#past rape/non con cw

[pigeonwhumps]

Transport

Sanctuary masterlist

Finding Safety masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @emcscared-whumps @poc-whump

785 is transported back to the WRU centre, and has an unpleasant experience along the way.

1.7k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, dehumanisation, collar, restrained, (short) explicit non-con, mentioned past non-con, lady whump, rough handling, mentioned kidnapping, conditioning, multiple whumpees

The conditioned phrases 785 repeats to herself were created variously by @maniacal-ramblings and @ashintheairlikesnow (and thanks to Ash for compiling the list I found them on here). Also, while I'm crediting, the bit about how to punch properly is from @wolfeyedwitch 's post – cheers for that information, which inspired both a large part of the next chapter and Cass' creation in the first place (I'm not sure whether me creating yet another OC should be something to thank you for actually but hey. I like him).

The doorbell rings and 785 listens to the murmur of voices, too low to make out. Then, with a lurch, she feels herself moving. Her box is lifted and carried outside, jostled all the while, before she feels herself being shoved onto something. There's a thud of wood on wood and she hears a loud whimper from below her, and she knows, she knows, that she's been packed on top of another Pet. Sideways. Her cheek pressed against what's now the floor of the crate.

The metal doors of the delivery van slam shut and a few seconds later there's the rumble of an engine as the vehicle starts moving. 785 bumps up and down, hitting the wood with small thuds that disorient her but won't do much actual damage (she doesn't think so anyway). She can hear crying from one of the boxes, and coughing from another.

How many Pets are in here?

She hopes the coughing one doesn't make her ill, because if she gets ill again she won't be able to work, and then she'll be punished, and– and her ribs still ache sometimes, from the last time it happened.

It can't happen again. Please, please, don't make her ill.

The van comes to a sudden halt and she jolts forward, hitting her head on the box. She yelps, which soon turns into a silent scream as her collar activates.

The pain causes her to white out for... she's not sure how long, but when she comes back to herself they're moving again. With each corner they turn she jerks around in her box, and with each stop the van makes she becomes a little more bruised, a little more battered. Most of the stops are pick-ups, although a few boxes are taken out. She wonders if the Pets in the drop-offs are better secured inside their boxes – she wasn't, not really, but then, customers wouldn't put up with damaged goods. They'd complain.

She's not sure how she knows about product satisfaction with such certainty. Her head splits open as she tries to think about it and she gasps.

Maybe... maybe she should stop thinking. She's just a stupid Pet, after all, she doesn't need to think. She shouldn't think. That's something only people should be doing.

It's getting hot in here. It's been warm these past few days, and now she's stuck in a small wooden box surrounded by other boxes and metal. It's no wonder.

The van hits some sort of bump and she lurches, hitting the roof of the crate hard. Someone screams.

"Keep it down back there!" yells a voice from up front. 785 thinks it might be the driver.

"We would," comes a gruff, thickly-accented voice from one of the other boxes, "if you'd drive slower so we're not falling everywhere all the time."

The van stops and the back door slams open. "Who the fuck said that?"

"Me."

785 hears footsteps on the floor of the van and then a boot hitting wood. "Shut the fuck up, then. Oh, I see your owner taped your paperwork to the side of your box. Says here that you were a guard Pet, being sent back for refurbishment, due to your excessive insolence and emerging beliefs about being a person."

"That's bullshit! I've never even seen the inside of a WRU centre! This... scumbag kidnapped me and when I wouldn't be his perfect fucking pet he left me in a box on the roadside! I'm not one of your fucking slaves!"

"You know what? I really don't care where you're from. If you think WRU get all their Pets legally I've got a damn bridge to sell you. You're ours now."

There's a growl, and 785 shakes her head. You signed up for this. All pets are of legal consenting age and made a choice to pursue a change of circumstances including no longer retaining legal ownership of themselves. All merchandise is acquired through full legal channels. She repeats this over and over in her head. She knows that to be true, so the delivery driver must be lying. Mustn't he?

The guard kicks the strange Pet's box again. "And guard Pets are known for getting lots of injuries, so if I were to punish you for disturbing me, no-one would know the difference. So I advise you to shut the fuck up and resign yourself to a life of Pethood, because you're not getting anything else." The Pet's silent. "Right. God. Now that's settled, I gotta burn off some steam. Oi, Dave, there anyone around?"

"There never is here, you know that," says another man from up front. "That's why we always stop here for a break."

"Get back here then. And bring my phone."

The cab door slams. "Man, you are not going to film this."

"Why not? There's no harm."

"No harm– you know what'll happen to us if anyone finds out that you're fiddling with the merchandise! That's why we don't leave any evidence! No filming!"

"Oh come on. It's just for me." There's a pause. "At least help me get the box out and open."

A heavy sigh. "Fine, fine. Who you going for?"

"785. Eleanor's Pet. She looks so good in the videos."

785 tenses. That's her. Her box is shifted and lifted off the van, and set down heavily on the ground, turning her over and shaking her to her bones. She hears the nails being pulled out and the lid removed. Someone lifts her out and sets her down on gravel that pokes into her legs.

"Oh, she's even more beautiful in real life," says the unnamed man. "With the red silk and the bark collar."

"Mm. I wonder why she wasn't made a Romantic?"

"Who knows. Come on, man, don't get me to film. You know what'll happen if we're caught."

"We won't be. Come onnn." There's a silence, and then another sigh and a beep, and a crow. "Eyyy! Atta boy!"

"You better not get us caught, or I'll kill you."

"Yeah, yeah. 785, open your mouth." 785 obeys, unable to do anything else, and she hears the sound of a zipper. "Wider than that. Ah, that's better."

Something slides into her mouth. It's warm and wrinkly and it tastes disgusting, and she nearly chokes as it hits the back of her throat. She knows what to do though, she's been ordered to do it before even though it wasn't her owners (even though her owners had been angry at the order, and angry with her for letting it happen), and she sucks his dick.

"Oh. Oh, that's so good. Mmm."

785 keeps going until there's a jerk and he comes in her throat. She splutters and coughs, trying to swallow or spit it out or something to stop herself choking. It tastes bitter and salty and horrible, and she can feel the tears dripping out from under the blindfold even before Dave points them out. She wasn't made for this, it's not her designation. She's not prepared for it.

"You want a go with her, Dave? She's very good."

"I prefer my sexual partners to be consensual, thanks."

"And yet you were happy to film me."

"Look, let's just– get her back in the box."

"Sure, sure. Your loss." 785 feels herself being lifted and put back in her box, the top nailed down. Her stomach lurches, in free fall, as her box is thrown back on, and the Pet below her screams as she lands upside down with a thud, slamming into the wood hard, breath punched from her as she sees stars. She curls up as tightly as possible as they start to move again. Her stomach churns but she presses her lips together tightly. She won't be sick. She won't sit in a pile of her own vomit for the rest of the journey.

Her jaw aches and her knees are bruised and she's so tired, she just wants 065 or Hugo or her bear (especially 065), and she starts to drift. She can't help but listen to the low, accented voice of that strange Pet when he starts speaking again.

"I'm sorry, 785. I know you probably won't answer, I overheard about the bark collar, but I'm still sorry. I didn't realise I'd get you hurt by speaking up."

He didn't? But every Pet knows that, how can he not? Maybe he really isn't from the WRU.

Swallowing her fear, 785 decides to speak. She needs a distraction, to stop her mind going over and over and over the events of a few minutes ago.

"Hello," she whispers, bracing herself against the shocks. It's not too bad if she whispers. "I'm 785. It's– it's okay, you didn't mean to. It's my– my job."

"Hmm. Well, I'm Cass. Nice to meet you."

"And– and you."

"When they let us out, I'm going to escape. You should come. I do not care if it's hard, I will not be a Pet. I hope you come. All of you. You do not have to stay enslaved." There's a whimper below 785, and she shakes her head. She's not enslaved, she chose this. "If you want to punch, wrap your thumb around the outside of your fist and squeeze it. Aim with your first two knuckles and keep your wrist straight. Start with your knuckles down, and only twist them up towards the end of extending your arm."

785 tries not to listen, she can't fight the handlers, only people can do that. Only people can decide if she's allowed to fight, and she really, really isn't. Not as a combination Platonic/Domestic. She's never been allowed to before.

She can't fight. She's a Pet, she chose to be one, she'll be one for life. She signed up for this. Even if... even if that means she'll be refurbished, forget 065. That's fine. She signed up for it, nothing is her choice anymore, she has to obey. It'll all be good if she obeys. If she fights, it might not be. She's not going to fight. She doesn't have permission or orders to do so.

Unconsciously, her hands curl into fists behind her back, thumbs squeezed around the outsides.

[latenightdaydreams]

I have an idea that Konig is Ghostface and he's been stalking reader for a while. He found out reader is a bookworm outside but literally a cunt inside. Like she never comes to parties, spend hours with her vibration instead. One night, Konig sneaks in her house and rape her fat unused pussy 😩😩😩

🤭🤭🤭YES😮‍💨

Ghostface!König x Nerd!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

🚫TRIGGERS🚫

>cw: fem/afab, non-con, bondage, voyeurism, stalking

3.1k word count

👻

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.

The first time König saw you was at the campus Valentine's Day party. You showed up dressed in a festive pink sweater, but then sat in the corner with a stank look on your face. His eyes followed you as you seemingly complained to the girl you came with, a friend? Either way, your breasts and sensual body shape caught his attention.

König walks up to a guy that’s talking to your friend, “Wer ist das?” He asks, pointing to you.

“She’s a bitch,” the girl's friend hits his chest as if to tell him to shut up.

“She’s just shy. She hates parties.” Christa, your friend, defends you.

They all stand there and watch you gather your things and walk out the door without saying bye to anyone, not even your friend. Interesting. What type of woman are you? He was intrigued and wanted to see more of you. See what those bouncy breasts look like outside of that pink sweater.

After this first encounter, he dedicated his time to following you around campus. First, only to figure out what your schedule was. What classes do you take, what teacher do you have, what building the classes are in, etc. Just the basics.

He stalks behind you, far enough behind that you’d never notice; but close enough to listen in on any conversations you had. Which was basically zero. You kept to yourself no matter what you were doing. If someone interacted with you, you’d have such a poor attitude about it. Snappy, short, lots of eye rolling. This went on for two months.

One day, König set up a forced interaction. Dressed casually and slicked his blonde hair back. He looks handsome, standing at 6 '10 and being pure muscle. He knows he is attractive; his personality just sucks, much like yours seems to.

He lingers outside your second class of the day and looks around as if he were a lost student. Once he sees you, he walks over.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Your eyes dart to him as you take out an air pod. “What?” Your tone is unkind.

“I’m lost and I don’t know which room-”

“I’m late for class.” You cut him off and walk past him.

König just watches as you walk away with a smirk on his face. He knows once he has you in his hands, he’d have fun breaking you. After that, he waits for you to leave class and follow you home. Since you would not get to know him the typical way, he would continue getting to know you in the shadows.

You walk fast, but he has no issues keeping up. Your hips sway hypnotically, keeping his attention. Finally, you stop at a cute one-story home. He watches as you take your keys out and enter your home. Waiting a few minutes before he walks up to peek into your windows. He looks around to make sure no neighbors are watching as he walks up to your house, crouching.

Eyes peering through the first window, he sees your living room. Your shoes kicked off by the door, TV turned on already, and backpack thrown on the couch. His eyes scan the room, trying to take in every detail.

Continuing on he comes to the next window. He sees you and ducks back, worried you might have seen him. After a few seconds of no screams, he creeps back to the window. There you are. Taking off your shirt and jeans, just standing there in your beige bra and blue cotton panties. Totally unaware you’re being watched as you check yourself out in your dresser's mirror.

Watching like a hawk as you open the top draw and pull out a pink little vibrator. König could already feel his pants begin to tighten. You walk to your bed, grabbing a towel that’s folded underneath the bed. Laying the towel out, getting your pillows situated, and moving the blanket. It’s almost like a ritual and König’s interest is definitely piqued. 

He watches as you lie down on the bed. Your pretty pussy covered with a little bit of hair, as you spread your legs he can see the pink within your folds. Fuck this is gold…

König quickly undoes his pants as he watches you pick a setting before moving it to your little clit. Through the window he can hear how loud you’re being, your legs twitch from the stimulation. All the while König stands there feverishly stroking his leaky cock. Imagining him running up to you and shoving his cock in that tight little pussy…

Your hips begin to grind into the vibrator as your head drops back on to your pillows. Your left leg is starting to tremble… König watches without blinking as your innocent pussy begins to squirt. Fingers replacing the vibrator, you start rubbing your clit quickly. Your sweet juices are spraying everywhere. He bites his lip as he begins to cum, accidently cumming on the siding of your house. It felt as if he were a wild animal and just marked you, leaving his scent behind to deter other predators.

