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aurorawritestoescape · 4 months

Text

THE BURGLARY

written with @milla-frenchy

Pairing: burglar!Joel Miller x f!reader x burglar!Tommy Miller

Summary: two men break into your house and take more than just your valuables.

TW: 18+ mdni. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. NON-CON. Smut. Violence, suffocation, knife/gun play, penetration with a gun, mfm, bondage, degradation, praise, oral (male receiving), a depraved game, butt and pussy slapping, unprotected piv, creampies, cum eating, swearing.

Word count: 4,6k

A/n: @milla-frenchy and I wrote this fic as our contribution to Dead Dove December by @romana-after-dark. Romana, thank you for hosting this amazing event celebrating dark fic! @milla-frenchy I had so much fun writing with you! I love you, baby!❤️🫂Dividers by @saradika-graphics

If you’re sensitive to any of the warnings, do not read the fic! We don’t condone the actions of the characters. It is all fictional!

MILLA’S MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

You’re standing in front of the bathroom mirror, the sound of water filling the tub is calming and hypnotizing. You’re wearing nothing but a pink robe, soft and warm. You untie it and open it wide before your gaze travels down to your breasts. You cup them gently and rub the nipples with your thumbs. They perk up at the touch and you flutter your eyes shut as the waves of arousal are spreading through every nerve in your body. One hand leaves your breast and glides down to caress your tummy and then mound. You dip your finger in between your folds and swirl it around your slightly wet clit. When you open your eyes, the mirror reflects your blown pupils back to you. You contemplate getting your vibrator from the drawer and using it in the bath. Your husband is away on a business trip and he won’t be back for a few more days but the idea of waiting for him to satisfy your desire excites you so you take a deep breath trying to calm down.

You take the robe off and hang it next to the sinks. You turn around, come up to the already full tub and bend over to check the water temperature. This is when he grabs you.

The iron grip of his hand is holding your wrists behind your back. His bulge is pushing in between your naked asscheeks. He’s big and strong and you’re helpless against him. He’s keeping you bent over the full bath and then pushes your torso down. Your head is submerged in the tub and you scream and thresh about but your cries are completely silenced by the water suffocating you. Your attempts to break free are fruitless. His fist is clenching your hair and it burns like hell but the pain in your burning lungs overshadows everything else. You’re trying to free yourself from his hold, to kick him and push him away but his beastly strength doesn’t let you.

You’re about to black out when he lifts your head by your hair and your mouth finally takes a life-giving breath. You cough and cry trying to get as much oxygen as he lets you and exclaim, “No, no, stop it, please!”

He growls and pulls your torso up and flush against his chest. You’re covered in water droplets, already cold and shivering but for another reason. The stranger might kill you and the thought makes you tremble and beg for mercy,

“I’ll give you everything, I’ll do anything! Pls let me go..”

You’re crying and screaming but he’s deaf to your pleas. You feel his breath on your cheek and he bites it. He doesn’t break the skin but the pain makes you wail. The man shakes your body and laughs, “Silly girl, the louder you scream the harder it’ll make me.”

Your back is pressed to his broad chest and your whole body is shaking as if electricity is going through every part of you.

“I saw you touching yourself, little slut. Made me hard like a rock,” he bucks his hips into your ass and you feel his clothed hard-on. “I coulda just taken what I wanted and left. But now I think I’ll take this pussy too.” He slaps your mound a little harder than a lover would and a whine escapes your lips.

“Started without me?”

You feel even more terrified if it’s even possible when you hear another voice.

“Nah, just gave this pretty slut a wash. Don't wanna touch her husband's crusted cum on her. We gonna leave our own.”

“Right, brother.” They laugh and you feel you might be sick. It can’t be happening. The sobs are shaking your body as you’re trying to turn your head to the side so you could see the new man.

“Please, let me go,” you plead, hoping the other intruder will be kinder to you.

The first attacker yanks your whole body to the side, turning you away from the tub so you’d face the second man. Your tears make his image blurry, resembling a dark shadow. He’s wearing all black and his face is hidden behind a balaclava. He sounds younger than the other one and is not as huge but he’s still bigger than you. He comes up close, takes your wet cheeks between his gloved fingers and pushes making your lips pout. You mewl and they both laugh. His other hand darts to your mound and he grabs your pussy squeezing your flesh with his harsh fingers. You whine and he looks at the other attacker over your shoulder, “She’s so soft and pretty. Can’t wait to use her.”

His accomplice hums in agreement, pressing his covered chin to your cheek and rubbing your delicate skin with the material of his mask, “need her to open the safe first.”

The second man agrees and steps out of the way while you’re being pushed to the door and into the master bedroom. You walk clumsily but as soon as you reach the doorframe you push all your weight to the side making your capturer crash into the door. Startled for a moment he eases his grip on you and you launch forward. The wetness of your body helps you to slip out of his hands and you’re running out of the room and along the hall crying for help as loud as you can.

Thoughts rush through your head as you realize that you need to get out of the house. So you race to the stairs but as soon as you reach them a hand grips your hair and pulls you back. It hurts and you try to break free but the man overpowers you with ease, drops his weight on you and you both fall on the floor. He grumbles and you realize that it’s the second intruder. He grabs your hands and ties your wrists behind your back with a rope.

“Stop, please, no!” you cry out, feeling pain in your scalp and body but the ache is dull as all your senses are fully focused on survival.

“Slippery bitch!” the younger man spits out and having restrained your hands, sits up on the back of your thighs panting heavily. He slaps your naked asscheek and you sob, tears soaking the carpet.

You hear steps and the first man comes up to you from the side. “Nice try, little slut,” he mocks you, pushing your shoulder lightly with the tip of his black boot. He orders to take you back to the bedroom.

You’re sitting on the floor in front of the safe in your walk-in closet. The men are towering behind you not afraid of you running away as your hands are securely restrained and you look and feel exhausted from the nerves and your attempts to break free.

The bigger man crouches next to you and his gloved fingers grasp your hair. Like a puppeteer he turns your head to him and rumbles, “Password, sweetie.” You begin saying the numbers immediately not seeing the point in protecting your valuables while your life is at stake.

“Please, take everything, just let me go… please,” you beg with a shaking voice but a carnal grin flashes in the opening of his balaclava and panic grips your heart.

“Open your pretty mouth, sweetheart,” he coos at you with a fake care as the other man chuckles and you see him bringing a knife to your face. It looks like a switchblade. You start pleading and crying again, horrifying images flooding your mind. Not waiting for you to calm down, the intruder turns the knife handle up and inserts it into your mouth.

“Hold it,” he orders, “just imagine it’s your husband’s dick. Bite it real hard, I’m sure you’re mad at him for leaving you alone now.”

He pushes your head down to the safe and you bend over awkwardly trying not to fall, knife between your teeth.

You hear the other man’s voice, “Press the buttons for us, princess, come on,” his voice is soft but it makes your hair stand up.

You sob and the knife nearly falls out of your mouth but you clench your teeth around it more tightly and bring the blade to the buttons.

“That’s our girl,” the first man mumbles, as his hand in your hair keeps you from falling.

You push the numbers with the tip of the blade and hear beeps. “You have a nice ass, baby,” the second intruder comments, apparently ogling your butt while you are bending over. You hear a click of the safe door and they push you out of the way hurrying to get their hands on the things they came for. At least you hope they came just for that.

You look up at them, wondering what they're going to do to you. You still hope they will leave, now that you've opened the safe for them.

You try not to panic and focus on your breathing. You can see their dark eyes through the openings of their balaclavas. They look at each other communicating without a word, and then the bigger one turns to you.

“How much time do we have?” he asks his accomplice, his gaze locked with yours.

“Half an hour, easy,” the other man replies.

Your hairs stand up and your breath catches in your throat. You feel that your brain is trying to convince itself that they are not going to hurt you more. You don't dare imagine what they are capable of.

The younger one grabs you by both arms and forces you to get up.

“We have plenty of time to have a little fun,” he laughs, dragging you towards your bedroom. You try to resist, but in vain. He turns around and pushes you against the wall. His hand grips your throat and you watch him in fear as he removes his balaclava. He has brown, shoulder-length wavy hair, and a mustache. The fact that he is uncovering his face terrifies you. These men don't care if you can describe them, and you wonder if you will make it out alive.

He brings his face closer to yours, to the point where your noses could touch, and leans his pelvis against you. You feel his hard cock on your lower belly and the last hope your mind was trying to cling to is now gone. He tilts his head to the side and smiles, looking at you. You hear his brother laugh behind him and say “you’re a fuckin’ psycho, Tommy.” He takes off his balaclava as well, and his face appears behind his brother. He has short, brown hair, a light beard and a mustache. You try to memorize their faces, in case you can describe them to the police. Later.

That “later” fades away when Tommy moves closer to your cheek and slowly licks his way to your cheekbone. You start shaking like a leaf and he laughs, unties your hands behind your back, and grabs your arm before tugging you after him. He pushes you onto the bed, where you fall on your back.

You try to get up, but the other man pulls a gun out of the back of his jeans and points it at you,

“You’re starting to piss me off, sweetheart, so I’m gonna set things straight. We'll fuck you and then we’ll leave. If you struggle, you'll turn us on even more. If you scream, we'll fuck you harder. Do I make myself clear?”

His icy voice, his words stop you and you lie down again. He hands the gun to Tommy and says “I’m gonna need my hands.”

You widen your eyes when he unzips his jeans and pulls out his cock. Thick. Much too big.

“Oh, sweetie, judging by your reaction, your husband has a small dick,” he says, laughing again. His brother chuckles too and adds, “She’s so not ready for our cocks, Joel.” He grabs your legs and pulls them towards him to lay you down.

Joel approaches the bed, slowly jerking off, and kneels on the bed at your side, before bringing his cock closer to your face, “Now you’re gonna suck me off, sweetheart. And after any dumb move from you, my brother will blow your brains out, ok?”

You nod. Your only hope now is that they end this quickly. You try to put aside another source of anxiety that is gnawing at your heart - their uncovered faces.

Joel taps your face with his cock twice before you part your lips slightly, and he says "Sweetie, open wide, or it ain’t gonna fit". You hold back the tears that are stinging your eyes, and you open your mouth wider. He slides the tip into your mouth, and you round your lips around it. He doesn't wait any longer, and sinks into you, holding your head in his hands.

He stops halfway down his member, then pulls back, before thrusting in with one stroke, making you choke. You hear Tommy laugh and can no longer hold back your tears as panic overtakes you and amplifies your suffocation. “Stop it, Tommy, you’re scaring the little thing!” Joel says with a chuckle.

He pulls out of your mouth and releases your head, and you feel Tommy get between your thighs. You murmur, “No, please”, but Joel adds, “Come on, sweetheart, my little brother needs to get his dick wet, too, right?”

Tommy rubs his cock against your folds, then against your clit. His tip rubs it several times, and to your horror you feel your pussy getting wet.

“Little slut is so wet for our cocks, Joel, can you believe it?”

“They always are. All fuckin’ whores.”

Tommy pulls back a little and looks at his cock, before slowly pushing it into your pussy, and growls "Fuck...she's tight, man." You wince as you feel your folds parted.

“Point your gun at her. I’m gonna fuck her throat, I don’t want her to do anything stupid.”

Tommy cocks his gun at your head and starts fucking you, thrusting deeper. Joel grabs your temples with his hands again, and his erect cock sinks in your mouth. He grips your head tighter, and quickly fucks your mouth, grunting. Your saliva pools against his member, and he is thrusting deeper and deeper, at the same pace as his brother is fucking your pussy. His cock hits the back of your throat, and he suddenly pauses, holding your nose pressed against his pubes.

“Don’t move, sweetie.”

You try to calm down, your mind in shock at what’s happening to you. In your home, where you should be safe. He finally pulls away, before thrusting in again, yet not going all the way to your throat.

“You’re taking us good, baby”, Tommy says, leaning over you and pressing his nose to your neck, the gun against your temple.

Still fucking your mouth, Joel tells his brother,“Stretch her with the gun. The handle. Let’s see if her little pussy can take it. Afraid I’ll split her in two with my cock.”

You want to scream, your mouth full of Joel’s cock, but only a vague moan leaves your mouth.

“And I’m the psycho?” Tommy laughs, pulling out and sitting up.

Joel pulls out too, and moves away from you with his hard cock in his hand, watching Tommy position the handle of the gun at your entrance with one gloved hand, and pressing your stomach with the other to hold you against the bed. He pushes gently and you cry out, “No, please stop, it won’t fit!”

“We’ll make it fit. You’re wet enough to take it.”

He keeps pushing, and the tip of the handle sinks into you.

“Say ‘thank you’ to Tommy for stretching you, sweetheart.”

You feel like you're going to pass out. You look at their faces, their eyes fixed on your pussy dilated around the gun, and you try to relax. A part of you wants to rebel and fight, but the other one takes over, knowing that you have no way out of this.

“Look, Joel, she's dripping. Good that we’re using the handle, she woulda ruined the barrel with her wetness,” Tommy comments and they laugh again degrading you.

“Ok, pull it out. She’s ready. Gonna fuck her now”, Joel says and adds, “Get on all fours.”

You don't move, too scared at the idea of what happens next, and Tommy points the muzzle at your forehead. Your tears start to fall again and you finally turn around, exposing your ass to Joel and standing on your hands and knees on the bed.

“I forgot that you had such a nice ass, sweetie!”

“Please… don’t do that”, you whimper with sobs in your voice.

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna damage your ass. Don’t have the time for that. There’s one more thing we’ll have to do, after we’re done with you.”

You don't have time to ask or even think what they want to do next, Tommy is already on the bed pressing his cock against your mouth. Joel grabs your hips with his hands, and thrusts into you in one swift move. You suffocate under the intrusion, and Tommy pushes his cock in between your lips.

“Come on, baby, be a good girl and let me fuck this wet hole of yours,” Joel mumbles opening your thighs wider and begins fucking you with quick thrusts. Then he slides his hand down to your clit and you try to shake your head, but Tommy holds you tight, his cock buried in your mouth.

Joel coos at you, “Come on, sweetheart, wanna feel your pussy squeeze my big cock.”

You try to resist, but his finger slides against your clit perfectly. You tell yourself that it will end faster if he gets what he wants and let your mind retreat, and the emotions in your body take over. You feel your orgasm building, and your pussy begins to contract.

“Tommy… little slut is clenching my dick so hard, and she hasn't come yet”, he groans with a smile.

Tommy pulls your hair with his hand, and pushes his cock into your mouth one more time, before pulling out, gloved fingers clasped around his shaft. You moan, and cum on Joel's cock while your eyes roll back and your legs are shaking. He’s groaning, feeling your spasms around his cock, “Fuckin’ hell, little slut must be so bored with her husband.”

Tommy’s carnal gaze is sliding down your body and he looks manic when he lifts his eyes at Joel and asks with a smile, “wanna play like that time?”

Joel looks back at him, pulls out of your crying pussy and chuckles, “you’re fucking crazy, brother.”

