#dark reader insert

[mothwingwritings]

Miscommunication

F!Reader X Pickle

Hello everyone! Sorry for the lack of communication. I’ve been doing this or that, working on stuff, surviving summer, you know how it is.

I have been picking away at quite a few fics recently, but I am all over the place so they are all getting worked on/done/edited at different paces. I wrote this lil Pickle fic in the midst of it all. It was born purely from the thought of a yandere licking up your tears that they themself were the cause of, so I picked a guy and ran with that. I chose Picky because my feral mans does NOTrealize how much of a menace he is to you but by God he’s gonna keep on forcing his love on you until one of you dies. :)

18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!

Thank you and enjoy!

WARNINGS: Noncon, forced interaction/cuddling, dacryphilia, miscommunication (if you couldn’t tell by the title), light editing, 18+ only!!!

There were plenty of things Pickle loved about you.

He loved the way you looked. So different from the people of his time, you were distinct in a way all your own. The moment he first laid his eyes upon you he was beseeched by curiosity, your unique appearance adding to the intrigue of your already undeniable beauty and charm. You were smaller, softer, and far more polished than the women he was used to. With glossy well-kept hair and not a mark of dirt or grime upon your body, you appeared to him to be almost glowing. This pure presentation made him feel as if he was beholding some glorious creature from another planet, not a mere human woman. You were definitely something that should be far out of his reach, breathtakingly lovely, but unattainable. Yet somehow here you were, right within his grasp, ripe for his consumption. Having such a gorgeous and otherworldly creature in his vicinity was far too enticing, how could he not be expected to stake his claim?

He loved the way you smelled, though those strange sprays you coated your body with were a bit much for his liking. He preferred your natural scent, the one you always tried to mask for whatever reason, the one that differentiated you from the rest of the herd. He could pick it out from anywhere at any time no matter how far from him you strayed, but it would become especially pungent when you were worked up or excited. He relished those moments, pleased to get a whiff of it through the artificial cover of stinking flowers and fruits. Heady and ambrosial, he would bask in your natural essence, inhaling it deeply as if he were receiving a treat.

He also loved the way you sounded, though your words made no sense to him. All the people that surrounded him seemed to make the same kinds of noises, their lips forming sounds that he was sure held all manner of meaning, but none of it he was privy to. Not that it mattered to him really. Different forms of communication suited him much better than spoken word ever could anyway, and despite the lack of common speech he shared with his new peers, he got by just fine. When Pickle bared his teeth or showed open pleasure, those that were nearby seemed to understand him all the same, so there had never been much need to put thought into their dialogue.

… That was, until he met you. It frustrated him sometimes, when you would speak to him with words he could not comprehend. When you talked with a smile he could assume he did something pleasing, or at the very least you weren’t upset, but when you would frown and raise your voice… What exactly was upsetting you? If it was something he did he wanted to correct it right away, your pretty smile suited you much better than a grumpy frown did. He’d do just about anything to keep it on your face forever, if only he knew the words to say or understood the specific requests you spoke to make that happen. The sounds that spilled from your throat… What praises and admonishments was he missing? What words could he say back to keep you smiling, laughing, happy? He wanted to know, struggled to know, but the language barrier was just too great, leaving him distraught and guessing.

When you spoke to other people (other men particularly) and they understood you perfectly, chuckling and nodding, responding to you in kind… It upset him. Who were they to communicate with you so freely? Who were they to speak with you so openly, when all he could seem to get across was rudimentary ideas and feelings? Even if he loved to hear the cadence of your voice, the lack of understanding and the annoyance these mysterious conversations caused was something he couldn’t quite shake.

But even with all the adoration he felt for you, there was one, and only one, thing he didn’t love about you- your tears.

In his era, cries from your mate meant one of a small handful of things. They were hurt and/or scared, there was a threat nearby and they needed protection, or they simply needed their mates help with something. Regardless of which of these options may have brought on the tears, it was always very easy to figure out what the situation was and for the other party to act accordingly.

But each time you cried was a conundrum. You never seemed to shed just a few tears, throwing your heart into full on wailing at the top of your lungs each time your eyes began to remotely water. Whenever this would occur he would momentarily panic, scooping your perturbed body up to force you against his chest, desperate in his attempt to ascertain a cause of concern that would bring you to this state, one that he could never seem to find. He’d turn your body around this way and that, scouring every inch of you with his eyes and hands to check and see if he could pinpoint any wounds or blood. But while you thrashed and fought as he carried out his inspection, his hands always came back clean, and you never seemed to show particular distress when he pressed down on any given area of your body (save for your more private areas, but you always put up a fuss with those). He’d investigate your surrounding area, prowling for anyone or anything that may have scared you or caused alarm, but found nary a soul or item out of place that could have caused you such distress.

That only left the third option- that you were looking to him for help. But help with what? He had already secured you in the safest place he could find, nestling you far away from any potential threats or creatures that could cause you harm. Though he knew you were not a fan of the dank, malodorous, stone underbelly of the village, it was something you would have to get used to. Keeping you elsewhere was simply too risky. Besides, this area was familiar to him, being not unlike some of the cave dwellings of his old home. And with the pathways being so straightforward and long, he could easily monitor surrounding activity and hide you away should someone show up to cause problems (not that anyone would, most seemed to ignore this place entirely, which was another one of its many appeals).

The paths also snaked deep underground, with exits leading rather far out from the more bustling areas of civilization. It made it easy to hunt and gather, so he had no problems providing you with food, clothing, bedding-anything at all you may need he brought to you, and he was happy to do so. He took honor in being your provider, your lover, your mate.

You were safe, you were cared for, and you were loved by him. He showed it in every way he could, serving and providing in ways that went above and beyond what any other potential partner could do for you. Down here in the depths, he shielded you from all that may have hurt you in your old life. Maybe he didn’t understand your speech, but he could clearly see the toll living with the others above ground was taking on you. Each slump of your shoulder and sigh from your lips was recorded in his memory, the weary look you often wore as you pushed yourself harder than necessary haunted his thoughts until he was pushed into action. Every man whose misplaced comments made you scowl had met a grisly end by his hands, assuring they would never bother you again. Every stress of your old life had been removed, all of the agonies of your previous day to day a thing of the past.

Now the only thing you had to focus on was being a good mate to him- a skill you already excelled at by simply existing. You had no need to be sad, you were perfect, and he was doing all he could to show you this.

So why? Why did you always cry?

Even now as he was buried deep inside of you, the pleasure of feeling you stretch to accommodate his massive size so intense he could barely maintain his sanity, tears continued to spill freely from your eyes.  There was absolutely no reason for them- you were always such a good girl for him, bringing him pleasure and joy he scarcely believed was achievable. If anything you should be proud about how well you take him, about how incredibly good you were making him feel, about how flawless you were as his mate. He loved you, he adored you, he would do any and everything for you, and he planned on doing so until his dying day.

Yet still, you cried.

He couldn’t keep them from happening, and he couldn’t think of any other way to stop them, so the least he could do is try and staunch them for a bit. Holding your face still between his hands, he laved his rough tongue slowly over the apples of your cheeks, passing over your tightly clenched eyes in an attempt to cleanse you of your malaise. Time and time again he lapped at your face like a mother lion cleaning it’s cub, moving from the left cheek to the right cheek in quick succession to drink up as many of your salty tears as he could.

Eventually it seemed to work, or at least it caused your upset sobbing to turn into little more than gentle mewling. Maybe you were just doing this to appease him, or perhaps you were finally sharing in the immense pleasure he had been experiencing, overshadowing whatever negative feelings caused you to cry to begin with. Regardless, the tears were trickling to a standstill, and while they weren’t completely quelled, seeing them diminish caused him to smile brightly. He could consider this a victory.

But as he stared down at your tear stained face, moist and red from a mixture of his saliva and your own upset, he couldn’t deny that there wasn’t a charm to witnessing you in such a state. As he picked up his pace, reaching a particularly sweet spot inside of you, you began to scream out, overcome with the intensity of it all. Once more water seeped into your eyes, and he watched mesmerized as fat tears slid down your face, accompanied by whimpers each time his brutal pacing brushed your core. The way your tears accented your ecstasy, adding to the breath taking view only he would ever have the delight of seeing, he couldn’t find himself hating your cries any longer.

Maybe he had been misguided this whole time, realizing now that this may just be another special attribute of yours. He was starting to understand you better, and felt a fool for being so mistaken for so long. Your cries were unique, acting as a sign of immense happiness, not distress. He laughed slightly at his own blunder, it wouldn’t be the first time he had misunderstood you, but this certainly was the most ridiculous miscommunication.

His smile grew as he thrust into you victoriously, elated at his triumph in unlocking a great mystery about you. This whole time he should have never tried to stop them. From now on, he should try and make you cry more.

[ailarii]

I've started a new Discord centered around people who enjoy Reader Insert fanfic, lads. Or, really just any fanfic.

Please be aware that this is an 18+ server that does have dark themed fics mentioned at times. If you're okay with that, we'd love to have you!

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑁𝑎𝑔𝑎

Warning: sexual content, aphrodisiac, breeding kink, eggs, kidnapped, biting (twice), possessive, dirty talk, two cocks, big cocks, calls you "human" and "little human".

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Masterlist

Yandere Naga who used to live in the forest like a king (no. not really) until he was captured and brought to a nature reserve.

Yandere Naga who doesn't like humans at all, always lets out threatening hisses and tries to attack the caretakers who enter his territory to leave him food or clean up his messes.

Yandere Naga who had already planned creative ways to get rid of his new caretaker (just like he did with the last ones) but what he doesn't expect is that it would be such a cute and delicious thing.

Yandere Naga who stares at you when you enter his territory to clean the place and leave him food, he narrows his yellow eyes, his pupils contract into thin slits and sticks out his forked tongue to taste the air —your smell... you smell delicioussss... like a mate...

Yandere Naga who from that day on stares at you every time you enter his territory lying on his rock, his eyes follow all your movements, he acts docile around you without hissing at you or trying to attack you, which causes the other caretakers to congratulate you for achieving the impossible, for making him adapt to you so quickly...

Yandere Naga who manages to identify at what moment you have your fertile cycles and creates a plan to make you his partner and mother of his offspring, he only needs to catch you off guard when you enter his cage for your daily chores, he must act when the other caretakers are not around.

Yandere Naga who can execute his plan with relative ease thanks to the fact that he became more "tame" that made everyone around lower their guard including you, one day when you enter his cage to clean he slides towards you quickly and wraps his tail around you tightly sliding quickly into the interior of his cave.

He drops you onto a nest made of branches, leaves and what look like old blankets, a clear attempt to make the place more comfortable, without giving you time to analyze what's happening he slides towards you, getting between your legs, his scales brushing the fabric of your pants and he sticks out his forked tongue sniffing the air before speaking.

"Your delicious rubber... like ripe fruit, I want to take a good bite out of you..."

"Wait! Wait! You can't do this! The other caretakers will notice that I'm not there, they'll come looking for me and when they find me they'll take me outside, they'll punish you if you do anything to me!"

Your voice tries to be firm but it's clearly shaky, he looks at you with his yellow eyes that narrow a little at your words, he hisses leaning over you until his face is right in front of yours, your breaths mix and he stares into your eyes without blinking, his words make your blood run cold.

"I will kill anyone who dares to come here to try to take you away from me. I will crush them until their bones break and their eyes pop out of their sockets, you are mine human~"

He hisses softly when your warm hands rest on his cold chest trying to push him away from you in a panic, he smiles at your fighting attitude and although I wish I could see more of that attitude unfortunately you are right that the other caretakers will start looking for you when they notice your absence so he must be fast, he grabs your head firmly tilting your neck to the side he opens his mouth and leans down sinking his sharp fangs into your soft neck making you let out a moan, he uses the aphrodisiac in his venom to make me more submissive and to make your body go crazy.

"What did you do..? Are you going to kill me..?"

"What?! Kill you?! Of course not! It's an aphrodisiac, it won't kill you, it will just make your body loosen up so it can receive my cocks, silly human~"

He smiles playfully as his venom quickly takes effect, he can feel your body heat skyrocketing, he sticks out his forked tongue which writhes as he smells your excitement permeating the air in the cave, he sees you writhing beneath him clearly uncomfortable and in pain from the effect of the aphrodisiac, he coos at you as he proceeds to quickly remove that ugly and rough uniform you're wearing and does the same with your underwear, his eyes studying your flushed naked body.

"Such a pretty human~ you smell so fertile I can't wait to lay my eggs inside you~"

"It hurts... please–"

He smiles as you can only whimper shakily, he rubs your dripping cunt his slender fingers tracing circles on your wet bud delighting in the way you shudder and your breathing becomes more labored, willing to not waste any more valuable time his scales seem to part and two terrifyingly large cocks reveal themselves making you shudder despite your daze but he chuckles as he takes one of his cocks in his hand bringing it closer to your swollen cunt.

"Don't be afraid human, your body was made to receive my cocks, you will enjoy it~"

He lets out a deep hiss as he slides his fat cock into your pussy, fascinated by the warmth of your insides that embraces him deliciously. You, on the other hand, are left breathless as you feel his cock stretching your poor walls as far as it will go, making its way into your channel, and the sensation is a confusing mix of pain and pleasure that makes you want to cry. He hits bottom and you feel his cock deep inside your uterus while his other cock rests on your stomach, staining it with precum.

"You feel so warm human~ I've never felt anything like this with any woman of my kind, I knew you and I were destined~"

He hisses and without giving you time to think he starts to thrust into you over and over again he pulls out his cock leaving just the tip inside before thrusting into your pussy again with a hard thrust, the sound of his thrusts and your moans fill the cave echoing off the walls, your pussy squirts on his cock and you feel dizzy at the delicious sensation his cock gives you, his scales scrape your thighs but that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure, his cock hits your cervix over and over again without slowing down or showing mercy, you're reaching the top when suddenly he stops making you let out a pitiful moan but he silences you with a playful hiss.

"Don't worry human you'll reach your climax~ but first I have to fit both of my cocks inside you~"

He laughs as you just let out a pathetic "uh..?" too fucked out to think, he pulls his cock out of your tight pussy leaving just the tip before guiding his other cock inside, both of his members slowly entering your pussy making you arch your back and let out a high pitched cry, you feel as if an arm is being shoved into your battered pussy, he senses your discomfort so he begins to rub tight circles on your mound trying to relax you, when he bottoms out your eyes roll back in your head, he takes a moment before he begins to slowly move as your walls squeeze him so hard.

"You're too tight on me— I'll give you some more of my venom to relax you human, that'll help us out a lot"

He wastes no time in leaning down to your neck biting just above the mark of his other bite, he injects you with a larger amount of aphrodisiac poison than before which causes the effect to be instantaneous, he feels your walls loosen little by little and your juices begin to drip making a mess and then you can't help but smile as he begins to move again, his cocks ram into you mercilessly he grabs your hips to hold you better while he listens to the high pitched moans that escape from your open mouth the erotic sight makes him move faster.

"That's it~ you take me so well little human~ keep it up~"

He praises you even though he's not sure you're listening to anything he's saying, he still keeps moving non-stop admiring the bulge that forms in your stomach every time he thrusts into you, his heads hitting your bruised cervix over and over again feeling himself getting closer to the limit he can feel you getting closer too by the way your pussy tightens on his cocks, he can feel your walls throbbing and a few seconds later you cum your juices dripping down wetting his cocks and scales, your pussy tightens him like a vice which takes him to the limit he gives you a few erratic thrusts until he cums inside you deep inside your pussy.

"Yessss~ very good little human~ take my eggs!~ keep my offspring inside this womb and give me beautiful children~"

Your nails dig into his arms when you feel something round the size of a tennis ball slide from one of his cocks into your uterus that stretches painfully to receive it, eggs. You sob when another egg follows the same path and another, another, another. You lose count of how many eggs he lays inside you, you can't do anything but receive them, when he finishes laying eggs his other cock fills you with sperm, you stay like that for a while when he pulls out you are sore, tired and uncomfortably full, your belly is so big it seems like you are nine months pregnant, he wipes the tears from your cheeks and kisses your lips looking into your eyes.

"Don't cry little human, you did very well I'm very proud of you. I put all my eggs in your womb and fertilized them I'm sure all of them will gestate without any problem... in a few months you'll be a mother, but for now sleep little human, I'll be here when you wake up~"

Exhausted and unable to do anything else you obey, you close your eyes and let Morpheus' arms wrap around you, he watches with adoration as your chest rises and falls gently, he decides to lie down next to you, he pulls you to his firm chest and wraps his tail around you protectively enjoying your body heat, the tip of his tail caresses your swollen belly and he murmurs in a dark voice.

"I will protect you and our young with my life, I will kill anyone who tries to take you away from me or tries to hurt any of you, it's a promise my little human~♡."

[bunny-jpeg]

john price would trap you with a baby. no questions asked. he knew the years were catching up to him. he knew that wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't pass on the price genes.

he felt bad when he masturbated, felt like he was wasting his boys. spurts of hot cum down his large shaft wishing that it was inside a pretty little things smaller cunt. his hand was too rough even with lubrication. he needed something with supple flesh that he could sink his teeth into and a wet pussy to stuff full. he wanted to feel himself impregnating someone.

that was where you came in.

you felt amazing, sex with you was something else. the way you were like a bunny when you rode his cock. you bounced on him, not slowing down until he wrung at least three orgasms out of you. he found it endearing that you could take him. and while cowgirl was fun and missionary felt classic.

if price wanted to get you pregnant then, he knew that doggy style would be the best course of action. sadly, that position was a little more difficult given your size difference. price the bear and his little cub, those weren't just terms of endearment. he was burly, hairy, but you were so much shorter that he couldn't easily slip into you. but things could always be modified.

he smothered you under him as you laid on the bed with your legs spread and price was on top of you with his cock invading your slick entrance. the feeling was different and the weight on top of you only added to the pleasure.

his mind was focused, as he worked himself into you. he slid in easily, little resistance from you. your pussy was greedy for him, not that price could blame you. you were just so perfect for him. he shaped you into the perfect thing for him. you were his angel, the sweetest fruit, the woman he wanted to carry his child. if you liked it or not.

thoughts of you dark puffy nipples, the waddle in your step, the complaints of back pain. how your body changed because of him, he marked you in a way that no other man could. price boys grew strong and were a handful both in the womb and out. hungry boys too, but price would happily massage your fat tits to make sure there was more than enough milk for his boys. might have a little taste himself, see what all the fuss was. the heavy milk on his tongue as he fucked his pretty wife.

no need to go out and find a job. price's got enough to make sure that your wallet and your womb were packed full. no need to worry your little head, just make sure the babies are taken care of and price will do all the thinking in the relationship. he knew your dream was to see your diploma on the wall, but he thought that a family photo would be much better.

hard to complete your degree when your pregnant belly doesn't fit in the lecture hall seat or it was feeding time for john jr. there was nowhere for you to nurse his hefty son and you'd in the end miss too much class because price would be keeping you at home to start on the next one.

"that's it, doll. that's my girl. she suckin' me right in. she know what she wants and she's takin' it. made just for, huh, petal?" he growled as he pressed into you further, his cock didn't slip out. he fucked you feverishly.

he felt you tremble as you came not once, but twice, back to back. price continued to fuck you, ruin your pretty little folds and let him feel as much as he could of your sweet sex. you felt amazing, only pussy price would want. he fucked you roughly with his hands pressed into the covers on either side of your head. you were too blissed out by the time he finished inside of you that you didn't even ask for him to pull out.

a good wife took every drop.

he soon after pulled his cock out, the sight of his cum sticking to your slick pussy lips with most of his seed inside of you. made his cock peek at attention once more. "there she is." he purred, "messy girl." he tipped your hips up and held them in his large hands. he dipped between your legs and played with your pussy. something to distract you while his cum slid into the back of your pussy.

now be good, and get pregnant <3

a/n: i don't know what came over me... i'm sorry

[cloudedcreams]

[nsfw] thinking about a yandere husband who is completely enamoured with you.

even before marriage he had been all over you. claiming you with every chance, clinging to your arm at all times to let people know that you were his. it wasn’t enough though, he had told you as he leant down on one knee to propose to you. he needed your heart to truly belong to him forever, and the promise of marriage was barely something he thought to be a question.

he doesn’t like the idea of you working. no, he wants you to be his perfect stay at home wife! to spend hours in front of the mirror trying to look all pretty for him, or to engage in meaningless crafts around the house. he doesn’t mind what you do, so long as you’re at home. and so he watch through the cameras even whilst he’s out! <3

but no, you don’t know that part. you’re tooo sweet and innocent to even consider the possibility that your boyfriend is a freak! he’s completely obsessed with you, but so long as he knows that you’re his, things should be fine, right?

you can’t find your phone.

you’ve searched for it everywhere and it seems to have vanished which is such a shame, you were discussing an outing with a long term friend you hadn’t seen in a while. by the time you find it wedged between the couch she’s busy again and you sigh, wondering how it got there and brushing it off as your forgetfulness.

he loves how easy it is to make you question yourself.

it’s been a little while since you’ve been out. you ask your husband if he’d like to go out on a date with you but he declines, snuggling closer towards you and resting his head upon your shoulder. the point of a date is to be with you… and he’s already doing that! there’s no reason to go outside, not when he can have you all to himself at home!

also, can he be blamed for wanting to fuck you so often?

grasping at your hips as he thrusts himself inside of you, a low “hnngh” leaving his lips. he passionately thrusts his lengths inside of you, panting against your ear as he whispers his fantasies of fucking a baby into you.