This became a ritual for König as the school year went on. He would follow you around campus, watch who you talk to, see how you interact with the world. Occasionally he would try to go up to you and just talk nicely, but every time you shot him down. As if you’re better than him. Then he would follow you home and masturbate outside your window as you play with your tiny cunt.

That was until summer break happened. You went away to work as a camp counselor for the summer, leaving König behind. With you gone, König felt lost. He spent most of the summer inside watching porn. Looking for actresses that resemble you, but none could match your perfect breasts or pretty pink cunt.

August rolls around and classes start back up. König walks into his social science class and sees you… perfect. You sit in the front, middle. Teacher’s pet know-it-all, of course you’d pick there to sit.

König sits in the very back, where he has a clear line of view in your direction. He watches as you rest your head in the palm of your hand. How you cross your legs and squeeze, as if you’re trying to stimulate some sort of pleasure. Little slut, you can’t even control yourself in class. All the obsession comes rushing back to him. He needs you.

Halloween rolls around. König is handed a flier for a costume party that will be happening at one of the sororities here on campus.  His new friend Carl, your friend’s boyfriend, goes out with him to buy costumes.

 They both walk through the Halloween store and talk casually. He tries to think of ways to ask about you without being so direct.

“Is Christas bitch friend coming?” König chuckles to make it seem less important to him.

“Y/n? Probably not. She never shows to support anything Christa does. When she does, she’s in a foul mood and just leaves. It breaks Christas heart.” He sounded genuinely upset with you and your behavior.

“What’s her deal anyway?”

“I don’t know. Little stuck up virgin bitch thinks she’s better than Christa because she’s waiting until marriage.”

Virgin. That’s why you only touch your clit; you don’t want to “pop” your cherry.

“Is she religious?”

“Probably. I never cared to ask. Let’s just hope she doesn’t show up and ruin it.”

“Yeah.” König didn’t want you to show up, but for a very different reason. He had something special in the works.

Reaching up, König grabs a Ghostface mask and holds it up to his face. “Hey, what about this?”

.

.

Halloween night, König puts on the black robe over a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt, and a small satchel bag that has duct tape and rope. A real knife in his hand. He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, looking at himself. Blonde hair longer and pushed back, dark circles under her icy blue eyes, and a twisted look on his face.

“You got this. You can do it.” He whispers as he slips the mask over his face.

König leaves his shared apartment on campus and walks down the street while the sun is just beginning to set. Other students rush past him, all heading to their own Halloween parties. Towering over everyone dressed as Ghostface, he had a few people jump out of fear. From behind the mask, he apologizes while laughing. As if he is a normal guy.

Finally, he approaches the steps on the sorority. Walking inside he sees that there are a few other Ghostface at the party already. König rolls his eyes under the masks. His attention turns to the staircase as he hears Christa and Carl arguing. Without being seen, he walks closer to listen in. It’s clear that she’s talking about y/n.

You bailed. Probably home studying or making yourself squirt. The thought gives König a chub. You’re exactly where he hoped you would be. At first, he was nervous this wouldn’t work out for him. No, you never change. Easy to track. Before he is seen, he slips out of the doors.

He blends in easily for once in his life. Everyone dressed up like freaks or sluts. The giant isn’t the main focal point today. Once he enters your neighborhood, he notices the empty streets, but very loud house music. All of your neighbors seem to gather, yet your home's lights are on.

Cautiously, he approaches your living room window. Boom, there you are, asleep on the couch. The TV on TLC, some random trash television show. He attempts to lift the window in front of him, but it’s locked. Moving down a window to your bedroom, also locked. König walks around the back and tries the back door, locked. The kitchen window is a little smaller, but he still tries it. Open.

Carefully, König climbs through the window. His massive body just barely begins to fit, but he manages. Slowly he climbs off of the counter that was right under the window, being sure to not kick anything off the counter and possibly wake you up.

Once stable on the floor he stood there for a while and looked around your kitchen. Your style was quirky, which was odd because you act as if you have no personality. Before waking you up, he goes into the bedroom and gets that towel you keep under your bed. He lays it out on the bed the same way you do. Even arranging the pillows and blanket for you.

Reaching into his bag under his black robes, he takes out the rope and tape. The rope he leaves on the bed as he walks out of the bedroom with the tape. He pulls some and he can be quick to shut you up.

With soft steps he makes his way to the living room. He can see your hands are in your hands as if you fell asleep masturbating. A virgin whore. He’s ready to just make you into his whore. Standing over you as you sleep; eyes drifting over your breast and the tiny bit of midriff that is showing.

Slowly lowering his face closer to you until he sees your eyes open. At first it’s as if you didn’t register what you saw. König tilts his head. Then you open your eyes again and begin to scream. Quickly he covers your mouth with the tape.

“Shhh,” his eyes go wild behind the mask.

You try to stand and get away but his massive body easily overpowers yours and slams you back down into the couch.

“Don’t fucking move.” He hisses as he cuts the tape with the knife. Pulling more, he adds an extra layer.

With ease he lifts your body from the couch, pinning your arms to your side so you can’t hit him. Your legs kicking as he brings you into your room; eyes going wide as you see that he set the bed up the same way you set up when you masturbate.

König giggles looking at your face, “I did good, ja?”

He grabs the rope and tosses you on the bed. As you try to stand up, he pushes you back hard, “Give up Maus, you’re mine tonight.”

Using his massive body to pin you down, he climbs on top of you. Your face down into the mattress as he grabs one of your arms and pins it behind your back before grabbing the other. He uses the rope to tie your hands together, tight enough to dig into your flesh.

“I’ll show you how to have a really good time.”

König stands and grabs your body, turning you to rest on your back, nuzzled in the pillows like when you masturbate. He walks to your dresser and takes out the small pink vibrator. You look up at him with wide eyes, it’s clear that he’s been watching you.

“Now, don’t move, or I might cut you.” He says leaning back over your body as he begins to cut your shirt from your body. Your full breasts come into view and he can’t help the temptation of reaching up and pinching your nipple. You try to scream through the tape, but the sound is muffled.

His attention drops down to the waistband of your pajama pants. Slowly he pulls them down. Seeing your cunt face to face instead of at a distance was breathtaking. Speechless, he moves his fingers through the soft hair that covers your pussy. Finally, he can feel you, smell you, taste you.

“If you move, I’ll gut you.” He threatens as he begins to settle himself between your legs.

He lifts his mask slightly and takes in a deep breath of what your pussy smells like. It’s almost sinful. He has to taste it. Slowly he slips his tongue out and swipes it through your folds. You squirm slightly but stop, remembering the knife. He swipes his tongue up again. If he knew you were this sweet, he would have broken in sooner.

Shoving his face into your pussy he takes a deep breath before sucking on your clit. He bites it lightly, causing you pain as your body jerks away. Not letting you move; he wraps his arms around your legs tightly to hold you still. Spit running down his chin as he aggressively laps at your cunt. He slurps your pussy juice before biting your labia. Again, you jerk in pain and König just laughs as he pulls his mask back down.

Once he stands from the bed he just looks down at your naked body. He begins to pull off the black robe, tossing aside the satchel. Stripping down to his birthday suit, but the mask stays on. His body is massive with a cock so heavy it hangs.

He grabs your pink vibrator and turns it on, gently holding it to your clit. His eyes light up as your legs begin to tremble. Muffled little moans escaping your lips. You can’t help but to feel pleasure, even though you’re in this situation.

“Good…kleine Hure.” He turns off the vibrator and sets it aside. Inching closer to you, he slaps his cock on your pussy a few times.

“Ready?”

You shake your head no and try to scoot away from him, but he grabs your legs and drags you back to him. “No, no, no, you’re not getting away that easy.”

Looking down at your cunt he rubs the head of his cock back and forth over your clit. Slowly he slips down. With one hard thrust of his hips, he bullies his monster cock deep inside of your unused pussy. The tightness of your cunt was something only his hand had ever given him.

“Mien Gott, you really were a virgin.” He chuckled.

König grabs your legs and lets them fall over his arms as he holds your ass up off the bed slightly. His hips rolling rapidly into you, looking down he can see blood on his cock. A soft growl leaves his lips.

He lets your legs drop as he leans over you, one of his hands wrapping around your throat lightly. “My fat unprotected cock just ruined your pretty virgin cunt.”

You try to turn your head away from him as tears begin to roll down your eyes, but he doesn’t let you. He turns your head back to face him.

“Eyes open. I want to see the shame when I make you cum.”

You open your eyes as you have no choice but to listen. His free hand reaches down between your legs and begins to rub your clit. Trying to resist the pleasure was impossible, your legs tremble as your pussy feels as if it were torn in two.

He watches as you shake your head no. Your pussy getting tighter on his cock, he knew. He pulls out quickly, shoving his middle and ring finger into you. He presses down on the lower part of your stomach as his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot repeatedly.

You drop your head back and he slaps your pussy, “Eyes on me!” His voice a low growl.

Lifting you head back up to look at him, your eyes cross from the explosion of pleasure you’re feeling. You squirt, hitting the Ghostface mask slightly, getting it all over König’s hands and arms.

“That’s what I want to see!” He excitedly slips his cock back into your pussy. His eyes watch as you wince in pain.

His hips move mercilessly into you. “I’m going to cum deep inside of this pussy. You’re going to get pregnant with my babies. You like staying home anyway, right?”

The look on your face as he talks down to you is full of fear and it’s just enough to get him off. He presses his cock fully into you, your cries of pain muffled buts still so beautiful. König cums deep inside of you. His seamen painting every inch of your velvety walls. A loud groan leaves his mouth as he tries to press in even further.

The look on your face is almost relieved as he cums, that means this is over with. So, you thought. He pulls his cock out, covered in blood and cum. In one quick motion he flips you on to your stomach, pulling you down the bed a little. He sits on the bed now, one leg on either side of you. König leans forward to pull the tape off of your mouth and drags you closer to him by your shoulders.

“You’re going to clean this.” He says slapping his cock on your face a few times. “Open.”

You don’t struggle, opening your mouth wide. The taste of salty cum and blood assaults your taste buds. His hand grasping a fist full of hair and shoving his cock down your throat. Your body thrashes, legs kicking as you gag.

“Get used to it, Maus. My cock isn’t leaving your throat any time soon.”

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 8

Previous/Next Chapters Here

Poker Night

CW: non-consensual drugging, date rape drugs, non-con, dub-con, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, homophobia, slut-shaming, food control, fat-shaming, vomit.

-

He pops the tab on the soda can, the sound of aluminum grating against your frayed nerves. You sit at the table, hands tucked under your thighs because all you want to do is wrap them around yourself, hold yourself, feel a comforting touch, even if it’s only your own. He brings the soda over and sets it gently on the table in front of you.

It is Saturday morning. 

“I know last week wasn’t fair to you,” your boyfriend says, planting both hands on the table, the picture of rationality. “I don’t like keeping secrets from you. I’d like to think we’re past that point in our relationship. Don’t you?” 

You nod, teeth clenched tight around a scream. 

“So from now on—” he holds up a pill for you to see, then slips it through the open soda tab into the drink. He slides the drink forward toward you at the table. “No more slipping things in your drink without you knowing. From now on, you get to make the choice. Don’t misunderstand me. It’s going to happen either way. The sooner you get used to that, the better. What you get to control is whether you have a good time…or a bad time. So what’s it going to be honey? Good or bad?” 

You hesitate for a long moment. Your fingers are numb when you untuck them from beneath your thighs, trembling as you reach out for the soda—

—and tip it over onto its side, a sign of defiance. 

His placid mouth stretches into a wide grin. Soda drips off the edge of the table and onto the floor. Drip, drip drip. 

“Now,” he says cheerfully. “Why was I hoping you’d choose that?” 

-

It is Saturday morning.

He pops the tab open on a can of your favorite soda, pulled chilled from the refrigerator. Warm is best; it helps the pill dissolve faster, more thoroughly. But when the drink is icy cold, you are less likely to taste the bitterness on your tongue. If you try hard, you can pretend that it is your very first Saturday, that you have just been handed a drink by your boyfriend, that you have no idea what is in it. 

“We’ve got extra guests tonight,” he says, sliding the soda can to you. “I want you on your best behavior.” 

“I always am,” you mutter. 

“That’s just not true. Don’t bullshit me, baby. When you bullshit me, you bullshit the best.” He slides the drink toward you a little more, eyes dark and curious, wondering if you will drink this concoction that makes you relaxed and pliable, this drink that makes you enjoy the terrible things that are done to you. 