“Why?” Tommy mumbles running his gloved hand through your messy hair. He looks right into your eyes drinking your fear and his cock twitches.

“The last one wanted it. This one looks too gentle.”

Tommy leans over you bringing his face so close you smell cigarettes on his breath and tells Joel,

“She might surprise us, brother. I’m sure she’s freaky. Aren’t you, princess?”

He grabs your pussy and you gasp. Your gaze darts to Joel who watches his brother’s fingers massage your wet folds and begins stroking his cock,

“Fuck, yeah, let’s do it. If she chokes my cock till I come… might spare her.”

You hear his words and sobs are about to break out of your chest but Tommy senses it and places his free hand over your mouth, “we’ll play one game, princess and then we’ll leave, deal?”

He’s waiting for the answer but you can’t agree without knowing what this psycho means so you just stare at him with fearful eyes.

He straightens up glancing at his brother, “Fuck, I forgot I don’t have to ask cos I have this,” he takes out a gun from his waistband and waves it at you.

“On your mark, brother,” he says to Joel and the bigger man grabs your legs and pulls you roughly on the bed towards him. His cock pushes between your folds and you moan.

“See! The whore loves it!” Tommy points at your with his gun, triumphant smile on his face and you feel a tip of a cock thrust into you. Joel’s huge member parts your folds again and you plead for him to stop but he doesn’t hold back as its head jams right into your cervix after a couple of deep and hard thrusts.

“Hey, hey, Joel. You’ll come too soon! Where’s fun in that?”

Joel pauses his movements deep inside you and you look at the men with confusion and fear twisting your face. What game are they going to play with you? And are you going to survive it?”

“Ready?” Tommy asks and you catch your breath waiting for the worst. Then Tommy leans down a little and slaps your pussy with his leathered palm, just a few inches from the place where his brother’s cock is buried deep inside you. You cry out when the pain catches you off guard and to your horror realize that it’s quickly mixing with pressure. Joel grunts shutting his eyes for a second and then opens them to glance at his brother, “Fuck, you were right. She’s squeezing me real good. Fucking chocking my cock, little slut.”

You sense your walls contract around his girthy length and you hate yourself for it. “That’s just one”, Tommy warns as he lands another blow to your tortured pussy. “Two,” he counts and you mewl, your eyes rolling back while Joel’s groaning through his teeth and plants his hands on the bed at your sides.

“What is it, brother? She’s so pretty and sweet that you’re about to come already?” Tommy mocks the man and Joel looks up at him with a pained and angry expression.

Tommy backs off with his hands in the air still chuckling and then comes back to slap your clit again.

As soon as he says, “Three” you feel warmth filling your pussy up as Joel is coming with a long growl grasping your hips leaving white marks on your soft skin. He starts thrusting into your core again pumping you full of his spend and you feel sick when your core is tightening. You won’t come. You won’t give it to him.

“Holy fuck, princess, you have a magic pussy. To make my bro bust a nut just after three slaps!” He laughs and takes your head in his hands kissing your mouth. First as a joke he pecks your lips but after parting from you for a second he comes back for more as his tongue pushes between your lips. You freeze when he’s stealing another part of you, licking into your mouth while his brother prolongs his climax with short thrusts into your swollen pussy.

Finally Tommy parts from you and straightens up grabbing his cock. “Fuck, Joel, my turn. This bitch is so hot.” He looks into your eyes while Joel pulls out his semi hard cock, and you feel his cum leaking out of your stretched hole and slide down to your asshole.

The men switch positions and now Joel is standing over you while Tommy gets on the bed between your shaking legs. He sits on his heels staring at your hole and says in a calm but stern voice, “Squeeze it out, princess.” It’s so sick that you’re blinking at him until suddenly he directs his gun at you and repeats his command a little louder, “I said squeeze out the cum, little slut!”

You swallow loudly and tighten your muscles. With a satisfied grin he’s watching a string of milky liquid flow out of your hole.

“We need to hurry up,” Joel rumbles, zipping up his pants.

“Yeah, yeah…” Tommy replies, seemingly deaf to his brother’s words, his gaze fully focused on your pussy.

Still having his gloves on he brings his hand to your folds and pushes two fingers into your hole. Then he takes them out and climbs over your body. Without a word be pushes the leathered digits between your lips,with an order, “Clean them up, princess.” You do as you’re told, tasting Joel’s bitter cum and leather on your tongue.

“Good slut,” Tommy half praises half degrades you watching your tongue swirl around his covered digits.

“Fuck, Tommy, come on!” Joel hurries up his brother and the younger man finally listens, gets between your thighs and pushes his cock in with a growl. He slides in easily, your pussy wet with Joel’s cum and stretched out well.

“Come on, baby, let’s win this thing,” he says and you mewl, knowing what’s coming next.

Joel’s hand hits your pussy harsher than Tommy’s and you jolt from the pain. The younger man is hissing through his teeth looking at your swollen reddish folds. He shivers and grips your hips tighter. “Fuck you’re choking my cock, baby!”

Joel doesn’t wait long to stroke you again and a tear slides down the side of your face. Tommy shuts his eyes tilting his head back and as another slap lands on your poor clit you moan and squeeze Tommy’s cock so well it pushes him over. His balls tighten and he shoots his cum deep inside your core. His seed mixes with Joel’s and it’s too much cum for your poor pussy so it leaks out of you in globs pushed out by Tommy’s cock still moving inside you. When he stills panting heavily, he pulls out and announces, “Three-three, bro! Guess we’re both suckers for her pussy”. He tucks his cock away hastily and when he’s ready he leans over your swollen mound and gives it a peck, whispering, “killer-pussy!”

Joel is already gathering the things they’re taking with them and you’re lying not moving a muscle wishing for them to forget about you and leave. But soon Joel comes up to the bed and you see a phone in his hand. He reaches to your face and you flinch, “Shhh, sweetheart, it’s gonna be over soon. Just wanna take a few photos, for the memories,” he mocks you with a smirk trying to fix your messy hair and wiping your face with his sleeve.

“Give me, I’ll do it,” Tommy appears from behind Joel taking the phone from his brother. He directs the camera at your face and commands, “Smile, princess, show us how happy you’re that we’re leaving.”

You smile weakly and he takes a few photos of you splayed on the bed, marks covering your skin. He makes you open your legs and takes a photo of your pussy leaking out their spend on your marital bed. Then he’s checking the photos and mumbles talking to you ,

“You’re a great fuck, princess. Can’t believe your asshole of a husband gets to have you whenever he wants…he’ll have a hard time filling your pussy after we stretched you that good,” he laughs and adds, “we might come back for more one day.” He says it in a seemingly benign manner looking into your eyes but you see a threat rooted in his words. “Keep your little mouth shut and forget our faces or these pictures of you will be everywhere. Surely your hubby will have to say bye-bye to his political career. You got me?” His gaze is serious and intent and you nod hastily.

Your heart is beating fast when you see Tommy take black bags from Joel. Will they keep their promise and leave you alive?

“Take care, princess,” you hear Tommy’s voice as he puts his balaclava back on and walks out of the door. Joel doesn’t say anything. With his face already covered he heads to the door, stops right outside and turns his head to you. He brings his gloved finger to his lips in a silent sign, and then leaves as quietly as he came.

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!❤️

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #deaddovedecember2023 #joel miller x you #tommy miller x you #pedro pascal #dark joel miller #dark tommy miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #the last of us #tw noncon #tw dead dove #cw noncon #non con #dark fic

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shh-om · 6 months

Text

k¡nktober day seventeen - threesome or moresome with all nine main demons

~1300 words

cw non con drugging , drinking , groping , butt chugging , alcohol , non con , filming

“Mhm? Is something different about the Demonus tonight?” your eyes begin to lid as the castle ballroom goes a bit out of focus. Mammon catches your arm as you stumble and lift your glass to observe the golden liquid.

“Oh?” Diavolo chuckles as he dances his way over to you. “I must’ve forgot to mention I had Barbatos mix in some Human World alcohol into tonight’s brew.”

You frown. “I should- I should probably stop drinking now…”

“MC~,” Asmo grabs your shoulders and plants a fat kiss on your lips, tasting wine and flowers. You groan into the kiss, blinking hard.

“I need—,” your head spins and pounds as you pull away from Asmo’s soft, soft lips. “I think I should lay down.”

“Awh,” Asmo whines and Belphie perks up.

“Come here, MC,” he motions to the spot at the table next to him and you sway as you walk over to him. Beelzebub clears the whole area of the table that you’re sitting in front of, taking the cups and plates and serving bowls.

You hum as Belphie grabs you and makes you rest yourself up to your breasts on the table. Your eyes slip closed and you feel someone’s hands, gloved, maybe Barbatos or Lucifer, fondling your chest and you weakly try to shove them away. Alcohol tugs at your mind lulling you into lethargy.

“Mhmm, stop it,” your words come out slurred as your cheek presses into the table cloth. Someone shushes you and across the table someone lifts you by your armpits to lay you vertically on the table.

“Hm?” You try to look up, Beelzebub’s blurry face coming into view. “What’s— What’re we doin’?”

“Shh, don’t worry,” Lucifer’s voice.

“No, wait, what’s—?” You sniff as Belphie’s hands tug down your dress pants, exposing your underwear. “Don’t do that!”

“Shh, it’s okay, just relax, MC,” Belphie rubs his hands over the curve of your behind as he says it. You whimper into the tablecloth as your underwear is stripped away and discarded.

Embarrassment spikes your heart when slender fingers pry open the lips of your pussy. Tears well up in your eyes from the humiliation and you want to do something about this, whatever is going on, but you’re so tired.

“Awh,” Asmo’s colorful nails snag your attention as he coos over you. They tenderly cup your face and he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Just relax,” Mammon pets over your hair.

It’s hard to relax when Belphie’s rubbing his fingers over your dry slit.

He needs to stop, you think. You’re in the middle of Diavolo’s ballroom, and you aren’t in the mood. What would Diavolo do — think of you — if he saw this?!

“Wait,” you attempt to lean up, but the heavy petting on your hair from Mammon makes it hard to lift yourself. Both from the pressure and from the part of it soothing you.

“Shh,” Mammon murmurs into your hair.

Something warm and wet rubs over your slit, and it takes half a second before you realize that it’s Belphie’s tongue. There’s a kiss pressed into your hair, but it does little to stop the trembling sob from leaving your chest.

Another hand begins undoing the lace of your shirt from the back. From the skill of the fingers you assume it’s either Asmo or Satan. It makes you sniffle and try and squirm away.

The tongue against your hole has begun arousing your body, making slick begin to leak from your pussy.

“It’s okay,” Mammon mumbles against your scalp. “Just relax, it’ll be so much easier if you just let them in.”

“Nngh,” you can’t find the words to disagree with him. It halfway turns to a moan as Belphie’s lips wrap around your clit, and his tongue rapidly flicks over the sensitive bud. Your hips weakly squirm away from the stimulation but you get nowhere.

Your top falls from your body and a rush of cold air raises your nipples to peaks. A large, warm hand scoops under your body to fondle one. The other breast is quickly taken hold by a smaller hand, but fondled as well.

“This ‘s wrong, stop,” you protest.

“Do you think they’ll remember this tomorrow?” A voice, Satan’s you think, although the cloudiness of your mind has a lot of room for error. You jolt as a pinch is sent through one of your nipples, a weak shout leaving you, encouraging Mammon to place another soft kiss to your hair.

“Not if we keep them drinking at a steady rate.” Lucifer, or is it Diavolo?, replies. Shoes click against tiled linoleum and another hand ruffles through your hair and grabs hold of your skull, lifting you to meet the red gaze of Lucifer.

He takes in the daze on your face, sighing before gently dropping your head. He says something to someone, but it’s too quiet for you to understand.

Belphie is too good at oral for your own good, and your legs clench and unclench fruitlessly as you cream over the demon’s face. You swear you can feel him smile against your sticky sex.

“My turn?” A deep voice, Beelzebub’s, asks and one of the hands on your breasts disappears.

“Take their mouth, I want this side,” yes, that’s Belphegor speaking.

Mammon helps another pair of hands maneuver you so that your head can just slightly go over the ledge of the table and your eyes get up close and personal with a humongous erect cock. Based on the ginger pubes, it is Beel. Then his hands pry your mouth open and the tip of his cock slips into your mouth.

You hope he doesn’t force you to take the whole thing, it’s far too large for you to live through that. Luckily, for your life, he only fucks your throat in quick, shallow thrusts.

On your other end Belphie’s sliding into your spit slicked hole. He whimpers lowly, and begins a slow rhythm of thrusts.

There’s the sound of multiple zippers all at once, and muffled the starting sound of a DDD beginning a recording. Fuck, someone is filming.

The notion that you’re being recorded as you’re being taken advantage of, makes a fresh wave of tears build up. They’re brushed away by Mammon’s tender hand as soon as they fall, another round of shushing on his end.

It takes far too long for the twins to finish their assault on your holes before they ejaculate into you. You choke on the absolute tsunami of semen that Beel delivers and he pulls out of your mouth with a creamy-spitty dick. Belphie also pulls out after creamping you.

A chilled bottle rim ghosts over the rim of your ass and cold alcohol trickles over the lip and makes you shiver. The rim is lodged into your hole and there’s a brief moment then all of the chill of the drink comes flooding into your ass. You cry out in shock as your bowels are forced to contain the liquid.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Barbatos’ slender gloved hands adjusting the angle he’s filming, and you cringe fruitlessly away from the lens.

In front of you another cock, Diavolo’s, appears, he’s rapidly jerking himself off and aiming at your face. More of the demons you had been partying with surround you, all tugging on their dicks like their lives depend on it. Just when you think you’re in the clear from any more penetration, Diavolo sets his heavy tip in your sore mouth.

Fuck.

Someone, you can’t crane your neck to see who, presses into your wine filled ass. They shallowly fuck into your hole, making the liquid slosh around uncomfortably.

Your body begins to tire and the alcohol in your system begins to make you lethargic. The last thing you remember is:

“They won’t remember this, right?” You hope you don’t.

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me lemon #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me x mc #demon brothers x reader #obey me beel smut #obey me lucifer smut #obey me mammon smut #obey me diavolo smut #obey me barbatos smut #obey me belphie smut #obey me asmo smut #obey me satan smut #non con cw #obey me kinktober

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fandomwritingbit · 3 months

Text

Curious

journalist (f)reader x William Afton

warnings: non con/rape, oral, p in v, threat, force, violence, murder/child murder, William is just vile the whole way through.

synop: you're tasked with researching the 'missing children's incident' and you have no idea just how dangerous that is.

A/n: mostly but not entirely proofread, because this is a fucking long one boys.

The moment your boss gave you the assignment, it pretty much engulfed your life. “The Missing Children Incident” as it was dubbed by the papers, referred to multiple child disappearances at a well-known children’s restaurant. You were excited with the task, thinking that finally you might have your name at the bottom of an article that actually means something. But you quickly figured out the reason you ended up with this story. The research was gruelling, nothing upon nothing turned up after hours of reading and talking to the parents. Well, the few that were willing to face a reporter. Your shovel hits rock every time forcing you to conclude that there’s nothing to be found.

