hands to fists. But you couldn’t stop a loud mewl as Peter swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud. You bit your lip as you contained sobs. 

Your fingers grabbed onto your sheets, squeezing them tightly as you felt yourself becoming more aroused. The lewd sounds from Peter combined with the wet sounds of your pussy. Peter was essentially drooling, strings of spit and slick keeping him attached to you even when he pulled back for air. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of you.

You felt a coil form in your tummy, tightening with every passing second.

“Are you gonna cum for me, bunny?” Peter asked, his voice deep. 

Your body was trembling and your hips unconsciously pressed into his face. You shook your head, closing your eyes tightly as your mouth opened involuntarily, a loud cry slipping out as the coil snapped. You shook, your knees going weak as your body was overtaken by the pleasant, but unfamiliar sensation. 

Peter groaned into your sopping cunt as he licked up your release. His cock was so hard it was painful, his mindless humping on your sheets wasn’t nearly enough. He held you up when your body gave in, on the verge of going limp as he continued his movements on your pussy long after you had become sensitive.

“Peter, please stop, hurts,” you managed to blubber out.

He pulled away, a string of spit connecting you. He watched as it snapped, falling onto his plaid shirt. He licked his lips, sliding his arms out from under your thighs. Your lower half hit your bed and you were unable to move. Your pussy throbbed from overstimulation as you laid dumbly. Weak little moans falling from your mouth. 

Peter reached a hand up to wipe at his face, collected the excess juices, and inserted his fingers into his mouth to consume it. He savored the taste, watching as your body jolted from the aftershocks of your orgasm. The skirt of your dress was scrunched around your waist and your ass was glistening under the streetlights from where he had drooled over it. Your thighs were in the same position they were in when he dropped them. He felt himself twitch, you were too weak to move them. 

Harry couldn’t have made you cum like that. He probably would even eat you out. What a waste of a sweet cunt that would be. He could live off your pussy alone he was sure of it. 

Peter rested a hand on your lower back as he stood from the bed. You glanced over at him, relieved that he was going to leave you alone. Your tears had stopped and you felt them drying on your cheeks. 

When Peter pulled off his plaid shirt and the gray t-shirt under it, you wanted to scream. You wanted to get up and push him out of your apartment. He had just forcefully inflicted oral sex onto you and you were terrified of where he wanted to go next. 

You couldn’t help your stare at Peter’s toned body. His defined abdomen and strong arms were illuminated perfectly under the soft light. You wanted to slap yourself as you felt yourself become slightly aroused.

You managed to sit up, slowly and gently seating yourself down. You instinctively reached for your stuffed bunny. You held it to your chest as you watched Peter fiddle with his belt. “Peter,” you called quietly.

Your hair was a mess and you had faint black tracks going down your chubby face. Your lipstick was smudged. Your thick, soft arms were clinging to your bunny. The bunny he had gifted you years ago. Your dress was askew and barely covered your thighs. 

“Yes, bunny?” he pulled off his belt.

“Please stop now. I’m sorry I upset you.”

He sighed and simply shook his head. “I helped you, now you need to help me.”

Helped you? You didn’t ask for his help. 

“But-”

“Look at what you did, bun,” he pulled off his underwear as he tugged off his pants. His cock sprung free and slapped his stomach. It was big and long and thick, protruding veins ran up its length, leading to an angry red tip. You felt your lip wobble, you weren’t even sure if it would fit. “It hurts and only you can make it feel better. You caused this. It’s your fault that this is happening.”

You weren’t sure what to think. Was this your fault? 

“Lay back for me, bunny.” he motioned to the bed. “I need gonna fuck your pretty pussy.”

You shook your head. 

Peter rolled his eyes, “do what you're told, stupid bunny. Don’t act like you don’t like it. Couldn’t you feel how wet you were for me?”

You stayed in place. He clenched his jaw and grabbed your ankles, pulling you until your back hit the cushion of your mattress. You tried to kick the hold of his wrists from your feet. 

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he felt up your thigh, eyeing you in a way that made you feel self-conscious. You felt like prey.