But Simon and Johnny will be there tonight. You glare up at your boyfriend and slide the soda back across the table. “You wouldn’t. Not in front of the new guys. I’m not stupid.” 

“Baby. You’re dumber than you look if you think I won’t do whatever I want in front of whomever I want,” he says with a laugh. He slides the drink back. “Next time you push that away, I’m dumping it down the sink. Make good choices.”

You almost do it for him. You really do. A part of you is sure that he’s bluffing; it just makes no sense. Why would he put himself at risk this way? But there’s a small frightened part of you that is always ready to be surprised, always ready to be taken to a new low, dragged to a fresher hell by these hands which were meant to love you. Maybe he would do it.

And is it worth it to defy him? You remember that one miserable Saturday after you had dumped the drink over. It had been one of the most painful, humiliating experiences of your life. Your Fridays afterward were often spent agonizing over the decision to come: was it worse to give in and drink? Did it make you wrong to not fight back, to even sometimes find moments of begrudging pleasure in your own rape? Did it make you weak? 

The thought of being like that in front of Johnny and Simon—soft and slurred and slutty—makes you feel…strange. You don’t want to think about it. The other side of the sword is just as sharp: if you don’t drink, you will be painfully aware of everything that happens to you, aware of Johnny and Simon’s participation—or their impending disgust. 

What is worse? 

Reaching out, you take the can with a shaking hand and go to tip it over—then change your mind at the last moment. You drink it down in its entirety, letting it fill your hollow, aching belly, even if the sugar makes you nauseous. 

Your boyfriend pulls a face, like you have pleasantly surprised him. He reaches out and takes the empty can from you and says, “Good girl.” 

You want to be sick.

-

“You’re in a good mood,” Simon says while making breakfast. He was up early this morning, well before Johnny awoke. Usually when Simon wakes first, he’ll take care of whatever business woke him and then lay in bed with Johnny until the other man wakes, but this morning when Johnny’s eyes blearily opened against the sunlight streaming in through the balcony doors, the bed was empty. Trust, he thinks. Simon’s beginning to trust him to be on his own more often 

“Could say the same fer you,” says Johnny with a grin, tapping the fingers of his hand against the table as he waits for his plate. His voice pitches lower when he asks: “Did yeh wake up on the right side of the bed, or are yeh just excited about what day it is?” 

Simon scowls. “Nothing to be excited about, Johnny. It’s not a recreational event.” 

“I don’t know,” Johnny says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m looking forward to it. 

“You can’t kill him.” 

“Heard that line before. Rehearse a few new ones.” 

“I mean it,” says Simon, bringing Johnny’s plate to the table and setting it in front of him. Classic English breakfast. Fuck, Johnny’s stomach does a flip, he’s so goddamn hungry. It’s cut into bite sized pieces, but Johnny can overlook that. It’s a necessary evil for now, until his coordination is a little better—which it is, every day. Next comes Johnny’s orange juice, but just as Johnny reaches for the glass, Simon holds it up out of his reach, a frown in place. “Promise me that this is just reconnaissance. You won’t try to kill him—no matter what may happen.” 

It’s Johnny’s turn to scowl. He lets out an irritated breath through his nose. 

“Gonna starve me if I refuse?” 

“Yes.” 

“Bastard.” 

“I don’t hear any promises.” 

“I promise, I promise. Gimme that.” Johnny takes the orange juice. Simon lets it go, sighing. Though Johnny has told him what he wants to hear, he doesn’t seem comforted by it, Johnny thinks as he tucks in to his breakfast. 

Maybe he can tell that Johnny’s lying. 

-

“How do I look?” Johnny asks. He has buttoned his shirt on his own—a feat which only took him five minutes of careful coordination and deep breathing. Give me a fucking medal, he thinks to himself as Simon comes over to help him button his jeans (which are still too difficult to manage, depending on the pair he pulls on). Simon’s hands so close to his cock have Johnny humming, close to a purr in the back of his throat. 

They still have not fucked since the accident, but Johnny thinks soon. 

“You look like you need a haircut,” Simon says, voice rumbling against Johnny’s back where they are pressed together. One of Simon’s hands brushes through the lengthening fringe of Johnny’s mohawk, and Johnny lets himself shut his eyes at the touch, feeling a satisfied, sleepy urge come over him. Simon presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, and warmth blooms in the pit of Johnny’s stomach. Simon’s been like this all day: affectionate, borderline clingy. Doting. 

It’s a far cry from the way they had treated each other all week prior, and Johnny finds himself grateful for the change of pace. 

But he can’t let himself be distracted now. Not when so much is on the line. Poker begins in less than an hour, and Johnny has promised Simon that he will be on his best behavior. It’s not a promise he looks forward to breaking—but what promise ever is? Johnny plans to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open, taking in intelligence and making plans. 

But if an opportunity presents itself—if Johnny can find a single moment alone with your boyfriend—Johnny won’t hesitate. What a terrible accident it will be, he thinks gleefully. 

He turns in Simon’s arms and must turn too quickly. He stumbles, nearly falling. Simon braces him, helping to hold him upright. He sees the strange look in Simon’s eyes and frowns. 

“What is it?” 

“I need to ask you something.” 

“Alright.” 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Aye,” says Johnny promptly, grateful for an easy question. “With my life. Yeh know I do.” 

“Do you trust me with her life?” Simon asks. 

Johnny sighs a little. Simon has been so obliging today, Johnny should have suspected that he was waiting until the last minute to try to talk him out of any hairbrained schemes. Still, he says: “Yes. Not much I wouldn’t trust yeh with, Si.” 

Simon hesitates. 

“What is it?” Johnny prompts, reaching up with his hand to cup Simon’s cheek. He isn’t used to cupping this cheek, and it feels odd under his palm, almost like touching a stranger. “Go on, get it out.” 

“Will you forgive me?” Simon asks. 

“For our fight? Aye. Water under the bridge.” Johnny leans forward and places a kiss on Simon’s mouth. Now that is familiar: the curve of his lips, the way their noses brush, the scent of him. 

Johnny is nearly out of the room, heading for his shoes (and his crutch, considering how unsteady he is on his feet) when Simon speaks again: “Not for that.” 

Johnny stops and turns. The room turns with him. Simon stands with his back to Johnny, his huge shoulders hunched, hands hanging loosely at his sides. Johnny wishes that he would turn around and look at him, let him see the look on his face—except when he does, there is something oddly recognizable there, an eerie familiarity that he can’t put his finger on but which makes Johnny’s heart pound. 

“For what, then?” Johnny wonders.

“For putting that Oxy in your orange juice.” 

Goosebumps prickle all along Johnny’s arms and thighs. He stumbles again, and Simon is right there to catch him. Johnny is always unsteady on his feet when he’s been taking his pain meds. He stares at his lover blankly, struggling to piece together the what, the how, the why. 

“Need you to be safe,” Simon whispers. “I can’t have you there Johnny. I need you to be safe.” 

“Y’ drugged me?” 

“Just need you to get some sleep. I’ll be back by the time you wake up, and when you do, I’ll tell you everything,” he says, helping Johnny towards the bed. Johnny collapses back against the pillows, weak not from the Oxy but from his own horror and shock. Simon says: “I promise.” 

“Fuck yer promises,” Johnny slurs, eyes misty. Simon sits by him on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair until he begins to snore. 

-

It’s all compartmentalized, his feelings packaged into neat boxes and put away in the safest recesses of his mind. It’s remarkably like being on an op, when he would have to triage his own emotions: cannot face that one yet—push it back and come back to it later (or never, if more convenient). He practically feels the mask slipping into place, down over his eyes and nose and mouth. No more Simon, just Ghost. Ghost on a mission. Ghost preparing himself to do and witness terrible things. 

He’s numb to it all. His hand doesn’t even shake when he knocks on the door to 7C. Your boyfriend answers, brows raised with mild, surprised politeness, as if he didn’t truly expect that Simon would show (and Simon didn’t show, Ghost thinks darkly, but this idiot has no idea of that). Ghost holds up the case of beer he bought from the 7/11 down the street and the other man’s mouth stretches into a grin. 

“I’ll take that from you—come on in. Make yourself at home,” he says, slipping the beer from Ghost’s hand. “Where’s your other half?” 

“Sick.” 

“Shame.” 

“He’s no good at poker anyway. Doesn’t have the face for it,” Ghost says. He doesn’t even consider asking about you, isn’t willing to compromise his own position by revealing any favoritism toward you. Moving inward, he comes to stand in the living room. It’s eerie being here, this strange reflection of his own apartment. There are differences: the kitchen and dining room are separate, only one bedroom here as opposed to the two at 5C. It is very clean, rather impersonal, without any pictures on the walls or framed photos on the end tables. 

There are hints of you: your shoes in the rack by the door, your name badge resting by your keys on the table in the foyer. But you are nowhere in sight. 

Two other men are already in the apartment, seated around a square dining room table, dividing out poker chips. Ghost runs an analytical eye over them even as he nods his head coolly in a greeting. They are relatively fit, though neither particularly tall. Likely low risk, though he would be a fool to underestimate them when they have the numbers in their favor. 

Before Ghost can even take a seat, there is another knock on the door and a third one enters. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Leah wanted my help putting the girls down for their naps.” 

“I hear a little whiskey goes a long way,” your boyfriend suggests, shutting the door behind the final straggler. Everyone laughs except for Ghost who merely raises his eyebrows in amusement. 

“You know Leah. She thinks there’s an essential oil for everything; alcohol ain’t it,” the man says. He points to Ghost. “Who’s this?” 

Your boyfriend comes to rest a hand on Ghost’s shoulder. Ghost takes notice of the height difference between them with distant, dim pleasure. “Fellas, this is Simon. He’s in the apartment next door. Let’s all pretend we’re gentlemen so as to not scare him off.” 

More laughs. Everyone takes a seat around the table. Beers are cracked open, and Simon feigns sipping at his as cards are dealt. He is pinned between your boyfriend and the straggler, but his back is to the wall which gives him a sense of security. His knife sits heavy where it is holstered against his lower back, keeping him from fully resting against the chair. 

He wishes that he’d brought a fucking gun. 

“So, Simon,” someone asks. “Are you married?” 

“No.” 

“Simon’s gay,” your boyfriend tells the room, though where he has gotten this idea from, Simon couldn’t say. Is that what you believed? Did you tell him as such?

The straggler beside him visibly shifts away after this news. One of the other ones pulls a face like he has sucked on a lemon. 

Simon has never put labels on himself—finds them constricting as opposed to comforting—but he’s been attracted to people of all genders at one point or another.  It’s good though, for him to be misunderstood. Let their misconceptions about gay men color their representation of him, let them think him weak or soft or whatever the fuck their homophobia believes. It rolls off of Simon like water off a duck.

“Problem with that?” Simon asks the straggler, picking up his cards. 

“No,” the man lies. Coward.

“Maybe your wife has an essential oil that will cure me,” Simon suggests. The table laughs at their friend’s expense, even the one who had pulled a face. 

A round passes; Simon lets himself lose. He listens to the conversations with one ear and to the rest of the apartment with another, straining for any sign of life from you. He hears nothing. 

Until: “So where’s the fiancé?”

When all eyes turn to your boyfriend, Simon realizes that you must be engaged. You don’t wear a ring, and you’ve only ever referred to him as your ‘boyfriend’. Maybe it is a new development—or a development that you don’t agree with. He feels a dim stirring of satisfaction at the thought, dampened beneath his persona. 

Your boyfriend gives a coy smile. “She’s around. You know how she gets around strangers. Shy.” 

“Does that mean no…?” They all share pointed glances. It’s clear that there is something they don’t wish to say around Simon. Ghost leans forward, elbows on the table, waiting for one of them to break and give him a hint. Beneath the table, someone kicks the shin of the one speaking. 

“Think I could use another beer,” one of them says, standing. The others agree hastily. “Simon? You good?” 

“I’m good.” 

The man disappears into the kitchen, but is only gone for a moment before returning. “There’s a goddamn lock on your refrigerator.” 

Your boyfriend laughs. He reaches into his pocket and works free a small silver key, handing it over. “Yeah—keeps the cows out of the pasture, if you know what I mean.” 

The table laughs—Ghost does not. 

“I don’t get it,” he says, sliding his cards toward himself across the oak table and examining them with mild interest. The others fall silent as Ghost makes this moment purposefully awkward. 

“Don’t worry about it,” your boyfriend says with a laugh in his voice. “Just a little inside joke we have around here.” 

Ghost hums. 

