guilty-pleasure-writings

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

was so well-behaved the dentist let me put my fingers in his mouth too

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

just because the pussy’s wet doesn’t mean you shouldn’t spit on it anyway

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Chapter 9

You wake up in the hospital

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, physical assault

Masterpost

The hospital room looked more like a hotel room. The lights were white and sterile but the curtains were a pleasant green color and besides the hospital bed the furniture looked more comfortable than a regular hospital. There were generic floral art prints on the wall. Nikolai had opened a window so he could smoke out of it. He’d already been scolded by several nurses. “I pay for the room. I use the room.” He shrugged. It had been two days of silence between the two of you. 

It hurt to talk but you don’t think you’d have anything to say to him anyways. You didn’t expect an apology yet his silence bothered you. He’d only occasionally rise when he thought you’d fallen asleep to brush the hair from your face and rest the back of his hand against the unbruised side of your face. You had to stop yourself from flinching every time.

Other times he stared at you despondently. You hoped he knew his fault. Everything that happened this past week from John’s celebration to now was his fault.  

You had multiple rib fractures, a punctured lung, broken sternum and bruised organs. You had arrived at the hospital just to go into surgery immediately. Recovery would take months. You had no where to go after this. You knew where you'd end up, it wasn't where you belonged but did you belong anywhere anymore?

You broke the silence first. Drifted off into a nightmare about Arno. You were back in that room, tied to a chair as he used the claw of the hammer to pull your stomach open.

You woke up sobbing. Nik was dabbing a tissue across your cheeks. You yelped when you opened your eyes to his face. There was a flash of sadness across his face. He stepped back. 

“Arno’s dead?” You needed to confirm that there was no chance of him coming after you again. 

“He is.” He pulled a chair up next to you. “You’re safe.”

You shook your head and frowned at him, “I’m not.”

He would never let you go. You both knew that. He couldn’t. You knew too much about him. You’d gone too far into his world, ate from his hand. You’d never be free of him now. Live in this hell with him. Wherever you went from here was under his eye. A new set of tears blinked down from your lashes. 

“You are safe with me.”

“I’d rather you just kill me.” You spat. “I’d rather be dead than be your whore again.”

“Don’t say stupid things. You’re not stupid.” He shook his head.

“I want you to leave.” You said quietly. “I want to be alone.”

“Kotenok.” His tone was scolding. 

“Get out!” It hurt to yell. It hurt to be in the same room as him. “I want you out! Leave!”

His jaw twitched but he grabbed his coat and left, slamming the door behind him. 

You laid back down in bed and cried. The next weeks were full of crying. Your body slowly healed, putting itself back together. 

Nikolai had your favorite foods sent up to your room. A television was added to your room once you could stay awake for longer than twenty minutes. A pile of bags filled with nice, comfortable clothes sat unworn in the corner. Nurses checked on you regularly. 

“Your husband sent flowers again,” one said, setting a vase down on the side table. It was a nice bouquet, none of your favorites but pretty. Very Nikolai. “He calls us every day to check on you. You’re lucky. Lots of women go home to empty houses after stays this long.”

“Guess I am.” You agreed halfheartedly. Every millimeter of this room had his tendrils dug in. You could tell the truth and never see this woman again. Better to spare you both. You found yourself staring at odd places, wondering where he hid the camera. 

Two months pass and suddenly you’re ready to be released with orders to take it easy for another month and keep an eye out for infections. 

Nikolai meets you in the hallway outside your room. You’re still unsteady on your feet. The nurses could only get you out of bed a couple times a day to make a couple loops around the room. He extends an arm and you take it. 

It’s your turn to be the despondent one. You follow him inside like a dog. It’s the door to the garage shutting behind you that pulls a sob out. You sink to the floor on your hands and knees. 

“Nik…” You tried to make sense of all the thoughts in your head, make them make sense between sobs. “I’m tired. I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t. I don’t want to have to fuck you to live. It’s humiliating and…and… I don’t feel human. I don't want to be a thing. I want to be myself again…I can’t be what you want and I don’t want to be.”

You arms gave out and you face planted against the rug, clutching at your aching chest. He started to lift you back up by the shoulders.

“Let go! It’s your fault! He did this because of YOU!” You pushed his hands away and curled up on your side, bringing your knees up to your stomach. You started to cry, “You did this. You did.”

His voice was so soft you thought you’d misheard him. He got down on a knee beside you and said your name again. Your real name. Not the fake one you gave him weeks ago. Your shoulders deflated. You didn't fight him when he pulled you into his arms and lifted you bridal style.

It wasn't that your body ached, your heart did. You were slipping back down into whatever hole he'd dug for you. You clung to his shirt like you'd be able to use it to pull yourself back up knowing he'd never let you.

He sat you down on the counter in his bathroom. You watched as he started to fill the tub. Bottles of soap, shampoo and conditioner sat on a little stool. A fluffy white robe sat folded beside you.

"Take your time." He said before leaving you alone.

You did. The last time you had a bath had been with Nikolai and that felt like a lifetime ago. You washed your hair slowly, detangling each strand. You rubbed your skin raw and sat in the water till your fingers and toes pruned up.

The robe was soft, you didn't expect anything less. Nik was good at spending money so of course the robe would feel like a cloud around you.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, only looking up from the floor when you walked in. He looked disheveled, sweat beading on his brow and flecks of hair standing on end.

"Can I leave?" You already knew the answer. You'd had this conversation a million times in your head. You couldn't find a single circumstance that would allow you to walk away from him. Even with the most kindhearted version of him you could imagine, he'd only give you a longer leash.

He looked sad when he answered with a shake of his head, "No."

You wished you had something to throw. All those chances you had to hurt him earlier rushed past you. You could never hurt him like he'd hurt you.

"What now then? You going to chain me to your bed? Kill me yourself? Share me with whatever disgusting fucking friends you have? What Nik? What happens to me now?"

"You stay here or one of my other houses."

You shoved him, unexpectedly for him as he had to scramble to catch himself from falling off the bed. You took your chance and jumped on top of him, swinging wildly at his face landing a hit or two. You only wished you were stronger - make him bleed a little.

The two of you rolled off the bed with a loud thud. Rolling around on the floor as he tried to hold you down while you flailed your arms and legs around, landing more hits on whatever soft spots you could reach.

"Stop this!" He snapped, finally getting your wrists in his hands and slamming them to the floor beside your head. You screamed, something angry and animalistic , spit flying out of your mouth to land on his face.

"I hate you!" You snarled.

Nikolai let go of your wrists and got up from on top of you. He offered a hand but didn't insist when you got up on your own.

"I have a property in Italy. East coast. You'll move there tomorrow. You can have whatever you want there. I will check in but I won't touch you. You'll be safe there."

"Will I?"

"I've killed too many men for you to not be." He smoothed down his hair. "Get some sleep. I'll have your things packed in the morning."

"Kolya…"He stopped with his hand on the door and turned back with a twinge of anger. Your voice grew wet again,"Why are you doing all this for me? I..I don't understand."

"I don't either." He left, locking the door behind him.

His bed felt smaller without him. You huddled to one side. Couldn't shake the feeling that you were rocking back in forth in a very small boat. It smelled like him and you pulled over his pillow to hold against your chest.

Something more frightening than Nikolai's indifference was the possibility that he did truly care about you. Loved you even. If he was even capable of such a thing. Had he ever loved someone before? Been married? Did he have children stowed away somewhere? A girl in every corner of the world ready to warm his bed.