“I always like this dress,” he said, tugging it up your body. Peter pulled your bunny from your arms to pull the material over your head. “It’s my favorite one. Looks so beautiful on you.” 

You reached for the bunny to cover yourself but were unable to reach it. You wrapped your arms around your tummy. Peter clicked his tongue, “no.” He leaned down to press kisses over your middle and he pried your hands away for better access. You felt tears brimming.

He pulled your bra off with ease, absentmindedly as he ran his mouth over your skin. You gasped and turned away, refusing to watch. You felt his tongue find your nipple and you hated the way it aroused you. He groaned and you felt his cock against your thighs. He kneaded your breasts as he kissed up your neck. He looked you in the eye as his cock found your cunt, running up and down the slit. 

“It’s gonna feel so good, bunny. You’re gonna crave my cock after. You’re gonna realize that no one is better for you than me. Fuck, you’re so warm and soft.” 

His cock twitched on your pussy, causing you to inhale shakily. 

Peter was so ready to be inside you. The warmth your cunt radiated made his cock ache so bad. He pushed his cock through your fold, watching as your face contorted. Your hole was pulling him in as soon as his cock head reached your entrance. It was like you were made to take him. 

Your face had a pained expression painted over it and your hole contracted. 

“Relax, bunny. Or it’s gonna hurt a lot more than it needs to. You were doing so well just now.”

He was too big, the further he sank into you, the more it hurt.

He couldn’t resist the involuntary thrust of his hips. You jolted up at the strength of them. As he pulled out he looked down. The sight of your loose tits, belly rolls, and puffy pussy around his cock made him feral. The red coat of blood on his pelvis made him feel a sense of accomplishment. He had you first.

He finally had you. All of you. And he deserved it all after everything he’d done.

Peter forced his way in until he bottomed out. Relishing in the way your tight pussy squeezed him. He knew it hurt from the way you had begun to cry and the way your body shook but he didn’t care. You’d adjust. Soon you’d be a stupid cockwhore. What he always wanted you to be. All for him. 

“Ow,” you cried, reaching your hand up to his back, seeking comfort.

“You feel so good,” he moaned.

Peter began a slow pace, pulling out just a little before sliding back in. your nails dug into his back as your head moved side to side, whines, and cries leaving your lips. More and more slick came from your hole as he continued his abuse. 

Soon enough his thrusts had gotten faster, harder and your thoughts were few and far between.

Fuck. 

I don’t want this.

Feels so good.

Peter’s hands were all over you. Running up your sides, squeezing your soft skin, playing with your clit, and caressing your face as tears fell from your eyes.

You weren’t sure when you had begun to cry or whether it was due to pain or pleasure. 

Peter moved his lips to rest on yours, kissing you in sync with his thrusts. You whined, moving your face away, “no, stop.”

 His hand that rested on your bouncing tits delivered a quick, harsh slap to your cheek. You cried out, tears falling faster. Peter pinched your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. You opened your eyes, watching as he spit into your mouth, a string of spit lingering. You clenched around him.

Peter chuckled, “you liked that. Dirty slut.”

You had stopped fighting him, too caught up in the feeling of his cock in your cunt. Peter knew you would. He knew you loved him, too. 

He fit so perfectly inside you like you were meant for him.

A string of “Hm, uh, uh's” and breathy high-pitched noises fell from your lips with every thrust Peter made. The noises harmonized with the squelching sounds of your wet pussy. It was music to Peter’s ears. The prettiest noises he had ever heard.

Soon, you felt a coil in your belly. It snapped a part of you back into reality, while the other was dumb at the feel of Peter’s cock.

“Peter, hm, Peter, uh stop, m’gonna-”

Peter shushed you, sloppily kissing your neck, “cum for me.”

You were lightheaded, the feeling was too good. Peter suckled at your soft spot and you felt yourself cum with a high whine. Your orgasm was more intense this time. Your mind was blank as tears poured from your eyes and your body tensed. Your back arched off the mattress and you scratched down Peter’s back, holding him close.