That didn’t mean you were off the hook though, your boss was still up your arse with deadlines, telling you over and over how he ‘needs you to get this sorted’ within the week.

So here you are, your last thread of a story pinched between your fingers, the business side of it. You’re standing outside the restaurant in question, the name lit up in front of you with the r in Freddy’s constantly flickering, clinging onto the hope that the owner would be willing to entertain you. At this point you’re just going to transcribe the discussion and send it to print, as you’ve come to learn something is better than nothing.

Stepping inside you’re instantly greeted with the overwhelming smell of pizza, it’s hot too, the many bodies milling around inside forming a wall of heat that makes you ache to take your jacket off. You stop for a moment to just look at the scene, children laughing in that piercing screechy way that all kids can muster, running around with foam swords or handfuls of the coloured balls from the ball pit. You want to take a photo but it doesn’t miss you how weird that would be without permission.

As you walk around you begin to realise that it wasn’t anything special; tatty all over, the smell of grease and fast-food clinging to the faux velvet booths and garish carpet that laid in some areas of the restaurant. It was so painfully a kid’s place. You’re searching faces for anyone who looks like they have some sway around here, there’s the guards and the service staff but that’s not who you’re looking for. You know the names of the gentlemen who owned the place but there was a lack of photos available at the library, so right now you’re fully reliant on the powers of deduction.

Then finally you reach the Show Room and truth be told, you were impressed. It was the only part of the Godforsaken place that wasn’t caked in crushed crayons or old unremovable stains. It looked somewhat cared for, rows of perfectly aligned seats in front of a large stage, those hanging lights, speakers and all.

And the animatronics? Well, they were... unnerving. You couldn’t help but stare at them, they were much bigger than you’d have thought, crazily so. And good God, their eyes. You find your face twisted in disgust. Talk about uncanny valley, these creatures were fucking chilling. You can’t believe that the children are so comfortable with them, when you can hardly even watch their ‘show’ without a heavy feeling in your chest. You quickly avert your eyes, remembering that you’re here for work and feeling glad the very moment you can’t see the animatronics anymore.

It’s then that you finally catch sight of a lead, a tall bloke in a shirt and tie emerging from a staff only door. He has the bearing of someone higher up than the waitress he stoops down to talk to, so you take that as your green light, squeezing past a gaggle of children in your way.

You catch the end of the conversation as you approach, the man leaning on the counter with a face like a storm. “Oh okay, Mr Afton. I’ll do that now.” The server says anxiously, looking like they want the ground to swallow them up, they go to move away and the owner scoffs.

“Should have been done two fucking hours ago.” The waitress turns but doesn’t say anything else, quickly scurrying away to whatever task they’re being bollocked over. You wait a little awkwardly to be noticed, standing close enough that it should be obvious you’re waiting yet he doesn’t catch on at all, just continues staring sharply after his employees. So eventually you just sigh, changing position to be right in front of him.

“...Excuse me?” You try, feeling anxiety cool your veins. He glances at you equally as harsh, the annoyed expression on his face not shifting but dulling enough to be customer friendly.

He looks you up and down trying to figure out what the hell you want. You look too young to be a parent and too old to be a kid, his brows raise as he thinks about how young adults aren’t exactly his target market. “What?” It’s about as blunt as you’d expect and you smile awkwardly, feeling the pressure to be overly pleasant and steer this conversation to a habitable place.

“Are you…” You look down to the notebook in your hand wanting to make sure you get his first name right, “William Afton, the uh owner?” He smirks a little, trying to look down at the paper as well, and see what you’ve got written down that is clearly about him. He can’t manage it from the angle and you soon turn the paper to your skin anyway.

“Depends. Who are you?” That’s a yes, then, you think to yourself, though you already knew from your eavesdropping. This is beginning to feel like a bad idea, the vibes off this man are sceptical at best and the last thing you need right now is to be manhandled out of here. He raises his hand in an impatient shrug when you don’t answer quick enough, making you fumble for your work lanyard around your neck with your paper’s logo and then you give him your name.

He hums in such a way that you can’t tell if it’s good or bad, so you try to explain yourself just to fill the silence. “I was hoping to ask you some questions. About the missing children who were last seen here.”

At the phrase “missing children” his eyes swiftly find yours and you gulp, if he’s trying to scare you off it just might work because right now you not only wish that you weren’t here, but also that you weren’t assigned the story, Hell that you didn’t take journalism at uni. Your face must have betrayed you because he laughs, standing up straight.

“And what questions do you have for me, huh?” There’s an accusation to his tone that backfoots you even more. He’s struggling to keep the amusement from his expression because you must be a pretty shitty reporter to get spooked this easily. But that'll just make you more fun to play with.

“Just about how the uh events have affected business…” You’re barely sound professional and the owner still doesn’t look convinced, so you continue, “It won’t take long, 15 minutes tops, I can see you’re a busy man.” You smile at the end in an effort to sell the flattery a bit more, and as sweet as you look, he knows you’d probably jump out of your skin at the word boo right now.

He shakes his head slightly, not necessarily at you or himself, just at the situation overall. Course you didn’t come in an hour ago and catch Henry, obviously not, but at least this will get him away from work for a little while, which he needs before someone gets on his nerves enough to get fired. You stand waiting for him to answer, your lip pinched between your teeth, it’s that nervous habit that props him to say yes.

“This’d better be an interesting 15 minutes, sweetheart.” You sigh in relief, hopeful that you’ll finally get something to put in an article, but that relief soon evaporates when you realise that the work isn’t over yet. “Through there.” He nods to the staff door he entered the room through and you smile politely, walking over to it with him.

“Thank you, Mr Afton, I really appreciate it.” You quickly blurt out your gratitude as he types in a code to open the door, then holds it open for you, but all pleasantries dry up on your tongue when you notice his knuckles are skinned and badly too, it looks recent. Because you’ve stopped dead he looks down at you with a cocked eyebrow, grinning when he notices what you’re staring at. You shake your head at your obviousness, panicking to play it off somewhat cool.

“Accident at work?” You ask as you fully enter the much darker corridor, which only gets more dim when the door closes behind him.

Your smile is noticeably strained as you look at him for a response, he meets your eyes and just says, “No.” in a menacingly matter of fact way. God, you think to yourself, this guy is scary, how the fuck does he work with kids? You mouth ‘oh’, playing with your hands to try and steady the growing worry nestling in your gut. 99% of your brain is saying to just leave it and face your boss’s wrath, but the foolish 1% arguing that it can’t get any worse is much too vocal.

“Keep going. We’re going right to the back.” He pulls you out your thoughts and you obey, skin prickling under his gaze as you walk ahead of him down this staff hallway that seems to be very much lacking staff. The two of you continue until you run out of corridor, a choice between a room on the left or right making you halt. William chooses before you can ask, opening the left door and again propping it for you.

You smile some gratitude his way as you step through the gap, the close proximity between his bigger frame and yours making you shiver in something akin to fear.

“Are you cold?” He asks and you get the feeling that he’s mocking you.

Ignoring it you move on. “Uh a little. Cold and dark back here, huh?” You answer, happy that you did wear your jacket after a toss up about leaving it in the car.

“And quiet.” He adds, walking past you to take a seat on the chair at the desk in the centre of the room. This office is sparsely decorated and as intimidating as the man it likely belongs to.

You hesitate to sit yourself, your internal dialogue finally voicing your doubts about this conversation. “... You know, if you’d rather not have this conversation, it’s okay. I’d hate to think I've put you out…” You trail off but the man doesn’t say anything, just continues looking at you, a slight smile grazing his face. At his lack of reaction you shrug, exasperated.

“What gave you that impression?” He speaks with amusement, and you very nearly scoff. What gave you that impression? He can’t be serious, he’s been evidently unhappy with your intrusion since the beginning and it’s starting to feel like he’s just trying to scare you off.

So you say as such. “I don’t know, you don’t seem happy.”

William chuckles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He’s been enjoying making you uncomfortable, the widening of your eyes has made his cock hard and he sure as hell isn’t finished yet. But he’ll reel it in for now, lest you try and leave. “That’s just the way I am, sweetheart. There’s a reason why I don’t do the radio ads.” He flashes you a business smile, sitting back in the chair.

You visibly relax a bit at the half joke, satisfied with the explanation that his odd behaviour is just an eccentric personality but you still feel on edge. The only thing keeping you in the room is your work, after all this you need something to show for it, and this guy feels like a golden ticket.

“I take it, that’s your partner’s role… Henry Emily?” You ask as you pull out the chair on the other side of the desk, hoping that sitting down will force him to look anywhere else other than your body.

He scoffs a little, “Sure. You didn’t have to look at your notes for his name.” He observes, with an accusatory tone to the words. Sensing bad blood you present him your palms in some kind of surrender.

“I’ve just never heard of anyone with Emily as their last name. Stuck with me.” You explain, thinking about how much of a nightmare this ballbuster must be to work for.

Looking at him, you find it difficult to read the stern expression on his face, having to look away when he meets your gaze head on. Only looking back at the shuffling sound of him moving the seat back and thudding his shoes on the desk, resting his feet there in a very unprofessional way.

“You’re lucky you caught me today, Henry can be… funny with pretty young lasses like you.” He considers the word funny and you catch the meaning straight away. If the other guy is “funny” you don’t know what the hell to call this.

“Lucky me.” You mutter, sarcasm dripping from the words. You didn’t exactly want him to hear that but the grin on his face tells you that he did. It doesn't miss you that this is a pretty handsome bloke, a silver fox, some might say. But the only silver you see is the glinting of a metallic tooth.

At the beat of silence, he interrupts your thoughts. “You gonna ask me your questions or not?” You blink, quickly reaching for your notepad and pen, fumbling all the way. Whilst you do he smirks to himself at how you probably should have done your shirt up another button because he can see the fabric of your bra peeking over. Not that he minds.

You eventually manage, getting your papers sorted and glancing up to find that the bloke’s eyes had been on you the entire time. “The uh 26th of June, the day the five children went missing, were you there?” You’ve rehearsed these questions a bunch and they’re written down in front of you, but you still struggle to get it out, sounding pathetic and uncertain. And whilst that may be how you feel, this guy doesn’t have to know that.

Amusement doesn’t leave his features for a second, “Course I was.” He answers bluntly.

“And… Did you know any of the victims?” You glance at the sheet with the five names on it, ready to give him them if he needs prompting.

“Victims?” You curse the choice of words, technically no crimes had occurred, no individual had been found, these kids might not be victims at all. Well of anything more than complete and utter negligence from parents and restaurant staff. But you know as well as him that five children don’t just disappear without anyone having seen them.

You stumble, “The children. Gabriel, Susan-”

He cuts you off, speaking somewhat meanly. “I don’t make a habit of befriending little kids.” At this point he’s trying to make you feel stupid, and it’s working enough that you glare at him. Poor thing must be getting whiplash, he thinks to himself, you react so plainly to everything he says it’s just delightful. You’re about to give up and move on but he continues, “But I seen them on the day. Recognised some of the pictures the police shown me.” Well that’s the answer you were looking for in the first place, the smug bastard.

Nodding you veer off track, curiosity spurring your question, “You were interviewed by police?”

He laughs incredulously, not liking the implications of your questioning. “We all were. Hell, I was fucking liable for it, had to hire more security staff.”

You continue through your list of questions; what other measures did you put in place? Has the incident affected business? How do you personally feel about the events? And your staff? Each question is answered nonchalantly, a mixture of apparent boredom and sharpness to his responses. You long to ask him if he was this compliant for police, ‘this’ being the bare fucking minimum. Which you suppose could be down to him having to answer all this many times by now. But for some reason it still doesn’t sit right with you.

After about twenty minutes you’ve got enough to finally put this assignment to bed, which you thank god for at this point. Now you can get away from this man and the gross feeling you get when he locks eyes with you.

“I think that’ll do it, Mr Afton.” You try to smile politely, though it probably comes off wobbly. “Uh, thank you for your time.” You add, not wanting to irritate him anymore than you likely already have.

William nods, taking his feet off the desk and standing. You assume he’s going to get the door for you or something, so you gather your sheets up and push your chair back. Or you try to. Because you instantly bump into his figure behind you, his foot catching the wheels. From above you he can see how your brows immediately knit, confused, scared whatever it is.

And when you turn to see what he’s doing he angles himself so you’re eye to eye, so to speak, with the bulge in his trousers. Physically jolting in your chair, you almost feel sick. You knew something about this was very wrong and like a fucking idiot you went along with it. And now you’re all alone in a back office with a scary bloke and his fucking boner. You open your mouth to speak, forcing yourself to not turn again, but you let it die when he gets there first.

“So we’re all done? I’ve given you what you need.” The way he speaks is loaded with intention and it has your legs pressing together, you want to shiver but force yourself into stillness, “But you've not given me anything in return. What are we going to do about that, huh?”

Your mouth is dry, making it hard to form some words. “I-I think you’ve got the wrong idea-”

“Really?” He asks with heavy mock surprise, sucking air through his teeth in a pitying way. You go to continue but a harsh hand suddenly finds grip in your hair, jerking your head to the side so the tent in his trousers is shoved against the side of your face. His body heat is the first thing you register and you instantly repel, pushing your chair back into him hard and panicked.

He lets you rive yourself free, watching amused as you almost violently turn round, bumping into the desk behind you, your chest heaving with shaky breath. “I had no idea you thought that… that’s- No. No.” You babble excuses trying to de-escalate this futilely, hardly even noticing the cruel way he laughs at you.

“Uh huh.” He nodded in faux understanding, god the way you look right now, ravaged by panic, makes his cock twitch. William steps close to you and you quiver in response, you’d give anything to be at home, hell anywhere else really, anywhere away from the reality of the dark look in the eyes of the man invading your personal space. “Come on, love. I’ll make it good for you.”

As he speaks his hand roughly cups your breast, your bra doing nothing to disguise the harshness of the touch and you exhale staggeringly from your nose. You try to pull away but his body keeps you there against the desk, his other hand firmly groping your arse. Your body is responding to him but your mind is screaming, it just feels dangerous and wrong and no fluttering in your core can make up for that.

“Please…” You mutter, your hand pulling at the wrist whose fingers are so intent on prying under your bra.

He chuckles, easily flicking your hand away and pushing you back on to the desk behind you, forcing you to prop yourself up briefly. It feels like you exist in slow motion because all of a sudden you’re patting along the desktop searching for something to defend yourself with, instinct fully kicking in. Eventually your fingertips brush the spine of a book and the realisation of what you’re about to do is electric in your veins. It comes easily, the movement fluid as you grip the book and slam it hard between his ribs, using your feet to push him away in his vulnerable state. The pained grunt from him is all the confirmation you need to get to your feet and run to the door, throwing yourself out of the room.

“Jesus… fucking…” He winces, turning himself to see the door close behind you. That hurt like hell, winded him even, you crafty little shit. It’s as he’s trying to get his bearings back, he realises that he probably went too far. Fuck, you won’t get very far without the doorcode, he’ll have to follow you out there.