Don't dwell on it, you said to yourself. He wasn't letting you go but you'd be rid of him for a little bit. It wouldn't be a shack, Nikolai was too proud for that. A whole house just to yourself and you wouldn't have to fuck him for it. He said he'd visit but how often would that even be? Less than once a week but more than once a year. Seasonally you could handle. That would be okay. To see him as the seasons changed. You didn't speak Italian, you could learn but that would take time.

Being alone scared you.

All the clothes he'd bought you before were packed up in a pile of suitcases in the downstairs hall. He'd left a change of clothes for you by the bedroom door. Just jeans and a sweater.

You didn't talk as you watched him load the suitcases into the car nor did you talk when he pulled onto the tar mac and ushered you into a small private plane. You hadn't been on a plane in years. They always frightened you a little bit.

During take off you clutched the arm rests of your seats till it hurt to uncurl your fingers. Nik stared at you from across the aisle.

"It's safe. I promise. I read over the inspections myself."

"You know a lot about planes?"

"Flew them when I was in the army." You nodded along, still keeping your hands on the armrests.

The plane hit turbulence over the Alps. You yelped loudly as it dropped several thousand feet. Nik was at your side in a moment, buckling himself back in beside you.

"It's okay." He murmured, testing the waters by laying a hand over yours. "Only a little bit longer. If I knew you were afraid I would have gotten you something."

You gave him a hard look, "You think I would ever take drugs from you again?"

He sucked his teeth. You wouldn't let him think you'd forgotten. He didn't move back to his own seat for the remaining hour and a half.

This house of his was much more remote than you initially thought. After landing you took a private car to a dock where you were loaded on a boat with all your things.

"You didn't tell me you were sending me off to nowhere."

"Island is safer."

You preferred boats to planes, you realized. You stood on the deck looking over the Adriatic sea. Nik was close by, leaning against the cabin. It was cold but not London cold. The sea smelled fresh and the wind kissed your cheeks and played with your hair. You spread out your arms, in the vain fantasy that it would carry you away. It was beautiful and terrifying and you loved it.

The house was beautiful. White plaster and stone with a flat roof. It was all white on the inside with tan colored tile floors. Multiple bedrooms, a large kitchen, a pool outback. It sat on a hill so you could see the ocean from the back garden.

"You can replace whatever furniture you want. There's cards and cash in the desk. The phone on the wall is directly to me. You need anything or something happens call me. I'll check in when I can."

"You're not afraid of me leaving?"

"No." He chose an island for a reason. Only one way off - boat either ferry or charter and you imagined he'd thought that through. "Fridge is stocked. Town is a short walk…"

He kept talking, pointing out important details. You stopped paying attention, just staring at him. This was how it was going to end. You in this house alone. He hadn't packed anything for himself. He would be leaving soon. Even that afternoon.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you hurried outside. You didn't want him to see. You walked till you reached the edge of the garden, a small cobblestone wall marking the edges of your cage. You could hear the waves crash against the shore down below.

You didn't want him to stay, didn't even want to look at him but if he left he might forget about you. Another blip in his life.

You heard your name. It still felt strange hearing him say it. It was the name of a you that no longer existed.

"Do you promise you'll come back?" He raised his eyebrows at your question before softening his features.

"Yes." He stepped closer and wiped his thumb across your cheek. "Whenever you call, I'll come."

You started to cry harder. It was too romantic, too intimate. You were broken down in so many pieces you couldn't help but cut yourself whenever you tried to pick them back up. You didn't want him. You didn't want him around but you desperatly didn't want to be alone. Not now in this strange place.

"Why are you doing all this?" You pleaded for a real answer. Something to explain all these feelings. You didn't want him to come back expecting you to display yourself for him. He couldn't be your next Arno.

"I want you to feel safe here." He cupped your face. "No one will hurt you again."

He kissed the top of your head and pulled you into his chest. You held on tightly to his shirt.

"I have to go."

"No…no…not yet please. Please Nik."

"I have to."

"How long?"

"I don't know." He pulled your hands off of him and laid them against your own chest. "I'll be back. I promise."

You stood there, salt air playing with your hair again. He moved hurriedly across the garden and back into the house.

You resisted calling. There was an absence but you convinced yourself it could be filled by anyone, not just him. You left the house regularly, picked up some Italian, left the local bookshop with a stack of children's books. You cooked for the first time in a year. Learned to make pasta from a local Nona who took pity on you.

They'd ask why you were in that big house all by yourself and you'd say your husband traveled for work - months at a time even. You joked about how he at least left his card with you.

And he did. You didn't redecorate but you bought clothes and books and small things from the local artisans. You started to fill out. No more protein bars and gruel. You ate fresh fish and hand made pasta and roasted vegetables. Sometimes you'd sit in the back garden, over look the ocean and cry as you ate. You couldn't remember ever eating something this good.

You cried a lot but it felt good after a while. Not being afraid of letting it all out. You cried during almost every movie you watched, every book you read. You cried in the shower and in your bed. You'd swim for hours just to hide the tears in the chlorine. You cry till it becomes easier to smile.

There's a fire place in the main living room and across the mantel you laid out shells - one for each one of the girls you met at the club. You hoped they were happy and learning to smile as well. You missed them.

It was a cool summer afternoon when you heard Nikolai's car pull up. You were sat on the floor of the kitchen, staring into the oven's glass, watching your bread slowly rise and brown.

There was a twinge of guilt over not calling him. You wondered if he'd just gotten back or it he just got tired of waiting on you. It was late June and you hadn't seen him since February. Spring had come and gone without him.

He knocked on the door, which was unexpected. He took up the entire doorway. He has a bag slung over his shoulder this time. He looked thinner in the face, his one hand was bandaged up.

"Can I come in?"

You nodded and moved out of the way for him.

"You didn't change much."

"I like it how it is."

He follows you to the kitchen.

"You didn't call."

"I didn't need to."

His bag was left in the bedroom furthest from yours.

He made a fire in the living room. The two of you sit around the coffee table with a spread of cheese, meat, tin fish, wine and still warm bread. You notice he winces when he moves his left arm too much.

"You're hurt." You held your hands in your lap, stopping yourself from reaching out to him.

"Not badly." He shrugged, tearing off a chunk of bread and stuffing it in his mouth.

"What would happen to me if…"

"If I die?" He finished. You nodded.

"You'd be free of me." The corner of his mouth turning up in a small smile while his eyes betrayed it with a glint of sadness. He poured himself another glass of wine and drank it down quickly. You grabbed the bottle and pulled towards yourself and finished it off - it was only a glass or so more.

You remembered the night he took care of you after Marcus beat you for the last time. How you were curled up to his side, eating pizza and drinking wine. You felt safer with him then than you did now. You still got up and fetched another bottle.

Rain began pelting down as you drank. Storms were harsh here. Thunder shook the house and if you stuck your head outside you could hear the waves crashing harshly. You jumped as lightning etched across the sky.

Nikolai grabbed your wrist, rubbing his thumb across your veins reassuringly. You didn't tug away, let him pull you in towards him. Your back against his chest. He played with the ends of your hair. You watched the storm, how the lightning hit the waves. Every drum of thunder had you shifting in his hold. He fed you pieces of cheese and bread.

It all felt off. You still had so much anger towards him. You wanted to hate him but something stopped you. You couldn't hate him, not forever. Sure, he could die tomorrow or in thirty years. You'd be here for however long that was. You could lock your heart away, let the lonely ache stay. Or you could pick up old habits.

You leaned up and kissed his jaw, stubble pricking at your lips. He took your chin between two fingers and tugged your bottom lip down. Your hand was on the back of his neck.

It was the softest kiss you'd ever shared. His touch was gentle as he turned you over to straddle him. He kept his hands above your waist, no grinding against you. Just kissing,

You broke first, resting your hands against his chest.