Peter felt dizzy, you were everywhere. He could feel you everywhere and he had never felt such ecstasy. He twitched inside you as your cunt clenched around his cock deliciously. 

You weren’t able to contain your moans as you cried harder, salty tears saturating the sheets beneath your head as he fucked you past your orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he said, voice deep with desire. The way your pussy fluttered around him became too much.

“N-no,” you shakily moved your hands down to his pelvis, pushing with all the strength your weak body could muster. “P-peter, don’t want,” black mascara-stained tears streamed down your face, your lipstick smudged up to your nose, and you looked absolutely wrecked.

“I didn’t fucking ask,” his voice was near a growl, “m’gonna cum in this pretty, puffy pussy. Listen to it scream for me, pulling me back in, fluttering around me. You want this.”

You shook your head, pushing once again, you let out a choked sob as he thrusted particularly hard, “N-no.”

Peter moaned loudly, squeezing your plump waist as he stilled. 

You could feel his hot, hot cum painting your walls. You felt a weight on your heart, he had coaxed multiple orgasms from you, stolen them and your innocence along with them. And now, he was inside of you. His cum had likely forced its way into your cervix, mingling with your most intimate of places. 

A small part of you liked it. You tried your hardest to ignore that part of you that enjoyed being full. So full of Peter. He was the best for you, after all. 

Peter thrusted a few more times, dreading the thought of leaving your tight, warm hole. 

You were everything he had ever imagined. Your plump body, your sugary sweet taste, your beautiful noises…

He would never let you go.

Peter gave your limp body a final kiss. You were too fucked out to react. As he pulled out of you he stared at your puffy cunt. It was wet with slick and sweat. Cum slid out of the abused hole. He took his finger and pushed it back in, loving the way you jolted and tried to close your legs.

Peter Parker loved to look at you. Even more so now, with you bare in front of him. Your skin was glistening under the rays of the artificial streetlights outside your window and remnants of your innocence were on his cock.

#CHECK WARNINGS #tw noncon #peter parker (belle’s version) #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker #dark!peter parker #mcu!peter parker smut #tasm!peter parker smut #tobey!peter parker smut #tasm!peter x reader #dark!tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tobey!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #peter parker dark #dark!spiderman #spiderman x reader #peter parker x plus size reader #dark mcu #dark mcu smut #plus size reader #peter parker x plus size reader smut #spiderman x plus size reader

[cookie-crumblr]

What would happen if we ignored Ezra and didn't care what he did for a day?

SORRY ITS TAKEN ME LITERALLY SO LONG!!! TYSM FOR THE ASKS!!! ily all 💋✨

He’d get so angry.

So toxic,

ecstatic and sad all at the same time.

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: GN!Reaader, no body descriptions for reader, not proofread, explicit language, violence, NON CON SA. VIOLENCE AGAINST READER. names used against reader(Cunt, ), assault, loud “noises”, general bullying against reader!

Status: Not even close to dating

“Fuck off! Just, leave me alone already!!” You stormed off, leaving him somewhat dumbfounded with a lust filled smirk cemented to his face.

He fixes his jaw.

“, finally” He swaggers away in the other direction, for now.

Later~

“Are you still ignoring me, Y/N?”

You pick up your things and go to move seats without a word.

He watches you through twitching lowered brows, gaining annoyance as a ripe little cherry on top of everything else he’s been feeling since you left in a huff this morning.

Ignore him will ya? Welp, he’ll just have to make it harder for you to do so.

He moves seats too.

You move seats again, before, “Y/L/N, You’re disrupting class. Either stay seated this time, or get out.” The professor says.

Fuck.

Well now you’re stuck next to him…

You sit on the side edge of your seat as far away from him as possible, in fact only one freakin butt cheek is even on the dang thing. You’re even facing completely away when, he start rapping his fingers against the desk. His head is in his hand.

“Uhhhhg just stop already!” He moans. He’s so loud, you’d swear his noises are way more disruptive than you moving seats maybe if you just—

“Sit back down, or leave.”

You groan loud and draw it out. HES WAY LOUDER! Why is he NEVER in trouble???