You get halfway down the corridor before you see the keypad illuminated by the red LED above it, you can’t go back out there, but what fucking else are you suppose to do? You turn around quickly, desperately scanning the hall for anywhere else to go, a fire door or something but no. There’s only the other internal rooms. It takes you a moment to think clearly over the thrumming of your blood but you finally decide on hiding, getting yourself inside one of these rooms and playing the waiting game. This is a restaurant after all, someone else will have to come down here eventually and you can have them open the door for you. It’s the only option.

You try a few of the doors but find them locked, your frantic searching making the tightness in your chest worse and worse, until you see a heavy metal looking door with a ‘private’ sign on it. The keys are still sticking out the lock.

By the time he can breathe comfortably enough to go after you, you’re nowhere to be found. He expected you to be standing by the door, perhaps holding another weapon, but no, you’re not there. He frowns, confusion washing over him before he realises that you must seriously be hiding, it makes him laugh. Come on, it’s not like he was going to hurt you. Much.

The room you’re in is completely pitch black, so much so that you can’t tell if it’s huge or just the illusion of the dark. You stay close to the door, watching the tiny stream of light peeking out from under the door, you watch it like a hawk, waiting for that psycho to walk past. His footsteps are light, but you can just catch them, what’s more suspect is the jiggling of door handles, exactly what you did seconds ago. The thought scares you into action, you’ll have to hide more, there must be somewhere in this room you can stay out of view, so you feel around in the darkness, hands outstretched so you don’t bump into anything. You find shelves separating the room into two halves and as you go around them your fingers brush something big.

You can feel the presence of something huge in front of you, you trace the cold metal shape, your hands shaking as you feel the dip of an arm. The fright of it makes you flinch away, catching something sticking out from the shelf and it clatters noisily to the floor.

The sound echoes, your pursuer flinching at the suddenness of it, he turns to the direction it came from and scowls. He’s a fucking idiot for leaving it open, but you, you’re more of an idiot for going in.

As soon as his hand touches the door handle you cower behind the shelves, hoping the dark will be to your advantage but, knowing the place so well, WIlliam finds the light switch easily. And just like that your plan crumbles to fucking dust.

Straight away you begin imploring him, stumbling to your feet and distraughtly babbling when his tall figure shuts the door, the metal clanging of the keys immediately following.

With wide eyes you beg him, “Look… I’m sorry, okay? I really am- I don’t want any trouble-”

“Well, you’ve fucking found it.” He says jeeringly, a visible tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there before making your hands clammy. “Don’t you know better than to trespass in private areas? You never know what you might stumble across-”

“What?” You interrupt, your voice frenzied and threatening to drop any ties to sensibility you have left, “An old store room? The secrets of the trade? I don’t care- I didn’t-” Your barely sensicle plea is cut short by the starling way he moves towards you, fiercely grabbing your arm and spinning you round to look at the half-formed animatronic you had touched. You stare perplexed, before he sighs and a grip takes root on the back of your next, shoving you across the room in front of another decommissioned suit. There he forces you down on your knees and the very second the concrete bruises your skin, your airways are filled with the most vile stench.

The smell is wrong and your body rejects it instantly, making you gag as you fall back onto your behind, scrambling to get away from it. If you were scared before, it was nothing compared to the sheer terror you feel now. Your eyes are watering from the stench but even through the blurr you make out the dull copper pool that the suit is sitting in. You retch again, this time making him laugh, you stupid little girl.

“You get it now?” He speaks in a snide way, a sharpness in his tone forcing you to readjust to the gravity of this situation.

“...What is that?” Your voice trembles, hand coming to cover your nose. You know what it is, somewhere in your gut, deep-set in your dna you know. And it’s incomprehensible. The list of names you abandoned in his office flickers in your mind, making you dizzy.

The man above you scoffs, palming the erection in his trousers that was probably the hardest it had ever been, and he briefly thinks about how fucked up that is. He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, watching how you stare at the evidence in front of you, your whole body shaking. Before eventually breaking it, “How’s that for your article?” He sniggers, the words dripping with venom.

You look up at him dumbstruck at what he was almost admitting, before panic-driven getting to your feet, struggling to stand anywhere near this disgusting man or the suit in the corner. The danger surrounding you feels suffocating, making it hard to speak. “I- fuck my article.” You laugh but it's touching hysteria as you step towards William before stepping back again, “I don't- I won't write anything, I want nothing to do with this. Just, please, let me leave.”

You search his face for any trace of humanity but it’s void, in its place a sadistic look that only amplifies at the horrified look on your face. As you continue glaring at him, he snickers, “Go on. Keep selling it.”

It feels more than impossible to keep yourself together, tears of futility are pricking your eyes as you think about whether people would look for you if you never leave this room. You gulp, “I just- want to go home.” You start slow but the words cause a landslide of begging, “I didn’t mean to offend you- I had no idea. I had no idea what would happen… I just wanted to do my- my job.” By the time you’re finished, you’re fully crying.

“Offend me?” He laughs meanly, “And to think you could have just spread your legs for me and you’d be home by now. But no,” He stops chuckling, as he looks you up and down in the most predatory way. “Now, you’re in here with me, wasting my time talking like I could just let you walk out of here.” He shakes his head.

“Please.” You try, but the unmoving look of resolution on his face shows you there’s no hope. He doesn’t feel sorry for you. He doesn’t want to give you mercy. You wrack your brain trying to think about what he does want and it settles on what landed you in here in the first place.

You step closer to him, praying that your knees will be strong enough to keep you up. He can practically see the cogs turning in your head as you look up at him, your mascara trailing down your cheeks. “I’ll-” You swallow, “I’ll do anything.”

“Oh yeah?” The sarcasm is palpable.

You nod frantically, falling into your last hope. You reach for him, hand shaking as you touch the hardness in his trousers. He watches you, finding immense joy in how weak you’ve become, all you needed was to see a little blood and your resolve shatters. You see his chest settle as he exhales, so you continue, grabbing him over the fabric and trying not to think about what you’re doing.

“That’s fucking pathetic.” He jeers, loving the way your lip trembles.

“I’ll do better.” You try, moving to his belt and pulling at the buckle. You’re taking too long to undo it, so he grabs you by the hair, pulling you away so he can do it himself. It makes you wince in pain, but you grit your teeth and bear it, moving with his grip onto your knees before he pulls again.

Your knees are bruised from earlier, yet that’s the furthest thing from your mind when you’re confronted by his dick, rock hard and big. He’s gifted and you wish you’d just gone along with him earlier, this is 1000x more dehumanising than a skeezy fuck in his office would have been. That thought must register on your face because he jerks your head towards him, roughly. Remembering the bed you’ve made for yourself, you wrap your hand around his length, quickly joining in your other hand and stroking him, forcing yourself not to look at him. He makes a noise you take as a good sign, so you continue.

Bringing your head closer to him, you run your tongue over his tip, struggling not to grimace at the salty taste of the precum on his cock. The enthusiasm you’re showing him is completely false, a plea for life on the flimsy idea that sucking him off well enough will be your freedom. Slowly you take his head in your mouth and he hisses, grinning in the victory of having you try so hard. You use your tongue to tease him, swirling it around as your hands stimulate him at the base, his groan involuntarily stirring your core. His grip on your hair flexes, impatient at your provocative action and you obey, hollowing your cheeks and taking as much of him as you can, gagging when his tip presses hard in the back of your throat. As you do he holds your head right there, revelling in the way you involuntarily contract around him. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the intrusion, straight away using your mouth like a toy, shoving his cock in and out in a rhythm that has you desperately clinging on to him silently begging for respite.

It’s brutal and when he finally pulls back, you gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the saliva trailing down your chin in the most humiliating way. Your jaw aches from the size of him and the moment for breath is near heavenly. He rubs himself on your lips and you’re not sure if the stickiness is him or you, but you take it, sticking out your tongue in a degrading manner that you assume is what he wants. You must be right because he grins.

“You’ve done this before, huh?” He sneers, his voice thick with restraint because he doesn't want to be done, not just yet. Not before he’s had a taste of your tight cunt.

You nod as much as you can not wanting your silence to be interpreted as insolence, still giving his cock your full attention, sucking him like you really really want it. But it must not be good enough, because he yanks your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he speaks sharply.

“Get up.” The command is so firm that you don’t react for a moment, but once it’s registered you trip over yourself trying to obey. You know in your gut that the worst is yet to come.

You stand in front of him uncertainly, waiting for your next order. It comes in the form of a rough grip on your face, shoving you towards the wall and holding you strict there. William feels like a god with the terrified awe you look at him with, and he is a fucking god, he choses whether you live or die. Whilst mentally praising himself, he pulls your shirt open, ignoring the pop of the buttons and jerks your bra down, exposing your tits to the chill of the room, your nipples are peaked so nicely he can’t resist pumping his dick to the sight of them.

You stare transfixed at the view before you, too scared to even notice him tugging at your waistband, meanly pulling your trousers from you, set on having you completely vulnerable to him. Some kind of whimper leaves your lips when the clothing hits the floor, only becoming more pathetic when he cups your pussy, nastily pressing his thumb over your clit, it makes your body jolt with unwitting pleasure. You hate yourself for it, after what you’ve come to know how can your core be willing? It’s sick.

No, he’s sick, you force yourself to think and he keeps up stimulating you, eager to have you fall apart on his cock. You’re going to cry for him and you’re going to fucking love it. He forces your legs further apart and you shiver seeing him lined up with your hole, your slick is a mercy but you still resent it.

He grips your hip as he forces his cock inside you, making your walls accept him all at once, it hurts and you cry out as he sinks fully to the hilt. You feel full of him, not just your cunt but your blood, your head, like he owns you. The sizzling pain of the stretch fizzles down to a static ache once he starts moving, the difference in height forcing him to lift you up slightly, your weight nothing compared to the tight grip of your pussy.

You’re whining like an injured animal, letting him selfishly fuck you, his pace soon becoming as cruel as it is deep. Partially disassociating all you can think is the rough snap of his hips, punctuated by the clinking of what you assume is his belt. He tilts the angle of your hips so you’re squeezing around him more, rubbing your bundle of nerves maliciously as his tip bruises the part of you that makes you see white.

“There she is.” He hisses in your face, not relenting for a moment. “That’s how you fucking like it.” As vile as his taunting is, it's based in truth because you can’t deny the unwilling knot in your core that’s strangling you with the need to snap. And it does, your body going stiff with the intensity of it, it’s all-consuming, inescapable as it seizes you entirely.

He can’t help but explode inside you at the feeling of your walls grasping around him, you go limp in his grip as he fucks you through his end, shoving his cum further and further into you.

Your ears are ringing as you come to your senses, well, what’s left of them. You’re full of him, his filthy release trickling down your leg. William looks to the side as he gets through his climax, keeping himself wrapped in your heat, his eyes narrowing as a dark thought rears its head: he’s got bigger suits… maybe you’ll fit.

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf smut #william afton x you #fnaf william afton #fnaf movie #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #tw non con #cw non con

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betterfettered · 9 months

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Ok but imagine if the Mc they got was religious.

Like daily prayers, church going. Pretty much full fledged christian ending up in devildom with literal demons.

•Religious!mc who devoted their life to christ getting railed by the demon bros (especially lucifer).

•Religious!mc who was saving themself for marriage can no longer do so after her nights with the boys.

•Religious!mc who wore a cross necklace clutching it around her neck as they get railed from behind.

•Religious mc! who prays for forgiveness after begging for more the night before.

(I’m sorry but corruption kink is top teir + first time doing something like this so idk if it’s like worded correctly)

Anonnamin this ask gels so well with another one that I got about a super sweet MC from my moon anon!

Alright, but imagine this. A cute little reader who is just SUCH a softie Like, they are the type to help old ladies cross the street, volunteer at soup kitchens, work at a bakery, always give the brothers random little gifts that remind them of them, and just wholesome stuff like that. But the poor bby always blames themselves for any problems, like they are such a little ball of sunshine who is always blaming themselves, it's quite sad actually. Like they are always trying to brighten everyone's day and smiling, but if someone even slightly raises their tone at reader, reader will start tearing up and apologizing. They are just such a sweet little thing, and like the entire school absolutely loves them and a lot of people see reader like a little sibling figure. Because of this the brothers absolutely love this innocent cute little reader who only wants to make everyone feel happy and loved, but then their are all the other students at school stealing away reader's attention and protecting reader when they see how obsessive and possessive the brothers are. (Reader has no clue though lol, absentee parental figures gang, don't know what healthy love is ✌) (If the brothers get born mad at reader, reader will cry and isolate themselves because "they aren't enough for them" and "they probably don't wanna deal with me right now", and just close themselves off) Moon anon 🌙

I'm gonna combine the two of them together into an ask about a super saintly MC. 🧚🏿 If you feel like there was something I missed feel free to send in another ask~

It's killing me to imagine a terrified religious!MC waking up and meeting real life villains from the bible LOOOOOL literally wakes up, is introduced to The Actual Lucifer, passes back out again hahahahahha

I mention a trans girl with a dick in this, I don't know if that needs a warning. If you read this and appreciate the warning, please let me know somehow. Otherwise I'm not going to mention this kind of thing again.

(Gn!reader x AMAB!yandere, please let me know if reader is gendered)(noncon)(violence against reader)(gaslighting)(exhibitionism)(drugging)(plus size reader 💖🫡)(blasphemy, but you knew that LOLOL)(18+ readers only please, mdni)(Please let me know if I am missing a TW)[This is fetish content and rape and abuse are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

Yandere!Lucifer would soon feel pretty protective over an MC like this, especially because he thinks you're so foolish easily taken advantage of. He would also appreciate how obedient you are, it's so much easier than needing to tell his brothers to do or not do things over and over again. In a sense, he would protect you from things that he would do to you himself: he's not going to let concerned students at RAD take up all of your time because he himself is going to take up all of your time. He's not going to let other people order you around but he certainly is going to order you around. Most importantly, he won't let other people force you to live your life one way or another because you will be living life to his exact specifications.

I think on the other hand that he'd be kind of personally offended by your brand of religiousness. It intrinsically paints him as a bad guy and makes his reasoning out to be unjustified which, even if it weren't a sore spot, contradicts what he likes to believe about himself. I think his real cruelty streak would start to show around how he dismisses your beliefs. The first time you earn yourself a bad punishment from him, he'll be determined to hurt and violate you in ways that you would not have been able to imagine before, shoving toys into you that are way, way too big for only your first time, putting chained clamps on your nipples and tugging them until you are hoarse from screaming, forcing orgasm upon orgasm onto you until you it only hurts, paddling you until you're shaking. He'll ask why your God isn't helping you, but no answer you give him will be the right one (earning a larger toy or maybe another paddle): the real answer is because you like what he's doing to you, it's what you've always wanted, and your God knows that.