Another round passes. The guys share stories about their work, their wives or girlfriends. Some of them have children. Do they know what their friend does to you? Ghost wonders. Could they possibly not know? They occasionally make an effort to bring him into the conversation, but his answers are terse at best, and eventually they stop trying. 

More rounds, chips changing hands. The empty beer bottles begin to stand like silent sentinels around the tabletop. Ghost puts little effort into winning, preferring to perform average at best so as to not attract attention. He keeps a close eye on the clock, a fraction of his energy always thinking of Johnny at home. Johnny who is hopefully sleeping peacefully. 

The next hand has just started when the door to the bedroom bursts open so abruptly that the handle knocks against the outer wall. You stand in the doorway, your face twisted in some expression too complex for Ghost to begin to unravel. 

The table loses it. Shouts of your name, whistles, joyful perverse greetings—a half dozen hands reaching out toward you, like you are the final member of this party and they have only been waiting for you to arrive. Your shoulders are nearly by your ears, you're so tense, eyes flickering around the room from face to face, sticking on Ghost for a fraction longer than the others. 

One of the men manages to brush against your wrist with his fingers and you wrench your hand away as if burned. The knife at Simon’s back itches; he wants it in his hand.

Your boyfriend sighs, laying his cards down on the table. “What is it?” 

“I need to talk to you.” 

“It can wait.”

“It can’t.”

The two of you communicate silently for a moment: sheer stubbornness on your end with mounting frustration on his.  

At last, he stands with a roll of his eyes. “Excuse me guys. You all know how she gets.” 

The two of them disappear into the kitchen. Sensing his chance, Ghost pushes away from the table. “Think I need that beer after all.”

The others pay him no attention, ducking their heads together and talking under their breath to each other like a group of teenagers.  It lets him slip away from the table and linger outside the kitchen doorway, silent as his namesake. He holds his breath, listening, knowing that this is the moment he and Johnny have been waiting for: concrete proof that your boyfriend is mistreating you.

“—isn’t working. I didn’t cheek it, I swear. Give me another, please,” you’re saying quietly, voice thick with tears.

“Not gonna happen.” 

“Please! I don’t wanna—”

“Not gonna happen because there wasn’t anything in that soda, you stupid slut,” your boyfriend whispers softly. The words echo around in Ghost's brain, bouncing off the walls of his skull. Mission successful. “I just wanted to see if you’d drink it. Now go back to the bedroom and stay there until everyone has left. Understood?” 

There is no response. Footsteps are heard—

Ghost has enough time to duck into the bathroom and avoid him—but he doesn’t. He lets himself get caught by your boyfriend, both of them staring at each other, eyes hard and knowing. There’s no reason to keep up the charade anymore, not after what he just heard. 

“Need something, Simon?” 

“That’s no way to talk to a woman,” Ghost says, soft and dangerous. 

Your boyfriend rubs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “If I were you, I’d mind the business that pays me.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

“Are you—threatening me?” he asks, head tilting in a manner of mild surprise. There’s something in his eyes that Ghost can’t identify, something that looks a lot less like the fear he would hope to see and looks instead like delight. 

“I don’t like that word,” he says. “Leaves behind a certain degree of uncertainty. If I ever hear you say something like that to her again—”

His words are cut off as from the kitchen comes a scream, a wordless shriek of rage followed by the ear-splitting shatter of a ceramic plate. Even Ghost jerks, eyes flickering to the kitchen doorway, but there is no sight of you. A plate careens into his line of sight in the doorway, shattering to bits on the floor where you have thrown it. 

“What the fuck,” your boyfriend mutters. Another dish shatters. He raises his voice, calm but booming: “Alright: everyone out. Poker night’s over.”

-

Simon returns to his apartment with heavy steps, feet nearly leaden with dread at what he is going home to, at what he has done. He opens the door to quiet darkness, steps inside, and lingers there just inside the door, listening for Johnny’s quiet snores. 

He hears quiet sniffles instead. Stomach clenching painfully, he follows the sound to the bedroom and finds Soap on the floor. He has rolled himself off the bed, likely awoken out of sheer willpower and tried to follow after Simon. Johnny looks up at him, pupils blown wide, eyes red and swollen from crying. 

“I’m sorry,” Simon whispers fiercely, kneeling down beside him. “I’m so sorry Johnny. I had to do it. You know I did.” 

“I hate you,” Johnny whispers back, tongue thick. All of the sudden, his face pales and he leans forward, vomiting on the floor between them. 

It is the least that Simon deserves.

[konigsblog]

loser!rapist!konig who follows reader into the public bathroom then rapes her:(

the older man at the café you work at, obsessed with the college girl working there. how could he resist the opportunity of finally meeting you?

tw/cw; loser!rapist!könig x afab!reader, non-con/rape, intoxication, age difference/gap, college au, reader's age is unspecified, könig is aged mid-forties. dark fiction, dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+ ၄၃

credit; @glutt_r on x/twitter. 🐦

könig is in his forties already, single, and has only been in one short-term relationship that ended pretty quickly due to his toxicity. könig eyes up and preys on the college girl that works at his favourite coffee shop part-time for some extra cash.

he knows all about you from stalking your social media pages and jacking off to innocent pictures of you uploaded online. you're gorgeous, with perky tits and a gorgeous body he'd love to grope and fuck. he had heard about a college party through your social media accounts and decided he'd sneak his way inside, in the hopes he'd meet the girl of his dreams.

könig snuck past everybody, his head lowered, attempting to make himself as small as possible (which proved to be difficult considering his size...). he watched as you stumbled into the bathroom, drunk out of your mind. he couldn't resist the temptation, causing blood to rush to his hung cock, his hand cupping over your mouth, your eyes widening at his sudden presence.

it didn't matter how much you squirmed and cried, he simply turned the lock on the door and kept you still in his tight grasp. he began to pull at your dress, his dick straining in his jeans and his breathing heavy and fast. he'd never been this close to his little obsession before, your perfume causing him to roll his eyes back, along with the pulsing and clutching sensation of your smooth walls around his big dick.

fuck, each and every thrust was agony for you, splitting you open on his length. your body shook and trembled, your tight pussy becoming raw, the smell of alcohol strong against your skin noticeable. he pushed his calloused fingers down your throat, stifling your whines and piteous sobs, slamming into your hole brutally while pushing a thumb into your unused asshole.

it was your body's instinct to react to the pleasure between your thighs, despite the feeling of shame and disgust washing over you, leaving you with globs of his milky arousal pooling out of you, running down your thighs slowly.

surely you wouldn't have a choice but to leave school if you fell pregnant? you couldn't support two people, and könig always seems to be a lingering presence, smiling friendly as if he didn't violate you the other day.

[leighsartworks216]

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

Consolidating all of my Astarion fics here (and if I end up writing for anyone else it will also go here)

Main Masterlist

Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

BG3 Discord

Request Rules

Tag List Form

Astarion

I Come With Knives Masterlist - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: This fic deals with a lot of heavy themes. Read warnings on fic

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In The Moonlight - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: Cazador, mentions of past abuse, mentions of biting, vague implications of sex, like one swear

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My Sunshine - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: alcohol use, swearing, grief/mourning, blood, injury, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

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All The Gentle Things - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: referenced blood sucking, touch-starved Astarion

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For A Cuddle? - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: mentions of dried blood, referenced blood drinking and hunting

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My Moonlight (Part 2 to My Sunshine) - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: Blood, grief, anxiety, nausea, hurt/comfort. READ FULL CW LIST ON POST

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I’m All Yours - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: none

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To Touch You - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: touch-adverse descriptions of touch, hurt/comfort themes

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Designated Lockpicker - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: one swear word, reference to Astarion’s past abuse, mention of a terrible texture, innuendos

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Dear Pet (AO3 only) - Astarion x Tav/Reader

SMUT Warnings: slight overstimulation, choking, blood drinking

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You Hate Me - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of joint pain, insecurity, crying, possibly OOC, clown mention

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The Sound of Being Loved - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

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In Your Silence (I Hear You) - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: going through a busy crowd, brief mention of nails digging into skin, some sensory issues (touch, sound)

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I’ve Got You - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: fever, fever chills

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I Love You - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

SMUT Warnings: non-descriptive sex, dealing with trauma, swearing, love confessions

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You Have A Type, Don’t You? - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: innuendos, minor references to sex, the barest hints of jealousy

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Shut Up - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: swearing, anger

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Thank You - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: alcohol use

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A Cruel Trick - AO3 - Astarion & gn!Tav

Warnings: angst, blood, injury, references to past abuse, open-ended

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Aftercare - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: barest hint of possible angst if you squint, references to sex

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Get Up Goddamn You! - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: death, blood, heavy angst, swearing, bittersweet ending

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Naked But Safe - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: non-consensual undressing (by Raphael), slight arguing, swearing, trauma

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Every Time I Make Love In Your Shape, You Will Know - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: This fic has themes of rape and non-con. Read warnings on fic

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Fondness In Your Eyes - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: none

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To Ease Your Burden - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: chronic pain

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You Are Full Of Surprises, Aren’t You? - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: knife throwing, height difference

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What He Wants - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: sex mentions, references to past abuse/trauma, loss of sense of self

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Your Stupid Face - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, bickering

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Don’t You Dare (Make Me Fall In Love With You) - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: manipulation

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You Sweet Thing - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: swearing, scratching

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Kisses Like Prayers - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: none

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You Can Take It - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

SMUT Warnings: overstimulation, swearing, crying

Fem and Masc versions on AO3

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May I Kiss You? - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: none

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You Deserve It - AO3 - Astarion x male!Tav/Reader

SMUT Warnings: swearing, references to sexual trauma

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I Want Nothing More - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: making out, grinding, swearing, references to voyeurism

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It's A Gift - AO3 - Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader

Warnings: vague references to trauma, self-doubt, swearing

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Rises The Moon - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: panic attack, ugly crying, protective Astarion

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Are You Sure You Want This? - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: nervousness

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Small Hands - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: references to violence, swearing, hurt/comfort

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I Will Always Choose You - AO3 - Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader (can be read as gn)

Warnings: fear of abandonment, alcohol/drinking, swearing

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Acid - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: descriptions of chemical/acid burns, descriptions of acid burning flesh, swearing, panicking, pain, blindness

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The Rescue of Magistrate Ancunin - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Warnings: blood, injury, fear of death, descriptions of dying, swearing, descriptions of pain, angst

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Song Bird - AO3 - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: references to sex, anxiety

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[obsessivevoidkitten]

To Reject a Vampire

Male Vampire Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Non-con, vampire, biting, blood drinking, depressed reader, mind control, smut, blowjob, forced imprisonment, dead dove: do not eat, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 3.4k  (Vampire comm that took me way too long.) 