“wanna make you all mine…” he trails off, placing a kiss upon your ear as his quickens his pace. “w-want everyone to know who you belong to!”

and barely after that he’s cumming, leaving his love inside of you as he comes to a halt and showers your face with kisses. he whispers to you about how well you did, before sinking down besides you.

“we fit perfectly angel. because we’re made for each other always.” he says, tracing the lines around your palm. you smile tiredly against him, letting the rise and fall of his chest lull you to sleep.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

DAVE LIZEWSKI catfishing you. He’s seen you around, he’s heard you talk about the kind of guys you’re into. It’s hard to ignore you when you pass by him, hard to forget the smell of your shampoo as it unfurls under his nose. It took him ages, but he finally got a hold of your information, and slowly establishes a friendship. He’s getting the dirty details on you while you think you’re being charmed by a 6’4” hockey player who’s into books like Pride and Prejudice. He’s in your IM’s hearing about how you like to suck it, how you cup balls for a massage while you make yourself gag on purpose. You like it when your nips are bitten, held between teeth while you ride it. All night he thinks about your naughty little secrets, confessing to him what you’d let him do to you if you meet up. Anything, you say, I’d let you do whatever you wanted. And his hand strangles his boner, jacking off to the imaginary sight of you taking it up your pretty asshole—the one he’s gotten pics of when you bent over for a shot of your open and wet pussy.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Sun Eats Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Ijichi," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

[nothanksofficer]

1.0 we are all sinners (the one shot ver)

starring: you, remmick, and bo pairing: bo chow/reader. maybe remmick/reader/bo? mostly bo chow/reader for now

warnings: slight but a bit more nsfw, very very slight smut, open-at-your-own-risk, dark romance, vampirism, corruption, moral and literal seduction, temptation, sharing is caring(?), reverse harem(ish), hive-mind, manipulation

summary: in this world, there is no grace chow. only y/n chow. and boy, does that have consequences.

word count: 2k+

concept ver: 0.1

"Because I know everything he knows now. Even how you like to be licked."

"And I can promise I won't bite too hard."

a/n: so it became a bit bigger than i intended, but honestly i wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if i didnt get this idea out of my head. let me know what y'all think! if this gets enough traction, ill think of making a series

Ever since you first came to town, everyone knew that Bo was more than smitten with you. You, the girl with paint-stained fingers, and a smile that was all rainbows and teeth. He was always the first to seek you out. Always the first to ask for your services. Whether it was for a sign, a label, or even just some basic repainting, he always went to you, and never anyone else. 

It wasn’t until he finally proposed to you, on one knee and all, that he revealed the real reason he had kept calling you back to his store.

“I liked the art, of course,” he said with a charming grin. “It just so happened I liked the pretty girl behind it even more.”

That’s how Y/N Chow came to be. For two years now, you’ve been at Bo’s side, working at the shop, and occasionally painting some signs (for a fee). It was a running joke in town, that even your husband was no exception, meaning even he couldn’t get it for free. 

But whereas the other locals had to pay in cash, Bo paid it forward to you a bit…differently.

“One more time, baby. I still owe you for that shiny new menu, don’t I?” Bo teased. He had his hands between your legs, still slick from your last round. If people knew that the weekly (and in some cases, even daily) signs were just an excuse for your insatiable husband to get his hands on you, you doubted you’d get as many compliments as you did whenever a new one was put up. 

Your life had been peaceful, perfect even, for those first two years. So perfect, in fact, that you and Bo were on the brink of taking the next big step together. The two of you had saved up more than enough for it. And even you had to admit you were just as eager to finally have a little one of your own. One who would be a perfect combination of you both. 

“I wouldn’t mind a girl. Especially if she’s as pretty as her mama,” Bo whispered as he curled up behind you. It was the middle of the night, and even though he had damn near put you to sleep with that crazy stamina of his, you couldn’t seem to close your eyes just yet. Not with him still pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck. 

“Or a boy as charming as his daddy,” you sighed back drowsily. 

Your husband, ever the sweet-talker, didn’t even hesitate. “Why don’t we try for both?” 

So when one of the SmokeStack twins came barging into the store–one you later remembered as Smoke–you weren’t entirely opposed to the new commission for their new venture. The extra money never hurt anyone. And you would be hard-pressed to say no to Bo’s old-time friends. 

Club Juke, they called it. And while you thought the old sawmill to be a strange location for a new club, you didn’t question it…even though you probably should have. The red sign, despite being your own creation, was ominous enough on its own. And yet, you still let Bo lead you inside without even waiting for the paint to dry. The unmatched supply of alcohol should have rang as suspicious. You doubted even the grocer stocks had as much beer and wine as the twins did, and yet, that didn’t stop you from taking the occasional sinful sip. 

The real kicker, however, was the music. Sammie, who even you distinctly remember as the preacher’s little boy, was clearly unmatched at the guitar. And his voice, a hypnotic drawl, that could tempt the most pious to the dancefloor. Not even you and Bo could escape his song. And even though it was only your husband at your side, you could have sworn you heard the symphony of the ancestors joining you both. 

“You’re glowing, baby.” 

“Am I?” You hummed, still lost in the mesmerizing feeling of being part of something greater. Of finally belonging, despite never having really been lost in the first place. 

Bo didn’t say anything more, too entranced as you began spinning around him once more, silk skirt flapping behind you. There was a heady feeling that seemed almost electric. And the more you danced, teasing him with passing touches and glances, the more you could tell it was starting to affect him, too.

That all came to a pause, however, when they arrived.

Three voices in harmony, in what you supposed was a catchy, albeit simple tune. Nothing as intoxicating as the heavy blues of Sammie, but still melodic enough for you to recognize the talent behind it. As you took a peek over your Smoke’s shoulder, curious to see who exactly was singing, you were met with shadowed brown eyes staring unblinkingly into yours. 

“Picked poor robin clean…I picked his hair, I picked his teeth…” 

You tilted your head curiously, more than surprised as the banjo player proceeded to wink at you mid-song. Still, you didn’t think much of it as anything beyond performer’s charisma. And that was almost wiped from your mind entirely when you felt Bo’s hands begin to pull you away from the door. 

You didn’t turn back once, not with your husband now by your side. If you did, you would’ve noticed said banjo player still staring after you both. (But you didn’t.)

You weren’t sure what happened in between that moment and now. Only that something wretched was overtaking the place. One that was marked by Stack’s death at Mary’s hands. No one saw that coming. Much less your husband, who once regaled you with their tragic love story a few years ago. 

You wanted to feel bad for Smoke, you truly did. But your gut feeling told you that you couldn’t afford to. Not when something haunted and evil was beginning to envelope Club Juke like an oncoming storm. 

“We need to leave, Bo.” 

“Baby, he just lost his brother. We can’t just leave him now.”

“I know he’s your friend, but we came to help the club. We didn’t sign up for whatever…this is,” you pleaded. “Please, Bo. This is scaring me. Just take me home first, at least.” 

“Alright. I’ll go get the car for us. You sure you can pack everything by yourself?” At your shaky nod, Bo pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “You wait right here, baby. I’ll be right back.”

If you had known that would be the last time you would see your husband, you wouldn’t have begged as hard as you did. But none of you knew what you were dealing with. Not until Cornbread returned acting all strange. Or when Smoke shot him in the head, to no effect. It only really really hit you when Stack somehow came back….wrong. 

Vampires were supposed to be myths. And yet, this…this was terrifyingly real. 

"Let me go! I need to go after Bo!" 

"Careful now. You walk out there, Y/N, you might not walk back in." 

"I can't just sit here and do nothing! My husband is outside with those—those things!" 

But Smoke put his foot down, stopping your argument in its tracks. "Bo can handle himself, Y/N. Besides, you know he wouldn't want to put you at risk either. Bo'd want you here. Inside. Where it's safe."  

It was only thanks to Annie that you and the other survivors had an inkling of what to do. Dead bodies, like the one you found behind the bar, didn’t stay dead for long. Bullets to the head would slow them at best. The only ways to stop them, or at least really hurt them, was with garlic or a stake to the heart. And even then, that was just the tip of the iceberg. 

The one resounding agreement, however, was that under no circumstance could any of you afford to get bitten. Not unless you wanted your soul trapped, becoming one of them.

When you bit into the garlic alongside the others, it tasted like guilt and regret. It only got worse when you were tasked with first watch at the door. Everyone else was at the back, creating more stakes, preparing more garlic, and modifying whatever they could into a weapon.

That’s why, when you first heard the sound of pained gurgles and squelching, you were the only one peeping behind that slightly ajar door. Which you almost regretted instantly, upon seeing the poor ‘dead’ body being consumed by Cornbread.

You nearly screamed for the others, realizing the gravity of your joint mistake and what it cost the innocent man now bleeding to death outside. But before you could, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. One you’d recognize anywhere. 

It was Bo’s.

"Hey, baby," he grinned, and for a moment, you could almost believe it actually was your husband. Keyword being, almost. "Come on outside. I got the car started for you. Let's go!" 

Your first instinct was to pull him inside into safety and make sure he really was okay. He looked exactly as he did when he first went to get the car. But...the way he swaggered past Cornbread, smiling at you like nothing was wrong, made your heart drop. 

“Bo…?”

The sound and smell of fresh blood and flesh tearing made you nauseous, almost unbelievably so, to the point it made you take a nervous step back. A frown briefly formed on Bo’s face, only to be replaced by a charming smile again. (The same one you once fell in love with, you thought to yourself painfully.)

“What is it, Y/N?” 

Your eyes left Bo’s to stare at the chaos happening right beside him. And yet, your husband didn’t even do more than glance at Cornbread. "Oh, don't worry about him, baby. He's just a little hungry, is all," he said offhandedly. "Now, let’s go.”

Bo winked at you, causing you to flinch. Your husband never was the type to do something like that before. Even before he’d married you, he’d always go for words first, then actions second. The only one who ever winked at you like that was–

“Come on. I got the car all warmed up, just the way you like,” he cajoled, turning back slightly as if to show you exactly that. But when you didn’t move to follow him, he sauntered back up to the door with a knowing look on his face. “Or...you let me back in there, and we can grab our things and head home?" Bo's eyes flashed an inhuman silver, akin to the way Stack’s did when he came back undead. You found yourself paralyzed by them, even as he loomed over you from the doorframe. "We can make a pit stop, if you like. Maybe even have some fun on the way back." 

“What happened to you, Bo?” You whispered to yourself, desperately searching his face for the man you once married, only to find something else entirely.

Bo’s smile didn’t falter. Instead it grew, as a different voice decided to answer for him. “I did. And ain’t he so much better now, darling?”

“Remmick,” you recognized. The banjo player from before. The one that Smoke had turned away, along with the rest of his group. “What did you do to my Bo?” 

“I think you already know the answer to that, darling,” Remmick replied. And yet, despite the smooth charismatic tone of his, you flinched away from the door, like a mouse that had just gotten spooked.

“It’s better this way, baby.” Bo tried to convince you, unbothered by the new addition at his side. “So why don’t you be a good girl now and invite us all in?”

"You should listen to him, Y/N. Or listen to me. Because I know everything he knows now. And trust me, darling, he really wants you to let us in there," Remmick restated, his words a near parrot of Bo’s. Or was it Bo’s that were a near parrot of Remmick’s? 

“That’s not true. Bo wouldn’t…” 

“I wouldn’t do what, baby? Do whatever it took to be with my wife again?” Bo quipped back. It was so like him, yet at the same time, entirely not. Because deep down, you knew your husband would never ask you something like that. Not if it would put you in danger. 

And yet, this Bo smiled at you lovingly, almost reverently. As if the prospect of becoming one of them was a blessing, rather than a curse. 

"Listen to your husband now, darling. Can't you see that he—that we—just want what's best for you?”

Despite Remmick's words, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bo. "You're not...you're not my husband."

Your words caused the smile on Bo’s face to falter. But Remmick’s sharpened, eyes lighting up, as if your words were nothing more than a challenge.

"Well, that's not very nice of you to say," he tsked.

But you didn’t care. Perhaps if you did, you would have realized that your fire only drew in Remmick even more. "You did this to him. You...you monster.”

"Me? A monster? I just gave him what he wanted, darling. Freedom. A family. In fact, this was his idea, you know. He wanted to change you first," Remmick revealed with a hungry grin. "And who am I to deny him?"

"You're lying."

"Am I? I know everything he knows now. Every little thought. Every single memory,” he gloated. “I even know how you like to be licked." 

Remmick's words shook you to the bone. But nothing made you choke like the insinuation in Bo's follow-up. "We promise we won't bite, baby. Not unless you want us to."

That was the last thing you heard before the rest of your surviving friends finally finally make it to the door, separating you from the captivating duo once more. 

[lilacxquartz]

part 17 of 19 of kinktober: trapped

pyramid head x gn!reader

plot: while exploring the town, you find yourself incapacitated in the worst possible position — themes: warning for non con, dark smut, gender neutral reader, size difference, monster fucking, horror, gender neutral smut — w.c: 700ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

You were incapacitated.

Trapped in between the barely pried open iron bars, providing just big enough of a gap for your upper body to squeeze through and then… stall. In a way, it was humiliating, but in another sense, it was also terrifying because existing within the town as a whole was a death sentence in its own right. From one little miscalculation—you had potentially doomed yourself.

You tried to dislodge yourself again but the bars were too narrowly placed and you couldn’t push or pull yourself neither back nor forth and in doing so, you only found yourself more stuck than before. Panic quickly swept through your being in violent waves, abandoning all sense of rationality in favour of a hurried escape but nothing was working—but then finally, you heard it—the all too familiar scrape of metal, the thud of staggering footsteps—oh no, no, no… he was here.

You turned your head slightly back to just about catch a glimpse of him filling out the doorway, blocking all gaps of light that otherwise cut into the cell. In an attempt to avoid your flesh likely meeting the blade, you strove to push yourself forward, to at least nullify his efforts to strike you down… but then something else followed suit.

You froze as you felt his calloused hands brush around the soft contours of your exposed flesh; his fingers breaching the torn fabric and tearing away the cloth from the skin, readily exposing you to him. You remained statued in place as you feared for the worst, unable to quite comprehend what he was actually doing to you; almost delicately feeling you up—pushing—spreading your legs apart, ripping away at anything that acted as a barrier between you and him.

You tensed as you quickly understood what was following suit; feeling the tip of something very obvious poke against your most vulnerable parts. You writhed around and squirmed under his grip like a fish out of water, only to remain caught and hooked in his presence, feeling him drive into you in a near hungry pursuit. You gritted your teeth as you felt him force himself inside of you, feeling overwhelmed by his monstrous length that completely filled you out to the brim.

With shuddering, quaking cries, you softly wept as he continued to take in his brutal girth, feeling his cock slide in and out of your insides and stretch you out beyond a recoverable limit. With an unforgiving pace, Pyramid Head continued to hilt himself into your core, feverishly bucking into your body as a radiating, almost scalding pain akin to searing agony settled within the confines of your form. Of course however, he showed you no mercy, pounding into you with a near primal fervour; his hips slamming against your behind with each sawing motion.

Somehow, he grew needier as he continued to violate you—his fingernails digging bleeding crescents into the soft peaks of your ass, kneading against the cushioned skin and spreading you open as far as you could physically handle. It was as if he was trying to force you to accommodate the entire capacity of his impossible length, taking advantage of the limiting position, knowing that you couldn’t just pull yourself away.

Nearing his impending climax; his movements soon became more erratic and maybe even sloppy. He leaned his towering form closer wherever he could press against your bare back—causing the iron bars to crack open further—growling out heated breaths that rolled hot down your spine. Each passing thrust caused for you to shake, prompting you to involuntarily roll your eyes to the back of your head and perhaps even see stars from just how overwhelming it all truly was.

Just as you were about to pass out however, the monster finally came undone with one final violent rut of his stuttering hips. You gasped as you felt a stream of hot oozing warmth fill your senses to such an extent that your stomach nearly bulged from his pent up release.

Thinking it was all over, you tried to close your eyes to recover—but then you were promptly taken out of the cell, readily carried around like a rag doll, to be used and paraded around per each of his passing whims.

In a way you were thankful that he wasn’t going to end you outright.

But then you realised what your life was about to become and that much had otherwise terrified you.

Not quite a mercy after all and worse yet, rather a sentence in the hell you found yourself in.

[boykisser4]

Can you make an Alpha!Geto/Gojo x reader older brother omega where the two alphas plan to lose their virginity with the older brother, using their alpha pheromones to arouse the reader? If possible, show the consequences a few days later (pregnancy). I'm here for the nsfw, but I also want to see plenty of angst 🤭 thank you ❣️

Cursed Bonds 😋

pairing: alpha!Suguru Geto/gojo satoru x older omega male reader, nsfw so minors begone

warning: male reader, smut, omegaverse, pregnancy scare, oral and anal sex, a little bit of angst and fluff

"You're always so tense, Gojo," the young man's voice echoed through the room, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. Geto, lounging on the couch with his legs casually thrown over the armrest, studied his friend with a raised eyebrow.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep the prying eyes of the outside world at bay. It was their sanctuary, a place where the two of them could be themselves without the constraints of their pack's expectations. The air had anticipation, the scent of their unspoken desires hanging heavy between them.

Gojo Satoru, the stoic and powerful alpha of the juvenile delinquents, sat in his favorite chair, his eyes never leaving the figure before him. The reader, an older omega male with a quiet strength that belied his position, stood nervously by the door, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He knew what was expected of him, but the reality was far more overwhelming than he had ever imagined.

Geto's smile grew wider, his eyes glinting with mischief. He had always found the older omega intriguing, a challenge that his alpha instincts craved. He knew that this moment would change everything between them, and the thrill of it made his heart race. He leaned in closer, his own scent becoming more potent as he whispered, "We both know what we need tonight."

The reader's cheeks flushed, his eyes darting to Gojo's before he nodded, swallowing hard. The room grew warmer as the two alphas' pheromones filled the space, a heady mix that was impossible to ignore. Geto's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the omega's pupils dilate, his breathing becoming shallower. The effect was intoxicating.

Gojo's gaze remained intense, his body language speaking volumes despite his silence. He stood from his chair, the fabric of his pants straining against his growing arousal. His steps were deliberate as he approached the reader, his hand reaching out to cup the omega's face. The touch was gentle, yet firm, as if claiming the reader as his own. The omega's breath hitched, his body responding to the alpha's dominance.

"We've both been waiting for this," Gojo murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very core of the reader's being. "We won't take it from you, we'll share it with you," he assured, his thumb brushing against the reader's plump lower lip. Geto watched with rapt attention, his own desire spiking at the sight of the omega's vulnerability.

The reader's eyes searched Gojo's for a moment before he nodded again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I trust you both."

Gojo's smile grew more tender, his thumb now tracing the sensitive skin of the omega's neck, feeling the pulse quicken beneath his touch. "Good," he said, his voice thick with need. "You're going to need to trust us completely."

With a gentle push, Gojo guided the reader towards the bed, the soft mattress sinking slightly beneath their combined weight as they sat down. Geto mirrored Gojo's movements, his eyes never leaving the omega as he stepped closer. The reader could feel the heat radiating from their bodies, the potent alpha scent making him ache in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The tension in the room grew palpable as the two alphas began to undress the omega, their movements calculated and precise. Gojo's eyes remained locked on the reader's, as if he could read every thought and emotion that passed through his mind. He gently tugged the shirt over the omega's head, revealing the pale, unblemished skin beneath. Geto stepped closer, his own arousal clear as he took in the sight of the reader's chest, his nipples already pebbled from the cool air and the anticipation of what was to come.

The omega's breathing grew more erratic as Gojo's calloused hands slid over his skin, exploring every curve and plane. The alpha's touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the power he exuded. The reader's body responded instinctively, his scent growing sweeter as his arousal grew. Geto watched, his own hands trembling slightly with excitement as he began to undo the reader's pants.

The fabric fell away, revealing the omega's straining erection. Gojo's eyes darkened as he took in the sight, his own need growing more intense. He leaned in, his breath hot against the reader's ear as he whispered, "You're so beautiful." The omega's body shuddered at the words, his cock twitching in response.