Yandere!Mammon would be sooo bad with this kind of MC LOL He's such a scammer that he would completely take you for all you're worth. You'd both end up broke and in trouble because of him LOLLL He has a hard time admitting when he's done something shitty, so he might allow you to blame yourself for things quite a bit, maybe even use your low self esteem to guilt you for spending time with other people at school vying for your attention (I'll circle back to this).

I don't think he'd have it on him to outright force himself on you because you're so innocent and sweet. Instead, he'll probably slip a double dose of an aphrodisiac into a snack he serves you and wait for you to come onto him. Imagine always wearing a religious robe and, after being drugged, hurriedly yanking it up in a daze so you can dumbly grind on Mammon's thigh and grab his wrists so you can rub his hands all over your body because you have no idea what to actually do about being horny LOL After he fucks you until you're satisfied, he'll let you think that the entire thing was your idea all along. If you get way too torn up about your sinful thoughts and behavior he might grudgingly admit that maybe you ate something strange. Circling back to the above, he is happy to take advantage of your guilt and naivete but he does have a kernel of morals deep down.

Yandere!Leviathan would be obsessed with your purity and good heartedness. I don't even want to mention her in this context because she is a child but honestly your personality would align with a lot of the kinds of things he likes about Ruri-chan. It's the ideal magical girl: chipper, sweet, always trying to help others etc. He'd be quietly obsessed with your religious behavior: you might be praying and then look up and see him watching you, or when you are helping people with things in public he follows you around and tries to help, too.

Unfortunately, the more he becomes obsessed with your purity, the more dirty thinking about you sexually will become to him, which means it makes him all the hornier LOL You'll start to notice him staring at your body and giving you lingering touches on your legs and shoulders. When he finally can't take it any more, he will want to shield you from the corruption as much as possible. He'll sneak into your room at night with a blindfold, tie it over your eyes and tell you to just go back to sleep. Obviously you wouldn't be able to sleep through someone taking your virginity, so he'll just try to soothe you as you cry even though he's fucking you way too hard because of his inexperience. You feel dirty and bruised once he's done with you, but rather than comfort you, he'll apologize by insulting himself and saying how awful and wicked he is and how you deserve better. You are always inclined to blame yourself, so even though you still feel his handprints all over you and the weird slipperiness between your legs makes you feel disgusting, you'll tell him it's not his fault and wonder what you must have done to provoke him. Levi is one of those people who says "I am a bad person anyway so might as well do it again", so expect the nightly visits to continue. You'll spend them clutching a cross as tightly as you can and praying, sadly unaware that that is only turning him on more.

Yandere!Satan wants to study you like an academic subject and needs to know everything about you that there is to know, so he'd be very very interested in your religion since it's such a big part of who you are. He also doesn't have as much experience with the celestial realm as the other brothers, so is more open to hearing about what is in your Bible since he doesn't have his own beliefs about it. You would literally be doing "Bible study and chill" with him where he listens to you talk about God and read scripture, and you would be so pleased when he seems like maybe he is thinking about converting. After all, to you helping him see the Lord's light is one of the kindest, sweetest things you can do.

That's why when the "and chill" part comes in you would feel so shocked and betrayed. You're sitting on his lap, reading pages out loud to him when you feel his teeth latch onto your neck and his tongue move back and forth over the sensitive skin while he gropes you. Maybe you're confused about his intention, so you ask what he's doing while he pins you face down by your shoulders, pulling your ass up and against him. You'd be confused and trying to explain that this isn't pious at all when he tells you he doesn't believe any of that shit at all and never did, and the shock would be so deep you don't even cry while he pulls your clothes off and throws your Bible to the floor carelessly like it's trash. Like Lucifer, he's the type to ask something like where it says in your scriptures that you should cum all over his face while he gives you head, or to slap you and actually quote Bible passages about meekness to you when you try to resist, asking if you really even believe what you read to him.

Yandere!Asmodeus is going to think how innocent you are is so cute and try to corrupt you immediately. Imagine you have baked some cookies, and you are going to give them out. He'll offer to go with you and then right before you step into the classroom he'll catch you by your waist, pulling your soft body back towards him until his arms are smushing your stomach. Asmo will whisper with his lips against your ear that every one of these people who is vying for your attention because you're so sweet actually just wants to be the first one to breed you, that when you hand them cookies they just think about fucking every hole you have. He'll ask what hole you'd use for which person until you struggle to get out of his arms and run away.

But even when you're gone, you can't help but think of his question every time you hand out a cookie, or in gym when a girl tries to talk to you and you can see her cock through her pants you can't help but think you want to take her in your mouth because it would hurt anywhere else. It's embarrassing and flustering and makes you want to be by yourself, which is a perfect time for Asmo to come and find you, to yank your robe up and point out how aroused you are. He'll narrate what's happening to your body, explaining it's totally natural to feel that way when you want to have sex, and asking who you saw that made you so horny.

He'll do this as long as he needs to until you are begging him to help you with this feeling between your legs that's driving you crazy and makes it hard to sit still in class. When you apologize to god before begging him to fuck you, he'll tell you that there's no need to. God gave you these feelings so you could act on them. He wants you to feel pleasure.

Yandere!Beel would be annoyed with how you let anyone who wants your attention have it, and he'd dislike how you always trust your god to keep you safe instead of him. God lets bad things happen all the time, so in his mind thats a ridiculous system. Whenever he sees you clutching your cross or praying, he will demand to know what it is you're asking for and try to give it to you himself. He thinks religion and your cross is a distraction from your relationship to him, especially since he's met all the people you're talking about and none of them are that special to him. If he wants your attention, he just cuts in to where you are and demands it, even if that means picking you up and carrying you away.

Yan!Beel will always fuck you when his libido outpaces his sense of control, but when he hears you praying he'll be enraged. You don't need that stuff! He'll try to rip your cross off of your neck, but the chain is too strong so he ends up choking you by it. You'd better say that all you need is him, to calm him down. Otherwise, expect him to yank you around by the chain like its a leash, pounding you so hard that you can't catch your breath to pray or beg him to stop. After he cums he'll just jam him fingers into you, stroking you with his other hand until you say what you want.

Listen I love Yandere!Belphie being insane as much as the next cockwhore, but I think he would actually be really, really kind to an MC like this. He went to the human world often to meet new kinds of people since he loves learning about them, so he'd be really comforted by how sweet and gentle you are while also loving how you hold him while he naps and let him tuck his cold feet under you all the time. He likes your prayers because they put him to sleep and give him good dreams.

What would make him snap is the constant attention to other people. He's often waiting for you in bed, so waiting hours and hours just to find out you've been with other people would drive him absolutely crazy. You might be tutoring a few other students and he comes in, seizing you by your hair and slamming your head down onto a desk. You squirm and plead for him to stop, but he'd still rip your clothes off and fuck you in front of them so they know that you are his. Even while you're sobbing he'll say (loud so they can all hear) that he can feel you clenching down on him, so you must love it. You'd turn your head to ask the other demons for help and see most of them with their hands in their pants and their eyes smoldering with lust. The fact that you'd be in so much pain losing your virginity in front of a crowd that you struggle like crazy and pray to be saved just makes the show more interesting.

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wri0thesley · 10 months

Text

canicular - yandere kaveh x fem!reader x yandere alhaitham (6.8k)

it's a tough lesson to learn.

cw: yandere. mentions of past dub-con, non-con (non-explicit), physical punishment. abuse. reader is referred to by feminine pronouns.

this was a commissioned work.

If there is one thing you are not short on, it is time.

Though Alhaitham provides what he thinks are stimulating ways to pass your existence, you do not often feel inclined to read the thick tomes of Sumeru history or ancient language studies that he leaves on the table for you. Nor do you have any inclination towards the other hobbies he has tried to get you to pick up, in order to keep your hands busy and your brain exercised - what desire have you to do a jigsaw puzzle or a book of word games when you feel like a caged tiger, pacing uselessly back and forth with no end in sight?

Kaveh, at least, tries to get you to occupy your long hours with things that are transporting. His own pencils and papers and paints (a sad smile on his face when he caresses your cheek and sighs and says ‘why don’t you try drawing where you would rather be?’). Alhaitham tries to improve you; to mould you into what he expects you to be and what he wants you to be and what he thinks you ought to be.

Kaveh, at least, sees you as something human, with human needs and human feelings and human wants. Wants that are not half an hour of cursory sunshine so you do not develop a Vitamin D deficiency, not a meal chosen entirely for nutritional properties and not how it might taste in your mouth (Alhaitham is not a cook - you always prefer Kaveh’s meals, though the Scribe clicks his tongue and says things about how there’s no health benefits to the nostalgic desserts that Kaveh tries to get Alhaitham to let him make for you).

Kaveh sees in you the human need for companionship and sympathy and something other than Alhaitham’s blank face when you rage at him and sob and pound on his chest and demand he let you go home. Something other than Alhaitham’s insistence that this is better for you; that he is a good master, that your life is simpler and more suitable now, that he is simply putting the world to rights by taking you as his-- his pet, his dog, his slave, his lover--

What are you truly, again? Other, of course, than his?

In lieu of being Alhaitham’s dog in need of training, when you can, you gravitate to the architect - who wouldn’t, when your other option is a man who watches you cry and replies only with: “And what are you hoping to gain from your tears, exactly?”? And Kaveh, in return, gives you his own sympathy and his sighs and a stroke of your hair that has no hidden meaning at all, you’re sure, but his desire to comfort.

If sometimes you let him take you, after all of the comfort - if you spread your legs for him and sigh and nose against his neck and murmur soft sweet appreciation - that is neither here nor there. You have such precious little opportunity to make decisions for yourself, so why should you not? You tell yourself fiercely, with your mouth wine-stained with Kaveh’s lips, that you would make the same decision were you not a prisoner. Kaveh is the kind of man you would have sought out for yourself, you decide. And he never takes advantage; never makes the first move, waits for your sniffles and hesitant kisses and shaking hand as it traces the elegant line of his collarbone.

But Kaveh is not always home. Kaveh goes into the desert, works for weeks on a project somewhere else in Sumeru wherever his architectural genius is summoned, and leaves you to the untender mercies of the man who caused all of the heartache in the first place.

Alhaitham is never later than ten minutes after work (and on those occasions, his normally calm face has a twitch of fury about it). He never forgets what time he has set your meals for, never forgives an order that has gone unfulfilled (and you have the marks over buttocks and thigh and back to prove that), never lets you answer back or skip out on one of his ordained rituals for your health. He is a constant; a knife that carves out your life, ever sharpened and ever ready.

You practically throw yourself at Kaveh when he returns, if you have been alone with Alhaitham too long. Bury your head in his neck and sigh about how you missed him the moment that you can get him alone, smile and thank him with earnest words when he produces some treasure he saw whilst he was out and about and gifts it to you (they are never lavish gifts; Kaveh does not have the Mora to spare. But a fresh Zaytun peach or a Sumeru Rose plucked from the wildest parts of your nation is a treasure to you nonetheless, when your life is a narrow square of home-and-garden you are not permitted to leave).

. . . It is easier to force yourself not to notice the way Kaveh’s golden eyes catch yours after the gift, as if he is waiting for and expecting the kiss that you press onto his lips as a thanks that never seems to end at just a kiss.

Kaveh’s comforts do not come often enough, in your opinion. Certainly their number does not match up to that of Alhaitham’s firm commands - his lips on yours, his hand on the top of your head forcing you to your knees, his insistent quizzing on the book he left for you today that you have not so much glanced at, his carefully marked schedules of when you should eat and when your period is due and all of the other minutiae of life you had never stopped too long to consider before.

In the past, you had not needed to dwell on these things. You had daydreamed some, of course, of some loving faceless significant other who might hand-feed you slices of Harra Fruit and write you poetry and curl against you until you felt like the two of you were one - but you had always had faith that this would come for you. Perhaps when you least expected it, a fanciful fairytale dropped from the sky into your waiting lap--

You had not reckoned on Alhaitham.

If nothing else, he has provided you with plenty of hours to daydream. An endless yawning, stretching chasm of a future that you try to fill with the paints Kaveh brings you, with constant machinations about an escape route. Sometimes when you imagine leaving, you are hand in hand with a blond man with a smile like a fresh flower blooming, feather haphazardly stuck in his hair, a promise to somehow find enough Mora to build a pretty little cottage in the middle of nowhere where one does not have to worry about stern silver-haired scholars.

You have the time.

Summer in Sumeru is difficult at the best of times. Under Alhaitham’s captivity (you never think of it as Alhaitham-and-Kaveh, so certain are you that the architect would free you if only Alhaitham were not in the picture), it is even worse. You can no longer open the door and stroll out into the Grand Bazaar, where the air is darker and cooler. You can no longer stop off at some merchant or another to buy a cool treat, take a dip in one of the lakes if you so feel like it - all you can do is try and find the shadiest spot in the locked house, lie upon your back and wish for a breeze or two.

“You shouldn’t stay there all day,” Alhaitham says, reproach evident in his voice, when he comes home at seven minutes past five in the afternoon like he always does. “Your muscles will atrophy.”

You sigh in response, long used to the fact that if you argue he will twist your words around until you’re sure of nothing - if you argue too much, you’ll lose some other privilege you hadn’t realised was a privilege until Alhaitham had taken it away.

(Once it had been hot water that you’d had removed, and Alhaitham had stood in the bathroom with you as cold water drenched your hair and your body and gooseflesh broke out along your skin, his face unmoving despite your nakedness. You know that he does, at least, hold some attraction to your naked form - the fact he had not let even a flicker of desire cross his face as you shivered and shuddered there was testament to his insistence you must learn your place. Actually, though, right now, you do not think a cold shower would be a punishment. It sounds rather nice, even if Alhaitham is there to watch you with calm inexpressive eyes.)

“It would be cruel,” you say instead, “to leave a dog in these conditions all day.”

He prefers this kind of reasoning; a debate, and not an argument. If you stay calm and even and you appeal to logic, you might have a chance of survival.

“There are some folding-fans in one of the drawers,” he says. “A present from one of the Inazuman clients Kaveh worked for, I think.”

“Surely they would just blow hot air back in my face?” You ask him. He considers for a moment, looking at you on the floor where you have not moved. You are in one of the loose robe-like garments you are permitted to wear around the house (far less chance of you trying to escape, Alhaitham reasons, if you feel indecent - he has not bargained on the fact that at this point you would run naked through Sumeru City if it means breaking out of his oppressive regime), thighs bare, neckline pulled as far apart as it can go so what little air there is can touch your sweat slicked skin.

“What would you prefer?” He asks, with a note of warning in his voice that most people would not pick up on. You must tread carefully.

“Leave the window open a crack,” you suggest. “Not enough for me to get out. Just . . . enough for a breeze. So that I don’t feel the air around me is pushing down on me until I suffocate.”

“Hyperbole,” he says. “You cannot suffocate on air.”

You bite your tongue. The request shimmers in the air for a few moments, a tangible thing - Alhaitham weighs up the pros and the cons.

“No,” he says, and the thread of hope you hadn’t realised you were holding snaps. “Not whilst I’m out. Not whilst nobody is here to watch you.”