You were walking back home late one night with your friend, Jaime. You had known each other since childhood and remained inseparable. In fact, the two of you even lived right next door to one another. He had left for college for some years, but had returned as soon as he had become a registered nurse. The two of you often hung out when you were both off work and that sometimes led to walking to the gas station a couple blocks down the road to grab some snacks. You were both laughing from recounting a particularly funny memory you both shared when the sounds of laughter and chatter between the two of you suddenly died down into silence before he spoke. "Hey… there's something I wanted to ask you…" Oh no. Not again… "Have you maybe reconsidered us dating? I know you said no before but-" This was an ongoing problem with Jaime, the only thing really marring an otherwise near perfect friendship. He kept persistently asking you out. This had been going on for years now and your frustration finally got the better of you, making you snap. "NO!" You yelled interrupting him, "NO! NO! NO! NO! NOOOOO!!! It isn't happening! I am totally and completely uninterested in having any type of non-platonic relationship with ANYONE! Stop. Asking. It is NEVER going to happen. Not in this world or the next. Not in any way, shape, form, nor fashion! Get. It. Through. Your. Thick. Skull." You were panting after your outburst. A few seconds passed and you realized how harsh you had been as his face went from stunned silence to utter broken despair. You could practically hear his heart shatter. He often got a bit dejected when you had rejected him in the past, but this time you were much more harsh. With a sniff he started sobbing and running off towards home, leaving you to walk home alone in the quiet night. Sighing you slowly trudged home, sure that Jaime just needed to sulk for a few days before your friendship resumed with the both of you pretending like this awkward episode never happened. And, more than likely, that is just exactly what would have happened. Had a chance encounter on his way home not irreversibly changed Jaime forever. And not for the better. As Jaime was running home his tear filled eyes blinded him to the danger that was stalking him from the shadows. A sneaky predator who loved the taste tormenting his prey imparted, and how much sweeter when his meal was already flavored with the sweet marinade of sorrow and heartbreak? Suddenly Jaime was tackled into a dark alley that he was passing, the vampire easily dragging him back into the void where no eyes could pierce, firmly clasping his hand over Jaime's mouth to keep him quiet. The unknown assailant put his nose into the crook of Jaime's neck and inhaled deeply, savoring the mouthwatering scents of all the negative emotions Jaime had been experiencing that night. The current one being abject terror as the figure behind him didn't even acknowledge his vain attempts at struggling. "I'd tell you not to struggle, but it is really much more fun when you do," mused a deep man's voice. Jaime, whose first thought was that he was getting mugged, now thought that he was going to be raped as his attacker licked and kissed his neck in the same manner one's lover would. And he flailed all the more vigorously. Unperturbed, the man now violated Jaime in an altogether different and unexpected manner. Sinking long fangs easily into the soft flesh of his neck before sucking him nearly dry. It was amazing how thoroughly a vampire could drain a victim. Jaime died, but his murderer was not quite done with him. He loved sowing discord and chaos in any way that he could manage it, and having seen the spectacle early of you rejecting his victim he knew there was ruination and mayhem to be had by creating a fresh, unguided, love-sick vampire. So he bit open his wrist a bit and let the blood flow into the parted lips of our dear departed Jaime. Within an hour he would no longer be so dear nor so departed. And the unknown vampire stepped into the shadows and was never seen there again, happy with his meal and the knowledge that he had certainly derailed more than one life that night. When Jaime woke up hours later, just as the sun was rising, he had a major migraine, a sharp pain in his neck, was chilled to the bone, and felt like he was starving. His memory was spotty, he thought maybe he had been mugged, but he still had his phone and wallet on him. Maybe just assaulted by some crazy person. Whatever had happened he was alive and okay, so he shakily got to his feet, dusted himself off, and made his way home. By the time he had reanimated you had been in bed for hours. Though you hadn't really slept well. You felt so guilty for exploding on him like that. Sure, he kept asking you out, but it wasn't too often and you could have gone about rejecting him just a bit more gently. He had been really hurt, what if he didn't blow it off and resume your friendship like he usually did? After a few days had passed with no contact from him you began to get a bit more anxious, though it was still technically within the normal timeframe of when he usually started talking to you again after you turned down his advances. Still, given the way you had lashed out at him you figured that you should maybe be the one to check up on him instead. Jaime had a reason for not talking to you, what with his transition into a blood feeding immortal taking up most of his time. At first he had no idea at all what was happening to him. He felt cold and feverish and was beyond fatigued. He called off work from the first day, thinking he had a minor flu of some sort. All his senses were disorienting him. His body was adjusting to more sensitive vision, sense of smell, and even touch. The second day he felt better, but had an insatiable hunger, no matter what he ate nothing seemed to satisfy him. He ate a huge breakfast before work and at lunch he ate a lot as well. Some of his coworkers at the hospital even joked about how he was inhaling food that day. Jaime had no clue why he felt like he was starving no matter how much he ate. As someone in the medical field any number of possible causes went through his mind. Nothing really fit. A more concerning symptom was that whenever he was around a wounded patient, whenever he had to do a blood transfusion, or even just whenever he got the faintest whiff of blood his hunger flared up. His senses flared in sensitivity. He could almost have sworn he could hear the heartbeats of those near him. He realized he was craving the blood. It scared him, the thought made him nauseous. Admirably he managed to push away his quite literal blood lust for a couple days, but eventually he could fight his need for blood no longer. It was late at night at the end of his shift and he was beyond certain the coast was clear so he snuck into the storage room where the blood packs are kept and sunk his teeth into one, unknowingly growing fangs as he pierced it and sucked it dry. If the obvious signs hadn't been enough to clue him in on what he now was then innate instinctual knowledge that filled him with his first ingestion of vital human essence did. He was a vampire. A million thoughts raced through his mind, but his first priority was sating his hunger. He quickly grabbed some bags of blood and stuffed them into his coat for later before leaving for home. He was oddly excited, eager to test out what new abilities he had. A day later, when both of you were off work, you finally got a text from him asking to hang out with no mention of what had occurred between the two of you the other night. You breathed a sigh of relief, now things could go back to normal. The two of you had arranged for you to come by his house in a couple hours so the two of you could hang out, order pizza, and play video games. Just like the good old days. Things went entirely normal with no odd deviation or indication that Jaime was now a creature of the night. And it set the pace for your friendship to resume as if nothing had ever happened. Or so you thought, in the weeks since the two of you first started hanging out again Jaime had steadily been experimenting and training with his new found abilities. He had learned that he had an absurd tolerance to pain, extremely quick reflexes, and unholy strength. But, most importantly, he learned that he could compel anyone to do his bidding. He had plans to use this technique on you, but it wasn't quite perfected yet. Though every time he used it he got more and more effective. All he needed was practice and time. So while you went about life and continued your longest running friendship in blissful ignorance of what was to come he was readying himself for the day he could make you love him. When that day arrived it started like any other, you two hanging out at his place on a day when you were both off. But it definitely didn't stay that way. Jaime was at the point with his skill where he no longer even needed to issue commands verbally, he just needed good eye contact to assert his will over another being. "Hey is something wrong? Why are you staring at me so intensel-" You instantly went still and quiet. It was like you were trapped in your own body unable to do anything. When Jaime asked you if you would go out with him you wanted to say no but your lips were not your own and you said yes in a monotone voice. Jaime wore a shit-eating grin as he scooted closer to you and kissed you deeply. You were repulsed and afraid, why weren't you pushing him away, why weren't you slapping him, why were you returning the kiss? You wanted to scream and run away but you could do nothing to control your own body. Instead you wrapped your arms around him and made out with him. Jaime was thrilled, he bit your neck carefully and fed from you as you clung to him. You felt a sharp pain in your neck but could do nothing against it as he tasted your blood. For you it was hell, like a much worse and very real version of sleep paralysis. For Jaime it was heaven, he had never felt closer to you than in that moment. His beloved was finally in his arms and could do nothing to leave them. But he most certainly was not satisfied with that alone for long. Jaime carried you bridal style up to his bed. He very carefully undressed you, as if you were the most delicate doll to ever exist, and stood for a moment admiring every inch of your exposed body. You wanted to shout for help. To cover up. To run. To fight. ANYTHING but lay there under his unwavering gaze. But no matter how hard you tried to fight it you simply couldn't, you were a hostage in your mind, able to see and feel everything but do nothing. The first thing he did, after disrobing, was to attend to your sex. He touched your crouch carefully, as if afraid to hurt you. Like you might shatter at the slightest rough touch. He ran his eager hands, shaking with excitement, over every inch of you. He stroked your cheek tenderly and played with your hair, felt over your chest and thighs and hips. When he had thoroughly explored you and there were no more areas for his hands to discover he decided he needed to go deeper. The vampire took two lubed fingers and slowly worked them into you, gently prying your entrance open and stretching you to be ready for him. He savored every sensation and fold inside you, hard as a rock as he imagined his cock where his fingers were. You couldn't even cry as he violated you, you were denied even that emotional release. And this remained the case even as he slathered his cock with lube and aligned it with your entrance and made his way inside you with his slightly above average dick. Jaime was torturously slow as he "made love" with his dear partner. You just wanted this nightmare to be over, you wanted to believe that at any moment you would wake up sweating in bed like you would from any bad dream. You had to stare wide-eyed, made to take it all in, as he looked at you lovingly. He kissed you deeply, and once more you were made to comply, parting your lips so that he could move his tongue inside. Jaime happily rubbed his tongue against yours as he worked towards filling you with his hot seed. As he approached his climax he gripped your hip painfully and picked up the pace, really drilling you as deeply and as forcefully as he could, his balls slapping into you with each painful thrust. Right before he came he slowed down as much as possibly, wanting to draw out the sensation for as long as he could. Slowwwwwwly pulling out before sliding just as slowly back in, repeating this a few times before thrusting forward and emptying his balls into you as he bit the side of your neck that he left untouched earlier. You came too just as he did, your body now betraying you even further than it had already and in the most humiliating way. He drank a bit before sliding his dick out of you and kissing your cheek. "That was amazing babe! I love you so much!" And as a puppet pulled by its strings you replied, once more in monotone, "I love you too." And the illusion was shattered. It wasn't real. He may have had you, he may have even had your vocal chords, but he didn't have your emotions. And he soon learned that no matter what he tried, even though he could get you to do almost any action, he couldn't force you to love him. Jaime tried for weeks to force love for him into you, keeping you locked away in his house whenever he left for work. You tried to leave, of course, but simple orders lingered in you even when he was no longer present. You couldn't leave or get help in any way. All of your existence now amounted to was enduring his increasing frustration with being unable to make you love him interspersed with periods of anxiety while waiting for him to get home from work and torture you all over again. You were no longer aware of exactly how long you had been trapped, the days all kind of blended together. Most days he had work at the hospital and those days were all largely the same with little to no variation. Jaime would get up and make you breakfast in bed, insisting that he was trying to spoil you. You, in a mix of depression and defiance would not take a single bite and just stare at the plate that he brought to you on a tray with your favorite morning drink. Inevitably he would get frustrated, snap at you, force you to eat against your will, and slam the door as he went off to work. Then you were left alone, it was probably the only almost decent part of your day, but everything just seemed so hopeless. Inevitably the blood sucking parasite would be back and you couldn’t leave no matter how hard you tried to. At each attempt it was like someone seized your body and squeezed you into immobility until you submitted. When your “lover” got home he would fawn over you, often giving you a little gift. A small gesture you supposed was meant to somehow make you forget everything and fall helplessly in love with him. A small sweet treat, a flower, a tiny teddy bear. Anytime he tried this tactic you always ignored it or threw it across the room. Either way the result was the same. Jaime would snap, he would not even bother forcing you mentally as he grabbed your weak arms and bit painfully into your neck. “No please! I’m s-sorry!” You would cry, always regretting your action but never being able to stop yourself from denying his gifts when he offered them. And for the next part he would use his ability of compulsion to make you stop fighting. In his fury he wanted to hurt you a bit, but not TOO badly, and he enjoyed, for a moment, the fantasy that you were a willing participant. Most of the time he would then have you remove your clothing before sliding himself inside you, biting and kissing and sucking your neck as he did so, whispering how you were all his and about how much he loved you softly into your ear. Sometimes he would instead utilize your soft lips, jamming his hard cock down your throat, making you service him. The heat of your wet mouth combined with the sight of you looking up at him with his cock in your mouth was almost enough to make him blow his load immediately. You were just so beautiful. No matter the method that he chose it always ended the same. After his finished unloading into you his mind would clear and then be filled with rage as you were unable to reciprocate his love and enjoyment of the forced intimacy between the two of you. Jaime would angrily shove you aside, leaving you to clean yourself up, while he slammed the door to the bedroom and went to go make dinner. When it was ready of course he always found you laying where he left you, sobbing. Then he would, roughly, force you to your feet and drag you into the bathroom where he would run you a bath. This is where he would feel really guilty and suddenly turn soft. Every time. Gently shampooing your hair and cleaning your body, tenderly attending to the bites on your neck, happily babbling about how much he loves you and he knows you’ll love him eventually, you just need more time to adjust was all. Jaime would then clothe you himself and carry you down to dinner. You wouldn’t eat willingly, too catatonic by this point in the evening to do much of anything, but that was okay. Jaime was still in his sweet phase, all the anger having left earlier. He would feed you himself but compel you to swallow with his vampiric power, he always made your favorites. He had diligently learned to cook them perfectly for you over the years even though he otherwise did not enjoy cooking. After dinner he would always make an effort to spend some time with you, not getting angry when you were still, and when it was time for bed he would carry you up in his strong arms and lay you down as if you were made of the thinnest glass, a complete 180 to how he treated you when he first got off work. He would snuggle up to you from behind and hold you close, ending each night by telling you how much he loved you and saying he knew deep down you loved him back and one day you would be so happy with him. You hoped he was right, you hoped you could just be happy waking up in his arms, because if not this cycle of abuse juxtaposed to tenderness would never end.