The two alphas exchanged a heated glance, their need for each other and the omega between them a tangible force. They worked in unison, stripping away the last of the reader's clothing until he was laid bare before them. Gojo's hand found its way to the reader's hardened length, stroking it slowly as Geto knelt beside the bed, his eyes never leaving the omega's face.

With a soft, almost reverent touch, Geto traced the line of the omega's thigh before moving to his inner thigh, his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin. The reader's hips jerked at the contact, a whimper escaping his lips. Gojo's grip tightened, his strokes growing more deliberate as he watched the omega's reactions.

The air grew thick with pheromones as the alphas continued their ministrations, the scent of desire and submission filling the room. The reader could feel his body responding, his cock growing slick with pre-cum as his mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. He knew that this night would be one of passion and intensity, a bond formed that could never be broken.

As Gojo leaned in to kiss the omega, their tongues dancing together, Geto's mouth found the reader's neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin. The reader gasped, his body arching into the dual contact. The alphas' pheromones were overwhelming, their combined scent making him dizzy with want. He had never felt so alive, so desired.

Geto's hand joined Gojo's on the omega's cock, their fingers intertwining as they worked in unison. The reader's hips rocked, his breath coming in short pants as pleasure built within him. He could feel their desire, their need for him, and it was intoxicating. They were so powerful, so dominant, yet they handled him with such care, it was as if he was the most precious thing in the world.

With a low growl, Geto stepped back, his eyes never leaving the reader's. He unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down, revealing his own impressive length. "Suck it," he ordered, his voice low and demanding. The omega's eyes widened, but he didn't hesitate. He leaned over, his mouth watering at the sight of the alpha's cock, and took it into his mouth.

The reader's lips wrapped around Geto's cock, his tongue swirling around the head as he took in the salty, musky taste. He sucked eagerly, driven by his own desire and the need to please the alphas. Geto's hand found the back of his head, guiding him deeper. The reader's eyes watered, but he didn't protest, his mind consumed by the feeling of being used and owned.

Meanwhile, Gojo had moved behind the omega, his own erection pressing against the plush cushion of the reader's ass. He slid a hand down the omega's spine, his thumb lingering at the base before moving to tease the sensitive entrance. The reader tensed, but Gojo's touch was gentle, reassuring, and soon he relaxed, his body begging for more.

Gojo's lubricated fingers began to penetrate the tight, warm channel, the reader's moans muffled by Geto's cock in his mouth. The alpha's movements were slow, careful, as he stretched the omega open, preparing him for the claiming that was to come. The reader's body shivered with pleasure as Geto's hips began to rock, his cock sliding in and out of the reader's eager mouth.

The alphas' eyes met over the reader's bent form, a silent conversation passing between them. They had both wanted this for so long, and now that it was happening, the intensity of their shared desire was almost overwhelming. Geto nodded, his expression one of pure lust as he pulled away, his cock glistening with the omega's saliva.

Gojo positioned himself behind the reader, his own need pulsing through his veins like a drumbeat. He watched as the omega's body trembled, his eyes glazed over with arousal. The alpha took a moment to appreciate the beauty before him, the way the omega's skin flushed with passion, the way his cock bobbed eagerly between his legs.

With a firm grip, Gojo guided his own erection towards the reader's tight hole, pausing for a moment to allow the omega to adjust to the feeling. The reader's breath hitched, his eyes squeezed shut tightly as the head of the alpha's cock breached the entrance. The sensation was new, foreign, and yet, it sparked a deep-seated need that had the omega's body begging for more.

Gojo pushed in slowly, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving the reader's face. The omega's mouth was still full with Geto's cock, muffling his whimpers and gasps. The alpha felt the reader's muscles tense around him, a silent plea for patience. He gave it, moving at a pace that was both gentle and maddening, allowing the omega to adjust to the intrusion.

Geto watched with hooded eyes, his own arousal reaching new heights as he felt the reader's throat work around his length. He could see the raw emotion playing out on Gojo's face, the concentration and restraint it took not to plunge in fully. It was a dance of power and care, and Geto was eager to see it unfold.

With a final, gentle push, Gojo was fully seated within the reader, his cock buried to the hilt. The omega's body quivered, a guttural moan vibrating through Geto's shaft. The alpha couldn't hold back any longer; he began to thrust, setting a rhythm that the omega's mouth soon matched.

The reader's eyes rolled back in his head as the alphas took him apart piece by piece. Each stroke of Gojo's cock sent waves of pleasure through his body, making his own cock throb painfully between Geto's tightly clenched fist. The feeling was indescribable, a maelstrom of sensation that had him teetering on the edge of oblivion.

*a few days later*

The reader's mind raced as he stared at the little white stick, the pink line glaring back at him like an accusation. The past few days had been a whirlwind of passion and pleasure, but now fear had settled in the pit of his stomach. The room felt too small, the walls closing in on him as he tried to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

He had been feeling off, more tired than usual, and when his heat had come a few days early, he had brushed it off as a fluke. But now, holding the pregnancy test in his trembling hands, he couldn't ignore the possibility that the night he had shared with Gojo and Geto might have had consequences they had not anticipated.

The omega's mind raced with scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. What would the alphas say? What would the pack think? His heart hammered against his chest as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He knew that alphas could impregnate omegas with just one encounter, but he had hoped that their care and the contraceptive measures they had taken would be enough to prevent it.

Gathering his courage, the reader approached Gojo and Geto, his eyes downcast. They were in the living room, deep in conversation about pack matters. Their heads snapped up as he entered, their expressions immediately softening at the sight of him. But as they took in his ashen face and trembling hands, the mood shifted to one of concern.

"What's wrong?" Gojo was the first to speak, his voice gentle as he stepped towards the omega.

The reader held out the pregnancy test, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I-I think... I might be..." His voice trailed off, the words lodging in his throat like a boulder.

Gojo and Geto's expressions darkened, the atmosphere in the room changing in an instant. Gojo took the test from the omega's trembling hand, his eyes scanning the results before he looked up, his gaze a storm of emotions. "Sit," he ordered gently, guiding the reader to the couch. Geto was beside him in a heartbeat, his hand on the omega's shoulder, his eyes searching his face for any sign of distress.

The silence was deafening as the two alphas exchanged a weighted look, the implications of the test's result hanging heavily in the air. They had been so careful, so considerate of the omega's boundaries and needs, but fate had thrown them a curveball that neither had expected.

Geto was the first to react, his hand moving to the reader's cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped the corner of the omega's eye. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We're here for you, no matter what."

Gojo sat on the edge of the couch, his hand resting on the omega's thigh, offering what little comfort he could. His mind raced with the potential repercussions of the situation. Pregnancy was a rare and precious thing in their world, but the timing was terrible. The pack was on edge, and the alphas had enough to deal with already.

"We'll figure this out," Geto said firmly, his eyes never leaving the reader's face. "We'll tell the pack together." The omega nodded, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He knew that the alphas would stand by him, but the fear of rejection from the pack was a very real concern.

[mothwingwritings]

Frohe Weihnachten

Boyfriend To Death Strade X F! Reader X Ren

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! By some miracle of the holiday season I have arrived and even wrote something, even if it is random and I struggled to get finished before Christmas. But I did it and now  I offer it to you humbly as a lil gift.

This month has unfortunately bad. All the bad had me looking for distractions to keep me from the gloom, and the search for distractions lead me to replaying Boyfriend To Death 1, and replaying BTD made me start Boyfriend to Death 2, and well… Here we are. It’s been one of the few things I could focus on that brought me joy this month (what that says about my mental health we will leave up to interpretation loooooool :)), so I decided to try my hand at writing something for it. It proved to be a fun challenge, and I am hoping to do some more BTD stuff in the future. :3

ANYWAY here is a Strade-centric fic (Ren is there too, though) I churned out amidst the December bs. He’s spoiling you in it which isn’t really a good thing for you. I hope I did him justice. He is a very nuanced guy and I had a lot of fun writing this. I can slowly feel god awful, horrible men  becoming my forte , and at this point I am just embracing it.

Please be mindful that BTD and BTD2 are adult games, so even though there is no explicit NSFW in this fic, it is for 18+ only just as its source material is. No one under the age of 18 should be reading this, thank you!

WARNINGS: Torture, stabbing, blood, degradation, forced stripping, pet play, mentions of rape/noncon, Strade is filming a snuff film and though you are a part of it, you are not the one being snuffed (congrats!), severing of body parts, nonconsensual filming and touching, kidnapping, imprisonment, butchered German (my highschool German teacher is crying somewhere) and probs some shoddy editing (sorry for the rush!).

Staring down at the gifts laid out before you, a thin layer of sweat began to coat your body.

It wasn’t so much that the boxes wrapped in vibrant, pretty, paper were that unnatural (it was Christmas day, after all) so much as it was shocking that you had received them at all, given the circumstances.

This was your first Christmas away from home, the first holiday season spent without the company of your friends and family, and their absence felt like a swift punch in the gut. None of the old traditions and celebrations you were accustomed to partaking in were around to bring you comfort this year, the laid back, pleasant atmosphere that typically encapsulated  Christmas was nowhere to be found. Any jolly vibe was replaced by discomfort, apprehension, and a festering disquiet that permeated the air, killing any and all fun normal for this day.

Across from the looming assortment of gifts, each wrapped in varying degrees of expertise, sat your captor Strade, and parked next to him was your fellow captive Ren. Both sets of eyes were drinking you in with great interest, the out-of-place youthful enthusiasm reflecting back at you doing little to quell your mounting anxiety. You shifted nervously in your seat, trying your best to remain calm. You had no idea what manner of sick surprise awaited you in those packages, all you knew was that you were dreading opening them, especially with these two watching. Thinking of what the wrong reaction to their presents may illicit was more stress inducing than the gifts themselves, which already made you feel like you were developing a hernia.

“Well, go ahead,” Strade was the first to speak, his lazy drawl and splayed out body contradicting heavily with the frenzied look in his eye, “What are you waiting for?”

Ren nodded beside him eagerly, “Go ahead, (name)! I opened mine earlier because I was too excited to wait,” he chuckled a little, a small, bashful blush illuminating his cheeks, “And um, there’s a few for you in there from me so… I hope you like them.”

Your eyes traveled from the men, down to the presents. You swallowed thickly, overwhelmed by their façade of innocence, violated by their unblinking stares.

“I-I’m sorry, I just um… Wasn’t really expecting… this…”

It wasn’t a lie, the last thing you could have predicted was a present, let alone multiple. You figured maybe Ren would get you something (he had the luxury of internet access, something you were yet to be trusted with), but it wasn’t even within the realm of fantasy that you may receive anything from Strade. The only thing you dared hope for was a small reprieve from the abuse he inflicted daily, but even that seemed too farfetched to hope for.

“Well, I say you deserve it,” Strade spoke, the calm cadence of his voice still clashing with the gleam in his eye, “what’s Christmas without presents, after all? So go ahead, open them.”

You hesitated for a moment before finally reaching a shaky hand towards the closet gift on the table. Your body was moving mechanically, and though your fear was palpable, you forced your demeanor to remain composed as you pulled the small box into your lap. Your fingers carefully tore through the thin paper, dreading revealing the mystery that shiny paper shielded you from.

And as the paper fell away piece by piece, you were shocked to find that the box contained… slippers.

You stared at them for a moment, dumbfounded. Of all the things in the world that could have been waiting inside that box, to receive something so innocuous and normal was beyond perplexing.

And the gifts continued this way. You unwrapped package after package of clothing, perfumes and toiletries, stuffed animals and snacks. Each new item bewildered you just as much as the last, leaving you feeling like all this was just the lead up of  a joke, one you felt like you were the punch line for.

 As if the gifts themselves weren’t mind boggling enough, the quantity and quality of them were just as shocking. Brand names and fancy, high end packaging stared back at you with nearly each ripped wrapping, a small slap in the face with each revelation.

It left a pit in your stomach. Not even your own parents would gift you some of these things, so why were you being treated this way by a homicidal maniac and his companion? To make matters even worse, most of the gift you actually liked. Definite thought was put into each present, unnerving you most of all. You didn’t want them to know your likes and dislikes, and you certainly didn’t want them to be so familiar with you that they could easily pick out things you may desire. It felt borderline offensive that they were able to peg you so well, like you had been wrenched open and all the hidden parts of yourself you had been hiding had been forced out in the open, secrets uncovered you wished to remain hidden.

Heebie jeebies aside, such normalcy left you scratching your head. You had an intense urge to inspect each and every item to make sure the clothes weren’t secretly lined with razors, or the stuffed animals weren’t just cute ways to conceal knives, but you contained yourself. No use in setting them off when things were going surprisingly well.

You kept yourself neutral as you thanked them, neither over eager or ungrateful as you graciously accepted the offerings. Ren beamed in recognition each time you mentioned him, delighted by the simplest praise. Strade remained nonchalant, leaning back as he leered at you with that unnerving smile he always so proudly donned on his face.

When the present pile had come to an end, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over you. You felt like you had made it out of a vary harrowing journey without so much as a scratch, and felt quite accomplished for doing so.

However, before you could feel the weight truly lifted from your shoulders, any sense of triumph quickly flew out the door as Strade slowly leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His beady eyes drilled holes through you, delighting in the apprehension his subtle shift caused you. Your blood turned to ice as he gave you a lopsided grin, his words coming out drawn out and slow, as if he were speaking to a child.

“Myyy look at that,” he sneered, “so many nice things for our (Name)! She must have some very generous admirers. It’s obvious she’s the favorite, not a single one of those boxes were for you or me, Ren!”

The weight of your situation suddenly crashed down around you. Of course these gifts wouldn’t come without some horrible caveat-you were an idiot for even thinking you would get away with this scot free.

You tried to calm yourself with the fact that Strade most likely wouldn’t go through all the hassle of spending all this money on someone he planned to kill shortly after. What would be the point? But that thought birthed an even worse fear, the expectation of getting something back in return. There wasn’t a chance in hell that you would be able to provide him a physical gift, a fact Strade was intimately aware of. That left you with one option- he was looking for reciprocation through different means.

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you clasped them in your lap, struggling with how to word the imminent question you had.

“Do you want… I mean, should I get you something in return?”

You hated how small your voice sounded, dreading the response your words may garner. A shiver rocked you as the smile on Strade’s face spread, his arms spreading out in a dramatic shrug as he shook his head with a laugh.

“No no, please! The only thing I want in return is for you to thoroughly enjoy your gifts, nothing else is needed. Your delight is a gift in and of itself.”

His words did little to help your dwindling nerves. A sudden harsh clap of his hands made your heart skip a beat, his body pivoting to face Ren with a sadistic smile.

“I almost forgot,” he exclaimed, his voice taking a dangerous edge, “we have one more very special surprise for our girl, don’t we?”

Your attention darted to Ren, hoping for a sign of assurance from him. The beatskin started to squirm a bit in his seat, pulling nervously at the hem of his oversized sweater. He looked over at you with lidded eyes, a dangerous gleam in them that you knew was a terrible precursor of the pain to come. 

Ren’s breathing had grown unsteady, the blush that had engulfed his face becoming so vibrant you could almost feel its heat from where you sat. While there was nervousness to his demeanor, he couldn’t quite mask the hints of his exhilaration from peeking through. The guileless enthusiasm was hard to face, causing you to avert your gaze, your heart sinking deeper. Ren was no saint himself, but he was all you had in this hell that masqueraded as a normal, middle class home. He was supposed to have your back (and often times did) in moments like these, but it appeared his demons won this round. The thrill radiating from him over your oncoming misery was perceptible. You were on your own with whatever lay ahead.

With a jerk of Strades head, Ren bounded off the couch to another room, the sound of subtle clanging reaching your ears as he dug around out of sight. You careened your body, hoping to maybe get a peek of whatever the hell Ren had ran so jubilantly to acquire, but you immediately stopped once you heard a chuckle rumble from Strade’s chest.

“My my~,” he purred, the sound causing an instinctive shiver, “so eager this morning (name)! I can only hope you keep that up once you see what the surprise actually is, hm?”

Before you had a chance to respond, Ren barreled back into the room, slightly out of breath and clutching some sort of metallic, chain linked contraption in is hand.

“Sorry,” he lightly huffed, handing the item in question to Strade, “I hid it really well so it took a moment to get.”

Once it was in his grasp, Strade turned to you, holding out the item so you could finally view it in all its glory.

It was a new collar-a dog training collar, to be precise. This one however had been modified, the spikes lining the interior of the collar, while typically coated with a thick, squishy plastic to as not to hurt the dog in their training stage, were missing their protection. The metal nubs that the plastic encased were also typically dull and rounded on most training collars, meant to poke and prod instead of maim and hurt. You would not be getting that manner of gentle encouragement it seemed, your body tensing as you stared at each harshly pointed spike. The needle like protrusions glistened so brilliantly in the overhead light it almost appeared as if the collar was made of diamonds.

You sat perfectly still, in a complete daze as Strade approached you and swiftly released the thick electric collar from around your neck. The cool air hit your sweat drenched flesh, giving you a chill. While it was nice to be without the weight of that vile contraption, the freedom was only momentary as he clasped your new chain links into place across your throat. Though it was much more delicate than your previous collar, for some reason it felt much heavier than its bulky electric counterpart.

You winced as he gave the leash a small pull, grinning when a sharp, shocked cry fell past your lips. The needles hadn’t broken the skin yet, but the action did make you become keenly aware of just much damage they could cause with very minimal effort. The delicate nature of your current standing was looking bleaker with each passing second, uncontrollable shivers wracking your body as you eyed Strade fiddling carelessly with your leash. He seemed pleased by the attention his minor ministrations were awarding him, humored by the pain he could bring you with a mere flick of his wrist.

“I-it looks pretty on you, (Name),” Ren stuttered, a nervous smile complimenting the red of his cheeks, “Kind of dainty, like a fancy necklace. It really suits you.”

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Strade jeered, fingering the chains that hung heavy around your neck, “I considered one for you too Ren, I didn’t want to make you jealous, you know? But then I figured hell, if I get this for (Name) Ren’ll probably enjoy this just as much as I do, so it’s already a two for one deal.”

Giving your cheek a few mild slaps, Strade turned his gaze towards Ren, “I trust that you’ll take good care of (Name) if I’m ever out and about and you want to have some special fun with her. A little pet time for my pet would do him some good, I think.”

The flippant insinuation made bile rise in the back of your throat.

“Now,” Strade pulled tighter on the leash, prompting you to rise to your feet and stand before the men. He lifted the chain above his head, laughing as you rose to tiptoes to avoid gouging your neck, “What do we say after we receive such a nice present, hmmm~?”

“Thank you,” you choked the words through your indignation, the spikes scratching uncomfortably against your skin as you did so. After several seconds of your balancing act, Strade lowered his hand, granting you the ability to stand normally. You released the breath you were holding, thankful that for at least this moment, you escaped agony.

“So ein gutes Mädchen für mich,” he cooed condescendingly, patting your head as if you were an actual dog, “you are really making me proud! But the fun isn’t over yet, in fact, this is just the first part of your special surprise,” his eyes widened at your obvious despair, “Aren’t you lucky?”

Without further ado he stomped past you, leash gripped tightly in his hand as he led your further into the house. While there was more leeway to the leash than anticipated, you still hustled to follow after him, fearful of the barbs encircling your throat. His whistled as he walked, his demeanor so exuberant that for a moment you felt he might start skipping. Ren trailed behind you, following closely in your footsteps.

It didn’t take long for you to catch on to where you were headed. As you came to stop before the thick, iron door that separated the rest of the house from the hell-hole that was the basement, tidal wave of fear washed over you. Strade took a deep breath, relishing all that was too come, immersed in the anticipation he was undoubtedly feeling. He turned to you and smiled, and you fought to keep a grip on your sanity. Feeling feint, your eyes flicked from him, back to the imposing door. Your heart was banging so violently in your chest from the sheer amount of terror that was coursing through your veins that you worried you may pass out.

How many people had met cruel, agonizing fates down those stairs? How many gallons of blood had dripped down the walls, pooled on the floor, snaked through the drains? How many anguished screams had reverberated off those sound proof walls?

You began to panic as Strade opened the door with ease, wasting no time making his way down. You hadn’t been to the basement since Strade had kidnapped you many months ago and you had hoped it would be a place that you never found yourself in again. It relieved you when Strade had forbid you and Ren from stepping foot down there, one of the few orders he gave that you were actually happy to oblige. Strade only took people to the basement for one reason and one reason only, and the fact that he was so pleasantly dragging you down there right now did not bode well for you in the slightest.

“W-wait,” you called out nervously, grabbing at the chain leash in an attempt to stop his descent. “W-why are we going down here?”

“Because it’s where the rest of your present is,” he answered as if it were obvious, a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he shot you a pointed look, “Now come on.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but a gentle touch on your shoulder stopped you.