Any response you might have made dies on your lips as a key clatters in the door and it opens, a long-limbed elegant body tumbling through in record time. Kaveh always enters like this; as if he is afraid that if he takes longer than a moment, shouts will rise up around Sumeru City and mock him and his secret will be splashed across every noticeboard in town. Kaveh pretends he does not live here, because he is an important man who should be doing better. You pretend you do not live there because you are still holding your own home in your heart - your own garden of flowers and fruits, your own shelf of books and your own hobbies and things strewn across surfaces.

Alhaitham does not pretend; he merely avoids speaking to anyone about his home life. You had been as surprised as him when Kaveh had unlocked his door and walked in to see what the thumping and muffled noises emanating from Alhaitham’s room were, and had come across you. Alhaitham had not mentioned a roommate to you even before your captivity, and Alhaitham had not mentioned a pet human to Kaveh at any point in time or given any indication this was the kind of thing he would do.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Kaveh had said, immediately upon seeing you, crouching down next to you, his hand hovering by the gag wedged into your mouth. “I . . . did Alhaitham do this to you?”

You’d nodded tearfully, and Kaveh’s eyebrows had knitted into sympathy. You recognised him only vaguely, but you did at least see the emotions flittering across his handsome, open face - so much more than you’d ever gotten from Alhaitham. Even when he’d unceremoniously locked you in his bedroom and you’d screamed yourself hoarse into a gag and rubbed your wrists sore on the rope, Alhaitham had done nothing more than raise an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“I’m going to take the gag away,” Kaveh had said to you, at the time. “Please don’t scream.”

He had been so earnest in the request, and you had been so grateful to see somebody who was not Alhaitham and was clearly properly horrified by your predicament and was not treating it like it was perfectly normal, that you had nodded. Calm, clever fingers had worked beneath the wedge of cotton in your mouth and pried it spit-slicked from between your lips.

“Can you speak?” He’d asked, and when you’d tried and you had not managed to get out more than a wheeze he had fetched you a glass of water and held it to your parched lips.

“I can’t untie you,” he’d said, helplessly, his gold eyes flitting to where the ropes had rubbed you raw. “Alhaitham would be . . . unhappy with me. But maybe I could try and loosen them? Move them higher up, so I can take care of the blood?”

You had thought that he must be some other prisoner of Alhaitham’s, back then. As he’d given you more sips of water and you’d hiccuped and grated out some of the story that had lead you here, and he’d nodded and made soft little noises of horror and understanding, as he’d cleaned the wounds and commiserate with you over what a brute Alhaitham was, even to him, the Scribe’s senior. He’d knuckled your bruises away so gently that you’d cried more, and admitted to him that you feared you would never feel a tender touch again.

“You poor thing,” Kaveh had repeated, looking at you with those pools of molten gold. “Don’t worry. You and I are comrades in arms. We’ll take care of one another as best we can.”

You know now that Kaveh’s predicament is not quite the same as yours - partly based on Kaveh’s own stubbornness and pride, instead of the unmoving unrelenting coldness of Alhaitham instead. But that first night, he firmly positioned himself as an ally. Had argued with Alhaitham when the Scribe had come back about how he could not gag you, could not tie you so tightly, could not leave you waterless and foodless in his bedroom all day. A knight in shining armour, you had thought - and the first thing you had done when your bonds were finally loosened was wrap your arms about the surprised blond and thank him.

“Anyone would have done the same,” he’d said, as you’d sobbed into his shoulder and Alhaitham had watched, lip curled at the corner, face unreadable. “Anyone with a heart.”

He’d held the embrace just a little too long.

“You’re home,” you say to Kaveh, back in the present, and you smile at him, a trembling, wavering thing. Sweat is beading on your brow. The brief rush of cool air that Kaveh lets in is a welcome change, and Alhaitham sighs as he walks towards the window. You notice which drawer he goes into - the tiny key that he produces from one of Kaveh’s many cubby-holes on the architect’s desk. Amongst rulers and tiny screwdrivers and silver-flashing scissors. Alhaitham allows the window to open the smallest crack - the one that looks out only into the garden, so nobody passing by might hear voices they do not expect coming from a house they know belongs to Alhaitham.

“I am,” he says, with a smile. “I brought you a present.”

“You’re spoiling her,” Alhaitham says mildly, as you turn your head to Kaveh. You hear the drawer click; another key turn. It is never so simple as ‘get a key from a drawer’. Alhaitham is not so foolish. “What has she done to deserve a present?”

“You don’t have to do things,” Kaveh argues. “It’s nice to have nice things!” You see now that he is holding a small bowl, the kind that the food stalls give out with food bought to travel with - he walks towards you with a smile on his face and holds it out. Inside of the little pale brown half-moon of a bowl are three scoops of some kind of frozen treat, and your mouth waters. You finally move from your spot on the floor to reach out for it.

“Say ‘thank you’,” Alhaitham says sharply, before your hands can close around it. “Or I’ll have it myself. No doubt he paid for it on my tab.”

Kaveh glares at him from under his pale brows but does not argue - you, with your throat dry and hot, babble out thanks to Kaveh and reach out again. Alhaitham clicks his tongue once more.

“Wait,” he tells you, command in his voice. “You’re not even going to ask me if you can have it?”

“Alhaitham--”

“She has to learn,” his voice is final, a rough lightning strike through the room, a man who has never wavered in his convictions. “A disobedient animal is no better than a wild one.”

“Please,” you say to Alhaitham, sensing that arguments are brewing, that tension is crackling. “Please may I have it.”

Green eyes catch yours and leave you hanging desperately and wordlessly for a moment. You dare not move. You wonder if he’s going to bring up you asking about the window, and use that as an excuse - or perhaps what a waste you’ve made of the day, how you should have made yourself move from the cool floorboards like you’re supposed to. You cannot breathe.

Alhaitham gives a wordless nod as he turns on his heel.

“I’m going to get out of my work clothes,” he says. “Have a cold shower. Make sure you behave, and we’ll go into the garden at dusk when it’s cooler.”

Shoulders untense. Kaveh smiles at you and holds out the bowl again. Your mouth waters as you reach for it - you barely notice that Kaveh does not relinquish the hold of his long fingers upon it until you’ve kissed him on the cheek and let him kiss you softly on the mouth in return. It does not seem important.

His own mouth tastes like the dessert, too. He did not have to wait to be brought it by some kind, sympathetic soul. He could have had as many servings as he liked.

You savour every spoonful.

You know your way around the house. You have earnt freedoms to be allowed to wander it at will - if you want to, you can go into the kitchen and fetch yourself something to eat (Alhaitham encourages that, in fact - as long as it is that you’re eating one of his approved foods). You can choose from the many tomes that line the walls, can sit in the living room or the study or on Alhaitham’s desk chair if that’s where you wish to be.

You cannot leave, of course.

Golden locks mock you wherever you look; some intricate, some simple, but none with a key you possess. You’ve seen Alhaitham with two keys to the front door - a cruel joke, when you are not even permitted one. The keys to the windows, to Alhaitham’s desk itself, to all of the drawers and the places you are not allowed to look sit side by side on Alhaitham’s keyring like sentinels guarding you from freedom.

You think about the open window, when Alhaitham cracks it just a little when he comes home. Stand by it and try and get some breeze; strain to hear the voices that are very far away, wondering what’s going on in the life you have abandoned like a missing jigsaw puzzle piece. Has the mould you had been battling with, beneath your own bedroom window, finally beaten you? The spider that dwells in your darkest bathroom corner started a family? Has post piled up on your doormat - letters that will go unanswered for who knows how long?

You have only one hiding place. One loose floorboard, in the very corner of Alhaitham’s room - Kaveh doesn’t go in there often, or you’re certain the architect would have noticed it. You keep some trinkets in there - a dried flower Kaveh had once put in your hair, a necklace he had given you made of cheap beads that he’d bought from some do-gooder selling them for charity.

(Alhaitham had seen you wearing it and pursed his lip; later on that night, when he’d taken you into the shower to wash your hair, he had unclipped it and dropped it into the wastepaper bin.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he’d said. “It will just break and the beads will scatter everywhere. There’s no reason to be giving you any presents right now.”

Whilst you’re sure he meant all of those things too, there’d been something else running through the current of his words; I don’t want you to wear anything that I don’t pick out for you. You’re mine, and if anyone were to collar you . . . it would be me.)

And, your greatest treasures of all - loose Mora, left about the house by Alhaitham and Kaveh. Alhaitham is always complaining about Kaveh dusting and tidying and moving money and not telling him where it has gone - sighing over Kaveh not paying enough attention to things. The idea that you would take it does not cross his mind. He doesn’t know about your hiding spot, so in his mind you’d have nowhere to keep it--

But, too, there is this.

You stay in his home all day, a mostly well-behaved prisoner. He provides you with nutrition and food and clothes. He provides you with attention (whether you want it or not). You have nowhere to go, nothing to buy, and not a single reason to have even a coin to yourself. What would you do with Mora?

It is one of the places his rationality fails him.

In both small and large denominations, you have more than enough Mora to make it to Liyue, Mondstadt, and far away from Sumeru stashed away on a boat to the island nation of Inazuma, where even Alhaitham (you’re certain) could not drag you from your new life.

Kaveh is the one who gives you the opening, in the end. He and Alhaitham have an argument in the early morning - from your position wrapped in Alhaitham’s sheet, you half-listen. It’s about you. It often is. Kaveh is trying to argue with Alhaitham about how he should be allowed to take you out with him into the garden in the morning, that the one half-hour of sunlight is not enough and perhaps you and Kaveh could even cultivate a little flower-patch out there, to give you something to do--

It’s a well-worn argument, one that Alhaitham always wins. Kaveh is not responsible enough to be in sole charge of you outside, Alhaitham says. He spoils you too much. You smile into your pillow as you imagine that little cottage once more, of tending to a garden with Kaveh--

Kaveh slams the door on the way out. Alhaitham comes back to you to rouse you from bed, sighing over Kaveh, scolding you for not getting up yourself - he, too, is distracted by the argument, and that distraction does not ease. He is working from home today, he tells you, so the window can be cracked all day.

At seven in the evening, the window has still not been closed, and Alhaitham has pulled you onto his lap to read with you perched there. At eight in the evening, Alhaitham grits his teeth that Kaveh hasn’t come back yet and tells you he is going to the tavern to drag his ungrateful roommate home--

And he leaves with the window still cracked.

At quarter past eight, Kaveh is dragged into the room smelling of wine and Alhaitham follows him in, sullen as ever. He still does not notice the cracked open window, as he drags Kaveh into the bathroom and commands him to brush his teeth, to splash himself with cold water and pull himself together.

The window has not been seen to. The drawer that he had put the window key back into remains unlocked.

When Alhaitham returns to the main room, you pretend to be worried over him. You ask if there’s anything you can do, framing it as a kind of shaking fear the Scribe may take out his frustrations on you, and you let Alhaitham take you into his bedroom to work off the stress.

You stare into the empty space behind his shoulder while he’s inside of you and think about slipping through the open window and out into the world again.

The next morning, Alhaitham chances a gaze at the window and nods to himself when he sees it - for all intents and purposes, locked. You’d shimmied the frame up painstakingly slowly last night when you’d murmured about needing the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t remember. He’d grumbled in his sleep but had not protested.

He leaves the same time he always does - Kaveh, slumped in his own bedroom from the hangover, stays where he is.

And you hold the unlocked window like a secret flame in the candle of your heart.

You still do not dare do anything until an hour after Alhaitham has left, terrified that he will return and you will be punished horribly for daring to think escape would be possible. But as time ticks on, and the sun rises higher in the sky, you begin to convince yourself that this is all going to be fine.

You go into the living room and to the window. It leads out into the garden, but that is fine; you can scale a fence. That is no difficult task after everything else you’ve been through. You test it, wiggling it open just a crack, and a light breeze hits your heated face as excitement begins to rise in your bones.

Back into Alhaitham’s rooms to go beneath the floorboards and take your little pouch of Mora, heavy in your hand as you tie it with cord around your waist. You do not have a bag, and your flimsy robe has no pockets - but those are things to be thought of later. Perhaps you will take some well-worn dress from a washing line, where it dries in the wind. Perhaps you can spare a few coins for something that does not show off the ample curves of your body so much. You can allow yourself, now, to think of those things.

Content, you open the window wider. You let yourself linger there in front of the window for longer, fresh air on your face and the promise of escape playing a siren’s melody. This time tomorrow, you will be free.

You look towards Kaveh’s bedroom and smile.

So will he.

All of those dreams you’ve had can be made reality; you will both find yourself out from beneath Alhaitham’s thumb with a future stretching ahead of you, together. You can repay Kaveh for his kindness - can sometimes be the one to bring him a gift of flowers or fruits or a beautiful leaf on the ground. You can walk hand in hand with him and this will be but a distant memory.

You rap softly on his door.

“Kaveh?” You call into the crack of the hinge. “Are you awake?”

Kaveh mumbles your name. Stirring from within his room, as he moves about it, a murmured response that he’ll be out as soon as he’s decent - you can barely wait. Unrestrained tension fizzes through all of your veins, excitement and pleasure and anticipation. You let yourself imagine him boosting you out of the window, both of you laughing as you tumble onto the grass beneath the windowsill--

His door opens and he stands there, dark shadows beneath his eyes and his hair more ruffled than usual but the kind smile that you have grown so fond of firmly on his face.

“I have something to show you,” you tell him, tugging his arm. “Come on, come with me!”

“Is it a new painting?” He asks, mildly, letting himself be dragged along with that smile still on his face. “Ah, have you found another lovely tale in one of those books you want to read to me? I do adore you, you know--”

You pull him into the living room and, with a bright, optimistic look on your face, motion to the wide-open window where the wispy white curtains are fluttering in the breeze.

Kaveh does not speak for a time.

He swallows.

You can see his thoughts racing behind his eyes and you mistake them for fear; trepidation of a life with nothing. But that’s alright; you have made provisions for such things!

You jingle the Mora, as those sharp golden eyes move from you to the window and back again.

You give him a hopeful smile, all bright eyes and idealism that you’ve always thought he’d share with you. Freedom calls; a life away from Alhaitham. “We can leave,” you say. “We can go out through the window! A whole future, Kaveh, together--!”

Kaveh is still not smiling back at you.

“I--I’ve thought of everything,” you say, falling over your words as Kaveh does not immediately fall upon your open escape route. “We can go to Inazuma, I have enough Mora, we can put as much distance between us as possible and you . . . architects are needed everywhere, we might have to sleep rough a while and I know you’re not that used to it and it might seem scary but we could get a little cottage together and a g-garden and . . .”

You tail off as Kaveh’s gaze stays trained on you, pitying, sympathetic. He should be delighted. He should be pleased. He’s looking at you the way that Alhaitham looks at him, when Kaveh gets started on one of his talks about how everyone in the world is good at their core. You have always agreed with him - mostly.

(“Present company excluded,” Kaveh had said once, waving a hand, wine glass in his grasp, at Alhaitham. You had laughed, and Alhaitham had made you bend over his knee and spanked you hard upon your rear ten times as Kaveh silently watched).