You were in a little boat, being tossed about in the ocean outside. Despite it all Nikolai was the only solid thing to hold on to. He came back for you, he offered you up to Arno but he came back. He killed them all for you.

"N- Kolya?"

"What can I do?"

"Can we go to bed?"

"Of course." He grabbed hold of the top of your thighs and lifted you up as he stood. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

He laid you down on your bed, letting you get settled before climbing over you. He nuzzled your neck and it all felt off again. He nipped at you and pushed back against his chest.

"Stop please I can't. I can't do this." Your stomach churned violently as fear overran you. You were shaking, rapidly pulling yourself up from underneath him to cower on the far corner of your bed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

You held your hands up to protect yourself as you tucked your head between your knees.

"It's okay, shhh, it's okay." He cooed. "Did I hurt you?"

"YES!" You sobbed, flinching when you felt the bed shift. "You let him touch me! You gave me back! You pissed him off and gave me back! You knew he would hurt me! You let that happen!"

You were heaving out sobs, drool dripping down from your mouth, swinging a hand at Nikolai whenever he tried to reach for you.

"I trusted you! I shouldn't have but I did. Now I'm going to fucking die here! I don't even understand why you're doing this! Fuck! I'm so fucking scared, Nik. I'm scared of you."Waiting for the shift, where he'd finally grow tired of you. Take what he wanted and discard you. Like Marcus did. You were a whore who couldn't fuck. He'd made it clear how he thought of women like you. Useless and a waste.

"You don't have to be afraid of me." He'd moved off the bed, standing by the edge and leaning down to meet your eyes. "You can trust me. I just want to keep you safe."

"How can I believe that? I watched you kill Marcus and Arno. Why won't I be next?" You could hardly catch your breath.

"Because I love you!"

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Chapter 8

You're back at the start

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, physical assault, drug use

Masterpost

You punched and kicked at the boot door till your fists and legs ached. Screamed until your throat was sore. You dug around in the dark for an emergency release and found nothing. It felt like the whole boot was getting smaller and smaller till it the walls dug into you and compressed the air out of your lungs.

You were too angry to cry. Angry at Arno, at Marcus, at John, at Nikolai. At yourself most of all. You used to tell yourself that you didn’t deserve any of this because you were a good person. You volunteered, you gave to charity, you held doors open for little old ladies. You quickly learned that it didn’t matter. Men like these didn’t care if you were a good person or not. You and others had just been in the wrong places at the wrong time with not enough money and too much trust. 

That’s why you were going to die. You trusted Nikolai too much. Let yourself be surprised by his true nature and attack him for it. He was always going to hurt you. That’s all he ever did, despite deluding yourself otherwise. Tricked yourself into believing that because he never tried to strangle you during sex it wasn’t a violation. He paid Arno for the pleasure of assaulting you. Then he even stopped paying, his ego making him believe that he owned you.  

You closed your eyes and imagined killing him. You’d knock on his door and plead to be let in, only to shoot him the moment he opened the door. It would be like in the movies where just one bullet kills someone instantly, no matter where you hit. You couldn’t imagine violence further than that. Even though it’s not what he deserved. He deserved what happened to Marcus or worse. Just not by your hand.

Violence had never been a language you spoke. You’d refused to learn at every chance. You had so little of yourself left, you needed to keep some small part safe.  So much good your pacifism has done for you so far. 

You could barely let out a whimper when the boot opened and Abel wrenched you up, dragging you inside on your knees. Glass and gravel cut your skin in chunks. Other girls peaked their heads out into the hall as the three of you came in.

“Get the fuck back to work!” Arno barked. There was something frantic about him. Something that couldn’t just be blamed on drugs. His eyes were red and the skin under them was dark. He was sweating so much it made his hair and skin look greasy. He disgusted you even more than normal.

You were shoved into a metal folding chair in the corner of his office. Your hands were tied behind your back with cheap nylon rope. 

“Leave,” He said to Abel before turning towards you,“ We have some things to work on, don’t we.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid. Arno had lost any power over you. He could hurt you but he always did that. You could see that he was jittery, scared even. As soon as Abel left he redirected his attention to the baggie of coke in his pocket. He cut uneven lines on his desk and snorted them like they were going to run away the same as you did. 

“You’re pathetic.” You said, shaking your head.

“What?” He looked up, white powder stuck in the stubble under his nose. His eyes were watery. “Fuck did you say to me?”

“I said you’re pathetic.” You stretched out the last word mockingly. “Look at you. Did Abel have to dress you today?”

He grabbed a pen off the desk and threw it at you, missing your head by half a meter. You laughed as it bounced off the wall. 

“Nikolai was right. You’re a fucking pussy.”

That got him to his feet. He started yelling in German, even without speaking it you could tell it was incoherent. The near constant smell of alcohol on his breath made it hard to concentrate on anything else. 

He looked like a child throwing a tantrum, stomping his way over to you. You couldn’t find it in you to be afraid of him anymore. For the past year you’d been afraid and timid, bending to the will of any man you’d thought would raise a hand at your insubordination. None of the humiliation or groveling seemed worth it anymore. If you were going to die today, it would be on your feet with your chin held high. He’d have to look you in the eyes while he did it.

Arno’s hand hit your cheek with a loud smack. Your teeth cut the inside of your mouth so you spit the blood onto his shoes. He hit you again and this time you spit onto his shirt. Bubbled up blood and spit quickly stained the cheap polyester. He hit you a third time and it made your ears ring and before you could react he slapped you again and again till your vision went blurry.

You fell sideways out of the chair, hands still caught behind the chair. You rubbed your wrists against each other, feeling the rope come looser and looser. 

“After I kill you I’m going to dump your body on Nikolai’s doorstep. Fucking cunt!” He kicked his desk, snapping one of the legs off. “Try to fucking cheat me! Arrogant bastard! I’m going to cut his cock off and choke him with it!”

The desk collapsed in a flurry of loose cash and cocaine. You started laughing softly. Reminded you of long gone babysitting days where you’d watch a young boy lose his mind over not getting dessert before dinner. You wanted to see him try to kill Nik. You could see Nik lifting him by the throat and tossing him to the ground like nothing. 

A decade plus ago you used to read all the urban legends  

“He’d skin you alive.” You laughed. “And I’d pay to watch.”

“He’s an old man!” Arno breathed hotly. His eyes flicked around till he saw the tool box sitting by the wall. He tripped over his own mess to grab it and drag back over towards you. “We’re going to make a little movie for him.” 

He dug around the box, pulling out a hammer, pliers and a box cutter. Your stomach churned. You knew it was going to hurt. It was always going to hurt. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t beg. It would all be over soon. It would just end. Arno clumsily set up his phone against the box, the automatic flash turning on. You blinked against the light. 

Arno knelt beside you, hammer in hand. His hands were shaking. A child in a candy store, in too over his head to make a choice. He raised the hammer and brought it down hard against your ribs. You screamed. You heard the crack from inside your chest. It hurt to catch your breath. 

You looked at the camera. If Nik was watching somewhere in the future he needed to know this was his fault. At least partially. In a just world he’d somehow feel everything Arno did to you. He’d feel his own ribs break, bone splintering into muscle. He needed to watch you die, to know what it was like. 

Arno hit you again, this time lower, hitting the side of your stomach. You groaned out a sob. He hit you again. His hits were sloppy and uncoordinated, always just off their mark. He hit your sternum, knocking the air from your lungs. You gasped like a fish, each inhale making your vision go red. 

There was a popping sound. It was far away, deeper into the club. It would have been unnoticed if screams didn’t follow. 