Whatever. only … Fuck… sixty more minutes… Gods why are courses so long!

He huffs loudly next to you and blows some strawberry blonde hair out of his face.

It’s too bad he’s so hot, his looks are wasted on such a nasty dude.

A hand slaps your thigh and grips your inner flesh tightly to where it stings! “Ow!!”

“Shhh!” the professor turns from the screen toward your direction.

“Sorry Sur…” UHG. Whatever.

“Pfft,” He’s laughing. He’s seriously laughing at you!

You know what! Fine. You will leave. And you do.

Ezra follows you to the hallway.

You speed up and try to go hide in the restroom.

Once inside you sigh, but relief is cut short when the door opens.

You clamber into a stall, Fuck fuck FUCK. No! now you’re alone with him! Oh shit. Oh no. Oh gods…

*SLAM! BANG! CRASH!*

You jump. You think he kicked in a stall door, it sounded like it flew off its poor hinges. You cower with your whole body scrunched on top of the toilet.

You realize you’re shaking.

You cover your own mouth to silence yourself but—

*BANG-CRASH!*

You muffle a whimper but you know he heard you.

“Y/N~ I know you’re in here,”

*BANG-CLANG-CRASH*

FUCK!

There’s only one left before yours…

*Flick*

Huh? A lighter…

You smell cigarette smoke, and a tear forms at the corner of your eye. He’s just toying with you as always, he has to be… Right?

“Y/N~” He’s cooing in an almost sing-songy voice. “If you come out now, i’ll give ya a reward…”

You wipe your face, and steel yourself for a second…

Okay… Fine.

It’s probably better than whatever he’d do to you if you keep cowering until he inevitably gets to you, in two more kicks.

You open the door.

“There~ That wasn’t so hard wasit?” His voice is so gentle right now, but it does little to calm you.

You turn your head in defiance.

“You really wanna do this, huh? Ignorin’ me or whatever,” He flicks away his cigarette and you can’t hold in the air that leaves you in actual relief, that’s one less weapon against you.

He closes the distance in a single movement, grasping your face by the cheeks and squeezing them. “Y/N. Look at me.”

You don’t.

“Look. At. Me. Now.”

You remain stead fast.

“You finally got s’m balls, eh.” He smiles and drops your face with a soft uncharacteristic caress to your jaw.

You break and take a quick glance at him.

“ahhh, you want that, huh?” He brings back that sweet voice… “You want me to be all lovey and soft huh?” Your heart thumps in your chest hard. He doesn’t mean it, he’s not gonna change and you know it. “Too Fuckin’ bad” He grabs your face again before throwing it down, he grabs your body next and throws you down onto the dirty bathroom floor.

“Please!!” You cover your face with your arms, but it’s no use hes on top of you, pulling your arms away from you, ripping open your legs and pulling them up on either side of him.

His buckle is loud in your ears as he undoes it, before your hearing cuts out, did he punch you? Your whole head hurts and your vision is fuzzy.

Your skull must’ve bounced off the ceramic tiles.

He punches you again, he’s not using his full strength but it might still knock you out.

“Stupid cunt, you think you can ignore me?” He spits.

“Please, Ezra!!! Sto—op—p” You’re choking out sobs but you can barley hear yourself as if your in another room from your own body.

He spits on his own dick and spreads it around before entering you, at least he’ll give you that.

It still hurts.

He’s rough, not caring that your already damaged skull is continuing to bounce off the floor.

eventually you’re out cold. It’s a small mercy. But a mercy nonetheless.

When you come to you’re still on the floor, naked and afraid as people surround your battered body and snap pics and laugh.

“Aw shit, they’re awake” one says.

“Damn” another adds.

You grab your stuff and bolt, new tears streaming down your puffy face.

#cookie speaks #my oc #yandere #oc x reader #oc x you #yandere x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #dead dove do not eat #my fic #tw assult #tw noncon #non con #gn reader #oc ezra #cookie answers #tw sa #read the warnings #bully yandere x reader #bully yandere #yandere bully x reader #oc bully #yandere bully #bully x victim #bully x reader #bully oc #bully

[wulvercazz]

🐇 Bunny AU🥚 ~

Smutty sort of drabble, sort of headcanon rambling about the AU below💕 See the full uncensored art here~

Edit: had to make the berries biggER lmao is thIS BETTER MR TUMBLR?