“Stay calm,” Kaveh says softly. “Step away from the window, darling. Let’s talk about this instead.”

Dawning comprehension settles about you like the hot summer air.

It seems a foolish thing not to have realised before all of this - you suppose, in Kaveh’s sweet soft smiles and cooing gentle voice and his whirlwind way of coming and going, you have never stopped to think about it. Your voice comes out dry as old paper.

“You’ve had a key the whole time.”

“I live here,” he says. “Surely you realised I’d have to let myself in and out--”

“You could have let me go any time.” Your tone is flat. Kaveh looks at you, anguished, and a thousand thoughts flit into your mind - a thousand times he could have just unlocked the door and held your hand and the two of you could have walked out of the house and you could have walked right out of Alhaitham’s grasp. Instead, he had given you fruits and trinkets like you were supposed to be grateful and taken the reward of your gratitude in hungry kisses and the press of his body upon yours--

“No, darling,” he’s trying to soothe you. “I couldn’t have - you know what Alhaitham has over me, you know that he could ruin my life - I’m just as much a prisoner as you, really--”

The earnestness in his voice could almost make you forgive him. It has, in the past - when he’s knitted his brow and said of course he can’t let you out of the cage, but he’ll make it up to you when Alhaitham lets you out. You’ve written off things like that before.

No longer. Not with the window fully open, not with escape beckoning you.

“Then leave with me,” you repeat, shaking. “Come out of the window. We’ll get out of Sumeru, we’ll go somewhere nobody even cares about the Akademiya, somewhere he won’t reach--”

The bag full of stolen Mora tied about your waist feels heavy, jingling on your hip. Your throat is dry. The robe you are permitted to wear suddenly feels all the flimsier, all the more embarrassing to be seen in, full thighs on display and the curve of your chest far too revealed.

“Don’t,” he says, softly, moving towards you. He places his hands up, palms facing you, like soothing a wild animal likely to flee. “You know that wouldn’t work. You know he’d find you.”

(You, he says. Not ‘us’.)

“Kaveh!” Dreams of that little cottage and a little life slip through your fingers like grains of sand. “Don’t-- don’t you care about me? Do you want me to die here?”

“Of course I do.” He’s closer now. Your shoulders shake, lip trembling. He reaches out for you, fingers brushing your cheek. “Of course I don’t. We take good care of you. Better care than you might have gotten, before. Have I ever hurt you?”

You want to scream. You’re hurting me now!

“Alhaitham has,” you whisper. “And you . . . you’ve never stopped him.”

You’re crying, you realise, as Kaveh’s face turns into concern and he wipes a tear away.

“I can’t,” he says, with a soft little sigh like he is the injured party. “If he threw me out . . .”

“You don’t want to leave.” You try to keep your voice flat, but it cracks on the ‘want’. You want, you want, you want - and from Kaveh’s kisses, from his murmurs and his gifts and his indulgence of ‘draw the place you wish you could be’, you had always thought that he wanted too.

“I have a reputation,” he replies, steadfast. “My architecture, my name, all of the things I worked hard on--”

He doesn’t say anything about your achievements. He’d smiled at your little drawings and said how talented you were, he’d sighed over how pretty you were and how much of an inspiration you were, looked at you with such warmth in his eyes as he’d listened to you talk about your dreams and all of those little romantic fantasies you kept cherished in your heart and had thought that, perhaps, he would understand--

But now? He says nothing. As if you do not exist outside of this prison.

He thinks himself far more important than you.

“I just want some freedom,” you whisper, your face wet, your throat dry, your body feeling pulled in all ways at once. You had never envisioned that Kaveh would be like this - in all of your daydreams, he had gone willingly with you. You chide yourself now, for your own foolish romanticism - but you cannot let go of nights spent in this house with only Kaveh for comfort. “I just want a life.”

“We take care of you,” Kaveh says in a voice that sounds like a beg. “Alhaitham’s right, you’d never have lasted alone out there--”

“I was d-doing just fine.” Tears clog up your throat like ice.

“Were you?” He asks, quietly. His hand on your face feels like a brand, as he rubs his thumb over your lip and sighs, as he pulls back with a strand of your hair twirled around his finger. “Darling. The world chews up and spits out people like us, sometimes. I just want you to be safe--”

“I’m nothing like you,” you say to him, trying to be strong and failing miserably with every tremulous syllable. “We’re nothing alike, Kaveh. I would have been out of this window the moment it was opened, if we were in one another’s shoes.”

“No,” he says, and his voice is still disgustingly tender. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d see that you’re too fragile, too romantic and too lovely and too idealistic to survive for much longer. You’d see that this is the best option for you.”

“Alhaitham says you’re an idealist,” you whisper bitterly. “A romanticist. Just like me.”

Kaveh sighs.

“This could have been you,” you continue, stubbornly, bitterly, wildly grasping for something to say that could hurt even a fraction of how your heart has shattered. “In another world, you’d be where I am, and you wouldn’t be saying those things to yourself--”

Kaveh looks at you and seems to understand a kind word will not fix this; a stroke of your hair, a hidden treat. He heaves a sigh and shakes his head, instead.

“I’m going to close the window.”

You don’t reply. You stand like a statue, silent, as Kaveh walks to the window, reaches for the frame to pull it back up into position. Your future trickles out of your fingers like sand through an hourglass. The cottage is reduced to rubble by lightning storms, the flower garden does not grow, and the blond man beside you in your dreams becomes as grasping and hungry and monstrous as any nightmare has ever been.

The door clicks open once again. A voice calls out;

“I forgot to bring anything for lunch,”

And then Alhaitham walks in.

His eyes quickly take in the scene before him - you, and Kaveh, and the window that has not yet been closed.

“You forgot to close it last night,” Kaveh says, without turning around. “She wants me to leave with her.”

“And so? What will you do now, Kaveh?” Alhaitham’s voice is clipped. The question hovers in mid-air. Kaveh lets out a huff of breath through his nose, and for one horrible, glorious moment you think he is about to break and come back to your side--

“Close the window,” Kaveh replies instead. “Lock it.”

You stare at Alhaitham - as the Scribe’s lips press together and curve, in a satisfied smile. You wonder if the shattering of your heart is an audible thing, or if it simply sounds that loud in your head. The window lock clicks with a finality that makes you want to throw up.

“Good,” he says. And then he turns his attention back to you, as Kaveh moves across the room to stand just to one side of him. Kaveh’s golden eyes are apologetic - but it is not enough. Your heart has been pulled out of you and trampled upon and there is no coming back from this - no number of peaches or soft kisses or reassurances whispered into your hair that will make you ever think of him as a reprieve.

Perhaps he’s worse. At least Alhaitham does not try and hide behind anything.

You have no friends here. Just two men who, in the end, want the same thing from you.

“You understand I’m going to have to punish you?” Alhaitham asks, and his tone is reassuring in its sharpness. “Trying to run . . . when all I’m doing is giving you the best life you could possibly get?”

“I understand,” you say, exhausted. Kaveh tilts his head to one side and puts on the face that you now know is a mask; concern and worry and pity. You see your future laid bare before you like one of Kaveh’s blueprints. The summer heat seems a visible thing once more - or perhaps that’s your own anger, coalescing, at the fact Kaveh has the nerve to look compassionate.

Later on that evening, when the welts on the back of your thighs sting and you’ve been divested of even the flimsiest garment, when Alhaitham has retired to bed with his door wide open and you curl on the thin blanket of the cage that Alhaitham only uses for the very worst infractions, you slip into fitful nightmares of keys clicking in locks and lion keychains and golden-eyed masks that only lie. The summer night is no cooler. You wake up in the early morning light, golden shafts with dust motes dancing, and you see that in the night the architect has brought you a peace offering.

A small bowl sits beside the cage. The bars are just wide enough for you to reach a hand out (how many nights, in the past, has Kaveh curled his littlest finger around yours whilst you sobbed over the indignity of it?). You could take the spoon sticking out of the bowl and bring mouthfuls of the frozen dessert to your lips, letting it soften and thaw on your tongue, savouring the refreshing coldness of the treat.

You do not.

Instead, you simply sit there, caged, and you watch it melt into liquid drop by drop by drop.

#writing #commissioned work #yandere alhaitham #yandere kaveh #yandere genshin impact #dub con cw #non con cw #yandere cw

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milla-frenchy · 5 months

Text

Deja vu

2k9 | Joel Miller x fem reader Summary: after a bad experience with a former boyfriend, you meet Joel who makes you trust him fully in the bedroom Warnings: 18+ mdni. Dead dove - dark - noncon Footjob and jerking off in public (restaurant), drug added to alcohol without reader's knowledge, mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, dirty talk, degradation, ass play, rimming, ignored safe word, anal, manipulation, lies, creampie, forced orgasm No age specified, no outbreak a/n: Thank you @romana-after-dark for this dead dove december 🤌 Thank you @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for correcting me, and for the depraved ideas on this one, again 😏💕🫂 Heed the warnings. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. This fic isn't for everyone, and that's ok. I don't condone any of this. Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

Read on ao3 | Masterlist

*********

You and Joel have been seeing each other for a few weeks. You met during Thanksgiving at the Adlers’, his neighbors, who were your distant relatives. You exchanged phone numbers, and he called you back a few days later. He was charming, magnificent, polite, and gallant.

And great in bed. He proved it to you orgasm after orgasm, whether with his tongue, his fingers or his cock. He was generous and attentive to your pleasure, before his own. It was like you had found the perfect person, sexually.

You talked a lot about your desires, your fantasies, you discussed them before realizing them, and you had put in place a safe word. In a few weeks, you were more confident with him than you had ever been with any other man, and this complicity, this closeness, made you want to give him more and more.

A few rare practices had been put aside, whether categorically, or “perhaps one day”. One of those “perhaps” was anal. You had a bad experience in the past, a former boyfriend who was too pushy, to whom you hadn't been able to say no, who hadn't taken your discomfort into account, and until now you had never wanted to try again.

You had talked to Joel about this experience and he had been understanding, as usual. He had reassured you by telling you that if you ever did it, it would be when you were completely confident.

He had introduced you to rimming, and you loved it so much that since then he did it regularly. You also realized that you took even more pleasure when he pressed one of his fingers against your ass while he fucked you, or even when he pushed one of them lightly in it.

Once, he brushed his cock against your ring, and it turned you on. He asked you if you felt ready to try, and you answered yes, because you really thought so. He had prepared you, eating your ass for a long time, and the moment he squeezed his cock and started thrusting in, you got scared. You thought about this previous experience and used your safe word. He had stopped immediately, caressing your cheek, and thrusting slowly in your pussy, whispering in your ear that it was ok, that your pussy was enough for him, felt so good and gave him so much pleasure.

He had been so understanding and gentle that since then he had eaten your ass again, touched it, and you still loved it just as much, without apprehension. You told yourself that one day this blockage would go away, and you’d be capable of more.

One evening, you went out to a restaurant and during the meal you thought about one of his fantasies: a footjob. You took off your shoe and moved your foot up his calf, before placing it on his knee.

He smiled and said “what are you doin’, sweetheart?”

You smiled innocently at him, sliding your foot along the inside of his thigh, before coming to place it delicately against his already swollen crotch. You heard him groan from across the table, and you smiled again, a little less innocently this time.

You stroked his cock through his pants and he passed his hand under the table, placing it on your ankle, accompanying your movement.

“You’re a naughty girl, baby… taking advantage of me in a public place, when I can't do anything.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, Mr. Miller,” you replied, drinking your cocktail through a straw. He looked down at your lips and you saw his Adam's apple contract with difficulty.

He moved his hand under your ankle and lifted your foot slightly, while he unzipped his pants with his other hand, and pulled out his cock.

He had rested your foot on it, and you felt his skin under your sole. You stroked his cock, and all you could think about was making him cum, right in the middle of this restaurant. So you dropped your other heel, and your foot came to join the first, grabbing his cock in between. Slowly, you began jerking him, his eyes fixed on you. You said softly and slowly so that he could read your lips “come for me”. But you didn't have time to make him cum with just your feet without the risk of attracting attention, so he released your ankle and grabbed his cock, starting to jerk off while your feet continued to move slightly up and down his shaft.

He sped up the movement of his wrist and you placed one of your feet slightly lower, on his balls. Just before he came, he held your feet against him, preventing you from removing them. His jaw clenched so hard that you couldn't help but smile, as you felt his cum leak onto your skin.

In the car on the way to Joel's, he patted your knee as you were driving. You looked at him and asked “so… did you like it?” smiling mischievously.

“You, little brat, made me cum like a teenage boy.”

“Yeah you came soooo quickly… my feet still remember it.”

He laughed and said “it was perfect, sweetheart. But I’ll make up for it soon.”

“Oh really? And what do you have planned?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” You looked at him, his charming smile made you fall for him, and you stepped on the accelerator to get to his house a little faster.

Once the front door closed behind you, Joel grabbed you and pulled you against him, gripping your ass with both hands.

“Mmmm you smell so good” he said, his nose buried in your neck.

You put your arms around his shoulders, and you felt the shivers run through your body. You loved feeling his torso against you, surrounded by his arms, him leaning slightly towards you.

“Go wait for me in the bedroom, I’ll be there in 2 minutes while I bring us something to drink.”

You sat down on the bed and a few seconds later he arrived with two glasses of champagne. He handed one to you and took a few sips. You did the same, enjoying what you recognized as your favorite champagne while your eyes were fixed on each other.

You told him to take off his clothes, and you watched him do so, crossing your legs and taking another sip of champagne. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, undid his belt and slid it down his waist then let it fall to the floor. He paused and you nodded, mentioning him to continue. He unzipped his jeans and grabbed his bulge with one hand, stroking himself through the fabric.

“Why don’t you finish that glass of champagne, baby, so you can slip your fingers into your panties?”

You smiled, finished your glass and placed it on the floor, pulled your dress up to your waist, before spreading your thighs and slipping your hand into your panties, reaching your already soaked pussy.

“Go ahead baby, stroke your clit.”

You moved your wet finger up to your clit and gently swirled it over it, and said “take your cock out, Joel. I wanna see you jerking off.”

He pulled his pants and boxers down to mid-thighs, and his cock pointed upwards. He spat in his hand and started jacking off, his gaze moving from your panties to your eyes.

“Take your panties off now, I wanna see your pussy dripping for me.”

You took them off and he added “let me see her, sweetheart.”

You spread your legs wide, and pushed your index and middle fingers into your pussy again, before running your index finger over your clit. You groaned from the shivers you felt and leaned your head back.

“Fuck, I wanna taste you,” he said, removing his clothes completely. You removed your dress and bra, and climbed back up to the top of the bed. He lay down between your legs, his forearms surrounding your thighs. He lapped you from your wet hole all the way to your clit.

“So wet for me, baby.”

He pushed two fingers into your pussy, wrapping his lips around your clit to suck on it. His tongue came rolling over your clit.

“You taste so good”, he said. He looked down at his fingers digging into your pussy.

“I love the way you look when I fuck you with my fingers.”