“It’s ok, (Name),” Ren’s voice sounded softly in your ear. You could tell he was doing his best to sound reassuring. “We are allowed down there today, Strade said we could as a special treat for Christmas. It’s OK, I promise,” he gave your shoulder a small squeeze, before planting a fleeting kiss to your cheek, “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

His words did little to assuage the overwhelming terror you were feeling, sinking its claws deep in your battered soul, holding you in a death grip. You were past the point of a panic attack, now fearing a heart attack may be what does you in. At this point you wondered if that would be a mercy over whatever awaited you down there.

Forced breathes rattled from your lungs, erratic and strained as you stared into Strade’s expectant eyes, knowing his patience was rapidly diminishing. As much as you wanted to get whatever was coming over with, your legs lost the ability to move, your body denying every command your brain was giving to take the first step.

Hesitating a moment too long elicited a brutal tug from Strade, effectively ending your indecision as you were sent tumbling down after him. You whimpered as you felt the barbs of the collar tear into your flesh. Small rivulets of blood snaked from each fresh wound, dripping down your shoulders, back, and chest to strain the collar of your shirt. As a rare act of mercy, Strade caught you, his thick arm acting as a barrier between you and the concrete you were plummeting head first towards.  For once you were thankful to be within the monster’s grasp, a sore chest and aching shoulder from where he grabbed you were far better than any injury you would have attained from the fall.

Consumed by a rush of adrenaline from the tumble, you neglected to realize your hands had latched to Strade’s arm like a lifeline. Embarrassment flooded you, quickly prompting you to release your hold on him. He laughed at the flush on your cheeks, your body jostling along with the rumble of his chest. His hand relinquished its grip on your shoulder, leaving behind angry red fingerprints, as if he had seared your flesh with a mere touch. His newly freed hand moved to tangle itself in your hair, eliciting a whimper as his nails dug into your scalp. Each place his body made contact with yours felt like it was burning.

Without warning, he roughly brought the side of your head to his lips, the stubble of his cheeks scratching your skin as he smashed his face against yours, taking in a deep breath. Excited puffs of breath tickled your ear as he spoke.

 “Hurry up now,” his voice was gruff, but the words came out in a sing-song manner, “Don’t start misbehaving now, it would be a total bummer if you had to miss out on this, (Name)~”

With a wistful sigh he released his hold, leaving your momentarily reeling as you stumbled back, trying to reclaim your baring’s. Strade didn’t give much of a chance to do so, continuing on his way with another yank of the leash, forcing you to scramble after him once more.

Your body gave an involuntary shiver as your feet touched the chilly concrete floor. Strade flipped the lights, causing you to recoil at the sudden brightness. Your eyes grew watery as they struggled to adjust, but when they finally did you wished more than ever you could have just remained in the dark.

Though you hadn’t been in the basement since the week of your capture, everything was just as you remembered it. Horrible memories flooded your mind as you took in your surroundings, your brain assaulted by flashbacks of months prior. All the same home appliances and tools still lined the back wall, typically innocent devices most people used for repair jobs and building projects that no one would take a second glance at were this a normal basement. In Strades hands however, they became tools of destruction and torment, capable of the vilest atrocities.

You heard the loud whirring of the freezer off to the side before you saw it, the outdated device still valiantly chugging away as it preserved god knows what on its rickety inner shelves. The noise it spewed was so grating you wondered why he didn’t just replace the damn thing, or at least try and fix it. Near it stood the work table that housed his buzzsaw, looming ominously as it waited patiently for its next use (whether that be for flesh or for wood, who was to say?).

Witnessing these normally mundane items again made your chest hurt, a deep, indescribable level of horror spreading through every inch of your body as you struggled to reacclimate yourself. You were sure this place would haunt you as long as you lived, whether you stood in it or not didn’t matter.

Your throat went dry as you stared at the dark stains that littered the floor, remnants of various human’s bodily fluids. Blood, vomit, piss, and everything else that may leak from a human corpse was so continuous and abundant that there was no hope of the marks ever diminishing. Something told you Strade didn’t seem to mind, however. If anything, seeing those stains probably brought him some level of happiness, acting as pleasant little reminders of all the slaughter he had committed, a trophy for the lives he had stolen.

And there, smack dab in the middle of the basement stood the support beam he had tied you to, effectively barring your escape from this place. Witnessing it again was bad enough, but as your eyes locked onto it your heart started racing once more, your terror hitting unprecedented levels at the realization that there was a body there, tied up and trapped just as you once were.

At first you thought maybe you were hallucinating, seeing some phantom version of yourself your mind had conjured under the extreme stress you were facing. But as you continued to stare, noticing the slight rise and fall of their chest, hearing the small wheezes coming from their direction with each motion, it became apparent they were no figment of your imagination. Long hair fell from their slumped head, obscuring your vision of their face, but judging by what you could see of their body they looked to be around your age, similar to your build. You couldn’t help but wonder if you shared other features, had the same eye color, or maybe a similar facial structure.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Strade picked them because they reminded him of you.

Witnessing another human in this state made your stomach turn. It wasn’t so long ago that you were in that exact situation, and seeing them there helpless and oblivious to what lay before them filled you with the distressing urge to try and rescue them. If you could only run to them, untie their bindings and embrace them, let them know you were there for them and that they would be ok… Stupidly wisheful thinking, but maybe a miracle could still happen and that sweet lie would come true…

You shook your head slightly, dispelling the thought. No, it was all a tragic pipe dream, the fact they were here meant they were as good as dead and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop that.

“Hey!”

Strade barked, breaking you from the spell you were under. You jumped to attention, your wide eyes turning to him to give him your full attention. His scowl lessened at your recognition, “I know it’s all very exciting (Name), but pay attention when I am talking to you, alright?”

“Sorry,” your mouth barely formed the word, spitting it out so fast you wondered if it was even understandable. You were still in shock from being in such a terrible place, your brain lost in a fog as it struggled to comprehend why you were here, what Strade wanted of you, who that person on the floor was, and if you would make it through the day.

He sighed before stepping closer to you, irritation still lingering in his features. You fought every urge telling you to bolt, your body jolting as he gently patted your cheeks. After a few soft pats to garner your attention his strong hands continued to cup your cheeks, cradling your face in his palms. His skin was warm, the sweat from his hand moistening your skin as his thumb traced absentminded circles across scars he had created.

“Strip.”

The command didn’t register at first, making him lose patience. As you stood stock still his brows began to knit, foot tapping a bit as he waited for you to comply. After several seconds of inactivity on your end, he snapped his fingers in realization, his expression relaxing as something donned on him.

“Oh wait, it’s probably hard with the collar, right? Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”

From an unseen back holster, he brandished an imposing hunting knife, one that you would remember anywhere. It was the same one he tormented you the day he met you, the feel of it on your skin seared into your memory for all eternity. It had done a brilliant job keeping you at bay when he first imprisoned you, serving him well as the main tool that broke you.

Seeing it again was all too overwhelming, all too horribly familiar. Your body quaked, tears starting to flood your eyes, making your vision waver. Your lips moved, your throat struggling to speak, fighting to come up with something, anything that may stop him from using it on you. But ultimately there was nothing you could force out, so you just stood there blankly, flapping your lips in a failed attempt at self-preservation.

“What’s wrong?” Strade pouted, pulling at your collar, forcing you closer to him. You could barely feel the pain through your terror. “If you have something to say, you should say it. Or are you just so thrilled by all this that you can’t form a coherent thought,” he tutted, “Ah, I know the feeling well (Name), but don’t suddenly go mute on me! I want to fully enjoy all of your reactions, so don’t hold back. Think of it as your gift to me.” You shivered as he placed the knife under your shirt, cutting away haphazardly at the thin fabric, uncaring that he was nicking your flesh in the process.

With his body so near, the only sound you could focus on was Strade’s labored, rasping breathes as they rattled from his throat. He blithely ripped what was left of your clothing from your body, leaving it discarded in torn heaps on the ground. Thankfully he spared your underwear, but as his fingers languidly played with the strap of your bra, you wondered if he wouldn’t also reconsider letting you keep what remained of your decency.

“Tonight will be so good, meine Haustier,” his voice sounded hoarse, thick with anticipation as he hovered over you, nuzzling his face into your hair, “… This reminds me a lot of the night I brought you home. Maybe I am just feeling nostalgic, having you down here with me again, but it’s hard not to get wrapped up in such fond memories.”

He chuckled, “I’m thankful I was able to reel myself in back then and keep you, no matter how much I wanted to do otherwise.” He pointed his knife to the unconscious body on the floor, “This one I brought here today won’t be nearly as fun as you were, so I don’t want you to feel jealous, alright? You’re where you are for a reason, just as they are where they are for a reason. Mein Liebchen, I’m so glad I can share this moment with you...”

He pressed in closer to you, an unmistakable bulge in his pants grazing the exposed flesh of your leg as he did so. You both shuddered at the brief contact, though his reaction was for reasons far different than your own.

“This intimacy is nice, don’t you think? Sharing your passions with those close to you is what meaningful relationships are allllll about.”

He pulled away from you slightly, pressing the blade of his knife under your chin. Wincing at the briefest of contact with the blade, you raised your head to avoid slicing of your chin, stopping once you were eye to eye with Strade. Your noses nearly touched as he took in the features of your face, smiling at the sheer horror reflected in your eyes.

“And I want to remind you just how passionate I can be~”

He spun you around, giving you an abrupt shove. Unable to keep your balance you fell forward, your knees colliding with the stony floor. A hiss of pain slipped past your lips at the contact as Strade kneeled down next to you, tangling his fingers once more in your hair. With a sharp yank, he pulled your head up, directing your attention to the far corner of the room.

With his guidance, your gaze landed on something new.  A cage you couldn’t recall ever seeing filled your took up a sizable chunk of the side wall, making you wonder how you missed see it to begin with. How he got such an unwieldy contraption down the stairs previously without your notice was also lost on you. The thing looked far too heavy for one person to easily transport, even if it came in pieces.

It looked incredibly sturdy, each side comprised of thick, imposing iron bars. The cage was moderately sized- large enough for people to sit in, but not so large that it would be a comfortable arrangement. At a glance, it seemed to be made for a dog, but the girth of the bars and thick padlock on the door were completely unnecessary features for a canine, even the largest and most aggressive dog breeds wouldn’t need something so robust to keep them contained. Strade must have had it special made, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who it was made for. You clenched your fists, fighting the queasiness that this new facet of the day brought to the table. You knew the cage shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did, but you couldn’t help but be a bit addled by it. You briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much he would spend to fuel his sick intentions.

The cage sat off to the side, out of the way of the main walkway and slightly hidden behind the stairs so that it wasn’t immediately noticeable, but it was still close enough to the rest of the rooms fixtures that anyone trapped inside would have a clear view or what was happening around them. Which you figured was the point. What better seat for an unwilling audience?

“I originally bought this for Ren, but he was much easier to house train then you were.” Strade laughed, removing his hand from your hair to clap you on the shoulder. He turned his gaze to Ren who stood by the cage expectantly, waiting to fulfill his role in the nights unfolding misery. “Why don’t you show her inside, Ren? Get yourselves all comfy for the show.”

With a quick nod, Ren scampered in before you, giving you just enough room to squeeze in beside him. Nestling in, he turned to you with a strange mix of fear and anticipation in his eyes, patting the area next to you with a small smile on his lips.

“Come in, (Name),” he looked up at you through his lashes, bashful despite the situation he willingly crawled into, “There’s plenty of room.”

Strade gave you no opportunity to refute his invitation, dragging you along the floor by the collar until you arrived at the cages entrance. You gagged as the spikes dug into your flesh, your fingers attempting to find purchase and pull them out. But your grip kept slipping, the blood that coated each metallic link making it impossible to pry away.

At the entrance, Strade quickly unlatched your adjoining leash, pushing the side of his foot against your ass to shove you into the cage, treating you much the same way you would a misbehaving dog. He slammed the door behind you the moment your limbs were barely through the door, preventing you from backtracking. He hastily secured the huge padlock after he did so, effectively trapping you and Ren inside.

“I know you’ll watch, but I can’t trust her,” Strade spoke to Ren, kneeling down so that he was eye level with the two of you, “Latch her collar to the top bar, I want her focused.”

Ren was quick to follow orders, contorting himself around you so he could bind you to the cage. Part of you hoped he would show mercy, sneakily attaching the collar to a lower bar on the cage to give you more breathing room. As you felt the spikes dig farther into your skin that dream dashed from your mind. You choked back a sob as you heard the clasp click into place behind you, Ren planting a fleeting kiss to the top of your head as he did so, his way of begging forgiveness for the pain he was helping inflict

Sitting with your back completely straight, you kept your legs tucked under you, the full weight of your body supported by your knees. The slightest bit of slouching, leaning, or turning your head would plunge the spikes into your already torn up neck, amplifying your suffering. Locked into place, you were left with no choice but to sit at attention.

Maybe you could have unclasped the collar yourself for a bit of reprieve, you were sure after some blind fumbling you could figure out how to free yourself. But stuck behind a formidable lock with Strade on the other side, what would be the point? There was no place for you to run to, and if you disobeyed Strade at this point you were a sitting duck. A heavy sense of resignation settled in your soul. You no longer fought the tears that came to your eyes, letting them freely dribble down your checks to land in soft drops on your lap.

With no hope of escape, that left you with one option to get through this-endure.

“Überraschung,” Strade exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air as he stared down at you with wild, manic eyes. “What a sight this is! I must say (Name), even though your overall your obedience has improved, you still have quite the rebellious streak, don’t you?” He leaned down to get a better view of you, breathing deeply as his face began turning red from excitement, “Not that I don’t like when you get feisty, training and domesticating wild animals is something I take great pleasure in after all. But I have to say, seeing you like this?” He released an elongated, low whistle. “Schön. Keeping you has been worth it for moments like this. You really are a treat, behavioral issues and all.”

He exhaled as he slowly rose to his feet, his eyes never once leaving yours. “This is good, natural even. You belong here, (Name). Chained up like that… You’re right where you are supposed to be.”

His words were shaky, his composure slipping as his tongue trailed his bottom lip. The flush of his cheeks was now also creeping down his neck, ardent lust seeping from his expression. You shivered. Were it not for these bars separating you, you loathed to think what atrocities he would commit against you in this amped up state.

You bit back the retort that threatened to spill from your quivering jaw, biting so hard on your bottom lip you tasted blood. You hated him, loathed him with your entirety, but you also understood that one misspoken word was all it would take for you to be swapped with whatever unfortunate soul was tied to that pole. Despite it all, you still wanted to live. Clinging to the hope that someday you would get the chance to leave this place behind and return to the life that was stolen from you.

Making your freedom a reality was your daily affirmation you repeated to yourself, the one thing that truly kept you going. You made a promise to yourself that Strade would someday turn into nothing more than a horrible nightmare, a dirty smear in your past, and you very much intended to keep that promise. You would someday live out the rest of your life happy and safe, surrounded by friends and family, people you loved and who would love you in turn. Maybe you would even get married, have a kid or two.

Part of you knew thinking that way was foolish, and it usually caused you more despair than bringing you any true peace. But even if it was a silly dream, it was all you had. Strade has already stolen everything else, so you clung to your dream as your only salvation, relying on it as a means of survival.  

You had to make it through this, you had to get away and rebuild yourself from the shattered pieces Strade had broken you into. Not just for yourself, but for everyone he had ever murdered and brutalized. It was the only way you could beat him. It was the only way you could win.

“Well, no point in making any of us wait any longer,” Strade announced as he turned on his heel, making his way over to the slumped form in the center of the room. Your heart went out to them as he directed his full attention their way, staring down at them with a crazed, bloodthirsty smile. “This is pretty new for me too, ya know? Usually this is ‘me’ time, moments I can work and enjoy myself with the new friends I bring in in peace. But having a live audience? That’s sure gonna add some thrill to this.”

He turned his attention back towards you and Ren, his face glowing in excitement. “And I figured what the hell! It’s Christmas, right? Why be greedy when I can share in the celebration!  Ren already loves watching my little home movies, so I thought, ‘why not do a special live performance for my two favorite individuals?’”

Your body lurched in horror as Strade abruptly kicked his hostage square in the stomach, the force of it waking them with an agonized groan. You gasped as they coughed in pain, spit and blood sputtering from their mouth as slowly they came to. You watched on in morbid silence, a frown spreading across your lips when as you noticed the dawning horror that came over them. They were no longer in an ignorant fog of sleep, fully aware now that something truly dreadful was about to happen to them. 

Terrified recognition filled their eyes when they landed on Strade. Instantly they started to cry, whimper and plead, leaving you to wonder just how badly things went down between the two of them before you all ended up down here.

Trembles wracked your body, each quiver faintly clanging the metal of your collar against the cage. How you yearned to deafen your ears, gouge out your eyes, or will yourself away from what was unfolding before you. The mere thought of witnessing the oncoming torture, reliving your own capture through this doomed sod…  it was all too much. If given the opportunity, you would have done anything to flee and hide.

But there was no running from this. You couldn’t turn away. You couldn’t do anything at all.

“Hey buddy, calm down!” Strade spoke in a light hearted manner, invading the captive’s personal space as he crouched down in front of them. “Don’t you know it’s Christmas? Since you were looking so sad all alone at that bar last night I decided to play the role of Santa and give you a little gift! I took you in out of the goodness of my heart, because no one deserves to be alone on the holiday, right? And look,” He roughly grabbed their chin, forcing their tear stained face towards your cage, “I even brought friends to assure you wouldn’t be lonely! Pretty thoughtful of me, huh?”

You averted your stare as soon as they made eye contact, unable to stand the sheer hopelessness reflected in their forlorn gaze. Their whimpering and pleading continued, unfettered by the dialogue Strade was droning on. The desperation in their voice as they tried to reason with the most unreasonable man on the planet was making your skin crawl, irritation setting your face into a scowl. Couldn’t they see how amped up Strade was? Were they really so deluded to think their incessant begging would do them any favors? Did they not realize their cries were just exciting him more?

Eventually, you squeezed your eyes closed, wanting a break from it all even for a few seconds. Their naivety was driving you insane- a cruel reminder of the person you once were.

Suddenly, an ear splitting scream pieced the air, causing your eyes to fly open. The blood in your veins turned to ice as you saw Strade’s signature knife protruding from the captive’s leg, his hand still wrapped firmly around the handle, wriggling it further into their meat. The blade was buried deep, deep enough to cause true damage, and the blood that gushed from the new wound quickly gathered in a morbid puddle beneath their legs. If left unattended, you were sure they may bleed out, dying in slow agony.

“Oops, maybe I went a bit too deep there,” Strade nonchalantly spoke, pulling the knife carelessly from their leg. They released another sharp cry at the blades exit, squirming in pain and misery as blood sputtered from the gash. Strade continued to speak, unfettered by the gore that splashed against his leg, “But you weren’t listening very well when I was trying to talk earlier, so hopefully that’ll help you focus. I’ll try and be more mindful though, don’t wanna do too much too soon. You’re the star of the show today buddy, can’t have you dipping out on us before we even get started.”

Strade cut a piece of fabric from their victim’s shirt, tying it sloppily around the gaping wound he inflicted. It wasn’t placed as a means to help them so much as a way to help staunch the bleeding to keep them lucid for as long as possible. If there was one thing Strade hated, it was his fun being prematurely cut short.

“Well,” Strade slapped his knees, lifting himself up to his full height, “Usually I like to get to know you a little better before we get to this point, but what with my special guests and all, we don’t have as much time as I would have liked to become acquainted.”

Your eyes trailed Strade as he walked over to a tripod sitting off to the side. Your eyes widened as he reached for it, setting it up with skilled expertise as he had done so many times before. His captive stared blankly at the camera, clearly confused as to what awaited them. You couldn’t decide if their ignorance was a tragedy or a godsend. If they knew this was their final moment of relative peace before their violent end… Would they try an appreciate it, or would that just bring them more dismay?

After the main camera was set up to his liking, he made his way towards you and Ren. You stiffened at he approached, a new spike of anxiety rising within you as he fiddled with something in his pocket. It was your turn for confusion now, staring in perplexion as he pulled out another small camera, setting it up so that it faced your cage. After some finagling to get it just right, the small red light on it turned green.

“There we go,” Strade smiled, tying his signature bandana around his mouth after he completed his setup, his wide eyes gleaming with cruel intent, “Figured the viewers at home deserved a little special something, too. Smile for the camera you two!”

Shame flushed your exposed body as you did all you could to avoid looking into the camera’s nebulous, black lens. You curled yourself up as much as physically possible, revolted by the realization that other sickos were tuning in, getting off to an impending murder and your humiliation. How many people were on the other side of that small orb, desperately waiting for Strade to begin so they could scratch their fucked up itch? How many pairs of eyes were roving over your barely clothed, bloody body right now, pleased for such an enticing appetizer before they dug into the main course? You didn’t know what disgusted you more, Strade himself or the fact that he had enough ‘fans’ out there that were of a similar mindset, who avidly watched and supported him enough that he could live comfortably off live-streaming his slaughters.