Another pop, more screams and thunderous footsteps as girls fled the club floor and into the back rooms. Arno dropped the hammer onto your chest and ran to the door.

“What the fuck is going on?” He yelled outside. You fought against your bindings despite the pain in your torso. If you could get one hit on him it would all be worth it. Abel was yelling back at him in german. 

More pops. Louder this time. Gunshots. One of your wrists slipped free. You pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees. 

The hammer was cold and heavy in your hand. A gunshot echoed from the hall. Arno slammed the door shut. He started to dig through the remnants of the desk.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” He dug a handgun out of the rubble, turning the safety off and heading back towards the door. He stood beside it, waiting for anyone who’d try to enter. Whomever he pissed off this time would kill you both. Most likely try to rape you before that. Not again. 

You stood up on shaky legs, tears streaming down your face as your body screamed in pain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Arno snarled, turning the gun on you. “Sit down!”

You raised the hammer. 

“I will fucking kill you. Sit down!”

He was already going to kill you. This would only be quicker. 

You threw all your energy into rushing your feet forward. He pulled the trigger, the gun clicked - he never checked if the damn thing was loaded.

You put all your energy into connecting the hammer with the side of his skull. He collapsed onto the ground convulsing with you following close behind. 

There were more gunshots outside in the hall, Abel was yelling for Arno. One of his words was cut off mid sentence and there was a thud outside in the hallway. Arno was across from you, eyes twitching. You coughed and blood splattered against his face. 

You smiled at him. He didn’t win. You’d both die here, looking at each other in the hell he made for you. 

The door was kicked open, your hair flying back in the brush of air. Torch light searched the room before settling on the two of you. A man entered hurriedly. He had full body armor and a ballistic mask.

“I found her.” A familiar accented voice said into his radio. He pulled off a glove and touched your cheek. “Oh Kotenok, what did he do to you?”

Nik’s hand was warm against your skin. You leaned against it. There was no shame in comfort when dying. You were dying right? It felt like you were. It was getting harder to breathe. Hurt so much. 

He took off the mask, tossing it to the side. His stubble had grown out in the past two days. He looked tired. You reached out and pushed back a loose strand of hair from his face. 

“You’re okay. I’m here.” He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. “You’re safe now.”

You shook your head weakly, “Kolya…something… broken.”

His brow furrowed, he lifted up your shirt, frown turning to a snarl. You cried when his fingers brushed against your bruises. Blood was pooling under your skin, swelling up in great lumps around broken bone. 

“Captain, get a medevac for her.” He said to the radio before turning back to you. “You’re going to be okay, Kotenok.”

He turned and grabbed the shoulder of Arno’s shirt. 

“She fucked you up, didn’t she.” He chuckled as he dragged him out of view. “Do you still feel pain?”

Arno groaned.

“Good. I’m going to break your jaw now.” There was a snapping sound followed by Arno’s crying out. You closed your eyes. There was a squelching sound matched with more cries of pain from Arno. Nik worked quietly on his torture. His cries turned into gurgling. You kept your eyes closed. 

“Fuck my old boots, Nik.” You opened your eyes to look up at John. He had a disgusted look on his face. “Is that his..? Fuck- don’t answer that.”

“You have a gurney? She needs a doctor.” Nik was by your side again, wiping bloodied hands on his pants before stroking your cheek with his knuckles. 

“We’ll move her together.” You screamed when they lifted you. 

Nik was at your head as they carried you out. Arno’s men laid dead across the club. All the men who raped and abused you over the past year dead because of Nikolai. Other armed men were helping the girls pick up their things and escorting them outside. 

There were ambulances and swat vehicles lining the street. 

Nik sat with you on the way to the hospital. He stroked your hair as the EMTs worked. 

You were given morphine to help with the pain. You whimpered as the world grew dark and blurry.

“I’m right here,” Nik cooed. “I’ll take care of you.”

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

First world smut peddler problems: I can't decide what color I want the cheer uniforms to be in the lesbian gang rape I'm writing

First world smut peddler SOLUTIONS: obviously, this is a very shitty school (like the one I went to) and therefore all of the cheer uniforms are recycled or self-bought and are there different colors.

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

idk thought of him when i saw that post… the hunterrrrr. sorry

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Never Say Never

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Jesse loves himself a cam girl.

Warnings: Reader is a webcam model, noncon, daddy kink, kidnapping, a little blunt force trauma, boot play, bondage, knife play, blood play, blood as lube, sex in a coffin, fingering, overstimulation, creampie, branding.

This was a commission for the lovely @genzisnotokay Thank you for your business!

Gif by @sweeetestcurse

CS: Meet me.

The black letters stretch across your computer screen and your fingers freeze, hovering just above the keyboard. You’re so taken aback that, for a brief moment, you forget you’re on camera. You forget you’re performing. Your practiced smile falters.

CS: C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that. You know I won’t bite.

Just like that, you snap back to reality. Your sly grin returns.

‘Tired of only being able to look and not touch, Jesse?’ you type back. On screen, you see the black suit shift, the shoulders raise and lower with what you assume is a huffed laugh. There’s no sound, never is when you video chat with your most generous client, and his face is never in frame, so you do your best to pick up on his body cues.

Seems to be working out for you so far, if your bank account is anything to go by.

CS: I’ll be doing a lot more than touching when I get my hands on you, baby.

You sound pretty confident I’m gonna agree to this, Mister CS.

CS: When have you ever said ‘No’ to me?

There you go, freezing again.

Truly, the list of debauched things you’ve done for him on camera is close to endless. You’ve readily agreed to it all, and he’s certainly not shy about asking. All that green has proven to be a great motivator.

He won’t show you his face though, no matter how many times you ask. You’re sure this is what stops you from agreeing. That, and the survival instincts that keep you from meeting clients in the first place.

CS: It’ll be worth your time, babe.

A number crosses your screen, a number with more zeros than you’ve ever seen in your life.

Inhibitions be damned.

When and where, Daddy?

***

You’re pretty sure you fucked up the moment that horrible chrome skull mask emerges from the darkness, streetlights glinting off its shiny surface.

And you know you fucked up when that baseball bat collides with the side of your skull.

***

The first sensation to return is pain. Bright, splitting agony arcs through your head and blinds you. It brings a broken cry to your chapped lips and has you reaching through silk to cradle your skull.

Awareness trickles in past the pain, sand through an hourglass, the first grains alerting you to the fact you can barely bend your arm. Palms reach, press against soft fabric—silk. There’s resistance just beyond. To your left, to your right, above you, at your back….

All around you.

Pain ebbs just a little, adrenaline dulling it to replace it with fear. Panic rises and snakes up your throat to choke you. You’re trapped in a narrow box, a container of some sort. Trickling sand, more cognizance falls into place.

Not a box.

A coffin.

Your chest rises, the frenzied scream locked and loaded in the back of your throat. Muscles tense, fists prepare to beat the lid open, legs poise to knee and kick and flail. It all comes grinding to a halt with knocking atop the coffin lid.

TAP TAP TA-TAPTAP….TAP TAP.

Shave and a haircut.

Hinges squeal as the lid is thrown open. Light blasts you in the eyes, temporarily reminding you of the throbbing in the side of your head. Cold air rushes into your prison, raising goosebumps across your skin and spilling into your lungs with your inhale.

Oxygen pours into your blood and kickstarts desperate movement. You heave yourself up and over the side of the coffin. Blinking, scrambling, you feel chilly concrete against your palms. Your fingers bump into something sturdy, rubbery, but it’s gone a moment later.

You only realize it was the toe of a boot when the sole stomps down on the side of your face.