[ackerifle]

Hello! Can you please do a scenario where reader comes to help Levi do paperwork in his office and he offers her some tea. She doesn't think much of it and drinks the tea, but soon starts to feel dizzy before going unconscious. The next day, she wakes up in his bed, naked, and wrapped in his arms.

paperwork date!

yan. captain levi ackerman x fem vice captain. reader

+ CW. — abuse of power & authority, drugging, slight gaslighting, implied: rape/non-con & somnophilia.

you are starting to believe that captain levi’s office is becoming yours with how often you spend your time there. even your fellow special operations squadmates tease you for your absence now that you’ve taken on the new — and quite precarious — position as vice captain. although you have yet to find a plausible reason as to why the captain promoted you in the first place, let alone allowed your entry into his meticulously handpicked squad. and coincidentally, you simply cannot recall the last time you had a break from captain levi’s overbearing presence, and his room, since becoming his vice captain.

oftentimes, at this late hour in the evening, it is you who brews and brings tea for captain levi— per his request, that is, and for whatever godforsaken reason that he has yet to divulge, but who are you to defy orders? the first day you had been requested to his office to assist with the arduous hours of labor that was completing paperwork, you had thought to prepare some tea. it was meant to be a kind, one-time, gesture of reassurance and camaraderie from your end. but now you fear that your captain’s become rather spoiled, as the second time around when you had showed up empty handed, he looked far from pleased.

so alas, you come to a standstill in front of his office’s door. pitch perfect posture, not a thread misplaced on your uniform, and hands settled onto the handles of a small silver platter tray. your eyes absentmindedly drift to the contents atop the salver: a ceramic teapot that is far too nice to have been found in the survey corps, two matching cups and saucers of the same lavish set, a dainty teaspoon, a creamer, and a bowl for sugar cubes accompanied by sugar tongs; and even though you know quite well that he doesn’t utilize the latter two dishware, you are adamant about keeping them for formality's sake. but you can’t help but feel that you’ve neglected to include something in the assortment.

due to your hands being held hostage by the tea that captain levi was so persistent on you delivering, you clear your throat to announce your arrival, “sir, it’s vice captain name.” he doesn’t entertain your salutation with a response of his own, but rather, gauchely slams open the door with concerning haste. you dwell on the fact that it was just too fast, even for someone of his caliber, almost inhumanely so, and it makes you speculate if levi was stationed right at the entrance, waiting for you.

levi’s expression is unreadable, but his frown is apparent as ever. he’s blocking the doorway with his body, one hand holding the door at arms length, and the other pointing inside the room towards the desk at the center of his office, “you, inside. now.” his voice is stern, addressing you as if he were reprimanding you for insubordination. it causes you to grimace, but you know better than to test levi’s last nerve.

you step inside, cautious as to not tip over any of the cups, or cause the tea you had spent such a fastidious amount of time brewing to overflow out past the flange of the teapot. hurriedly and heedfully all in the same, you navigate your way to the guest-side front of levi’s desk, avoiding the chair and stacks of paperwork in your way; and you are beyond attentive whilst lowering the silver plate down until it is completely flat on the table. you don’t release your white knuckled grip on the handles until you see the contents on the platter tray have stopped trembling. had you not been so immersed in your soundless struggle to appease levi’s strict cleanliness standards, you would have picked up on the sound of the door being locked.

sighing softly, relieved, you slump your shoulders and pull the chair beside you by its crest rail, wincing when it scrapes against the floor and creating an obnoxious screech in retaliation, before taking a seat. levi enters your line of vision from the left, and you flinch when he cuts unnecessarily close to you, enough for you to feel his uniform’s coat brush past yours, but not enough to feel his body beneath it. a scowl instinctively makes its way on your face, one that you cannot hide, and you’re thankful he didn’t catch it, faced away from you entirely. levi swivels his heel with sharp precision once he’s stood on his side of the desk, standing in front of his chair, but he doesn’t sit.

there is a pair of inkwells on the desk, wedged between the piles of untouched documents, and you take hold of the one that still has its lid sealed on. near to the opened inkwell are a couple of feather pens, one is in rough condition, and two seem untainted by the ink and whatever iron grip they were unfortunately subjected to for the past few hours. you retrieve the one furthest from the middle of the table, and when it finally dawns on you that levi has still yet to make a move to sit down after a lengthy silence, you hesitantly tilt your head to take a glance in his direction.

he appears in deep thought, concentrated on something beyond your immediate comprehension, until you follow his gaze down to the silver tray. and now that you bring your attention to it, the tea has a delightful aroma to it, and smells as though it’s finally been steeped long enough— “you forgot the strainer.” levi isn’t pointing it out, he’s chastising you.

pesky tea leaves, curse you. perhaps an oversight on your part, the one that you had intuitively sensed earlier but could not place a finger to, but minuscule as a stand-alone mishap. how mean of him, really, it was as if levi was trying to find something he could fault you in. and considering the scrupulous amount of time he took to detect such a minor mistake, he would not be satisfied until he did. you can’t ascertain whether it’s because levi loathes the thought of you doing anything right without his personal interference, or he simply gets a power trip by nitpicking at you. you’re starting to believe it’s both.

“i’m sorry, i can go get one right now—” levi interrupts you, or more fittingly, silences you, without even so much as uttering a word. he takes the handle of the teapot with the two fingers of his right hand, mindful of its fragility, and gathering the teacups together in his left hand. “nonsense, i already have one.”

levi turns his back to you, setting the ceramics atop the dressers lined up on the wall behind his desk. without missing a beat, he locates the drawer containing this supposed strainer with ease, and sure enough, a tiny mesh tea strainer can be seen pinched between his pointer finger and thumb. of course captain levi has this in his office, he may as well have the whole tea set hidden in that drawer, and of course, captain levi can compensate for every single flaw and shortcoming his vice captain has.

his fondness for the craft is evident as he takes it into his own hands to strain the tea for both cups, “sir, i could have done that.” forcing yourself to avert your eyes, as if dismissing the whole (ridiculous) ordeal altogether, aggravatedly setting the closest report down in front of you and skimming the words, “i know.”

levi returns to his seat, this time, he does sit, but not after returning the teapot and teacups to their rightful places on the expertly organized platter, “here.” he lifts one of the cups in that peculiar way that he always does, by the edge of its rim, and extends a hand towards you, “you brewed it, it’d be a shame for me to enjoy all this good quality tea alone.”

reluctantly, you entangle your hands around the handle, impatiently pulling it from his grasp before he can properly let go, and you drink until the teacup is half empty. sparing a passing glance at levi as you carefully set the cup back on its respective saucer, he seems satiated.

falling into routine, the rest of your exchange is done quietly. only the sound of feather pens making detailed incisions on the papers ricocheted throughout the idle office. and perhaps it’s the finely written cursive on the papers, or that it is well past curfew, but your eyelids feel unbearably heavy. it had become increasingly difficult for you to remain upright, slightly swaying in your seat, desperately attempting to regain your composure every time you nearly fall out of your chair. one particularly long blink has you absolutely reeling once you open your eyes, but the feeling of something brushing against your knee has you retaining consciousness instantaneously.

parting your lips with a surprised exhale, your eyes peer down to your legs, but there is nothing out of the ordinary. it must have been the inner side of the desk, the opening that created leg room so two people could sit comfortably across from one another. that sounded far better than accusing your captain of purposefully invading your personal space— seeing as such a thing has never happened before, him intentionally rubbing against your knee with his own, that is. you dismiss the notion altogether, but then it happens again, and this time, it feels like a hand.

“did… did you just touch me?” levi calmly takes his focus off his paperwork, momentarily stilling the movement of his feather pen, “no.” but for some reason, you still doubt him. and levi surmises as much as his eyes narrow, though not with suspicion, but something else that you can’t quite figure out in your delirious state, “are you sure?”

“do you want me to touch you?” he inquires with such sudden seriousness, it catches you off guard. your reaction time has been awful, but you almost immediately blurt out a; “no.” and your response is a little too quick for his liking.

“no?” levi echoes coldly.

no, that is what you recall from your last moments of blurred consciousness, but you can’t remember if you had said it, or levi had. quite honestly, that had become the least of your concerns as soon as you opened your eyes. met with the unforgiving glare of the sun shining through a suspiciously large window that most certainly didn’t belong to your room, you break into a sweat when you inhale the familiar scent of someone else, and you’ve become increasingly aware of how unbearably warm you are. you’ve been stripped bare, and despite being engulfed in a tangle of blankets and sheets, you feel disturbingly exposed. and you know this feeling, one of another naked body pressed against your backside and a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. any move you had initially tried to make was futile, thrashing about to free your own arms from the lock of the other pair, tugging at his wrists and pushing them down with all your might.

it’s startling when the hold around your waist suddenly tightens, as if constricting you out of breath, “you can deny it all you want, but your body loves it when i touch you.” you don’t need to turn and face the man keeping you hostage in his arms because levi’s voice is unmistakable, “it’s about time that i fuck you while you’re conscious anyway.”

[crystalflygeo]

The dragon and the sacrificial lamb ft. eroded!Zhongli + gn!reader

cw/tags: rape/non-con, angst, bad ending, yandere-ish zhongli? feral/eroded zhongli, biting, crying, restraints (courtesy of improper use of geo as usual ehe)

notes: Alright this is a special one get ready. There's two "version" of this story bc I couldn't decide which path I liked more. This one is the dark/bad ending. Both stories are exactly the same at the start, changing a few word here and there but then reach a point where they divert completely in reactions/emotions and the underlying feeling of the stories are very different. They can be read independently ofc so by all means feel free to choose which tags you vibe with more or enjoy picking up the differences between both!

Bittersweet ending version here!!

Once upon a time…

A long, long time ago…

The people of Liyue revered their beloved Archon Rex Lapis. Just and kind, he led his nation for millennia, upholding order and contracts, defeating countless enemies, and defending their safe Harbor.

It is said the Lord of Geo took a human as partner, and fell in love deep and pure.

And his partner loved him just as much.

A love that would tragically become a twisted obsession.

It is said the God understood that even he himself was not immune to erosion, and it would one day be his downfall. So, he made sure his people were ready to live on without him. That his adepti were strong enough to subdue him if the day ever came.

As for his lover… well…

-----

Your bare feet crunch along the soft grass as you run and run, panting, gasping for air, almost tripping and letting out a yelp but quickly regaining balance and scurrying faster, past the falling golden ginkgo leaves, past the soft sound of rushing waters.

The golden sunset is gorgeous, dying the sky pink and orange with pastel hues but you simply ignore it, having grown tired of it, sick even. It is fake, an illusion. Just as everything else in this adeptal abode.

Everything except, of course, you and the beast you are currently fleeing from.

It is useless to try to escape, this you know, and your heart clenches painfully as tears prickle at your eyes. You’ve done this before, played this game many many times. But at least for one moment… just one moment…

A roar turns your blood to ice and against all common sense you look over your shoulder to see a massive long dragon twisting in the air and diving straight towards you.

Your legs tremble and fail you as you fall down, the grass is soft but your body aches, tired, burning. You scramble around frantically to stare at the beast again and your eyes widen in panic as it lands right on top of you, majestic and terrifying, caging you with its serpentine body. The golden claws alone are as long as your forearms, digging on the ground at either side of you.

You whimper.

The dragon lowers his head, growling at you, fangs mere inches apart and you squeeze your eyes shut, tears running down your face.

“Why do you run away from me?”

“Leave me alone!” You scream.

“Are you not happy with me? My mate?”

At the words you only sob harder.

Mate.

Oh, how much joy did that word bring you once. And now you can only feel your heart shatter.

You feel a shift in the wind, in the energy, in the light around you, and when you open your eyes, the massive dragon has faded to a more human appearance. He changes back to the form you’re most used to.

Long strands of dark hair tipped amber, striking golden eyes with stunning red lines that highlight their sharpness, a handsome face and a muscular body with arms died black, and lines of gold… lines that run along his cheek and down his neck. Cracks, like a broken glass, like scars, under his eyes and around his chest, ruining the pristine skin and unable to disappear despite his ability to change forms.

The undeniable marks of erosion.

You snap back to attention when he dips down and starts nosing at your neck, his hands pulling at the robe you’re wearing, the only article of clothing you picked up before scurrying away from the mansion. It parts open easily, revealing your naked body to his eyes, littered in past bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Claims from the dragon.

“W-wait. Stop-!” You try to push him back, panicked, desperately pressing your palms against his broad shoulders, but of course he’s immovable as stone.

You kick and trash until he gets irritated and suddenly your arms are immobilized, held above your head and pressed onto the ground by heavy geo cuffs.

“Submit.” He growls.

You squirm a little more until your body sags into the ground, exhausted, panting. There is no use. Instead, you shudder as his hands grope and rub all over your body, rough and callous.

He spreads your legs and slots between them as your breath catches. His palm presses at a spot on your navel possessively, a glittering geo symbol engraved on your skin there, glowing subtly like his horns. You whine.

Then his touch goes lower and teases at your entrance, circling the hole and dipping in just barely.

“Z-Zhongli-!”

Another growl comes out of his throat, deep and guttural. “You dare speak another man’s name in my presence? In my realm? When you belong to me?!”