After some brief adjustments (apparently your camera wasn’t focused enough, the ‘fans’ were complaining about not having a clear shot of ‘the bitch’s stupid, sniveling face’), Strade eventually made his way back over to the main camera, flicking it on and checking the feed on a nearby laptop to make sure everything was looking as it should. Once he was satisfied, he hopped in front of the camera, the jovial smile on his face noticeable even behind his mask.

“Frohe Weihnachten an alle! Oh wait,” he fished around in a drawer beneath his laptop, eventually yielding a slightly wrinkled Santa’s hat that he plopped gleefully upon his head. “That’s better! How is everyone doing this fine, festive holiday?”

Strade’s eyes scanned over the chat, laughing here and there as he read peoples responses. “I see you all noticed the new edition to the party. Ren, (Name), why don’t you give the nice people watching at home a smile?”

Refusing to acknowledge his deluded request, you kept your eyes to the floor, focusing on anything else but the situation you were in. Your legs ached from your balancing act, the impression of the cold cage bars long since deeply engraved in your skin. You grimaced when you tried to reposition them, the bastard could have at least thrown a towel in here for you.

Strade responded to a few more ‘questions’ before releasing a low whistle. “Hey now,” he chided, his voice holding a warning edge to it “I’m happy to share my cute pets with you, but some things only I get to see, yeah? Get your minds out of the gutter, the requests for the day aren’t for them, they’re for our latest catch.”

Strade scratched the back of his head, looking towards you with an amused twinkle in his eye.  “I think you two may be a bigger hit then our new friend! A little rude to our guest, but I can’t say I blame the masses.” He gave an exaggerated shrug, laughing a bit as he shook his head. “But enough talk. Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

He made his way over to his tool wall, his finger trailing the varying allotment of devices he owned. He stopped briefly, looking back towards the camera with lidded eyes. “So what are you guys feeling? Should we bust out our old friend the drill, or maybe something a bit more colorful, like the new handsaw I purchased the other day?”

The captive began to struggle with renewed intensity against their binds, thrashing about in a final attempt of escape. Their cries for help turned into wailing screeches, screaming and cursing as loud as they could muster in the hope that someone would magically hear them and come to their rescue. You hissed under your breath angrily, wishing they had never been caught, wishing they could spend Christmas with their family, wishing they would just shut up, wishing this would all end.

“Ohhh, we got a lively one~” Strade purred, grabbing a tomahawk off a nearby hook as he eyed chat, “and I agree with the majority here, it’s best to start off slow. Let’s begin with some little stuff and work up to the main event, really taking our time to enjoy this wonderful moment together.” He eyed the tool in his hand, picking at a remainder of a price tag that stuck stubbornly to the handle. “You may not believe me, but I only purchased this little guy to help with some pesky overgrowth in my yard, not to use on my company. Guess it can’t hurt to test out its sharpness and strength beforehand though, can it?”

Your heart palpitated as Strade stalked his way over to his cornered victim, mutely praying that some act of god would occur that would keep them from being decimated. He towered over them, thoughtfully musing on where he wanted to begin, what part of their body he wanted to mutilate first. He absent mindedly tossed the tomahawk from one hand to the next as he considered his plan of attack, sizing up his prey as if they were nothing more than a slab of meat. You struggled briefly against your binding in last ditch effort to shield yourself you from the ‘show’. But like a cruel child jabbing their fingers into you when you weren’t paying them enough attention to them, the spikes gave you a torturous reminder of the position you had been assigned to play in this performance.

Oddly enough, the stab of the protrusions didn’t hurt nearly as much as they did before. Maybe your body was adapting to the cruelties Strade subjugated it to, or maybe you were finally becoming desensitized to everything you had been forced to experience.  Maybe someday it would get to the point where you could be completely unfeeling, like a robot just going through the motions as Strade lived out his wicked life, you forcefully in tow. It was almost a comforting thought, whatever adjustments your body and soul had to make to assure your continued survival, so be it.

However, if the pit forming in your stomach and sweat drenching your brow as you watched Strade inch closure and closure to his victim was any indicator, you were sure something inside of you would always hold on to amity, reminding you just how painfully human you were, heart-breaking empathy and all.

‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,’ you chanted in your head, fresh tears carving slick trails down your cheeks when Strade kick their leg, digging the heel of their boot harshly into their stab wound. Bright red bloomed around the fabric covering the wound, their screams growing gravelly the longer they strained their vocal cords. You did your best to hold back the worst of your sobs, rogue sniffles and hiccups escaping despite your best efforts. If there was an afterlife, you hoped that theirs was full of nothing but warmth, peace, and all the things they love. It was the least they deserved for this.

You were vaguely aware of Ren repositioning himself next to you, his head nestling against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, shielding you slightly in an almost protective manner. Pressed so close, you could feel that he was shivering, his heart beating a mile a minute as it thrummed against your skin. Whether it was from fear, excitement, or both, you were unable to say.

Strade turned around, giving you one last mirthful glance as he readied his tomahawk over the toes of his captive’s right foot.  Though they squirmed intensely, he held a death grip on the limb, keeping them from breaking free. “Make sure to pay close attention now,” desire radiated from his demeanor, voice husky as narrowed eyes briefly roved your restrained form “and don’t feel too neglected over there, I’ll make sure to save some of the fun juuust for you once I finish with our pal over here.”

His eyes darted to the camera, shooting it a look of mock sympathy “For my eyes only of course, you all understand right? Thank you for being here friends, and Frohe Weihnachten für mich!~”

He slammed the blade down. A blood curdling scream erupted from the center of the room as their toes disconnected from the rest of their foot, signaling the beginning of their end.

And you sat like a statue, cold and rigid as your unwilling eyes bore witness to each act of savagery.

[toxicanonymity]

Dear Toxi,

At your suggestion, I used Resistbot to contact my congress people and representative and asked them to vote “no” on the SAVE act. If you can, I would love for you to write something about Raider Joel and Sweet Pea. They are my favorites. Thanks for all your great writing and your activism!

Thank you for your activism and ask. glad to provide raider. 🫡🖤 SAVE act | 5calls | resistbot | ask event: blorbos for democracy

Feast

raider!Joel x f!reader | 1.9k words

WARNINGS: 18+ PWP, 🐱 eating extravaganza, a little forceful, dubcon overstim, PIV, cockwarming, dark fluff, a bit of angst, light somno, Raider Joel needs a permanent hug. NOTES: Morning after Bodies / The Kiss but can read alone. Ty @iamasaddie for the gorgeous pic, ty @milla-frenchy for listening yrs before i write it sometimes, ty @dark-scape and everyone who supports me 🖤 🖤 Joel miller masterlist

You begin to wake up with Joel's hair tickling your breast as he works his way down your body, dragging his lips over your skin. After spreading your legs and resting them over his shoulders, he presses his open mouth to your hip, then inner thigh. 

His inner thigh kisses get closer and thirstier, sucking at your skin, capillaries bursting with pleasure as they rise to the surface to be seen by only him. Marked for no one but Joel. He noses your cunt and dips his tongue for a taste, then his tongue presses hard into your warmth. You moan quietly, feeling everything, but you're still so tired. It was a peaceful night, restful, but hard to shake the heavy slumber. 

You want to be in his arms, but his big hands holding your hips while he plunges face first into your cunt… It's so good, his arms can wait. The day can wait. The morning light filtering through the clouded window can wait as long as need be while Joel Miller takes his time. 

He laps at your pussy, then sucks at your clit. He flicks his tongue and feels you squirm. He reaches up and palms a breast as he eats your pussy like he hasn't had a meal in days and this might just sate him for the week. 

You throb, and pressure builds in your front, in your blood. His lips and tongue possess your pleasure center. His beard scratches your inner thighs, and you spread your legs further, beginning to squirm slightly under his touch. He looks up for a moment, but his eyes are behind a haze of pleasure, and yours are still closed. 

“Ugh,” you moan and your hips lift into his mouth. 

“Mm,” He grunts into your pussy and continues to play with your clit. He flicks his tongue, sucks hard, and listens to you unravel, closing his eyes, losing himself in the primality of consuming you for his pleasure and yours.

“J-joel,” you breathe, not loud enough for him to hear.  Need to feel his lips on yours again. His lips on… your other lips. The ones on your pretty face, the ones that whimper his name, this time asking, “Joel?” with no reply, only a crescendo of pressure swelling in your core. 

You drift back to the night before, the moment your mouths connected…. you float there with the swelling pressure as your buoy, until the riptide pulls you under, into the ghost of his mouth taking yours, and the pleasure breaks in a crashing wave. Tumbling over your senses, it rolls you onto the shore of his bed, soaked and trembling, gasping for breath with his head between your legs as he swallows your peak. 

The taste of your pleasure, your climax only makes him more voracious. While you're bathing in the high, he licks at your entrance, sucks and swallows. Plunges his tongue into you, searches for more. He tilts his head, fucking you with his tongue from different angles.  He’s a starving canine licking marrow out of bone. 

He brings his thumb to your cunt and holds it there on the spot that makes you whimper with the slightest pressure.  He fucks you with his tongue, then flattens his fingers and rubs at your clit, rolling it it in short quick strokes, building another fire in your belly with his tongue in your core. His thick fingers work you like a tap, drawing more of your arousal to coat his tongue. 

“C'mere,” you whimper, and he doesn't let up. His tongue thrusts into you. He laps over your entrance, up your slippery seam, before plunging his tongue in again, with his hand still aflutter. You squirm and he sucks, and then you're coming against his face, and he moans against your throbbing clit, then nudges it with the strength of his tongue and seals it with an open kiss.  His mouth breaks away to gush, “good girl.” 

Your legs tremble over his shoulders like a gelatin dish carried by heavy steps to the kitchen table where a hungry mouth waits. He holds one thigh, thumb and fingers pressing into the soft flesh over your muscle, and gives it an aggressive kiss, lips smacking as he pulls away and sets his eyes on the feast between your legs again. 

“Can you come here?” You ask, and he glances up at you with his mouth planted between your legs again. 

“It's, it’s too much. I can't,” You whimper. It feels like you could pee, like you could lose complete control. Does he hear you?  

“Joel, Joel,” you repeated. 

He sucks below your clit, flicks his tongue up against it before sucking again. He closes his eyes hard, and his hand comes to your breast.

“come here,” you echo and it comes out strained, stretched by pleasure, pulled apart by him.  You try to sit up, try to use your lower body to nudge him toward you, toward the pillow, but he forces you down, holds you firmly in place. You begin to lift his hand off your breast to break the spell, to get his attention, and his hand seizes your wrist.

Your resistance only makes his mouth more aggressive in its quest to swallow you again. 

You give in.  

He feels you relax, glances up, then interlaces his fingers with yours and it feels all better. The tension leaves your back and legs, your neck relaxes, your head sinks into the pillow. All the tension melts, flowing down to your center where it builds in your depths for a third time. 

His lips break away with a rumbling breath. 

“One more, baby,” he pants, “one more.” 

His tongue runs through your folds, up one side and down the other, circling your juicy hole, then giving it a suck before returning to your clit. 

His hand tightens its grip on yours, so large and commanding. Tight and firm, his palm flexes, his fingers press into the slopes between your knuckles.

His hips rut against the bed as he fucks you with his face. The movement of his ass, the telltale. rhythm of his hips and his tongue together, it tickles something in your solar plexus, opening you with a desperate need to be filled.

His head between your legs dips and pushes his mouth harder in rhythm with his hips against the bed. Tongue, hips, tongue, hips, suck, hips, suck, harder. With a pit opening in your center, you beg, “I need you inside.”  

You find yourself jealous of the mattress, wishing you were the fitted sheet that he was rutting against. Nevermind how many hours you were treated to the same push of his hips. How many nights. Nevermind that his face is buried in your cunt. You want him inside you. 

 A tear rolls down your temple.

You whimper his name, and he takes a breath to promise, “One more and you can rest, baby.  One more.” 

You can do it. You can do it for him. With tension coiling in your depths, with one hand in his, and the other in his hair, you watch his eyelids hover half open, then close with the soft rake of your nails across his scalp. 

Your hips lift with his hungry touch and he moans into your cunt. 

A growl escapes his chest; warm, damp air against your lower mound. The coil winds so tight you fear the snap as you begin to crest. But when the tension breaks and springs you open, the rush of release makes you glad he hadn't stopped. It floods every inch of you with a sizzling buzz.

It makes your body dizzy, and it makes you sleepy. He laps up all your arousal, all your release, everything he can, his hips still moving in rhythm. He slowly fucks the goddamn mattress with you quivering against his tongue. 

And then, finally, he’s done. He licks his swollen lips swallowing more of your taste. His neck and face are pink, the lower half is shiny. His breath is heavy, and so is yours as you recover. 

“I'm comin’, sweet pea,” he assures you. He lets go of your hand to prowl up your body.

He hovers you, and you glance down at his stiff, leaking cock, angry with so much blood and need it can hardly contain. It bounces heavily against your belly, right where you want it inside. 

He reaches down, aligns your bodies, and your breath hitches as he slides into you with a powerful thrust, plunging nearly all his length through your soft walls. He packs you full, just like you wanted. You're tired, so tired, and your face becomes peaceful as you're made whole. 

“You can rest now, baby,” he pants. With his length sheathed in your soft warmth, he slides a hand under your shoulder, pulls you against him, and eases you back into how you were sleeping - on your sides, facing each other. With a grunt, he hikes your leg up so he can bottom out fully with a sigh. 

An aftershock squeezes his shaft, making him shudder. He strokes your face, possessively cups the back of your head, with his thumb on your temple, then he brings his face to yours and kisses you once again.  With your mouths joined, he breathes through his nose, kissing you deep, letting his tongue slide into your warm, soft mouth, feeding you your own taste, collecting more of you for himself. Another spasm echoes from your walls, and his hips jerk. His lips break from yours with a groan, and his cock throbs, erupting warm and heavy.

Deep, so deep.

His pelvis tilts trying to inch ever further into you like he could fill your whole body up if he tried, and maybe he could. But he remains almost completely still as his balls empty into you through the twitch of his cock. 

He interrupts his shaky breaths to kiss you for a few seconds, lips clinging to yours. Then he pulls back to look you in the eyes and asks, “You okay sweet pea?”  

“Yeah,” you whisper with a nod. He holds you, and the rhythm of his breathing feels like a lullaby. 

“Let's stay in bed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you whisper in agreement. 

You're wrapped in his arms, full of his cock, almost back asleep when his arms twitch and tighten around you.

“Are you okay?” You ask. 

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. ‘Course I am, sweet pea.” He kisses your forehead.  But unease grows beneath the peace he feels, slow as cordyceps and just as real.

The truth is, each time your bodies are joined, he’s less sure how to separate them. He's not sure how to get out of that bed without you physically attached to him. Like a limb or a second skin, the thought of shedding you, even for a moment, makes his oxygen drop, unsettles his gut, has his pulse thrumming in his neck. 

“Just... always need more of ya, baby,” he mutters with a shift of his hips, then another deep breath. 

“You have all of me,” you whisper. 

"Yeah," he whispers and nestles your head under his chin where you can feel his thick swallow. 

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Thank you for reading 🖤 I have terrible anxiety with this series sometimes, there's so much I've scribbled and not shared. Your comments help a lot.

Please also consider sharing this fic - it's a great way to help resistance efforts by spreading the ask and links and enticing people who might otherwise scroll past this kind of information.

[krirebr]

Luck Be a Lady

Pairing: soft!dark Curtis Everett x female reader

Word Count: ~10.1k

Summary: Desperate for money, you accept a job as a cocktail waitress at an underground casino. You think you know what you're doing, but when you meet Curtis, will you realize you're in over your head?

Warnings: Mob AU, violence, allusions to murder, explicit language, dubcon touching, noncon touching (not Curtis), willfully oblivious reader, SMUT - facefucking, dirty talk, light d/s dynamics, praise kink, other explicit sexual content. This is definitely on the darker end of the soft!dark spectrum, so proceed with caution! All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Masterlist

A/N: And here it finally is! This is my first real attempt at soft!dark. I hope I did it right! 😂

This was inspired by two things: 1) me going to a rep screening of Goodfellas and spending the entire time wondering why I hadn't done a mob au yet and 2) @bigtreefest saying "enforcer!Curtis Everett and mob boss!Andy Barber" in my general direction. Thanks for the inspo, friend!!

And big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who not only came up with Curtis's name for reader but also offered heaps of encouragement and was a great sounding board. And thanks to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how exactly we'd get to the smut. Thanks Siri!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Please come scream at me about this! 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You fruitlessly tug down your very short skirt as Holly talks at you. You’re both standing in the corner of the bar’s basement waiting for the night to start in earnest—your first night.

“Lloyd’s not so bad,” she says of your boss, the man who runs this little underground gambling ring. “You’ll have to split your tips with him at the end of the night, but he doesn’t take that much, and you’ll make enough that you won’t really notice. As long as you do that, he’ll mostly keep his hands to himself.”

You nod along, glancing at the mustachioed man conferring with the bouncer at the door. The interview process for this job had boiled down to a thorough once-over that’d made you feel naked in your jeans and t-shirt and a “You’re not too stupid to take a drink order, are you?” and then you had the job.

Holly had vouched for you. Neighbors for almost half a year, she’d come home early one morning last week and witnessed you trying to convince the landlord that you were good for your past-due rent. She’d taken you for coffee and told you she might be able to help if you were good at keeping your head down and mouth shut. And now you were here.

“The customers, on the other hand,” she continues, smacking her gum, “you’ll have to let them touch, at least a little bit. Within reason, you know? But if anything gets out of hand, you can just tell Jake at the door and he’ll take care of it.”

“Within reason?” you ask, voice shaking, just the littlest bit, as the pit that started forming in your stomach when you agreed to this grows a little more.

The look she gives you verges on exasperated. “Well, you want to make money, don’t you?”

Yes, you do. Very much so. It’s a need, not a want. So you nod and try to listen as she keeps giving you the rundown. 

Before you’re ready, the first patrons start trickling in and then you’re off to the races. It’s not too bad. No one’s orders are too complicated, mostly just bottles of beer and glasses of straight whiskey. The bartender, Colin, is friendly enough, although you learn that he’s another person you’ll need to split your tips with. 

As for the touching, there are hands on your hips, pats to your ass. But you’re rewarded with folded-up bills held up between fingers or tucked into the strap of your top. Or, twice, slid behind the waistband of your skirt. Once you realize that the majority of these bills aren’t ones or fives, but twenties, you care about the touching that comes with them much less. Plus, you’re too busy to really think about it that hard. 

You can’t believe how busy it is for a random Tuesday night, multiple games of poker, craps, and who knows what else all going at once. But when you mention that to Holly, she just laughs and shakes her head. “This is nothing,” she says. “On the weekends there’ll be three more of us and another one of Jake. Things get wild.” 

You don’t have time to decide whether that makes you nervous or excited before someone is signaling for your attention again. You manage to suppress your grimace when he slides his arm around your waist to tell you what he needs from the bar. You’re rewarded for your troubles by a wad of twenties. You aren’t sure who these men are to tip so freely, but you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s an hour or two later that Lloyd calls you over to where he’s speaking to a large, impossibly broad man, dressed in a soft-looking henley under a leather jacket with dark jeans. There’s dark ink all over his hands that disappears up his sleeves and reappears on his neck in intricate lines. He’s got close-cropped hair and a full beard that’s neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes drill into you right away and you do your best not to shiver.

“Got a new girl tonight, Everett. Still learning the ropes, but she’ll take good care of you, won’t you, Cupcake?” 

“Yes, of course,” you say, before Lloyd wanders off to check on one of the poker games.

The man, Everett, lets his eyes rove over you. “Cupcake, huh?” His voice is deep, gritty, but there's something there that's much gentler than you expected.

You give him what you hope is a coy smile. “Sure. If you want.” Lloyd was treating him like he's important. You hope important means deep pockets.

He hits you with a penetrative stare, so strong you almost have to take a step back. “No,” he finally says. “I don't think so. I'll find something more fitting.” Then he turns and starts to walk away, before calling over his shoulder. “I'm gonna get dealt in. Bring me a whiskey once I'm settled.”

You watch him go for just a moment, and then head to the bar, asking for a whiskey. 

“This for Everett?” the bartender, Colin, asks. When you nod, he grabs a fancy bottle off the top shelf. “This is all he drinks. And he doesn't pay for it, alright? Don't ever think about giving him a bill.” 

You look back at the man in question, seriously looking at the cards he’s just been dealt. Who is he???