Blinding anguish erupts behind your eyes once again and that scream finally has a reason to fly free. Sleep-weakened hands grasp the sides of the shoe, but there isn’t even a hint of give. Above you looms the shadow of a body, silhouetted against the overhead light, the barest hint of chrome glinting in the darkness. Beyond is a room, dark and basically empty save for a few sheets hanging from the ceiling and those blinding floodlights.

Rubber squeaks near your face—the other boot—as weight shifts. The person pinning you to the icy floor crouches. You jolt when words shriek somewhere overhead, as though a terrified woman is speaking with every new word.

I take it back. I think I might bite.

Your stomach drops at the same moment your heart jams itself into your throat. “J-Jesse?! Jesse please, w-why are you doing this?!” Your trembling voice is muffled and distorted by the boot smashing your cheek into the floor.

Give it a kiss and I’ll show you.

Give what a kiss? Your confusion only lasts a moment as the toe of the opposite boot waggles suggestively before your face. You barely hesitate. The sharp, turpentine scent of shoe polish fills your nose as your lips press to the smooth surface.

With tongue, piggy. C’mon, I thought you were a professional.

Abhorrent chemical flavor bathes your tongue as you drag it along the side of Jesse’s boot. Saliva makes it shine brighter than the polish. Your nose wrinkles and you fight back the bile that begs to burn its way up your throat.

Weight lifts from your head and you would cry out in relief if it wasn’t quickly replaced by a gloved hand digging into your hair. You yelp and sob as you’re tugged back to the coffin. The hand on your head shoves you face first over the side, cheek meeting soft lining.

Rattling meets your ears, dulled by the blood rushing there. Chain slides across metal and wood and cool steel encircles your wrist. It clamps down, digs into your flesh. Shifting weight, fingers grappling with your opposite hand. You won’t let this one be restrained—

Viciously, you are yanked upright and a horrible, serrated blade the size of your forearm is brought just before your face. Reflected in its gleaming surface you see the chrome mask and your own wide, frightened eyes.

Click, click, click, click. His thumb types out a message on some kind of cell phone. You can see it in your peripheral, but can’t make out the words.

There’s no need to read as they are shouted at you the moment he’s finished: Fight me like that again and I’ll just cut off the whole fucking arm and be done with it.

A whimper and a hasty nod are your response. You hand over your wrist and it’s swiftly secured by a shackle attached to the other half of the coffin lid. Both sides have been modified, you notice, a D-ring bolted into the wood. Now, your arms stretch out in a T, knees digging into the concrete floor, Jesse and that terrible blade at your back.

‘Comfy?’ asks the screaming phone. Chest heaving, eyes searching for reason, you crane your head over your shoulder in an attempt to predict what’s coming. Unfortunately, you don’t guess ‘knife cutting away your clothes so sloppily it catches your skin more often than fabric.’

Each slice burns with white hot torment, your own sweat adding insult to injury when it drips into your wounds to sting and sting and sting. Mascara streaks down your face, aided by your tears and your throat grows raw with how fervently you shriek and plead.

When Jesse smooths his hands over your gashes to paint your bare skin in scarlet, you realize the cuts were intentional. The cruelty, the pain, the terror are all by design. You quake uncontrollably, fear, and cold, and pain gripping hold and sinking in deep.

‘There’s that pretty pussy you show off to all those strange men online.’ The flat of the blade slaps sharply against your clit and you cry out in shock, back going ramrod straight.

Not quite as wet as I remember though. Maybe she needs a little help, huh?

Two gloved fingers slide across your back to wet themselves in the blood trickling across your flesh. With no warning, they plunge deep into your cunt. You wheeze and try to scoot away, but the coffin edge against your thighs keeps you right where you’re wanted.

Bloody digits pump and curl and massage and circle until you all but forget they’re coated in gore, that you’re bleeding from multiple knife wounds, that you’re chained to a fucking coffin. You clench your eyes shut and do your best to remind yourself what’s happening to you, what’s likely about to happen to you. Then, your hips tip on their own accord and your back arches and your lips part to exhale a quivering moan.

Cum on them, piggy.

“F-Fuck, n-n-nuuuuugh—“

It’s too late. You crash into climax, crimson coated walls gripping those fingers and telling Jesse exactly what he wants to know. Your shaking voice echoes around the room, pitch rising sharply when the fingers slide from your cunt to rub perfect circles into your clit.

‘Cum again and you get my cock,’ screeches the phone. You don’t have a choice. He knows exactly how to get you there, has seen you do precisely this in all the videos you’ve made for him.

You stammer out some garbled protest, but it’s lost in the wake of the pleasure that unravels in your belly. It forces your legs to shut and bows you forward just as though his hand has returned to your head. It’s nearly too much, but that won’t stop the warm, thick length that settles against your entrance.

Now that’s the pussy we all know and love.

One hand returns to your hair and the other holds the knife flat against your lips. This allows you to see your scream fog up the blade when Jesse surges forward to impale you on that cock he promised.

You don’t know why you say it: “D-Daddy, it h-hurts, it’s too-too much…!”

Shaking behind you, rhythmic, like silent laughter. The hand leaves your hair so the phone can reply, ‘That’s why I’m doing it, baby girl.’

Jesse fixes his grip on your locks and renews his efforts tenfold. You can’t talk anymore, not with the way you’re arched, not with how furiously he brutalizes your hole. Every breath becomes a moan as it’s punched from your lungs, every jostle further tweaking your aching shoulders where they’re stretched wide. Shackles dig into the flesh of your wrists until steel turns red.

When Jesse wheezes in your ear, when cold Chrome touches your shoulder, when every inch of his girth throbs to paint you full of him, you cum again. The third orgasm is wrenched from you, painful and tight. Everywhere sings with strained pleasure, every nerve frayed and twitching.

A pathetic whine spills from your mouth and you’re released, allowed to slump over the edge of the coffin, cheek meeting silk once again. Warmth vanishes from your back and boot falls echo through the empty room. Plastic flutters.

Clattering. Squeak. Rushing of air. Click. WHOOSH. Using the last vestiges of your strength, you pull yourself upright. Blearily, you look over your shoulder. Make-up smeared eyes widen.

Jesse lights a torch. The flames reflect eerily across the chrome grin. He shifts to place the torch against the end of a long metal rod.

A branding iron.

Wildly, you yank your arms, jiggle the chains, brace with your legs. You cry and scream and thrash and jerk, anything to free yourself. You only succeed in scooting the coffin a little way across the floor and peeling the skin away from your wrists.

Slowly, ominously, Jesse approaches. Each step is a cacophony as it echoes around the room to fill your ears with panic. The branding iron glows in the dark and acrid smoke fills the air.

You sob and shake your head, feverishly begging, desperately scooting as far away as your bonds and aching limbs will allow. Jesse’s head tilts to the side and he waves the iron teasingly through the air. The phone screen momentarily lights up the mask as he types.

There’s no saying ‘No’ to me now, is there?

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Surprise forehead kiss!!!

-10 int

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Hitting terminal indecisiveness while I'm playing with Bad End Mikie's design so you all get the misfortune and blessing of seeing way too many Mikies. Six of them. Sorry and you're welcome.

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

In the Mikie LI route in my heart sometimes the +Lust marker is red instead of pink and you don't get an explanation for why so you may assume that it's just a mistake. But it is not. It's a different lust stat you're adding to, watch out.

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

BAN ON CONVERSION PRACTICES IN THE EU. GO SIGN IT. DEADLINE IS FUCKING MAY 17. WE'RE STILL MISSING 800.000 signatures. FUCKING DO IT.

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

I don't know how to do that Xiko. I haven't even kissed anyone yet let alone had sex…

[Let's say you're going off the setting from this scenario.]