Your whole body shakes, with rage, with fear. Your heart about to burst. You grit your teeth and glare at the dragon god with as much venom as you can.

“I don’t belong to you!”

He snarls, eyes widening to serpentine slits.

“Insolent. No matter, I’ll fill you up again and show you.”

The eroded God leans down to bite at your neck and you yelp, sharp fangs break your skin and you cry as you feel the warm blood spill. His claws prick at your thighs as he starts unceremoniously humping against you. The ridges on his draconic cock making your hole twitch and you gasp as he presses in, dipping slightly inside your thigh warmth. No need to prepare your body after so many years of coupling. Your hole already soft and molded to him like a worn-out toy.

“No, please… n-no.” Your voice breaks, tears running down your face.

Everything turns blurry, fuzzy, and your head spins.

How had things ended up like this?

You see no love in his eyes, no recognition. And you don’t recognize him either anymore. This creature, this beast… he is not your lover. He is not Zhongli…

And hasn’t been for who knows how long…

Zhongli raises one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder while straddling the other and pushes further in the slick warmth, ignoring the sounds you make. “Too big! I can’t-!” You scream and it just urges him to slam it in. “No- Ahh!” Sheathed all the way to the hilt, Zhongli groans as you clench around him.

He immediately starts thrusting and you feel the world tilt. It’s all too much, the sound of skin slapping against skin, your walls getting battered by his thick member, his animalistic grunts and groans, and the way your body betrays you… a speck of pleasure mixed in with the pain.

It's so cruel.

“Sto- gh! Stop it! Zhongli, please…!” You sob.

Zhongli hisses, muscles taut and flexing as his hips buck into yours, finally finding that spot that has you choking out a moan, your body shivers, forced to surrender and feel everything, a hot coil building on your lower stomach where the mark of geo glows as he continues to take what he wants from your struggling form. He laps at your skin and nuzzles there, almost lovingly. “Mine.”

Your moans start turning sweeter, previously pained sounds turning to vocalizations of carnal lust, your eyes glassy. You try to fight it, conflicted, but the stimulation is too much.

You come with a raw cry through gritted teeth, tears flowing down your cheeks and your own juices coating your skin causing you to feel dirty in more ways than one. Zhongli continues through your overstimulated state, chasing his own pleasure as his thrust become erratic until finally, he stills deep inside and moans long and low, painting your insides white.

You feel him twitch inside you and groan, absolutely exhausted, overwhelmed with emotions, feeling sick, used and abused. He lowers your leg but doesn’t bother pulling out, keeping you there as he nips at your skin, murmuring soft words. “My mate. All pretty and filled up. All mine. Love you.”

You can’t bear to hear those words, spoken in the voice you continue to love after all this time. It shatters your soul, breaking it to pieces like the corroded dragon’s destroyed mind.

Feeling about to pass out, you close your eyes and your head lolls to the side, sniffling against your own forearm as tears continue to fall. “I love… Zhongli. Miss him. I hate you…”

He dissolves the geo shackles into specks of gold and holds your unconscious body in his arms, satisfied with the claims and scent he’s left on you. His tail swishes slowly, pleased with himself as he carries you back to the abode’s mansion.

Home.

Were he’ll keep you safe, bound to him.

Forever and always.

-----

…It is said that his lover is the key to keep the eroded God confined.

Trapped by the possessive dragon in a sealed realm, to keep him ensnared, enchanted and bound to them.

Until they both turn to dust.

[kokoch4n3l]

DEAD GIRL'S BEACH࿐ྂ "just givin' the same care you gave me, bunny. so whatcha' crying 'bout?"

(KUROKAWA IZANA x f!oc x SANO MANJIRO)

summary: she is a newly graduated psychiatrist and unfortunately, very broke. she gets a job at Sunshine Grove Psychiatric Hospital and catches the attention of a very dangerous patient who likes to hold grudges, even against those who are oblivious of their actions...

pairings: izana x f!oc, chifuyu x f!oc(one-sided), mikey x f!oc

warnings: DARK CONTENT, violence, toxic behaviour, possessiveness, gang violence, criminal activities, drug and alcohol use, mentions of prostitution, non-con elements, non-con drugging, drugged sex, drug addiction, overdose, drug withdrawals, withdrawal symptoms, near-death experiences, extreme violence, past child neglect/abuse, betrayal, misogyny, murder, strangulation, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals and medical treatment/conditions, stockholm syndrome, emotional incest, polyamory, torture, age gap(9, 6, 5 years), masochism, sadism, voyeurism, hard kinks, piv, smut, psychological horror, power imbalance, torture, waterboarding, fear play, major and minor character deaths, UNHAPPY ENDING,(MORE TO BE ADDED)

total series word count:

moodboard | headcanons & character info

ONE — mr kurokawa

chapter summary: enter Kaneko Maya, a newly graduated psychiatrist with a shit load of student debt racked up and her scary but hot patient from 4th floor, Kurokawa Izana.

cw: unrequited love, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, usage of drugs, mentions of gang violence, mentions of pedophiles, mentions of suicide, mentions of addiction, mentions of alcohol, f!oc with absolutely zero self-preservation skill

—

TWO — beachy dreams

chapter summary: Maya finds herself at Chifuyu's place with his rowdy friends before hitting the club and she's drawn into flirtatious exchanges with a mysterious club owner. Tensions arise when a revelation links Maya's work to her social circle. Izana gives her an intriguing invitation.

cw: mentions of body image, clubbing, alcohol use, intoxication, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, mentions of gang violence, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self-preservation skills

—

THREE — iv bags and daffodils

chapter summary: Maya faces a moral dilemma, trying to pick between her livelihood and ethics all while under the watchful eye of the hospital director and her patient, Kurokawa Izana.

cw: inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, mentions of alcohol, mentions of depression, drug use, allusions to sex, abuse of authority, power imbalance, unethical use of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of rape, mentions of murder

—

FOUR — drunk walk home

chapter summary: Amidst the emotional turmoil of guilt due to her job and Izana's treatment, Maya is left to grapple with the harsh reality of unreciprocated love after spending the night at Kazutora and Chifuyu's place.

cw: alcohol use, intoxication, insensitive comments, (badly written)sexual content, (kinda consensual)drunk sex, penis-in-vagina sex, implied multiple rounds, loss of virginity

—

FIVE — little bunny

chapter summary: with the apparent lack of staff at the hospital, Maya has no choice but to clock in despite her begging for a day off and goes through an unforgettable night. good thing she's wearing running shoes.

cw: minor character death, suicide ideation, self-loathing, mentions of vomiting, corruption, exploitation, death threats, murder, torture, blood, gore, non-con drugging, unethical use of drugs, use of weapons, noncon/rape(not mc), noncon touching, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self preservation skills

—

SIX — the beach house

chapter summary: willing or unwillingly, Maya takes up Izana's invitation and he shows her just what he was feeling the past two months he was admitted into sunshine grove.

cw: DARK CONTENT 18+, abduction, murder, chase scene, noncon drugging, blood and gore, vomiting, physical abuse, slapping, death threats, waterboarding, torture, drowning, near-death experience, dehumanization, objectification, noncon touching, enabler!shion, psycho!izana, PTSD(post traumatic stress disorder), panic attacks, making out

—

SEVEN — the sano family

chapter summary: Maya learns the shocking truth and the tragic life of the Sano Family, all while Chifuyu and Naoto search for answers.

cw: MANGA/ANIME SPOILERS, bribery, noncon drugging, mentions of different torture methods, past waterboarding, vomiting, murder, mommy issues, implied child abuse/neglect, cheating, dehumanization, dubcon, noncon, coercion, choking, thigh riding, humiliation, making out

—

EIGHT — open water

chapter summary: After a phone call with Chifuyu, Mikey and Maya begin to drift closer like two boats caught in a storm and Izana watches with great interest, getting ready to crash down on both of them when the time is right.

cw: dark content 18+, corruption, bribery, implied/referenced prostitution, wet dreams, masturbation(m), jerking off, narcissist!manjiro, mention of past waterboarding, torture, noncon drugging, dehumanization, (slight)humiliation, hand kink, finger sucking, murder, dom/sub undertones, making out, soft dom!manjiro, praise kink, fingering(f receiving), overstimulation, biting, hickeys, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, slightly unrealistic sex, smut, p in v sex, vaginal penetration, dacryphilia, creampie, unprotected sex, aftercare, brief mention of Korean + Japanese history, gang activity, mention of suicide

—

NINE — spider

chapter summary: with a drug deal gone awry, and multiple drug rings raided, Izana decides that he and Mikey need to blow off steam.

cw: dark content 18+, unreliable narrator!maya, stockholm syndrome mentions of suicide, depiction of corpses, blood and gore, character death, funerals, murder, mentions of drugs, police raid, use of weapons, corruption, bribery, mentions of suicide, implied memory loss, implied dissociation, torture, forced drugging, withdrawal symptoms, addiction, vomiting, power imbalance, dehumanization, humiliation, drugged sex, MAJOR dubcon, noncon(tagging this just in case), no prep, unprotected sex, p in v sex, extortion, hickeys, bondage, ruined orgasm, voyeurism, drug use/misuse, fingering, threesome(kinda), making out, unsafe sex, temperature play, waxplay, dacryphilia, sadomasochism, creampie, aftercare, first-degree burns

—

TEN — i don’t smoke

chapter summary: Kakucho forces Maya to face the reality of her situation and Izana reveals some not so nice things to her

cw: DARK CONTENT 18+, unreliable narrator!Maya, vomiting, drug use/misuse, withdrawal symptoms, possibly inaccurate depiction of at-home withdrawal care/survival, first-degree burns, depictions of injuries and burns, blood and gore, hickeys, bite marks, kissing, thoughts of self-harm, emotional manipulation, slight infantilization, betrayal, dehumanization, depiction of corpses, mention of suicide, MAJOR noncon(not detailed), noncon to dubcon, allusions to sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, coercion, implied creampie, memory loss, dissociation, past torture, past waterboarding

—

ELEVEN — what was i made for?

chapter summary: Izana gets carried away and Kakucho and Maya do damage control, bringing them right back to the start.

cw: dark content 18+, character death, depiction of corpses, corruption, slight religious themes, suicide mention, suicide attempt, suicide ideation, self-loathing, slight hanagaki takemichi slander, scarring, bite marks, implied relapse, drug use/misuse, mentioned drug addiction, withdrawal symptoms for unnamed drug, possibly unrealistic/inaccurate withdrawal care, possessive!izana, betrayal, mentions of past torture methods(noncon drugging, waterboarding, noncon, noncon waxplay, first degree burns), emotional manipulation, mental health issues, MAJOR dubcon, unprotected sex, no prep, piv, making out, nipple play, hair pulling(m), multiple orgasms, tummy bulge, creampie, implied cockwarming, implied dissociation, aftercare, possessive!manjiro, noncon, mirror sex, coercion, forced orgasms, hair pulling(f)

—

TWELVE — his dead girl’s beach

chapter summary: Mikey thinks about the past while Maya tries to remember what she missed. Izana helps Kisaki choose an engagement ring.

cw: dark content 18+, self-loathing, mental health issues, mentions of scars, mentions of burns, drug addictions, drug use/misuse, withdrawal mentions, mental breakdowns, emotional manipulation, stockholm syndrome, past noncon, infantilization, possessiveness, emotional incest, mommy issues, dehumanization, oral sex(f receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, implied multiple orgasms, slight hair pulling(m receiving), praise kink, dacryphilia, dom/sub undertones, overstimulation, aftercare, slight ooc!Kisaki, draken & og toman slander, mental health issues, depression, vomiting, toxic and unhealthy relationships, implied emotional abuse, past character death, past picture taking, implied voyeurism, scars, memory loss, kissing, smut, handjob, piv, no prep, dissociation, creampie, use of guns, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, major character death

—

THIRTEEN — can’t catch me now

chapter summary: Mikey goes to the Philippines, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. Takemichi returns to the future. Maya keeps her promise to Izana.

cw: dark content 18+, manga and anime spoilers, multiple character deaths, murder, guns, use of weapons, stabbing, mentions of suicide, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, scars, torture, depiction of wounds, unhealthy attachments, toxic and unhealthy relationships, vomiting, suggestive themes, mental health issues, depression, dark impulses, emotional manipulation, blackmail, corruption, bribery, torture, allusions to sex, suggestive themes, dehumanization, toman + draken slander, slight grandpa sano slander, non-linear narrative in one part, slight emotion incest, funerals, grieving

—

BONUS — sugar bunny

chapter summary: how Maya's first day on the job would have gone if she had been nosy or, Izana and his sugar baby bunny

cw: dark content 18+, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals and medical treatment/conditions, canon typical violence, gang activity, dehumanization, drug addiction(c*caine), drug addiction recovery, drug withdrawals, withdrawal symptoms, abuse of power, murder, non-graphic torture, blood and gore, panic attack, blackmail, alcohol, slight sugar baby-sugar daddy dynamic, suggestive themes, possessiveness, gold digger!oc, guns, vomiting, threats, very fast-paced, making out, kissing, implied smut, suggestive themes, slight bondage, implied virginity loss, collaring(?), open ending, not edited

notes: cross-posted on my wattpad. I DO NOT condone any of these behaviours or any crimes committed in this fic. This is purely for my own entertainment. Please read all the warnings before each chapter.