You collect his whiskey and move back to him. As you set it down, he turns to you. “How about this?” he asks as he holds up a crisply folded hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes widen at the money. All you’ve done is bring him one straight pour. “There’s another one of these in it for you if you make sure I never see the bottom of this glass tonight. Sound good?” And then he folds the bill one more time in his thick fingers, before sliding it under the low-cut neckline of your blouse. Your skin tingles where he brushes against it.

“Yeah, you got it,” you just breathe out, a little shocked you’re able to form words. He gives you a smug smile that you can only describe as shark-like before turning back to his cards, and you understand it as the dismissal that it is. 

You move around the room, collecting empties, getting refills, trying to goodnaturedly accept unsolicited touches. The whole time you feel eyes on you, but whenever you glance Everett’s way, he’s focused on his poker game.

Eventually, a down moment finds you catching your breath against the wall. The moment Holly sees you standing still, she’s quickly making her way to you. “You need to be more careful around Curtis,” she hisses, lowly.

You look at her, confused. “Curtis?” Jake’s at the door. Colin’s behind the bar. You don’t know a Curtis.

“Curtis Everett!” You glance at the man at the poker table. He’s running a poker chip across his knuckles mindlessly. Then he looks up and you briefly make eye contact before you quickly look away. Holly is staring at you and she looks worried. But the name still doesn’t mean anything to you, so you shake your head and shrug. She groans as quietly as she can. “He’s Barber’s top enforcer!”

This whole conversation feels so out of the blue that it takes you a minute to catch up. Barber. Andrew Barber. The most feared mob boss in the city. Probably the state. Maybe even more. Ruthless and exacting was how the papers described him. He’d been the subject of multiple stings and taskforces and whathaveyou but nothing ever stuck. “He works for Andrew Barber?” you ask, shocked and a little appalled.

Holly stares at you in a way that you can only describe as dumbfounded. It takes her a few moments to find her words, then, “Bitch, you work for Andrew Barber!”

Everything stops. “What?” you gasp.

“Oh my god,” Holly groans. “This was such a mistake. It’s an underground card game in his city! Who did you think was running things?”

“I– I don’t know,” you stutter, stupidly. The god’s honest truth is that you’d never really stopped to think about it. You’d been staring down an eviction, struggling to afford groceries. Unable to make ends meet no matter what you did. When Holly told you about this job, all you saw were dollar signs. You didn't think about anything further. Of course, you’d known these games were illegal, but it seemed so minor in the grand scheme of things. You hadn’t connected it to anything bigger because you just hadn’t wanted to.

But now– Now that you know the truth, what are you going to do? You know what you should do. You should walk out the door right now. You should find some other legitimate way to pay your bills. It’ll be safer. It’ll be better. It’ll be so much harder.

As you bite your lip, trying to process all of this information, Holly continues. “Listen,” she says, “still get him drinks, be friendly, whatever you need to do. But keep your distance however you can. Don't encourage him. He's just– He's really dangerous. They don't call him Barber’s attack dog for nothing, ok?”

“Yeah,” you say. You start to look back in Curtis’s direction but stop yourself. You think about the hundred you already have and the one promised to you at the end of the night. You think of how empty your pantry is. But then you see the genuine fear in Holly's eyes. You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I got it. Thanks.”

“He doesn't even come in here that often. I'm surprised to see him tonight, so I'm sure it’ll be fine,” she says, but you can tell she’s nervous.

You nod, absently, finally letting yourself glance over at him. His drink is getting close to the bottom. “Shit,” you mumble. “I gotta get him his refill.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Holly asks. 

You should let her do it. You absolutely should. But you just can’t give up on that tip. You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine. But thanks.”

You head back to the bar and grab Curtis’s top-shelf whiskey of choice from Colin, then make your way to his table. You set it down next to him, hoping to move away without him even noticing, he’s so engrossed in the game. But as you take a step back, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. He holds it tightly until you meet his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you can’t help the sharp intake of breath or the way you feel his words in your knees. He strokes his thumb down the inside of your wrist, then abruptly lets go, pushing his chips to the middle of the table. You step away, gathering yourself as subtly as you can, and get back to work.

The rest of the night goes quickly. The crowd gets a little rowdier as they drink more, but you find that it’s nothing you can’t handle. The reality of who these people are, what they’re connected to, never leaves your mind. But really, they’re not so bad. None of this feels so bad at all. And soon, people start heading out. You’re beginning to clean up, when a recognizable voice rings out, “Bambi!” You turn and lock eyes with Curtis. He crooks two fingers at you and you quickly make your way over to him.

“Bambi?” you ask.

He grins at you and it feels more than a little predatory. You’ll never admit how much you like it. You try to keep Holly’s warning at the forefront of your mind. “Wide eyes and just getting your legs under you,” he says. You instinctively duck your head at that, which earns a dark chuckle. “Here,” he continues, as he pulls a genuine, fat money clip out of his back pocket. You’ve never seen something like it in real life before. He peels off two bills and holds them out to you. “This is what good girls get,” he says, a low rumble in his voice.

You swallow as you take them from him. Two hundred dollars. Twice what you were expecting. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He shakes his head. “You earned it.” Then, after one last long look at you, he turns around and leaves.

You stand and stare after him. You don’t doubt anything Holly said, but three hundred dollars, just for bringing him drinks. He doesn’t seem that bad, not really. A little intense maybe, but there’s some sort of interest there, and it can’t be that bad to encourage it, just a little if it earns you these sorts of tips, can it??

Any hesitance you have about this entire endeavor completely disappears as you count your money at the end of the night.

Your first week flies by. You're starting to get the hang of the job. You get along with your coworkers. You get to know the regulars. You like it. Even Lloyd isn’t so bad as long as you give him his cut at the end of every night.

And you’re making so much money.

In your downtime, you pay your landlord what you owe him. You go grocery shopping without scouring for coupons first or calculating exactly what you can afford beforehand. You make a Pinterest board of what you want your apartment to look like now that you might actually be able to buy things to fill it. For the very first time, you’re thinking about things you actually want, not just desperately trying to figure out how you’ll pay your bills. You’ve never felt this calm, this relaxed, this free before. It’s an incredible feeling.

And Curtis. Despite Holly’s reassurances that you wouldn’t see him much, he seems to be there whenever you are, trying to capitalize on his winning streak at the poker tables, you assume. His tips are still insanely generous. You don’t think he carries anything less than hundred dollar bills. 

And there’s just something about him. The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. It’s not like the other men here. His touch is like fire, warming from the inside. There’ve been times when his hand on your hip has almost made your knees buckle. That doesn’t happen with anyone else here.

But you’re being smart and you’re being safe. You are. You’re going to set a savings goal, you think. And once you hit that number, you’ll be out of here, onto something more legitimate. And until then, you’ll just keep your head down and mouth shut, like Holly said. You haven’t even really seen anything. It’s a good plan. It’ll be fine.

She’s right that the weekends are wilder. Even with three additional girls working the room, you’re kept running. You do your best to keep an eye on Curtis’s drinks, but it’s much harder than on weeknights. And you aren’t really able to pause when you drop them off. It’s one of these times, as you’re pulling away from the table as soon as you’ve set his glass down, that you’re stopped short by his hand on you. He pulls you back in by the wrist and says, “They’re just running you ragged tonight, huh, Bambi?”

You smile and shrug. “It’s busy.”

He holds out a bill and you try not to smile even wider as he slips it into the waistband of your skirt. “For all your hard work.”

You bat your lashes a little. “You spoil me.”

“I like spoiling you,” he says, lowly. 

“You’re too sweet,” you say softly. Then, pulling your arm away with a wink, you add, “Gotta run,” and you’re onto the next table.

You’re getting good at this, figuring out what level of harmless flirting is just enough to keep the money flowing. And you’re having fun. You’d never expected that.

Holly and two of the other girls, Jane and Kristi, are congregated at the end of the bar, waiting for drinks, when you join them. They’re all watching you warily. “So, uh,” Jane starts quietly, “you seem to be getting pretty cozy with Curtis.” 

Before you can respond, Holly scoffs behind her. “I’ve tried to warn her but she won’t fucking listen.”

You roll your eyes. You’re tired of hearing this. “I seriously don’t get what the big deal is. He’s nice and he tips well. It’s harmless!”

Kristi just gapes at you. “He’s nice?!”

Holly slams the drinks she was waiting for onto her tray. “Whatever,” she grumbles. “It’s her fucking funeral.”

You shake your head as you watch her go. It’s fine. You can take care of yourself.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. You don’t get much of a chance to talk to Curtis, but you feel his eyes on you before he disappears a little before closing.

At the end of the night, once you’ve helped clean up, you cash out with Colin and Jake and then go to find Lloyd in his office. You think it’s kind of ridiculous that you’re basically paying him to work there, but it is what it is. And Holly was right, you’re making so much that you barely even notice. 

Lloyd is sitting at his desk, looking a little more disheveled than you’re used to. He startles at your approach, which is also new. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, with slightly rounded eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You look at him, a little confused. “Just here with your cut,” you say as you hold out his money.

His hands immediately fly up to his chest, palms out. “No, no,” he says. “You made that fair and square. You just– you keep what you make from now on, Cupcake. Sound good?”

You swallow and nod, preparing yourself for whatever other price you’ll have to pay for keeping your job, mentally calculating what you’re willing to do. But Lloyd doesn’t do anything, doesn’t make any move to get closer to you. Just stays there at his desk, turning back to his work. “You have a good night,” he says, clearly dismissing you. 

You leave confused, but richer, telling yourself not to question it too hard.

Things go so smoothly for a few weeks that you’re a little shocked when the bubble bursts. 

It’s a relatively quiet weeknight. There are a few games going, but nothing compared to the weekend. The pace of the night feels leisurely. It’s nice.

It’s maybe the first night you haven’t seen Curtis there. It feels weird. He’s become such a part of this place for you. A fixture, like the bar or the carpet. Just one of the elements that make it what it is. But it’s fine. Of course, he doesn’t come every night. He probably has a whole life outside of this. He must’ve gotten bored of playing cards. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

You’re passing the time talking to one of the regulars at the bar, Vinny. He’s in his fifties, you think, with gray hair and laugh lines. He’d gone bust at the poker table (or maybe it was craps tonight) earlier and then had moved to the bar to drink away his sorrows and bad luck. That was how his nights tended to go.

He’s sitting on a barstool, his arm around your waist where you stand next to him. He’s a little close for comfort, but he’s always just been a friendly guy, so you’re alright. Which is why you’re so surprised when, in the middle of a story about the good old days of the Copa Cabana, his other hand suddenly finds its way between your thighs. You freeze. For just a second. Then you force out a laugh and try to push his hand away. “Bad boy,” you try to tease, your voice shaking. His hand will not move. What is happening? “Come on, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

Instead of doing what you’ve asked, his thumb briefly brushes the inside of your leg and then his whole hand begins moving higher. You stop breathing. You push again but he won’t budge.

“You’re such a pretty doll, aren’tcha?” he says. 

Tears start to gather in your eyes. You look around wildly to see if anyone’s noticing what’s happening. Colin’s busy making drinks. Jake and Lloyd are talking by the door. Everyone else is engrossed in their own business. “Vinnie, stop, please,” you whisper. You don’t know why you can’t get your voice to work, can’t get your body to move.

“Come on,” he cajoles, “I’m being nice, aren’t I?” 

Then his thumb brushes against your panties and your entire body jolts into action. You wrench your leg out of his grasp and take several steps away from him. Your whole body is shaking now. “I gotta–” you start, trying to keep your tone casual and failing miserably. “I gotta get back to work, Vinny.” Then you grab your tray off the bartop and walk away as fast as you can.

You don’t really have a destination in mind. You pick up a few empties as you wander between tables. You can feel his eyes on you, following you. You try to take a deep breath, calm yourself down. It isn’t very helpful. You look up to see Jake by himself now. You make your way over to him, Holly’s words on your first night in your ears. That was out of hand, wasn’t it?

He looks up as you approach. His big golden retriever smile on his face. “Hey, what’s up?” Then he actually takes you in and his smile drops. “What happened?”

“Um, Vinny, he, uh–” You feel a few tears fall down your cheeks and you just shake your head.

Jake’s face darkens. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, uh, he– he just–” You shake your head again. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at you. There’s something about the way he does it that makes you think he understands everything you just can’t say. He nods once. “Alright. I’ll take care of it. You go take your time in the back. Do what you need to do. He’ll be gone by the time you’re done.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, thank you,” you say so quietly. Then you get yourself to the back room as quickly as you can.

It’s really more of a hallway than a room, small and narrow. All of the storage space for the building is in the legitimate bar upstairs. But there’s enough room for you to crouch down, your knees pulled up tight to your chin. You bury your face in your thighs and let the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re fine. 

You don’t know how long you’ve spent trying to calm yourself down when a large shadow suddenly looms over you. It takes you a moment to gather your strength to find out who it is. You hope it’s Jake telling you Vinny’s gone. You’re afraid it might be Lloyd, here to tell you to get back to work. There’s a slowly building terror that it might be Vinny himself.

After a deep breath, you look up to find Curtis staring down at you, concern on his face and fiery anger in his eyes. “What happened?” he growls.

You shake your head and turn away. He crouches down in front of you. “Are you alright?”

A humorless, uncontrolled laugh escapes you. Once you finally stop, you ignore his question and ask your own, “Why are you here?”

It takes him a very long time to answer. He just looks at you seriously for several moments. Then, finally, “Jake called me.” While you try to figure out why on earth Jake would do that, he continues, “I'm sorry I wasn’t already here.”

“Why?” you blurt out without thinking. 

He looks away without saying anything. You both just sit in the silence for a few moments. Then, you try to change tactics. “Where were you?” you ask out of morbid curiosity. You can't imagine what his life is like outside of here.

“Working,” he says curtly. He plays with a ring on his middle finger and the movement draws your eyes to his hands, specifically his knuckles. They're scraped and caked with dried blood. 

You swallow and you catch how his eyes track the movement. His eyes are always on you. He catches everything. 

“Someone touched you?”

“Lots of people touch me,” you say, flatly. “It's part of the job. You touch me.”

His eyes narrow at that. “But this was different.” It isn’t a question.

You look down at your hands in your lap and don't say anything. 

“Tell me who it was.”

“No,” you say instinctively, something about the moment feeling incredibly dangerous. 

He huffs in frustration. “Are you trying to protect him?”

“No!” you say, sharply. “I’m protecting myself.”

“You don’t have to do that. Not from me. Not ever.”

You don’t know how to tell him that every atom in you knows that that isn’t true. You can’t explain it, and it wasn’t until the moment he joined you in this little closet, but you’d swear that he’s a danger to you. You just can't articulate how, but you feel it in your bones. And still, here you stay.

At your silence, he grits out, “If you don’t tell me who it was, Jake will.”

Jake probably already has, that’s what you’ve figured. “Great,” you say. “Then you don’t need me to say it.”

“Bambi,” he lets out in an exasperated growl. “I'm trying to help you.” 

You just look at him and then figure you may as well ask the main question that's on your mind. “Why did Jake call you?” 

He ignores you and stands up. “Come on,” he says and extends his hand, “I'm taking you home.”

You just blink up at him. “My shift isn't over.” 

He shakes his hand at you impatiently. “It is now. Come on.”

You shake your head. “Curtis, this is my job. I can't just– Lloyd will–”

“I'll take care of Lloyd. Let’s go.”

You think about going home. About sitting alone in your small apartment. At least here you'll have something to do, things to focus on, to keep you busy. At home, there'll be nothing to think about other than that hand between your legs and– “No,” you say as firmly as you can manage. “I'm staying here. I'm finishing the night.”

His jaw ticks but he doesn’t say anything, just tries to stare you down. You stare right back. You will not concede this. 

Finally, he exhales through his nostrils, then growls out an unhappy “Fine. But I'll–” He's interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket. He takes it out and glances at the caller ID and sighs. “I have to take this.” He steps away as much as he can in the tiny area and answers with a curt “Everett.” There's a slight pause. “Yeah, I took care of it.” Another pause that has him glancing at you. “No, something else came up.”

You don't wait to hear the rest of the conversation. You take the opportunity to go back to the main room and get back to work. 

You don't see Curtis again that night. You don't spare much thought to where he might've gone. You're too focused on getting through the remainder of your shift. When it's done, Jake insists on seeing you home. You don't ask why. You already know who's behind it.

The next few days are fine. You try to put what happened behind you, doing your best to ignore it. But that becomes impossible when three days after the incident you watch Vinny walk in. You can’t help the little burst of panic you feel as you warily watch him sit down at his usual table and get dealt in. 

As subtly as you can, you make your way over to Jake. You don’t even say anything before he’s looking at you, chagrined. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I had to let him in. I promise it’s all going to be taken care of. It’s just– You can ignore him tonight, ok? Just trust me. You don’t need to worry about him. I promise.”

“Ok,” you say reluctantly, trying to resist looking back at Vinny. “I just– I didn’t think I’d have to see him again.”

“I really think that after tonight you won’t,” he says sincerely.

You don’t really understand what that means, but you nod anyway. “Ok,” you say. “I, uh, I should get back to work then.” 

He just nods after you, looking a little concerned and a little sad. But the room is filling up, so you don’t have time to delve into it.

Sometime later, as you’re taking a brief moment to idle by the bar, a strange hush descends over the room. You’re facing away from the door, away from the rest of the room, but you see Colin take in whatever it is that’s caused this. His face pales and he lets out a quiet, urgent, “Shit.” 

You turn around to see what on earth could be going on and you immediately freeze. Curtis is here. But that’s not what’s garnering all of this attention. Well, not all. Because he’s not alone, there’s a man with him. A little shorter, not quite as broad. But you’d be able to feel the power radiating off of him, even if you didn’t recognize him. Soft dark hair, thick beard, an immaculately tailored suit. You’ve seen him in the papers, on the news, but in real life, he’s even more intimidating. Andrew Barber.

Barber leans in close to say something to Curtis, who nods, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Your breath catches, but luckily Colin calls your name behind you and you have an excuse to turn around. He places two glasses of dark liquor on the bar. “Everett,” he says, gesturing to one, then “Barber,” while waving his hand over the other. “Got it?” You nod and place them on your tray. They’re identical to your eyes except for the fact that Barber's has a muddled black cherry at the bottom of the glass.

You carefully bring them over, trying to force yourself to breathe. Curtis intercepts you and grabs the drinks when you're a few steps away. “Thank you, Bambi,” he says, lowly. 

Barber perks up. “This is Bambi? Really?” He extends a hand and you have no choice but to take it. “Andy Barber,” he says with a disarming smile. “It's a pleasure to meet you finally.”

His handshake is firm, demanding. He is terrifying in his friendliness. And he knows who you are. Has known, for who knows how long. You glance at Curtis, but he's just calmly drinking his whiskey. You don't know what to say, what are you supposed to say?? So after too long a pause, you practically whisper, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

He chuckles lightly as he takes back his hand. To Curtis, he says, “You're right, Bambi does suit her.” Then he turns back to you and adds, “Andy, please.”

“O– Okay, Andy,” you say, with what you desperately hope is a benign smile. You look over at Curtis, you’re not entirely sure why, but out of these two dangerous options, he, at least, is familiar. “I should get back to work.”

Curtis is staring at you, but it’s Andy who answers. “Mmm, and we have a game to join, don’t we?” Curtis nods but still doesn’t break his gaze. Andy smirks, “No rest for the wicked.”

You have no idea what to do with that sentiment, so you take the opportunity and get out of there. You walk through the tables, checking to see if anyone needs anything, but the mob boss’s physical presence seems to have ground all action to a halt. The room is collectively holding its breath. 

You go back to the bar for want of anything else to do. Colin is standing ramrod straight, coiled in case he needs to spring into action. Lloyd is sitting down at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers, eyes moving all around the room. You settle next to Holly, who looks just as scared as she did that first night when she was trying to warn you off of Curtis. “Is this,” you start to ask, your voice shaking. “Is this normal? Does he come here a lot?”

“No, never” she shakes her head. “Why would he come here? He has real clubs and restaurants. He doesn’t need to hang out in a shit hole like this.” She shakes her head again. “He’d only come here for a reason.”

You turn your head back to the room and find that Andy and Curtis have settled at Vinny’s table, joining his game across from him. Your heart lands in your throat. That can’t– No. You’re just some cocktail waitress. Even with Curtis’s obvious interest in you, you aren’t important enough to bring the most powerful man in the city here. You’re nothing. He must have other reasons.

The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop as everyone waits for something to happen, which is why when Andy does start speaking, you don’t have to strain your ears to pick up every word.

He looks at his cards carefully, then over at Vinny. “You know, Vinny, you’re a hard man to track down.” His voice is so calm, it sends a chill up your spine. “You don’t go home, we can’t find you at work. I was starting to get worried.” He runs a few chips through his fingers before tossing them into the center of the felt. “That’s why, when I heard you were showing up here, I sent my best man to investigate,” he nods towards Curtis, “just to make sure you were ok.” 