TW: Kidnapping; Intimidation; Emotional manipulation; Threats.

Your mentor said not to disappoint him.

In fact, she didn't seem too keen on letting you be the one to handle this client, but when he openly stated interest in having your services, she couldn't deny it.

That scared you.

The helpless, frustrated resignation in her twitching arms, then this glazed unease, like she'd been through something similar before, walking towards you, unseeing, to harshly whisper what little words of advice she could squeeze out in time.

Do not disappoint Mr. Xiko. Do whatever he says.

Chilling words.

Something about her tone indicated there was no room for argument. Looking at the eerily intense undead, the silent intimidation that permeated the very walls of this small business, you believed it.

Xiko wasn't easy to work on.

From the very start, although he seemed familiar with the process of removing jewelry and obstructive clothing, he was very reluctant when putting down his valuables. Suppose he must have been greedy in life, but for those instincts to manifest in undeath is surprising.

Something about his body is so wrong.

Well, most undead usually don't feature intact forms, but you couldn't help wonder why his mouth was so freakishly enlarged, why only a single glowing eyeball peeked through that void, boring holes into the fabric of your soul. The dented part of his chest, as if someone had wanted to shatter his sternum, was an area you avoided altogether. Everything else was difficult to work on. He was stiff in many zones, utterly rogid, muscles locked into awkward positions that you can only imagine would drive a living person to pained lunacy.

To say you've shed sweat and tears to work on Xiko is putting it very lightly.

He's a strange client. The deep unease never left. He might have been the one lying down this whole time, but it felt as if he was in charge. Wherein a standard client might have yelped or grunted hard at certain pops, Xiko merely jerked a limb and stared on, ever focused on you.

The few times he would talk, the undead would ask personal questions. What's your name, where did you come from, how did you end up in Hell, why are you working here? Evasive answers were met with a displeased hum.

The conversation wasn't mutual, it seems, because when you began your own, more polite line of questioning, all you got was that Ziko is a mummy. The second you asked about his work, he shot you down in the spot and silence reigned. That was all the answer you needed, leaving a sinking feeling deep in your gut. It felt as if you'd made a mistake, and chances are there's a limited amount of those you can make with this particular monster.

Sincerely, you're just glad you made it to the end of the massage, with him vaguely content about it.

Or, you would be, if the mummy hadn't began tugging your hand towards a distinct protrusion in his underwear.

You had noticed, of course.

It's not the first time with male clients, you understand that it just happens sometimes. The best course of action is to simply ignore the erection, and continue working. Part of you internally joked that it's a miracle those parts of him still work, though considering the high stakes of this particular client, it's rather grim that they stir at all.

And yes, while there have been smart-asses requesting to be jerked off, your mentor is always called there to handle the situation.

What can she do now, realistically?

This couldn't happen, you had to say something, do something, quick.

" I don't know how to do that, Mr. Xiko. I haven't even kissed anyone yet, let alone... "

A panicked mouth runs much too loose.

It's far too late when you realize the information you let slip, a somewhat embarrassing truth that you hope may at least discourage the pervert. He could just be looking for something quick and effortless...

Xiko sits straighter, the steady grip on your hand all but disappearing. You see him twitch.

" You're fucking with me. " He points, humorous, expecting a punchline to a joke perhaps.

" ... No. "

What else can you even say?

It was too sudden to halt.

He has a grip around your chin in a flicker of a second, observing you closer.

" Don't make me laugh, I might pull another muscle. " The corners of that gargantuan mouth rise. " A cute thing like you, in Hell, in a massage parlor- Get real. You're acting cute on purpose. "

" Sir... Let go. "

He doesn't.

In fact, those dried, long fingers start turning your head this way and that. Gently, condescendingly.

" Tch. I miss soft things like you. Not even the Rings have this. " Thick claws start to sink into your flesh, relenting when a pained groan escapes. " Mm, soft indeed. "

Furrowed brows question the lunatic, your reluctant silence at being treated like a rare commodity only further accentuated when another hand rises, thumbing along your lower lip, as if he's confirming you're truly that soft. Your jaw is coaxed down, two greenish fingers closing in.

For a brief, panicked second, you consider biting Xiko, even if that might not be the most effective against an undead.

Then, the words of your mentor echo back to your frontal lobe and your jaw simply locks in place.

You'd be putting more than just yourself in danger.

At least, you sigh inwardly, his hands seem clean.

Two fingertips tap the flat of your tongue, then drift apart to feel the small points of your canines, prodding around the enamel protrusions while he occasionally chuckles to himself.

You've been told human teeth are defeated even by the those of a demonoid infant. Could you hope to sever those long, dried fingers if you bit down, or would he snap your jaw open in a blink?

The prodding shifts to your tongue, a slow back and forth of pensive, admiring digits. You have to wonder if Xiko has a tongue at all, given the impossible wideness of his mouth. Maybe it's still there, shrunken and functionless, a remnant of what he once was.

In a disgusting way, Xiko seems fascinated by the fact that his motions are inevitably making you drool more. His obscured eye ever intensely watching while he plays with the moisture between his digits, tracing the inside of your cheeks and even trying to catch your tongue.

It's somewhere between extremely humiliating and weirdly... Flattering. The gross attention he's offering to such a trivial part of your body.

" I forgot how wet you all are... "

The pervert finally says, receding his hand only to brush your own drool against your lips.

" It's been a while. "

" ... Huh? "

" Say what little plum, I'll teach you. "

The words you dreaded to hear. He's not easily swayed, as you expected.

" Mr. Xiko, I don't think- "

The sudden vise grip around your wrist effectively silences you. It doesn't take a scientist to know he can shatter that joint with enough force.

The anger you should be feeling doesn't get a chance to rise when you spot his spare hand moving down, to free him from the confines of strained boxers.

" Come on, it's a favor from the heart. " He snickers, a joke you'll never get. " After all, you need to be prepared for the Rings. "

There was no way to avoid gawking.

Again, you can't help but wonder why this part of him isn't emaciated and rugged like the rest of his body. No, where one might expect a functionless ghost of genitalia, Xiko sports a swollen, lengthy cock featuring more vivid blue-ish hues than the rest of his entire body. There's absolutely nothing amiss with it, if not for the collection of flashy looking piercings adorning his frenulum. It flexes on its own, you think he might have gotten harder in this short span of time. It's not something you like to admit, but this monster is larger than you think you could ever take.

Not that you plan to... But you thought about it, for a second. Wondered what it'd be like. Most people around you have already experienced these things, in their own homes probably, or at least with people they trust.

And yet, all you get is an undead freak flashing himself to you.

Chuckling from above jolts you straighter than a board. Your cheeks catch fire from the notion that you've been staring wordlessly for what must have been an ego-stroking amount of time.

" You're going to tell me you never saw one before? " Sarcasm drips off him.

" I... I did. " There's really no way to escape such, the Internet is much too exposing for its own good. " Just not in person... "

He spreads his legs, as if wanting to give you a better view, the confidence of someone who believes himself to be the most impressive man you'll ever see.

When your hand is brought closer, you shiver, mind running a mile per second. You're not even sure how to give a handjob. Sure, you've seen it, but how hard exactly should the grip be? Where do you focus? What if you let him down? What will he do to you and your mentor?

Cupping your hand in his, Xiko secures it around his shaft, and you're not sure what you were expecting. Sturdy yet spongy, it makes sense, though you couldn't have guessed the sensation. He looks into your frantic eyes when he makes the first few experimental pumps, guiding your hand as far as he enjoys it, twisting ever so slightly.

You study the pattern.