In this AU Easter is handled by a species of humanoid rabbits who lay eggs (and a few subspecies I'll mention later on). Each generation a kit is born within the noble families with the ability to lay Easter eggs. (Normally, only pregnant bunnies lay one or two larger eggs.) This kit, then, is taught everything they need to know to inherit the job after the current Easter Bunny passes.

Grimmjow is one of the youngest to have inherited the job, but he is damn good at it, if you ask him. He has little complaints, really. Apart from laying a large clutch of smaller pastel colored eggs every month (which, ok, that can be a little tiring), his work is only actually hard in April; the rest of the year, he gets to have as much fun as he wants. Sure, the guards, and maids, and all the other servants (that the Oh So Wise Elders think he has to be babied by) fuss over him a bit too much, and follow him around a lot; and that gets annoying from time to time, but it still has its perks. Like, choosing his own personal guard himself.

His father wasn't so sure about his pick, but what could he do but accept The Easter Bunny's wishes? Ichigo was a rookie, and, as all guards, part of the subspecies of rabbits called 'Chocolate Bunnies'. Grimmjow thought it was a corny name at first, when he was a kid. But after years of being the only kit being tutored within the rooms of the Easter castle, and having the opportunity to watch the guards up close, he had to agree that it was actually pretty straightforward. All guards were chocolate bunnies. They always smelled like chocolate, and their fur was always warm toned; in colors that varied from off-white to dark brown. The reason he chose Ichigo, though, was simple: he wanted to have fun with him.

He got to attend the guards' initiation ceremonies (he had to attend ALL important ceremonies, really), which is where he saw him for the first time. It was a small event, pretty boring. He would've bailed, like he did most times; but once he saw the newbie he had to stay and learn his name. Now that he had him, he knew he'd made the right choice. Ichigo smells of the darkest melted chocolate, and his skin is warm all over. He has that newbie attitude still, a little too loud but worried to do the wrong thing. He was blushing the brightest red when his superior brought him to his office; asked twice or thrice if they were sure they had the right guy.

Ichigo’s first impression of Grimmjow was... that he's not what he expected. The Easter Bunny looked proper, composed, handsome and just overall cool from afar. He always dressed nice as it was customary. But from up close, Ichigo could really see how young he was; maybe his own age, or barely a couple years older than him at most. As close as he could stand now, inside his office, while he watched him work, he looked as serious as you’d expect the Big Boss to be; the second he removed himself from work though? He smirked cockily, and played around too much. 

He liked lighter clothing, comfortable shorts and soft fabrics he used to lounge around his room. Which he isn’t supposed to be in, as a guard, but of course Grimmjow had insisted he do so. He couldn’t say no. What he seemed to enjoy the most, however, was to mess with his job. Ichigo wasn’t sure if it was a test of sorts, challenging his determination see how long he could keep his head cool. As time went on, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Sometimes the taller bunny would stand too close (not that that bothered him anymore), and he’d whisper into his ear. Even after a month of being his guard, that still never failed to send chills down his spine. And worst was, he’d whisper things he’d never expected from him; he’d make fun of the other nobles, how uptight they were how ridiculously they’d dress for appearances sake. He’d tell him gossip he’d learned about them, and often it was hard not to break and laugh.

It wasn’t all bad though, he didn’t hate his job as much as he thought he would when it all started. He realizes now that maybe he took it too seriously, and probably that’s what had Grimmjow so amused. Back then Ichigo had tried to take his job with honor, be the best guard he could be for him; but Grimm made it very hard. He had to escort him places sometimes, when he was needed, and Grimm would always try and bail. Sometimes going as far as to try and take him with. Grimmjow wouldn’t be punished, of course, no more than a quick talk with the Elders, but him? Ichigo could lose his post all together.