You don’t have a great view of Vinny from where you’re standing, but you can see how stiff he is, how silent. But he still calls when it’s his turn.

“You can imagine my relief when I found out you were alright. Except,” he raises again, a few more chips into the pot, “you’re losing a lot of money, aren’t you? Now, this upsets me. Not because you’re losing your own money. But because it’s mine, isn’t it?”

Vinny finally tries to pipe up. “Andy, hold on. I can ex–”

“You owe me $150,000, Vinny. With interest, that total’s climbing every day. And yet, you sit here and you just keep losing, don’t you? At my own game. What would you do if you won, huh? Would you really try paying me back with my own money? I thought maybe you’d at least have the smarts to cross the border and try this at one of Roger’s casinos. Huh? Paying me back with my enemy’s money, at least that I could respect. But no, it’s only me you think is stupid enough to fall for your bullshit. So now I’m here to give you the chance to fucking do it to my face.” With that, he violently pushes all of his chips into the center of the table. 

Everyone else has folded. It’s just Barber and Vinny now. You’re not sure Curtis even actually played. He’s just staring Vinny down, although occasionally his eyes will flick up and meet yours. You hate feeling like you’re a part of this, but you don’t know what else to do besides watch it play out.

Vinny is just spluttering, while Andy calmly looks on. It’s all the expected, cliche stuff you’ve seen in gangster movies. He’s got the money, he swears. He just needs a little more time. Andy has to know he’s good for it! You want to roll your eyes right along with Andy.

“Call, Vinny,” Andy cuts him off, sternly. “That’s $150,000 I just put in the pot. Call. And if you win, we’re even. Your debt’s erased. But if you lose, well then that’s $300,000 you’ll owe me. And you know I won’t be able to tolerate that. So call. And let’s find out where we stand.”

You can’t see what Vinny’s doing, but you can imagine the way his fingers must be hovering over his chips, his eyes moving down to his cards to check, one more time, if they’re as good or bad as he remembers. You know there’s no way out for him either way. He’ll have to call. He’s just delaying the inevitable.

You feel like you can't breathe as you wait for him to just finally do it, but Andy cuts in again. “The thing I can't understand, Vinny, is why you kept coming here after Curtis showed up. Either you're very stupid or really fucking greedy.” He looks at Vinny carefully. “Maybe a little of both. I hear you've been touching something that doesn't belong to you.”

You gasp. No one notices, but you do. He can't be talking about you. He can't. He can't. 

Vinny seems even more confused than you. “What are you talking about? I haven't touched anything!”

Andy continues to ignore him. “So you're stupid and greedy. That's why you aren't afraid of him like you should be. They call him my attack dog, did you know? Have you heard that? Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you think he’s some puppy that follows me around. You’d be stupid to underestimate him, underestimate me. But maybe you only do that because you've never seen my dog off his leash.”

Curtis springs into action, lunging across the table to grab Vinny by the collar, and then slams his head into the felt. Before there’s even time to react, he’s stood and he's picking Vinny back up and hurling him onto the floor. Curtis comes around the table to stalk after him and the look on his face has you gasping for breath. You've never seen Curtis like this. There's a glint in his eye that might be the scariest thing you've ever seen. Who is this man? What is he capable of?

Vinny is dazedly trying to crawl away, but Curtis catches him easily. He grabs Vinny’s collar and hauls him back up, delivering two punches to his face in quick succession. The sound it makes. There's no other sound in the whole room. No one's saying anything, no one's doing anything. Everyone's just watching, hypnotized. You turn away, your stomach churning. Your eyes catch on Andy, sitting back in his chair, placidly drinking the whiskey you brought him, completely relaxed, like he's watching anything else. You can't look at him either. 

The room is completely silent except for the crunching of bones, Vinny’s whimpers, and Curtis’s grunts. You look up again to be startled by eye contact with Curtis. His eyes are wild, unhinged. Feral. But there's something else in it, like all of this is for you. That all of you are there, everything is happening, because Vinny dared to touch you. It takes your breath away. It’s mesmerizing.

Andy finally stands and strides over to where Curtis is holding Vinny up in the middle of the room. He looks down at Vinny, then spits in his face. “I'm tired of trying to draw blood from a stone,” he says. Then he turns to Curtis and finishes, “Get rid of him.”

Curtis gives you one last long look, his face unreadable. You feel it in your knees. Then he drags Vinny out, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

The moment they're gone, it's like the entire room can breathe again. “Lloyd,” Andy calls out. “How ‘bout a round for everyone? On me.”

Lloyd nods to Colin who hurriedly starts pouring drinks. And you, so grateful for something to do, instead of just standing there, shaking, start loading the glasses on your tray.

As you begin to pass them out, Andy of all people, pulls you aside. “Bambi,” he says quietly, “I hope you know now, we take care of our own.”

You gaze at him, shocked. It feels like a comfort and a threat. But why? It's not so much the implication that this all had something to do with you, but you can't for the life of you imagine what you've done to get yourself to a place where Andy Barber might consider you his, however distantly. It can't just be that you work here. You can't picture him doing something similar for Holly or Colin. Once again, this all feels so incredibly dangerous. 

While you're struggling to come up with anything to say to that, he grabs a drink off your tray and downs it quickly. Then, with a wink, he turns and leaves. You’re left staring after him until someone calls after you and you're scrambling to pass out drinks again. 

The night ends quickly. No one seems eager to stay and drink and play after everything that's happened. Not when there's still blood on the floor.

You do what you can to help clean up, but when you stare at the stain helplessly, Lloyd tells you not to worry about it. He's got a guy.

Colin walks out with you so you aren’t in the parking lot alone. You're grateful. You're still so shaken. As you approach your car, your beater that you still don’t quite have the money to replace, you see someone leaning against it. You stop short, looking to Colin for help, but he just keeps walking to his own car, his head down. That’s when you know it’s Curtis. 

You take a deep breath and then force yourself to keep walking towards him. You can't begin to parse how you feel to see him now. Your keys are ready in your hand like you might just get in and drive off without speaking to him. You know you won’t.

When you reach him, his voice is rough as he asks, “Are you ok?” He’s cleaned up. There’s no more blood on his hands, his clothes have been straightened.

You open your mouth to answer, even though you have no idea, so instead what comes out is “Did you kill him?”

“Did you want me to?” is his immediate reply.

It stops you in your tracks as all sorts of feelings come bubbling up, ones you can not, will not examine. This is about his propensity for violence, how terrifying he became, not– No. “Did you?” you insist. 

He looks at you carefully then shakes his head. “I don't think you actually want me to answer that.”

“But you've killed before?” You can't stop yourself from pressing, from pushing. You don’t know why. 

He just sort of smiles, gently almost, in a way that is deeply unsettling. “You need to stop asking questions you aren’t ready for me to answer, Bambi.” And it’s the way he says the nickname, like you really are that babe in the woods, just born with no knowledge of the world around you, that has your hackles rising.

“Andy called you his dog,” you say, like he should be offended.

To your surprise, he laughs, his head thrown back. Then he takes a step closer to you, and you take the opportunity to sneak in behind him, get to your car. You realize your mistake immediately when he turns back around and cages you in, your back pressed against the driver’s side door. “Everyone calls me his dog. Because he’s the civilized man in the designer suit, and I’m the animal just begging for a reason to slip my leash.”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. You should get into your car. You should drive away as fast as you can. You should never come back. But you don’t. “You did it for him,” you say, mustering all the strength into your voice that you can. “You didn’t do it for me.”

He leans over you, the space between you shrinking rapidly. “Yeah, he asked me to do it,” he nods. “But if he hadn’t, I still would have done it. For you.”

 You try to shake your head, to tell him that that can’t be true, even as a wild, loud part of you starts to rise up and claw out of your chest. You try to tamp it down, deny it, but before you can, Curtis is leaning in further, his whole body pressing against you, and then he covers your lips with his.  

There’s a heat that comes up out of him that fills you, the instant his skin touches yours. His hands are on you, your neck, your hip. You can’t keep track, can only say that his hands are there, everywhere, that his body touches all of yours, that his lips and his tongue are demanding, unrelenting. You are burning up from the inside.

Too soon, but ages later, he pulls away. His eyes are on fire as he looks at you. Then he tears his gaze away, and hits the roof of your decrepit car twice, looking at it disdainfully. “You get home safe,” he says, then steps back to allow you the space you need to get into your car.

You do what he wants you to do. You get in your car, sit in the driver’s seat, and then stare blankly out the windshield. You’ve never felt so out of control in your life. How did this happen? You were flirting for tips, that was all! You encouraged it for money, that was it, and now– You press your thighs together, trying not to pant. You will not be unmoored. 

A slight movement in your periphery makes you notice that Curtis is still standing just to the side of your car, watching you. You turn your keys in the ignition and shift into drive.

It doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything, you chant to yourself all the way home.

It’s your next shift back, and everything seems to have changed. You don’t understand it. You keep doing laps of the room, keep sidling up to regulars you were so friendly with just a few nights ago, but now, they won’t even look at you, let alone touch you. No one’s ordering anything.

Or at least, they aren’t ordering from you.

Holly has been running around nonstop all night, basically having to take care of the entire room by herself. You watch man after man after man slip her little bundles of money. 

You want to scream. What the fuck happened? What did you do? What are you going to do?

You go to stand by the bar to wait for something you can do. Colin gives you a brief nod of acknowledgment but that’s it. He’s been cold, too. No. Not cold, distant. You don’t understand what’s changed.

You take a deep breath. It’s one weird night. Things will be better tomorrow.

Things don’t get better. The next night is the same. You’re starting to panic. This job was supposed to be your lifeline. Without it, without the money you were making, you’re not sure how you’ll survive.

Curtis comes in after a couple of hours of nothing. You could cry you’re so happy to see him. But terrified too. If he gives you the cold shoulder, this job really is over. But you have no idea how he’s going to act, not after what happened last time. You’re not sure how you’re going to act either. You can still feel his lips on yours.

You bring him his whiskey immediately and he greets you with an arm around your waist, pulling you in. “Hey Bambi,” he says quietly. Then he gets a good look at you. “What’s wrong?” 

You look at him carefully, not sure what to confide. You aren’t even sure what the problem is. You shake your head. “Not my best night,” you say with a tired smile. “But I’m fine.”

He stares at you for a moment, then stands up. “Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you to the little back room. You feel eyes on the two of you the whole way there.

Once he’s closed the door behind you both, he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “The last two nights have been weird here. I don’t– I don’t know. I’m just worried. I don’t know what happened but I’m not making any tips. No one’s treating me like they used to.”

“Mmm,” Curtis hums thoughtfully. “I think,” he says as he takes two steps closer to you, which in this small space is significant, “everyone else here has figured it out.”

It’s suddenly a little hard to breathe with him standing over you like this. His presence, his attention is always so much. “Figured what out?” you ask, confused.

“That I have lost my patience for watching other men touch you.” 

It hits you like a freight train. “What?” It comes out in a whisper.

“I’ve let this go on for too long,” he says, his voice is calm, casual. “I don’t want you working here anymore. This is done.”

“I– What? Curtis. What?! I have to work! I have to pay my bills! I don’t understand. I don’t–”

He takes one last step forward. You feel the heat coming off of him. “Shh,” he soothes, cradling your cheek in his hand. “It’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you. I take care of what’s mine.”

You pull your face away, even as the urge to nuzzle into him is so strong. You feel like you’ve missed something, a thousand things. You feel too many steps behind. “Curtis, I’m not– I’m not yours.”

Something comes into his eyes and you’re reminded of him standing over Vinny, covered in blood. His hand travels down from your cheek. He strokes your throat once, and then his hand closes around it. “Look me in the eye,” he growls, “and say that again.”

His hand is firm, snug, but it doesn’t tighten. But you can imagine so easily how it might. You look him in the eye. You open your mouth, ready to say it again. But then– then you see it. In the way he looks at you, the way he’s always looked at you. You feel it in his grip on you, now. You can’t deny it anymore. 

Curtis shoves you into his bedroom. You’re panting already. You need his hands on you, right now. You don’t have to ask for it. He gets you to the center of the room and yanks down your skirt, tearing it in the process. You step out of it and take your blouse off, throwing it on top of your skirt. Curtis’s eyes are cataloging your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out of your bra, your soft tummy, thick thighs. His gaze, as always, takes your breath away.

You reach out for Curtis’s shirt, but he grabs your hands. “I want you on your knees,” he growls and you immediately kneel for him. He throws off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his chest, the muted blacks and grays of his tattoos. You’re desperate to run your hands over them, trace the art, but instead, they just twitch at your side. He'll tell you what you're allowed to do.

He begins unbuttoning his jeans and your mouth drops open. He chuckles darkly. “Perfect little slut.” He takes his phone out of his back pocket and aims it at you, taking a picture as you gaze up at him under your lashes, your mouth wide open. “I've been dreaming of getting you on your knees for me.” He puts his phone on his dresser, then continues taking off his pants. “You ready to choke on my cock, baby?”

“Please,” you whine. You're practically salivating now. His bare thighs are as thick as tree trunks, the muscles corded. His abs ripple as he moves. His shoulders, his back. You want.

He frees his cock and rolls his black boxer briefs down his legs, stepping out of them. It's long and thick, just like the rest of him. Your breath catches. You don't think you've ever taken something that big before.

He takes a few steps so he's completely in your space, his cock bobbing right in front of your face. He takes it in one hand, the other firmly on the back of your head and slowly feeds the tip into your mouth. You taste his musk on your tongue. As he rocks into your mouth, going a little further each time, your hands come up to grasp his thighs. On his next thrust in, you run your tongue along the underside of his dick. His movements stutter just a little and then he looks down at you, a smirk overtaking his face. It's just a touch mean, in a way that has you soaking your panties. “You ready?” he asks, his voice rough. And then without waiting for the answer, he thrusts in all the way, making you take him deep in your throat.

You flail, slapping his thigh as you try to swallow around him, breathing frantically through your nose. After holding you there for a moment, he sets a brutal but steady pace. It takes you a moment, but you find your rhythm, your panic subsiding. Once you feel steady, you lift one hand from his thighs and bring it up to cradle his balls. “Fuck, Bambi,” he grinds out. “You're gonna– I– fuck!” His hand moves from the back of your head down to the back of your neck, which he grips firmly, pulling you off his cock. As you cough and splutter on the floor, he growls, “The first time you make me come is gonna be inside that perfect cunt.”

He helps you stand on wobbly legs, then shoves his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy over your panties. “Shit, fucking soaked just from deepthroating me?”

You let out a needy little whine, trying to push further into his hand, but he withdraws it, instead settling on your hip. “Well,” he grins, “if they’re ruined anyway…” then uses that hand to rip the black lace down the side, letting them fall to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra as well, then takes a step back and sighs, “Shit, Bambi, look at you.” It’s the reverence in his voice and on his face that has you launching yourself at him, unable to keep from kissing him any longer. He lets you, quickly taking control, letting you feel all his hunger, the want he’s kept barely bottled up since he first laid eyes on you. You understand it all now. His erection brushes against you, and now it’s his turn to whine, just a little. 

He pulls away, brushing a hand down your cheek, then says “Get on the bed, on your stomach.” You quickly comply, laying in the center of the bed with your knees pulled up and spread beneath you. He brings his hand down on one asscheek harshly and you can’t help the lewd moan that escapes you. He chuckles, “Oh, I will definitely remember that for later.” He grabs your hips and cants them up, then whistles at your exposed cunt. “I knew it. Absolutely beautiful.” Then he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into your hole and you choke on nothing. “Shh,” he coos. “You can take it. My cock’s gonna be a lot thicker.” 

As he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, you can’t hold it in any longer and start babbling. Mostly a combination of “please,” and “Curtis,” and “I need,” over and over.

“I know, baby,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. “I’ve got what you need right here.” You have a brief moment to feel the tip of his cock on your pussy lips before he’s thrusting it into you, as far as he can go without making it hurt. 

“Oh my god,” you cry, pressing your forehead into the mattress and balling his dark blue sheets in your hands. You feel so full. It’s so good. He’s working himself into you as quickly as he can, desperate now. You both are. Once he bottoms out, fully seated in you, he pauses. Then with one hand on your stomach and the other around your neck, he pulls you up onto your knees, your back flush to his chest. You cry out at the new angle; he’s somehow even deeper now. He starts thrusting up into you at a punishing pace. You’re bouncing up and down in his firm grasp. The hand on your neck turns your head to face him, his lips brushing against yours. He holds eye contact with you as the hand on your stomach snakes down your pelvis so his thick fingers can begin circling your clit. “Fuck! Curtis, please!” you shout. 

“Yeah, come on,” he breathes, “you can let go. You can do it. Come for me like a good girl.” It’s those words that send you careening over the edge, your cunt pulsing around his cock, squeezing him until he’s coming too with a grunt, filling you up until both your cum is leaking out around him. 

He holds you there, on your knees, as you both come down, your twin pants all you can hear.

You wake up slowly, the sun shining on you through the soft drapes. You start to shift then groan at how stiff you are. The night before comes back to you. Curtis took you two more times before you both collapsed in satisfied exhaustion. He’s still out like a light beneath you. 

You take a moment to look at him. It’s odd to see him so peaceful, so still. There’s nothing of the feral predator he projects to the world. It makes you feel oddly close to him, seeing him like this.

You carefully get up without disturbing him and begin collecting your clothes. You put on your bra, but there’s no saving your panties. Same for your skirt; it’s ripped along the seam. So instead you pick up Curtis’s t-shirt from last night and put it on. It smells like him. You breathe it in shamelessly knowing there’s no one to witness it.

You savor the soreness as you move out of the bedroom. It’s like you can still feel him inside you, how much he wanted you, needed you. It makes you feel a little powerful, having that effect on a man like him.

You make your way into his living room. You didn’t really have a chance to look at his house last night, as determined as he was to get you into the bedroom. If you’d ever thought to picture it, this wouldn’t be far off. It’s all rich blues and greens and grays, leather and dark wood. Masculine. It suits him. 

As you’re admiring the room, you hear footsteps behind you and then two big arms are encircling your waist, pulling you into him. “Good morning,” he rasps. 

You turn your head to him. “Good morning,” you say with a smile.

“Fuck, Bambi, you’re even hotter in my shirt than you were last night.”

You smirk at him even as your face heats. “Mmm,” you hum. “It’s comfy. You might not get it back.” He nuzzles into your neck as you continue. “I was hoping you might have something I could wear for bottoms, too. You destroyed my skirt.”

His beard roughly drags against your skin as he asks, “Why the hell would I let you wear bottoms?”

You laugh. “Because I have to leave the house, Curtis.”

“No, you don’t,” he says as his hand begins to move between your thighs.

You playfully swat him away, even as you feel yourself getting wet again from his attention. “I have to go home.”

“Why? You’re staying here.” It’s how certain he sounds that has you turning around in his arms.

“What?”

“I don’t like your building. It isn’t safe enough. Now that I finally have you, of course, I’m going to keep you here with me.”

Once again, you feel too many steps behind. You just blink at him, confused. How does he even know where you live??

He takes your chin in his hand, his fingers gentle. “I told you, Bambi, I take care of what’s mine.”

Tag list

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @midnightramyeoncravings

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝐷𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑦

Warning: sexual content, age gap (23-35), delusional attitude, forced breeding, breeding kink, mention of marriage, mention of children, noncon, r4pe, conspiracy, physical abuse, abuse of power.