It's what you do, after all, memorize massage patterns. This is almost no different, you tell yourself.

" Ffucking Hell, I knew you'd be worth it. " He groans openly, tightening your digits around him, tensing upwards every now and again. " Pretty, warm hands... I can feel you shake around me. "

Can he blame you?

Xiko moves your grip up, fetching his own beading precum to make the motions smoother, then bending as if to tell you a secret.

" Do I scare you? "

In all honesty, anyone who scares your mentor scares you.

She's an older woman with tenfold the street smarts you could ever hope to achieve. She's filled you in on some of the biggest boogeymen of the Rings during breaks. If she can't find a way to weasel out of Xiko's sight, then you might as well be a dead man walking.

He takes your lack of response as the confirmation it is.

His hands shift to your hair, petting you in a strange manner. You suppose it must be alien for some monsters to touch hair, when they either lost it or never had any to begin with. You're not spared any breaks however, because he bucks into your fist to remind you of what you should be doing.

It's not necessarily hard to mimic what he showed you, just embarrassing. Especially when he croons some kind of pleased noise.

" See? You learn well. Try just a little bit faster. "

There's nothing to distract from the way he throbs against your hand, one of the few parts of his body that you can bet feels like its living counterpart. You take solace in the fact that you don't have to stare at his gaping maw, at the eerie eye peeking from within. A chest that should be heaving with sharp intakes of air remains utterly static, yet still, he vocalizes, sighs in some way. A ghastly noise.

" Beautiful things like you sell very fast. Especially mostly untouched. "

The heat of your cheeks gets drowned in a wave of rattling, cold chills. A strand of loose hair is tucked back into place, and you try to hold back the tears as you jerk him off.

" Please... Please no- "

Your mind goes everywhere in that moment.

It's over if Xiko decides to sell you for a pretty penny. Realistically, what do you have to trade for your own freedom? What do you own that supersedes your own pricetag in the bowels of Hell? Whose claws would close around your neck?

" Easy, I'm not putting you out there. " He wheezes humorously, no doubt catching the fearful skepticism written in your petrified features. " You think the big bad demon's going to sell you out, hm? "

Even if the question wasn't rhetorical, the lump in your throat would never have allowed you to answer.

" My little plum, I'll tell you a hard truth right now. "

A mint hand fists your hair by the scalp and gently but sternly forces you to look at the tiny window between this room and the main entrance. It's one-sided, allowing employees a peek into what's going on outside. You spot your mentor sitting on one of the waiting hall sofas, dragging her hands down her face.

" Sometimes the people you trust the most will fuck you over sooner than the big bad wolf outside. "

Already shaken eyes widen slowly.

No.

He couldn't mean...

" You've been handed to me like a wrapped present. "

The tears do flow.

You couldn't stop them even if you tried now. Because you know he's not bluffing. Your mentor looks nauseated, bags under her eyes as if a ghost flew by. She sentenced you to this. To Xiko. Maybe she didn't really have a choice, in the end.

But that doesn't mean it's fair. That doesn't mean you have to forgive her.

She laid you on the table like a bargaining chip at one of Greed's sleazy casinos, and he snatched you up without a thought...

The sound that makes it past your lips isn't quite a sob, more of a broken, coughed exhale. Quickstarting your lungs again.

" Ssshh... " The undead rests your head against his dried chest. " I know. I bet you thought you were special to her. "

And the worst part is that he's right. It's humiliating.

" But you're special to me. "

A previously mellow hold becomes barbed, pressing sharp points into the meat of your body. You're shifted to face him.

" See, I don't let what's mine get swept away. I don't hand it out like charity. And I don't rest until it's in my hands again. "

You should have known what was coming when Xiko slid your limp hand off his cock. In spite of his words, there's no real concern for your state of misery right now. He looks glad that you're falling apart right in front of him.

" You're worth being mine, right? "

What's the alternative written there? Being tossed at anyone in general? Being killed?

Don't think about it.

Survive.

" Y-Yes. "

He tilts his head, silence ringing for a few seconds.

" ... Yes, sir? "

" Oh, you're precious. " He snickers, petting through locks of hair that must be a little sweaty by now, the nerves alone having you extremely on edge.

" Knees. "

Although causal, it's an order, something that jolts you back into the previous scandalous activities.

The second your knees touch the cold floor, what's left of your pride falls into the cracks of infinite tiles, never to be seen again.

You'd like to say you're at face level with Xiko's shaft, but he's actually quite tall. You imagine it must be casting a shadow on your face. He sees this too.

" Or squat, whatever suits you best. "

A welcome alternative for now.

It's obvious he wants oral, but your lack of experience freezes you anew. All you can do is wrap your hand around him again, static, just as expectant as he is.

" Come on, give it a kiss. "

The nerve of this pig.

You don't have the courage to look him in the eyes as you do it, planting a chaste peck to the tip of his member and retracting when the peculiar taste makes itself known.

" Not so hard, was it? Make things easier for yourself and get it wet, plum. "

It's not easy to flick through the porn you've seen when under the spotlight like this. You recall some particular acts that, although pretty raunchy to witness, may have actually had a practical reason behind them.

Hesitantly, you hold the undead's cock and slide your tongue from the bottom of his length to the tip, doing the same for the opposite side.

Xiko hums, fingers twitching in surprise. You imagine the kind of sight you must make, drooling on his dick like it's a lollipop.

" Ha, see? There's a trick I didn't need to teach you. "

He places a hand on the back of your head, it neither pushes nor pulls, merely rests there. For now.

" Open up sweets, I'll make things easy for you this time. I think you deserve it. "

Although it should feel the other way around, you're secretly relieved he seems to want to take control of the act. There's no chance to disappoint him then, surely.

The monster moans something in infernal when you do just that, glaze flickering between his own and the throbbing thing he plans to insert in your mouth. There's little hope in you that this will be smooth, considering the larger than average proportions most monsters have. Xiko is no outlier, he's long and slightly curved, not to mention the piercings. Hopefully that doesn't get in the way.

" Tongue. "

He urges, pushing your hand away to stroke himself to the sight.

Squatted on the ground, looking up with a hanging tongue, you must look no better than a bitch in heat to him. And you bet that's precisely what he wants.

" Breathe through your nose, or you won't make it a minute. "

Is all the warning you get before Xiko taps the tip of his cock on your resting tongue, shifting his hips as if to savor that for a blissful moment, then slowly inserts around a third of his length into the heat past your lips.

He... Tastes odd. You suppose that's how men taste? Or is it just him in particular? This tang. The scent of him is overpowering and inescapable now. Your tongue trembles uselessly and you swallow in reflex, something you regret, because it's much harder to achieve with an intrusion of this size.

The monster huffs, gratified chuckling that you feel through his member. " Ohh ffuck yeah, finally. Hot wet pretty girl, I bet that cunt is wetter still. I can't wait to have you squeeze me stupid with that little hole. "

You can barely react. No one's ever said such filth to you.

" Tongue over your teeth. Pucker a little. Theeere we go, perfect. "

Finally, he slides more of himself in. You can already feel the uncomfortable pressure making you want to pull back, the gag that dies muffled against a thick cock and makes your vision blur again.

" Let's see how much you can take right now. "

That jolly tone was a bad sign.

The answer is underwhelming and quick, Xiko can barely squeeze a few inches in before your eyes are rolling and your gut heaves in a motion that threatens to evacuate your lunch.

He laughs, allowing you to face away and cough harshly, your chin drips spittle and his dick glistens with saliva, a severed string staining the floor.

" Hmm... We can work on that. This'll do for now. "

Work on it...? You can only imagine how much gagging and choking you'll have to go through before you can take him all the way down. How do other people even achieve that?