“Fuck, Joel…”

You grabbed your breasts in your hands and bit your lip, just as his tongue caressed your clit again. He took his fingers out and spread your folds with his thumbs, watching your wetness trickle down to your ass.

“Can I eat your ass, sweetheart? I just… I wanna feel it under my tongue. You know how I love it.”

You looked at him and nodded.

“Answer me, sweetheart. I need to hear it.”

“Yes Joel, do it. I want it.”

“Tell me the safe word, baby.”

“It’s purple.”

"Good. If you want to stop, you say so. And I’ll stop immediately. You trust me?”

“Fully, Joel.”

He looked down at your pussy, its folds still spread with his thumbs. He pushed his tongue inside and fucked you with it, one thumb now rubbing lightly over your clit. You spread your thighs as far as you could, your hands resting on his head. The tip of his tongue trailed down to your ass, pressing against that tight ring. He softened it, going up to your pussy a few times while his thumb continued to caress your clit.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I love it so much. So much.”

He pressed his tongue against your ass again, which was beginning to open. The tip entered it and you loved that feeling. You trusted Joel, and your body was much more relaxed with him than with the other men you had known. You knew he wouldn't force it, that he was attentive to you, and your mind allowed your body to relax.

“You like that, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Joel, I love it.”

He licked from your ass to your clit, and pushed two fingers into your pussy again.

“You’re gonna cum for me, sweetheart? You’re gonna let this little pussy scream for me?”

“Y… Yes. Come suck my clit, please. Make me cum.”

He placed his tongue on your clit, and pushed the third finger into your pussy. As he swirled your clit under his tongue, he pulled the ring finger out and slid it to your tight hole, pressing on it lightly. His finger went in easily, and the sensations felt in three places simultaneously made you cum on his tongue.

He accompanied you with his tongue and fingers until your moaning stopped, your fingers gradually releasing their pressure in his hair. He knelt down for a few moments and said “you’re so beautiful all spread out like this…I’m gonna fuck you now.”

He moved up to your face and kissed you. You loved feeling your taste on his tongue. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, then put his hand on your pussy, and fingered you again.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. You want my cock, baby?”

You didn't answer him right away, you felt a little weird. As if slightly feverish.

“Baby?”

“Yes, sorry… I felt a little strange but it’s alright now…”

“Did you have such a good orgasm, sweetheart?” he asked you, laughing.

You smiled, before responding “yeah… fuck me Joel, please.”

He took his cock in his hand, pressed it against your entrance and thrusted in with one slow movement.

“Oh god, Joel… it’s so good.”

“Yeah…This tight pussy couldn’t wait anymore to get fucked, didn’t she?”

“Mmmm yeah…” you replied, and he pulled his pelvis back before thrusting in again, still slowly. Your pussy was gradually getting used to his size, and you put your legs around his waist so he could thrust deeper.

“You feel so good, sweetheart”, he said, setting a faster pace, and your fingers dug into his shoulders every time he bottomed out.

He stopped after a few minutes, and said “on all fours, baby.” You turned around and the feeling came over you again.

“I feel a little weird again…”

“It must be the champagne. It’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He grabbed your hip with one hand, his cock with the other, and thrusted into you. Something was wrong. You saw everything through a layer of fog, but the pleasure you felt taking his cock was too great to stop.

“That’s so good, baby. You take my cock so well.”

You moaned, and he said “I’m gonna play with your ass a little bit. OK, baby? You know how you cum harder, when my thumb is buried in your ass.”

"Yeah….I do."

He dropped his saliva on your ass, and his thumb came to rest, before quickly digging in. He held it down, as he now fucked you harder. You were having trouble thinking. You felt that you were experiencing pleasure, but the realization of no longer managing the sensation made you uncomfortable.

“Joel? I really don’t feel good.”

“It’s ok baby… Just a little bit more, okay?”

“Okay…” you replied, but without really being aware of what you were saying. You struggled to stay on your hands, and you bent your elbows to rest on your forearms.

“Yeah? Wanna feel me deeper? Such a good slut for me.”

He groaned, thrusting deep into you, his thumb still in your ass, feeling that you were more and more absent from what was happening.

“Wait for me, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

He got up from the bed and you could barely make out what was happening.

“Joel…”

“I’m here, baby.”

He came back to kneel behind you and you vaguely heard the sound of a bottle opening. You felt like sometimes you were falling asleep, unable to stop your eyes from closing.

“Joel?”

“I’m right here, sweetheart.”

You felt his fingers on you, behind, but with such a vague impression that you couldn't formalize what he was doing. His cock pressed against you again but the feeling was different. And he pushed.

“Joel, what…what are you doing?”

“What do you mean? I’m fucking your pussy baby… fuck… I’m just… Oh shit… that’s good.”

“No, Joel, stop it please. I feel really weird.”

“Shhh. It’s ok. Keep takin’ my cock like that… Fuck.”

“No, Joel… Pur… purple!”

You heard him growl, and he didn’t stop. Why didn’t he stop?

You felt him pushed all the way in. But it wasn’t in your pussy, despite what he told you. The feeling was too different. You tried to concentrate, to understand what was happening. He pulled back, then sank in harder, and pain shot through your body. His movements sped up and he said “fuck yeah! Just a little harder. Fuck, that’s good.”

“Stop… stop please, you’re hurting me…” you said in such a low voice as your mind and body were drained of all energy, unable to rebel or defend yourself mentally or physically.

“I know. Shut up now. Let me fuck that ass.”

You could no longer stand on your limbs and you fell flat on the bed. He lay on top of you and continued to pound you. His mouth against your ear, he whispered “I’ve been waiting for so long to fuck this ass. Shit… way too long, you have no idea.”

He kept thrusting while you moaned.

“Now you’re takin’ it like a good girl. Like a fuckin’ whore. Oh fuck, that’s good, that hole is so tight. You squeeze my cock so well. Your pussy’s good but fuck… this ass?”

He growled, and your mind drifted further and further away.

"You like that? I bet you do. You can finally get your little slut’s ass fucked.”

He groweld and added “fuck I’m gonna cum. I'm gonna shoot my cum in your tight ass, fuck!”

He came inside you, as you moaned under his movements. He pulled out, and spread your ass cheeks to look at your open ass dripping with his cum. He grabbed you to flip you onto your back and spread your legs, coming to lick your pussy.

“ ’m gonna make you come again.”

He ran his tongue from your pussy to your ass, licking up his spend.

“Can’t leave you with this cum leaking out of your ass, can I?”

You moaned, your body responding to his tongue. You no longer had any awareness of what was happening, you felt no pain. Just the pleasure building. And you kept moaning, feeling uncomfortable but not knowing why.

“Just let it happen, baby. Cum for me.”

You came, while he told you that you were a good little slut, always cumming for him when he wanted you to, and now ready to get fucked in all your holes by his big cock.

In the morning, you woke up when Joel was still asleep, turned towards you. You had a terrible headache. You got up to go take some painkillers and came back to bed. Joel woke up when you lay down.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“I have a headache, and just vague memories of last night, after the restaurant. It’s so strange."

"You don’t remember? I guess the champagne hit too hard. Don’t worry about it”, he replied.

“No, I really don’t. That’s so weird.”

“It’s ok, baby, you're probably just a little tired”, he added, kissing your forehead.

You held yourself against him, waiting for the headache to dissipate.

**********************

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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diejager · 3 months

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HI HI !!! i just wanted to request a fic of perv! stebrother! konig :D

he basically offers us a massage and us, innocent! reader would agree not knowing the intent behind this ‘innocent’ service— it’d turn into SEX,, ( you can figure the details out or just get straight into the scenario of you’d prefer )

that is all, teehee :3

Massage Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, massage, innocent/oblivious!reader, fingering, condescending, coercion, slight misogyny, size kink, tell me if I missed any.

You thought yourself extremely lucky to have an older brother so caring and gentle with you, always offering to pick you up after classes in his old pickup truck, helping you with finding inspiration for projects, acting as your model, soothing your aching muscles and always giving you a hand whenever you needed it. You really loved König despite his awkwardness and aversion to you when you first moved in with him, his avoidance of you when you crossed paths in the hall or his cold, lingering gaze on you, but after a while, he opened up, gracing you with soft affection and and eagerness to be near and help you.

You spent a lot of times together, be it in one of your rooms, in the kitchen, in the living room or in public, always so close to you and holding such an intimacy that some would think that you were a couple. Perhaps it’s this closeness that made you feel so comfortable being naked in front of him, splayed over his bigger bed without anything to cover yourself. His hands pressed down on the knot, feeling the tightness in your muscles and the softness of your skin, without being obstructed by your clothes —or any at all. König had your back oiled, stomach and breasts pressed into the cool sheets of his bed, tensing and groaning when he put pressure on a specific spot.

“You’re so tense, Spatzi,” he bemoaned, letting his rough fingers trail down your spine, feeling and staring at your arched back, mewling lightly when he ghosted your hips, “It’s good that have good hands, ja?”

You nodded against his bed, letting out a little sigh when he raised your hips with one of his big and silky pillows, hands grazing down your ass to grip your plush thighs. Kneading the sensitive, inner fat of your legs, drifting so closely to your uncovered cunt, teasing you a little flick of his thumb on your swollen clit. Your body reacted to his touch, cunt growing slick from all the stimulation of his calloused pads pressing and kneading your skin, especially when he moved down your ass or crawled up the sides of your tits, leaving fleeting touches on your perked nipples.

“Wait, König-” you mewled, squirming lightly beneath him, hips bucking against his palm from light touches, “König.”

“I know. I know,” he mumbled out, his tone wearing a slight edge of condescension, “Let me help you, Spatzi.”

You mewled lowly, your body too relaxed into his sheets to do anything against him but mewl out your objections and writhe beneath him, legs numb to the point that all you could do was give him light nudges. Shushing your cries with growling words, his fingers slipped down your slit, thumb nudging at your clit and rolling it before he dipped a thick finger into you. You moaned, gushing around him the moment he pressed his finger knuckle deep, your virginal walls unused to having a thick and rough finger curling inside of you.

You’ve fucked your self with your hand before, unable to stop the brewing flame in your core, but one finger of his equalled to two of yours, it filled you to the near brink, pumping and tapping your g-spot without fail. Your body moved on its own, ass raising lightly to coax König faster and harder, riding his hand for more stimulation than his muscle-deep massage. He nearly sneered at you for being so eager to want to come around his fingers, his sweet and innocent step-sister vulnerable and pliant for him. Giving you a few rough pumps, you gushed, soaking his palm with slick, rutting against his hand and screaming into his sheets, fingers clenching and body tense, thrashing and arching.

Your slick rolled down your thighs, wetting his bed with your salty and musky cum, gifting him with something to relieve himself with for the next days. You were complexly limp, after a massage and a mind-blowing orgasm, you felt boneless and aroused and floating on ecstasy.

“See?” König growled out, body pressing down on you to reaffirm his previous words, ”I know how to help you. I know better, Spatzi.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

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iciclesses · 4 months

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cw non con + branding

back on my welder Ghost bullshit but him making a brand with his initials just for you,, and the team holding you down <33 shops closed, your screams muffled by a sooty worn leather glove stuffed in your mouth! Hands all over you, pinning your arms to a table as even more hands tear your shirt away to expose your soft skin to Ghost <33 eyes widening with terror as you see the cherry red pole, hearing his men coo and laugh at you, tell you that you'd better hold still- if you mess up the brand, he'll just have to try it again, put it somewhere clean <3

#noel.txt #ghost x reader #141 x reader #cw non con #cw branding #bunny if u see this pls love me

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cobwebs-in-autumn · 3 months

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Simon fucking into you from behind, your underwear shoved into your mouth so he doesn’t have to hear your pleas for him to stop, whispering to you about how you’re his purpose in life now. He was made for you. Made to protect, to love, to pleasure you. Anything (but your freedom) is yours for the taking. Everything about him belongs to you, you’re his goddess, his everything. And he’s never letting you go.

#cod #call of duty #cobweb writes #cw: non-con

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konigsblog · 5 months

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stepbro!könig and stepbro!krueger thots ... ☆‧₊˚.

tw: stepcest, non-con/dub-con (peer pressure, blackmail), degrading.

— stepbrother!könig is teasing and degrading. he loves to make you feel like you're worth nothing, especially if it's because you haven't pleased him with a nice, sloppy, and sticky blowjob. :3

stepbrother!krueger on the other hand, is addicted to seeing you cry. he's so mean, brutal with his pace when he demands you to bend over and present that pretty, and tight cunt to him! both him and könig love to gang up against you, so they can blackmail you with skimpy, scandalous photos of you -- threatening to leak it if you didn't please them like they asked.

instead of arguing or retorting back at them, you meekly turned around, getting smacked in the rear causing you to jolt and squeak, listening to the sounds of könig tutting with impatience clear in his voice.

“haven't got all day, mäuschen...” you slide your panties off, spitting a fat glob of saliva on your hand and rubbing your clit in circles so you're wet and dripping! sloppy, and sopping wet. just like a good stepsister should be...

“now be a smart girl and arch that back for us.”

krueger's accent is prominent in the air, pushing up against you, both hands on your hips. he sloppy humps you, wet and sticky, cum sticking to your thighs and covering your folds. he's only inside for a few minutes before he's cumming all over your slit, coating you in thick strings of cum.

they both take turns of you. könig's hard dick easing into your asshole without preparation, causing you to grip anything around you tightly, panting and whimpering through the ache. his thrusts are harsh and rough, making sure to fuck some sense into his dumb stepsister who always falls for their threats...

— at dinner, they're both pieces of shit. not only to eachother, but you especially. you're just a little ragdoll to take their anger out on. whether that's by eating you out underneath the table while you speak to your mother and stepfather, holding back moans and gasps when krueger drags his tongue over your sensitive clit. just like the cheeky bastard he is...

stepbrother!könig is always riled up. even when you're a few metres away from your mother who was preparing dinner in the kitchen, he'll hide behind a wall close to the kitchen, pinning you against the same wall, rutting into you while covering your mouth with a large, calloused hand. your muffled whines and mewls fall onto death's ears as he fits himself whole inside you, his balls smacking against your ass repetitively.

and your mother always asks why you both stink of sweat, and all you can do is shrug your shoulders shyly.

könig won't hesitate to grab your hand, bring it over to his lap and take out his cock, having you jerk him off underneath the blanket while you're all watching a movie. all it does is leave krueger pissed off, jealous, and horny... you owe him a handjob too, now. :3

translation: mäuschen - little mouse

banner credit: saradika

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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

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The Ice Does Not Forgive Peril, Prey, Pursuit

Main Masterlist

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x you #captain price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price #john price x female reader #captain john price x female reader #captain price x female reader #wolf shifter #dub con #non con #cw blood #cw drowning #cw stalking

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steviewashere · 2 days

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Loving Who You Are, Not What You Offer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t want to upset the poor guy.

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

———

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

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

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

“Steve?” Eddie calls softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t touch him without asking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He feels sick to his stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for being patient. Being here.”

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

🩵—————🩵

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

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