Grimm only grinned mischivious little smiles at him. He used to get pissed off every time, try his best to convince Grimmjow not to bail, take his job seriously...it never worked, of course. Ichigo only let go of that seriousness a little after the second week on his post. Grimmjow was in his room, napping and swollen with eggs as he was every so often. In those days he didn’t leave his room much, so he’d never seen him pregnant before he became his guard. It was a whole new part of him. He seemed sleepy all day, a little grouchy maybe. He was standing there with him, inside his room as he so much insisted he did.

“Com’ere, I don’t bite.”

Maybe not, but standing in his room was too much already, he shouldn’t be getting so chummy with his Boss. Grimmjow wouldn’t take no for an answer, of course; stood up slowly and stumbled a little. When Ichigo caught him though, and his face was so close to his own; Grimmjow was smirking like a cat. Played again. How he ended up sitting on his bed and with Grimm’s head on his lap, he wasn’t sure. 

Grimmjow didn’t seem like he was playing anymore though. He seemed to sleep, but soon enough his voice startled him again. “Stay with me, will you? When I’m... like this? No one gets close to me on these days, like I’d break.”

Huh...

“They don’t even care about me, only about what I can do.” 

It cleared up a lot of things for Ichigo. So he let go of some of that seriousness he’d been taught to earn his title of noble guard, put on some more empathy for Grimmjow’s sake. He still played him, after that; as was expected. Still teased him and made him lose his cool in public for his own amusement... and he still got a little pissed of at him. Grimmjow liked to pretend that he’d never opened up to him. But he could work with that, for as long as Grimm needed.

He's lost count of how long he’s been his guard now. They’ve fallen into a comfortable maybe-friendship, and he knew pretty much all he had to about Grimmjow and his job and how to be the best guard for his needs. He’d learned how to convince him to attend the meetings he’d usually bail out of. He knew all his secret hide-outs where to find him at whenever he did run away. But most importantly, he’d gotten really good at reading him; at knowing when he needed peace and quiet, when he wanted someone to scream at just for the sake of screaming. It was only natural that he’d become so attached to him, and before he realized, Grimm’s skin on his shocked him every time and his eyes filled him with warmth. But that was a line he couldn’t cross.

It was especially hard to stop when Grimmjow became even more bold; touched his neck, played with his hair just to see him blush. He knew. He had to know.

“Who cares?” Fuck, Grimmjow was as unfazed as he always was. “I want you, and you clearly want me too.” 

He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have given in. But how could he not? When Grimmjow called for him and received him sitting by his window, bathed by the warmth of the morning sun, in nothing but a thin shirt. When he held him tight and was rough and assertive about what he wanted. He’d laughed again, at the heat in his face and neck and ears; teasing him until he pushed him back into his bed. Grimmjow smirked that childish smile of his, that he always wore when he got his way. He held his waist, and his thighs and pinched his chest and let Grimm scratch and bite and pull at his hair as much as he wanted.

He couldn’t even be worried about his superior, or Grimmjow’s father finding out, or even the Elders; when he laid naked in his bed with Grimm in his arms. Fast asleep. After hearing him moan, and pant and scream. And pretty much every day after that, whenever Grimmjow felt like it, when he had time off work, and even when he didn’t but he wanted to get away. Grimm even made him scream and cry out a couple times as he rode and teased him; those times always made him worry someone would definitely hear him. Grimmjow only continued to cause problems for him; but he really didn’t mind.  If he could continue to hold him, and see every part of him, then he’d take whatever problems that came with it.

🌸🐇🌸 

#grimmjow jaegerjaquez #ichigo kurosaki #ichigrimm #nsft #一グリ #hybrids #Bunny AU #egg laying #multisexGrimmjow #chibi nsft #feral nsft #(sort of lmao) #mpreg #Finally the 'weirder' art is coming out<3 #I wonder who will be pleasantly surprised and who'll just block me on the spot lmaOOO (and who has been waiting for these lol) #there's more to come so #pls do block me if this isn't for u- there'll be mpreg/hybrids/monsters/noncon/eggs/gore+ I do a bit of everything u've been warned lol