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Masterlist

Yandere Sugar Daddy who is the CEO of a famous 6-star hotel chain that has been in his family for decades.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who always liked young and beautiful women, although he never settled down with any, he likes to pamper and adore his lovers by giving them everything they want.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who broke up with his Sugar Baby just a few days ago after she told him that she loved him and wanted to formalize her relationship with him, she was cute but boring and he didn't see himself spending his life with her, fuck no. So he left her.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who after that didn't waste any time in re-entering SugarLove.www a famous Sugar Daddy page where he found all his previous Sugar Babies.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who after a few long minutes searching for the right candidate for him, he finally found her, he found you. In your profile picture you looked divine, he looks at your profile from top to bottom looking at your photos and he was sure you were the one for him, so he sends you a message asking if you want to go to a restaurant to meet up... but you don't answer.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who gets impatient when the minutes go by and nothing happens. He decides to wait a little longer while he works in his office, when the hours go by he sees how the sun sets, he grabs his phone again and is disappointed when he doesn't find any answer, what's more, he doesn't even see the message.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who when he gets out of the shower the next morning checks his phone, a smile spreads on his lips when he sees a message from you, finally. "Hi, I'm sorry I didn't answer you before, but I was a little busy, I like the idea of ​​meeting you, how about tomorrow :)?" He doesn't hesitate to answer you sending the address of the restaurant and the time, you accept.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who arrives earlier at the restaurant, the waiter guides him to the best table that overlooks the night city, he asks the waiter to bring his best wine, he nods and leaves, the minutes pass when he sees you arrive, he smiles and stands up admiring your beauty, he doesn't hesitate to flatter you while he moves your chair so you can sit down before sitting in front of you.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who talks to you all night while you have dinner and drink wine, you tell him that you are studying a law degree which is an expensive career for you, a friend of yours entered the website and now lives stable and can even pay for the degree, that is the main reason why you entered SugarLove.www, he listens to you attentively, when you tell him that this is only for a while and that you are not looking for anything serious, he agrees and accepts.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who takes you to his hotel that same night where you end up having mind-blowing sex, the next day he pays two months of your tuition in advance, during the following months he and you spend intimate moments, he takes you on vacations, buys you luxurious things and you have sex all the time everywhere, by the time he realizes it he is already in love with you.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who starts taking you to business meetings and family gatherings presenting yourself as his girlfriend to your great discomfort, whenever you two go back to your apartment you scold him and he just shrugs his shoulders saying that by saying that he saves both of you the awkwardness of having to explain your relationship.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who tries to act like nothing is wrong but fails miserably. He gets tense when you're on your phone for too long. Are you talking to another guy? Are you cheating on him?! Unbeknownst to you, he ends up having your phone connected to his so he can see everything you do.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who gets jealous when he goes to pick you up from college and sees you at the door talking to a guy. His knuckles turn white around the steering wheel and when he parks he honks for a long moment getting your attention. You quickly say goodbye and approach him, getting in the car. You greet him and lean over to kiss his cheek but he grabs your jaw and kisses you hard on the lips.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who gets more heated during sex, calling you his wife and saying he'll give you his babies even though it makes you a little uncomfortable you take it as a fetish, that is until you feel something warm inside you and you realize he took off the condom, that's the straw that broke the camel's back, you walk away from him angrily grabbing your clothes yelling at him while you get dressed, saying he's crazy, you tell him it's all over between you before leaving.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who doesn't understand why you act like this, do you know all the women who would like to date him? All the women who would like to have his babies? He only took off the condom with you, only with you, you should feel honored but instead you get upset? He spoiled you. Yes he did. But now he'll show you why you shouldn't be an ungrateful brat.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who starts off simple by blocking your phone, then has an eviction notice sent to your fancy apartment (which he pays for by the way) and last but not least he pays for you to fail each and every one of your exams at university, which completely destabilizes you as you watch your life fall apart overnight.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who a few days later goes to your apartment, walks in with his key and sees you packing your bags with teary eyes, he tells you he forgives you for your attitude, in fact he wants you two to get married, who needs a degree after all? You insult him for making his life hell and he frowns, are you still an ungrateful brat? He's going to punish you.

He comes towards you in great strides so you startle trying to get away from him, but he grabs you hard by the hair making you let out a squeal of pain he pulls you closer to him and growls near your ear.

“Why can't you just take what I give you like a good girl? You always have to be so ungrateful, I'm starting to think you like making me angry.”

You shake your head but he pushes you face down on the bed, pulling down your pajama shorts along with your panties and you try to kick him off on your own so he grabs your waist with one hand keeping you still and with the other hand he spanks you hard leaving your soft skin burning and sore, you started to sob quickly and he stopped.

“Well, look at that are you crying? It was only 10 spanks girl, you're a cry baby huh? Weren't you planning on being a tough lawyer?”

He hears you sob louder and sighs rubbing the red flesh of your ass with his hands before unbuckling his belt pulling down his pants and boxers releasing his fat cock which stands up happily, he grabs your hips lifting your ass as you bury your head in the mattress, he pumps his cock once before guiding it into your pussy sliding inside your warm tight channel.

“Fuck— you feel so good girl, it seems like your little pussy missed my cock so much... poor thing, my little one was neglected for almost a week because of your bratty attitude.”

He hears you babble something he doesn't understand into the sheets but he ignores you, his hands squeeze your ass while he rams you hard from behind, the dirty sound of slapping mixed with the thick smell of sex fills the room accompanied by his grunts and your muffled sobs, he separates your ass cheeks and without stopping thrusting into you he uses one of his fingers to rub your wrinkled hole.

“Hey you never let me fuck you around here, tell me are you a virgin? Well never mind once we get married I'll make sure not to leave a single one of your holes unused, by the time I'm done they'll all be shaped like my cock.”

You shudder in fear at his words causing your pussy to tense around him, he lets out a low chuckle as he grabs your hips ramming into you with renewed vigor, you bite down on the sheets and dig your nails into the mattress, his cock slamming again and again against your bruised cervix causing your eyes to roll back in the back of your head from the overwhelming pleasure, he grabs you by the hair lifting you up and forcing you to lean your back against his chest, you lean your head back over his shoulder and he licks your ear the wet sensation making your juicy pussy clench even tighter.

“God I wish you could see the face you're wearing right now it's so fucking erotic, you look like a whore how can you expect me not to put a baby in your womb when you make faces like that?”

He kisses your ear and uses one of his hands to rub your clit in firm circles bringing you over the edge a few more thrusts and you end up cumming all over his cock you let out moans as you arch your back he lets out a grunt as he feels your pussy squeezing him like a vice and then he stops cumming deep inside you his seed paints your core he pushes your body down onto the mattress collapsing on your back without pulling his limp cock out of you he murmurs.

“Since you're not going to college anymore I thought it would be best to move into a house, a big one, before our kids are born, you know little ones are adorable but a big problem and I want to have you all to myself before they get here.”

[riddleswhcre]

.ᐟ just thinking about tom whispering sweet things

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

“you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” his voice is quiet, just above a whisper, but there’s a rasp to it, the kind that makes it impossible not to listen.

you’re curled against him, your face half-buried in the pillow, your back pressed against his chest, one of his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. his other hand brushes against your back, slow and deliberate, like he’s tracing patterns only he understands.

he shifts a little closer, his nose brushing against the side of your neck, warm and soft. “you’re always so oblivious,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your skin just barely as he speaks. “do you even realise what it does to me? the way you look at me like i could give you the world… like i’m anything close to deserving of you.”

his hand moves lower, resting against the curve of your hip, holding you in place like he’s worried you might disappear. for someone so composed, so untouchable, there’s a quiet desperation in the way he holds you now—like this is the only time he lets himself unravel, where no one else can see.

“you make me soft,” he admits, his tone dropping lower. “and i hate it.” there’s no malice in the words, though. if anything, there’s something almost bitter in how he says it, like he can’t decide if loving you is his greatest weakness or his greatest strength.

you fight the urge to move, to respond, to let him know you’re awake, but something tells you he wouldn’t say any of this if he thought you could hear.

his lips press lightly against your shoulder, lingering like he’s waiting for the world to collapse beneath him. “but i’d take it, you know. all of it. every soft, pathetic part of me… as long as it means i get to keep you.”

for a moment, he doesn’t move, his head resting against you, his breath warm on your neck. then, just as you think he’s done, he whispers, softer now, “mine,” and presses a kiss to the back of your neck. it’s fleeting, barely there, but it sends something down your spine all the same.

he shifts again, pulling you even closer, and for the first time tonight, he seems at ease. you stay still, heart racing, and wonder what he’d do if he knew.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

more

soft tom has me in a chokehold rn. thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[brawberryz]

The fallen warrior

Batfam Yan! × Negleted! Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error / M.list

Tw: yandere behavior, manipulation, murder, torture, isolation, child neglect, child abandonment, mommy/daddy issues, use of katanas/knives, gore, eating disorders, hallucinations, corruption, dark themes, religious themes

The devil is real

He's not a little red guy with a tail and horns

He may be beautiful

Because he was a fallen angel, and God's favorite

A fallen angel destined to burn in the flames for his actions

You kept looking at your food without touching it, it was another lonely night in the mansion

It was the same old routine

Getting up

Training

Going on a mission

And 'eating'

Even though that food entered your mouth years ago, every time a bite entered your mouth you ended up throwing up

Any normal parent would have started to worry because their child wasn't eating

But you knew your family didn't care, nothing mattered

You got up from the table and threw your food on Titus' plate

You went back up to your room, the only noise in the mansion was the thuds of your footsteps on the old floors of the mansion

You opened your room it looked as dirty and messy as ever, it was far away from all the other rooms

You walked in and closed the door as you took off your clothes and left them lying somewhere in the room

Your bathroom felt cold and lifeless, some shampoo bottles lying around and other things you didn't even remember you had

The cold drops from the shower fell down your scarred body, your body shuddered when the soap touched those unhealed scars

Your body was full of them, in a way you felt disgusting about it

Some were from battles lost or won, others you caused yourself but they all had a story to tell

You leaned against the shower wall as the water fell on you

You felt tired

Tired of this life

Tired of having to pretend that you weren't affected by what others said about you

You could still remember those moments, you just stayed quiet and bowed your head

You were just a dog, a pet

A pet that would do anything for a prize

And that prize was their attention

Sometimes you thought about retiring from everything, being a person "normal" but you knew it was impossible

The only thing you knew how to do was hurt others, you were raised to be a weapon

A monster

They took an innocent child and turned him into a weapon to fulfill the whims of others

A bird whose wings were broken so that it could never fly

A bird in which it sees other birds flying from its cage

A bird that also wishes to be free

A bird that wants to be free

When a child grows up without love in their family

Being ignored and hurt all the time, most people believe that they will end up being aggressive people

Full of hate and resentment

And although it is a valid response, it is not always the case

They grow up feeling ashamed

Ashamed of themselves

Ashamed of not being able to be themselves, ashamed of not being able to show their emotions

Ashamed because they believe they are not enough

They believe that love must be earned

They believe that because their parents never gave them the affection they needed meant that they were never enough

They are afraid of not being loved

Of making a mistake and being ignored again

Of being hurt again

Ending up distancing themselves from everyone, being ashamed of being helped

Ashamed of asking for help

Broken people who unintentionally end up breaking others

And they also end up breaking themselves more

Your body moved faster than normal, this was supposed to be an easy mission

That's what your father told you, you just had to stop another stupid plan from your riddler and everything would be fine

But it wasn't, his riddles were confusing but you were smart and it was easy to solve them

But then you realized that it was all a trap, he had snuck the bomb somewhere else

It was all a trap, a very clever trap

You had little time but I wasn't going to let innocent people die

You arrived faster than you thought, you broke one of the building's windows to enter the place

You went through the entire abandoned place until you heard the crying and calls for help from some people

You entered the large room and found people inside a transparent box

Next to them was the bomb connected to a cable, you had to be fast if you didn't want people and this whole place to end up destroyed

You tried to deactivate the bomb but it was in In vain, you even tried to destroy them but it was in vain

So you decided to free the people, you took all those scared people to a fire escape and told them to get down as fast as possible

I wasn't going to let everyone get crushed

You sent a call to the batcave saying you needed help

You weren't going to be able to get all the people near this building to leave

In a few minutes it was going to be destroyed by the bomb and you needed help

It was the first time you asked someone in the family for help, you always did it alone

You never asked anyone for help, you thought you were weak

Your mother came from a dangerous family, full of sorcerers and powerful assassins

And your father was literally batman

You couldn't be weak, you couldn't allow yourself to ask for help

But now you really needed it

You were strong

But sometimes even the strongest needed help

When you were sending the signal you heard a cry, this one didn't sound like the others

It seemed more childish and scared

You walked through all the halls following the sound

It was supposed that only these people would be here but you were wrong

In a small room there was a little girl crying while she was lying on the floor

You approached her trying to calm her down, saying that everything would be okay

She clung to your suit scared that something would happen

"Calm down little girl, I'll get you out of-"

And then you heard it, the sound of the bomb

The clock had stopped meaning that the bomb was going to explode right now

This wasn't supposed to happen, there was still too much time before the bomb was detonated

"Shit!"

All you could remember was the sound of the bomb exploding and the building shaking, the girl cried louder and you tried to protect her with your own body

The building ended up falling leaving a mess all over the street, broken cars and you could hear the ambulances and firefighters approaching the area

You felt your body weak, you thought you had received all the damage

Since you could swear that almost all the games in your body were broken

"Hey little girl, are you okay-"

You couldn't believe what you saw, your arms and suit were covered in blood

The lifeless body of the girl, that scared look was still in her eyes

She was dead

No

No, no, NO!

This isn't supposed to happen, heroes are supposed to save everyone

And now because of you someone as innocent as a child is dead

Your body couldn't move, you could only cradle the lifeless body of the little girl

Your mother was right

A monster will never stop being a monster even if it acts nice

Your mother's soft hands cleaned your blood covered body

"Mommy is so proud of you honey, you did perfect"

You could only watch as the water in the bath turned red as the blood left your body

But you could still feel the blood

It was like it was stuck to your skin, no matter how many times you tried to clean it off that blood never went away

Your mother's hands cradled your face

You accepted the affection she gave you, it was rare that she acted so kind to you

There were times where she acted like you were the best thing that ever happened to her

And there were other times where she simply treated you like garbage

She gave you love and understanding and then took it all away from you

It was a cycle that repeated itself all the time, you wanted her to always be proud of you

You wanted her to hold you at night when those nightmares kept you awake

Her love was so shallow and fake

Your hugs felt so cold and uncomfortable

Mom

Am I still young?

Can I sleep in your arms?

Would you still love me after all I did?

Look into my eyes and tell me

Tell me I'm enough

Tell me I've done enough

Please

Just look at me

Look at me

Your eyes slowly opened, you felt your body burning

You saw the bandages that covered your body, and one of your arms was in a cast

Great

Now you weren't going to be able to train in peace anymore, although you didn't care

When you were with your mother and her clan they made you fight even if all your bones were broken

A simple broken arm wasn't going to stop you, and your family would never care

You had been on the verge of death too many times and they never cared

You got up from your bed staggering a little but you held on to the small piece of furniture next to your bed

You mentally told yourself that you could do it

You weren't weak

You couldn't see yourself weak

You left your room limping a little, with every step you took you felt your bones hurt

You passed by Bruce without even looking at him, you didn't want to see him or talk to him

"You have a broken arm"

Your father said making you stop

You sighed tiredly, you didn't have enough spirit to talk or argue with him

"I know, I'm not blind"

When you were about to leave you felt a hand on your shoulder, that sudden contact made your skin crawl

Since the first time you arrived at the mansion you had had very little contact with him, only some morning greetings that were rarely returned

"You're hurt, you must rest, now"

He gave you those looks that he only gave to criminals when he was being batman

But he didn't intimidate you, he never did

You pushed his hand away with a sharp movement

"Don't touch me, don't pretend that you care about me when we all know that you don't"

You said for the last time before leaving through the halls without even listening to what he said to you

You didn't want to hear it, His words weren't worth it

You didn't need him, you were fine on your own

All people were cruel and mean

In a world as selfish and evil as this, you're either the prey or you're the hunter

And you stopped being the prey a long time ago

.

.

.

.

After that strange and awkward encounter Bruce was left wondering

What was wrong with you?

Why are you acting so angry? He thought it was because of the recent events of your previous mission.

But something about your rejection made his chest hurt. Why are you rejecting him like that?

Maybe he wasn't the best father, but he tried

Well, he tried to be a good father to others

But not to you

Those thoughts kept him awake at night

He couldn't even have a quiet day without that thought of guilt consuming him completely

He tried to get close to you for a few days But all he got was a dirty look and an insult

You refused any kind of interaction from him, you didn't even let him touch your shoulder

He thought you just didn't like physical contact, but when he saw you hug Alfred it made something inside him flare up with anger

And soon your attention became more than just an interest, it became an obsession

Why did you treat others so well but not your family?

And this strange behavior did not go unnoticed by the others

Richard was the first to notice it, he saw how Bruce tried to spend more time with you

Which seemed strange to him, before Bruce seemed too disinterested but now it seemed as if something turned on inside Bruce

He thought he was just being paranoid or plotting something

He decided to go talk to you, surely you would have answers!

.

.

.

"Fuck you" was the only thing that came out of your mouth when Richard asked you something

Richard's face changed drastically when those words left your mouth

Why were you so defensive?

"Excuse me?"

"What you heard, fuck you I don't care what happens to Bruce, if you want answers go and ask him, don't be fucking me up with stupid questions"

You said one last time before closing the door to your room in his face

Richard was left processing everything that happened

What the fuck was that?

He knocked on the door again but no one answered

Why were you rejecting him like that?

He's supposed to be your older brother! Why did you treat him like that

Although well, he doesn't remember the time that either of you talked

But you should have at least had one conversation, right?

God...

He really screwed up

.

.

.

.

You thought Richard would be the last person to bother you but sadly that wasn't the case

It felt like the whole family had come together to notice you existed for the first time in your life

And you hated that

You hated being treated like you didn't know what they did to you

But you weren't going to give in that easily, if they wanted something from you they could fuck off

You weren't going to let anyone hurt you again

I'm not your friend

I'm not your partner

I'm not your sister

And I'm not your daughter

I bite

.

.

.

"Hey (name)!, do you-"

"Fuck you Tim"

You didn't even give him time to speak when those words cut through you like knives

You didn't even think about it, they came out on automatic

He just stood there with the words hanging in his head as he watched you walk away from him

He felt something weird when you so rudely rejected his invitation

You just walked away disinterested, you didn't feel like talking to him

You didn't have time to talk about stupid things

Seriously, what's wrong with this family?

First your father, then Richard and now Tim!?

You need a break right now

.

.

.

.

Apparently Tim wasn't the only one who started to take an interest in you

When your father sent you and Damian on patrol you thought it was the worst thing that could happen to you tonight

But you were wrong

You hated that little demon with all your soul, his mere presence made you want to break his neck or run katanas through his body

You were both agile and it was normal

You two were sons of powerful and dangerous mothers

Sometimes you thought Bruce had some fetish for women who could easily kill him

The patrol was "normal" or if you could call it that

You could feel Damian's penetrating gaze on your neck

"What the hell is wrong with you? You've been looking at me like that the whole patrol"

You said without thinking when you two stopped at a building to rest

You couldn't stand it anymore, you were a direct person and you were tired of having to put up with his childish behavior

"Nothing's wrong with me"

"Liar"

You accused him, you knew when someone was lying or hiding something from you

Damian didn't answer and ignored you the whole patrol

And it's not like you cared

But what Damian hadn't told you was that he was jealous

The previous week he saw you hug a child and give him affection on a mission

Bruce had sent some members of batfam on a rescue mission

And seeing you comfort someone made him jealous, why did you treat a strange child that way?

The way you hugged that child and whispered to him that everything would be okay made his blood boil with jealousy

He's supposed to be your real brother, why did you treat a stranger better than him!?

It wasn't fair

He wanted that affection too

And he wanted it just for himself

.

.

.

.

You could say that Jason was the worst, one day he just decided to show up in your room and force you into the mansion's library

You protested for him to put you down but he just ignored you

He literally had you on his back like a sack of potatoes, he made you sit down reluctantly in one of those comfy chairs

He sat down next to you and started reading

Was this some kind of joke!?

He literally pulled you out of your comfy bed and then brought you here to sit down doing nothing??

"I'm leaving"

"No, you're not"

You said without flinching as he grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and made you sit back down

You just grumbled and swore

You sat there for hours, you started to tease him thinking that this way he would let you go

"Can I go now?"

"No"

"And now I can go now?"

"No"

"I can-"

"NO"

He said that last word annoyed forcing you to sit down again

This day was going to be very long and strange...

.

.

.

And as the days passed this obsession grew more in them

To a point where they didn't even let you make your own decisions

For some strange reason you had some family member watching your every move all the time

It got to a point where it was just suffocating

And you tried to escape, maybe you could go back to your clan

I was sure your mother would welcome you with open arms

Yeah, you betrayed your clan and killed almost half of their sorcerers and assassins but it was for a good reason

But this time you weren't going to be so lucky

They weren't going to let you escape from their clutches so easily

.

.

.

"LET ME GO!"

You screamed trying to free yourself from your father's grip but it was in vain

He had you pressed against the cold floor of your room, he had caught you just as you tried to escape

You tried to fight but it was in vain, in size and strength he far surpassed you

"I didn't want to do this (name)"

"What are you talking about-"

You could barely finish your sentence when a scream of pain came from your annoying

You could feel that scream completely tearing your annoying

Your father

Your own father had broken one of your legs

You could feel how that place swelled and the only thing you could do was cry

He carried you in his arms while you tried to scratch his body But it was in vain

In this pitiful state you could never go anywhere

Your wings had been torn from your body, causing you to fall into that eternal fire

You fell like a jerk when he is shot by his prey

Maybe one day your wings will grow back

And you will be able to taste that sweet wind

But all you can do is admire that paradise that seems so far away but at the same time so close

Locked in a cage, of course the cage gives you love and food

But that will never change that it will continue to be a cage

An angel with cut wings

And a bird with broken wings

They both have the same dream

To be free

I like writing angst because people can't see when I'm venting and projecting

That aside, I hope you like this shit

I might make the story longer if I'm not too lazy