Xiko is merciful enough to not push past your limit too often, lightly using your head to get you accustomed to the motion. Initially, you struggled with your own drooling, learning that when you swallow, he moans in appreciation at the contractions.

" Look at me. "

You hadn't even realized that you had your eyes closed. It seemed more natural that way. In fact, looking up at him proves itself to be a little harder than you expected, somehow interfering with your ability to keep your throat muscles relaxed. At some point though, you can glance at him without choking or blinking erratically.

" There. " The undead purrs. " Good. You'll be a joy to train. "

That doesn't feel like a compliment at all.

" You know little plum, it doesn't sound right to take your cherry here. "

It doesn't sound right for him to be taking it at all, but who's listening to your two cents on the matter?

" How about a big bed, hm? Satin sheets and the best lingerie I can order, I'll even take some of the scented stuff you have in here. Doesn't it sound better? "

In spite of the pleasure that makes his hips occasionally buck out of rhythmn, Xiko sounds a little distant, likely picturing the event. You imagine it too, brows furrowing. When he tugs your head back, making his cock pop out of your mouth, you understand he expects an answer.

" ... Why? "

That's not the correct answer, not the one that will placate him, but you just have to understand the thought process behind it. Is he saying these things to delude you into thinking that's what you want? To make himself feel better?

His head cants, the beads around those large horns jingle slightly. " Why? You think I shouldn't treat my things with care? Don't tell me you want to be thrown onto the nearest convenient surface and get railed however... " The look in his eye tells you he'll gladly do it if you provoke him.

" Besides- " He slots himself back into your mouth, although this time his pace is significantly faster.

You learn that, when his motions are faster, there's a chance they won't immediately trigger your gag reflex. The waterworks do inevitably come back though, you feel spit pool on your chin again.

" How many people do you think get to have their first time in luxury? "

Probably not many, in Hell at least.

Not that you'd call the circumstances a luxury.

Xiko is being a lot less merciful to you now. Either lost in fantasies of taking your virginity for himself or simply trying to test your resilience. All you can do now is hold onto his thighs and take it as smoothly as possible. The mounting soreness of your jaw distracts you from the threats your flipping stomach makes, no one ever told you it would be this difficult to perform oral...

" Hey. "

Although the monster doesn't stop, a thumb comes to wipe away some of your tears. You attempt, miserably, to look up.

" Look at me, I want to see the face you'll make. "

The face you'll make?

The confusion doesn't last that long, it becomes very evident what Xiko's talking about when his own gaping smile becomes a slight grimace and his hips stutter- He pulls back just enough that you can taste it.

It's...

A little cold.

Shouldn't it be warm? Especially for denizen of the Rings, you've heard theirs tends to be hot. Then again, he's not alive... The taste isn't that pleasant, and the sensation of his load quickly pooling in your mouth makes you swallow out of mild panic.

It continues to be a struggle even after Xiko freezes in pleasure, a rumble of delight so deep that it rattles the room, not helping you keep up with the quantity.

You're only allowed to pull back when a choked cough makes you spit some of his cum out. A disgusting show that makes the undead snicker like a pervert.

He pants, sagging somewhat, watching you kneel to give your legs a rest and wipe seed dripping off the corner of your lips.

" So? Good? "

You get the feeling it's more mockery than a genuine inquiry. He milks the last of his orgasm lazily and uses his own hand to collect whatever didn't get into your mouth.

Even if you wanted to flatter him... It's gross. The aftertaste is strong, too strong. You swear you can smell it, feel it clinging to the back of your throat as if refusing to slide down no matter how much you swallow dryly. You'd kill for water right now. And a wipe.

" N... No. "

Fortunately, the honesty just makes Xiko snort out loud. A clean hand tucks him back into his clothes, the remaining one reaches to offer you stained finger tips.

" Yeah, you'll get used to it. "

The demon coos, rubbing it into your tongue just to see you scrunch your face again. The disgusting freak has the nerve to wipe those fingers clean on the table afterwards.

You stand up, confused, ashamed, hurting.

A lot has happened in a much too short period of time. Your first sexual experience, a betrayal you could have never seen coming... And now, servitude to a strange of unknown power.

Xiko's faintly glowing hue watches you while he recovers.

There's a slight rustling sound when he pulls something out of his pocket. A gaunt arm tosses it to the floor.

It shines and clicks against the tiles, opening in the process.

A knife. The thing spins for a silent pause, its' pointed end finally halting to face you.

Xiko remains still.

" Go say goodbye to your mentor so we can head out. "

You grab the pocket knife like a lifeline, trembling hands evaluate it. Golden engravings in infernal decorate its dark handle, it looks sharpened to spotless perfection.

You're not stupid. If Xiko is handing you this, then it's because you can't use it against him. In fact, you're willing to bet he won't so much as flinch if you stabbed it right into his chest...

Looking at the small window again, the sight of that wretched woman grabbing a smoke fills you with incredible rage.

It's not fair.

You open the door without a second thought.

Xiko claps and cackles behind.

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Daisy and Harper comic

Still going to those weekly visits though.

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

um sorry for moaning when you stabbed me. it's been a really long time since anyone touched me like that

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

I think I'm learning the wrong message from your art and I'm going to make myself like the men you post because they are cool.

anon...... anon i do not think that is a good idea........

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

yes.

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Hello!! Idk if this counts as a request rather than a regular ask (if so, please feel free to ignore this) but i was wondering what you’d think Jack would be like if he was a captive rather than the captor?? Love ur writing btw <33

Ohohohoho… eheeheheh >:3

Have you ever wondered if a wild wolverine would make a good roommate? If you haven’t, that’s probably because you’re an insightful individual and you understand that the obvious answer is “good heavens, by no means!”

Having Jack as a captive would not be unlike having a wild wolverine for a roommate. Which is to say, inadvisable and not for the faint of heart. There’s a lot of frightening noises, general destruction, and frequent attempts on your life. (How did you even get him in here, anyway?? Sheesh.)

Let’s say he captured you for his little desert game, but his penchant for the feisty ones got him into trouble this time – turns out you’re just as unhinged as him! So you get free, knock him out, and drag him to your dungeon.

He’s going to be very angry when he wakes up. He’ll probably say some hurtful things. Luckily, he’s quite securely bound (you learned from his mistakes), so all he can do is holler and thrash. Soon, he’ll calm down, and then he’s all sweet talk: aren’t you smart, and gorgeous, and don’t you want to untie him so you can team up?? He’s practically batting his eyelashes (he knows he’s pretty), but don’t listen to him. It’s a trick!

When that doesn’t work, he’s mad again for a while. Let him cook a little longer. He’ll try bargains, threats, and pretty little promises, and then, eventually, he’ll go quiet and sulky. At this point, and no sooner, you can approach him (though you may want to muzzle him for your safety).

Start soft. Light fingers through his hair, around the shell of his ear, down the muscles of his chest. He’ll fight, but just in a perfunctory kind of way. Once you’ve got him leaning into you against his better judgment, practically purring, the time has come to dominate him like an animal.

Go rough all at once. Pin him, claw him, bite him bite him bite him. He’ll struggle and growl, then pant and moan, then beg. He’ll be putty in your hands. There are two ways to go, and you have to pick one of them, no middle ground: you can either refuse to let him come, or you can force him to do it over and over and over. You can alternate these approaches every so often for enrichment purposes, but not all in one day.

In between sessions, pay him zero attention. Continue the cycle for a few months and you’ve got yourself a tamed wolverine! Yay you!

He is not, however, a domesticated wolverine, so unbind or unmuzzle him at your own risk. (Don’t do it.)