All medical terminology is inaccurate and inconsistent as I know nothing about psychiatric hospitals. However, this is a fanfiction so I will write the way that fits the plot the best.

Takes place during the Manila Future Timeline with bad Toman. This fic is simply my take on what happened during that timeline and it will include many canon aspects from the Tokyo Revengers manga/anime.

I CAN NOT write [y/n] fics to save my life so the oc has a name. If you do not like that, then do not read, simple as that.

Enjoy! Asks, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. It gives me the motivation to continue writing.

this work belongs to me. do not copy or steal my work and do not use my work in any AI or chatgpt program. I also do not want any republishing or binding of my work

banners all done by myself

all dividers by @benkeibear

© kokoch4n3l — Please do not copy, translate, modify, or post my work to other platforms. ♡

[diejager]

I love your writings so much, I just can't get enough of it!

In Fantasy, where reader was transported into Simon's world, and left pregnant, what if their child got into the same accident as reader and fell into a broken portal that sent the kid to Simon's world, and discovered the truth, placing piece by piece together and found out how they were made. The kid having a hard time choosing between his mom or dad, your choice on what happens when he chooses one of them, or the both of them.

I just can't get enough! You write stuff that's better than any I've ever read before!

I… I’ve been meaning to post Fantasy pt2, but I’m not super proud of it so I’ve been stalling a lot..

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, past rape, forced pregnancy, kidnapping, locked away, isolation, tell me if I missed any.

They thought it was only a rumour, a little tale spun by people to explain their birth. You - their caring and loving mother - had always sang about them being a miracle, a gift that the universe had given you. It made them feel better, made them feel loved and graced, but there was always a growing curiosity, a nagging feeling that grew by every passing year. You always called them “my little miracle” and they never grew out of it, loving the soft lull of your voice and the affectionate tone you used. 

You named them Gwyneth, Tracer had given you the idea, but they often went with Gwyn, a shorter and easier name to say. Gwyn knew you loved them, adored them to the moon despite your busy schedule and life while fighting against Talon and Null Sector, but they’d seen the melancholic stare you gave them when you thought they weren’t looking at you, a sad and despondent gaze. It served to fuel Gwyn’s curiosity, driving them further and further down a hole of mystery and unanswered questions that they just knew you wouldn’t answer. Your pained grimace and slight tremble told them much, the strong and dependable mother that loved them shrinking into themselves and shuddering. It hurt them to see you like that.

That gear malfunction seemed to have sent them elsewhere, away from home and away from you, thrusted into a strange world and lost in the unknown. They were somewhere in England, some place in Manchester from what the maps they found told them, sharing the same street names and landmarks as the Manchester they visited in their world. Yet somehow, somehow, they found a man so familiar with them - suspiciously so - who had frantically asked hundreds of questions about you. 

There was a certain familiarity in the man, but they were apprehensive about how desperate he was, spewing information about himself and your time with him. He’d convinced them enough to make a trip to a military base to have his DNA taken, tested and matched, and Gwyn was… was shocked, they didn’t know if they were simply surprised or terrified. 

If this man - their father - who presented himself as Simon Riley, a dead man, said the truth about how he loved you and cared for you. The stories he shared about your relationship, from the days where he met you at the cafe you worked, your bright and bubbly smile lighting his days, to the lovesick gleam when he continued on to the nights at the bar, drinking and laughing. It sounded all so embellished, prettily drawn to stifle any suspicion from Gwyn, but if Simon was telling the truth, why were you so afraid of telling them who their father was, the way you met him or the time spent by his side?

Perhaps the truth was better left unsaid, left to collect dust and forget, but they had never been one to give up on something, Gwyn was a being of perseverance and curiosity, much like a cat. Maybe it would have saved them the heartache and trauma to uncover something as dark as the locked basement in Simon’s house. Gwyn couldn’t have known, they couldn’t, they simply followed their intuition and everything that Simon had strung up cracked, shattered and fell apart.

It was an… easy decision to make, to leave a broken man who had nearly broken their mother out of desperation and obsessive love, a deep-seated corruption of his being that scared them. Gwyn wanted to return home and embrace you, wrap their arms around your shoulder and sob out their horrible discovery, to apologise for something they hadn’t done but had been the result of. If only Gwyn could find a way back.

[wheneverfeasible]

Bloody Hands, Broken Hearts: a Mafia AU

chapter wc: 4.6k || rating: M (for now) || cw: blood, violence, reference to death of a minor original character, sex trafficking, past rape/non-con, homophobic language, derogatory language towards sex workers, sexualized use of “Daddy”, mean dom!Eddie, feminized!Steve || ao3

summary: No UD. Years after being sold through a sex trafficking ring to a member of the mafia, Steve’s former master is deposed by one of the most feared men in organized crime, Don Kas the Bloody-Handed. Except, much to Steve’s surprise and horror, he knows him by another name: Eddie Munson.

~

Chapter 1

An annoyed tsk left pale lips as the man picked at the drying blood on his thick, silver rings with his thumb from where he was leaning back against the sturdy mahogany desk. His legs were crossed before him in his repose, one bloody hand pressed against the disordered papers on the desk, uncaring that they were being marked by the deep red splattered across his palm and knuckles, already drying a dark hue not unlike the color of the desk itself.

After a tense, silent moment of the man examining his rings and nail beds, dark eyes flashed up to take in his captive audience. Quite literally. Though they were unbound where they were made to kneel on the floor, the men holding guns on either side of them and on the other side of the door let them know that escape was futile.

Steve was fucked.

The thing was, everyone knew of Kas. Kas the Bloody-Handed. That’s what people called him, at least, and looking at the glint of his silver rings smeared with the umber of dried blood, Steve could acknowledge that it was a fitting name. However, that was not his real name, and it was with mounting horror that Steve realized that that was not the name Steve knew him by.

No, to Steve, the man before him was none other than the boy Steve’s former best friend had taken the most sick delight in tormenting: Eddie Munson.

Munson looked different now, but there was no denying that it was him. He had more tattoos nowadays, including one curling up his neck to brush against his jaw and both his forearms covered in them as seen with his fancy dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up, exposing the dark ink. He also had close-cut facial hair now that was a slightly lighter color than the still long and curly dark brown hair he now had tied back into a low and loose ponytail with a piece of cord. There was a coldness to his dark eyes now too, his once more wiry frame now a little more filled out with compact muscle.

In another lifetime, Steve might have been able to acknowledge that the man was attractive, might have had another reason than fear making his mouth go dry and needing to thickly swallow. However, as it was, Steve could only flinch and duck his head further when those flint hardened eyes passed over him.

He was luckily not at the front of the group kneeling on the rug before their former master’s desk, in front of their former master’s fireplace in their former master’s bookshelf lined study. There were a little more than a half-dozen of them, all trembling with fear at the knowledge that whatever horror they had been living through before, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

Munson, or Kas, was notorious, infamous even. He had been a nobody once, until suddenly he was a Somebody with a capital S. He swiftly moved up the ranks of his clan, earning respect borne of fear for his ruthlessness, until suddenly he was sitting on the metaphorical throne. He was not happy there, however, and all too soon he was making a name for himself amongst the other families too.

All too soon the other families began falling before him like dominos, one right after the other, bending the knee or—if they refused or otherwise displeased him—being eliminated entirely.

Which was what had occurred here to Steve’s former…employer. Not that Steve or the others got paid for what they did. Or had done to them. Steve couldn’t even say that behaving well and pleasing whoever they were sent to had them being treated better, since more often than not pain was part of their client’s pleasure.

As for their master—or Daddy, as they were instructed to call him—he was the worst of the worst. The way he showed his favor was through far more than just simple pain. Pain was something Steve could handle. It was the attention that was the terrifying part. Yet, Steve bore that attention willingly, for it kept it off of all the others.

“Tell me,” the voice of their new master softly intoned, his voice like thunder in the tense silence of the room, despite being little more than a murmur. Munson’s voice was a little raspier than Steve remembered it being, but then it had been years since Steve had last seen much less heard the other man. The man had dropped out of school during his own senior year, Steve’s junior, and no one knew what had become of him. Now Steve knew, at least.

Every ear was straining to hear what their new master would say next, though every eye was trained on the ground before their master’s feet. Steve was suddenly thankful his hair was a little longer than he personally liked, grown to be easier to grab and manipulate the head to which it was attached. It also allowed him now to obscure his face ever so slightly as he swiftly lowered his head and his gaze when Munson’s eyes scanned over them.

“Tell me,” Munson said again, and even with his eyes on the man’s blood splattered shoes, Steve could tell that Munson had a sardonic smile on his lips. “Which one of you was Porzio’s favorite?”

Steve barely withheld a flinch. Of course Munson would want to know that. Unlike his former owner, Munson wasn’t an idiot. He couldn’t be to get to where he was now. An idiot would only get themselves killed. Case in point: Carmine “the Uber Dead Asshole” Porzio, gone and soon to be forgotten in the year of our father…Christ, whatever year it was nowadays.

It was hard to keep track of time when you spent the majority of it on your knees or with your face shoved into a mattress.

But Munson wanted to know Porzio’s favorite. The one who he kept with him the majority of the time, the one used for his own personal pleasure, the pleasure of his most loyal lieutenants. The one who was treated like nothing more than decoration, as though their ears suddenly stopped working just because their mouth was filled.

It was a smart move, really. An excellent way to obtain secret gossip or information that might not be in the books. The favorite was a fount of information, but also a great liability. Sometimes it was better to cut the head off a snake before it could bite. Munson obviously knew what he was doing, which should be evident by now. The only problem?

Steve had been Porzio’s favorite.

He knew what he looked like nowadays. He hardly looked like the King Steve he had once been before everything, hardly looked like the rich and privileged jock Munson would have known him as. His own muscle mass was no longer what it had once been, the loss of weight only natural after everything he’d been through, and bruises littered his body where he’d either been punished or been used for pleasure. Sometimes those were interchangeable.

Not only that, but his clothing was far from what Munson would have last seen him in. No polos, no jeans, no letterman jacket. Instead, Steve wore what the others wore, his body hair waxed away in an attempt to add to his feminization. Aided, of course, by the short black skirt that exposed the majority of his thighs through the fishnets, and the red lace bustier top that only just covered nipples but left his midriff exposed. Matching red strappy heels laced up his calves, with a thick black collar completing the ensemble around his neck, a dainty little silver ‘V’ dangling from it like a license.

It was entirely possible that Munson wouldn’t recognize him. After all, they both might have made a name for themselves in school, but Munson hadn’t been there for the disaster of Steve’s senior year, and it wasn’t like they had ever directly interacted before. Tommy always did the majority of his bullying when Steve wasn’t around, knowing Steve didn’t approve of it, so it wasn’t like Munson and him had spent any great amount of time together.

It helped that the makeup he wore was smudged too, which would hopefully act as a camouflage. Perhaps, if he answered things in a way that pleased Munson, if Munson could look past the fact that he was a guy in this role he’d been forced into, perhaps he’d live to see another day.

His lip was already split and his cheek already bruised by Porzio’s earlier slap, so he wasn’t looking forward to having the rest of his face caved in by Kas the Bloody-Handed.

Swallowing back his nausea, Steve drew in a breath and began to lift his head to call attention to himself and away from the others, when another voice stopped him in his tracks.

“I am, sir,” Janice called out, standing from her kneeling position at the front of the huddle. Steve’s head jerked to look at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her fingers twitched at her side, swiping horizontal to the floor ever so slightly, though she didn’t look at him. Stay quiet, that action said. Stay safe.

Steve’s stomach clenched painfully, and all the affection he felt for his girls surged through his bloodstream. He had tried, hard as he could, to protect them from the worst of things. He couldn’t do much, but he had made certain Porzio was focused entirely on him and none of the others. They worked as well, but Porzio was the most sadistic, the most vile; he would happily take it all on to save his girls from that.

To think that now, in the face of one of the most feared men in organized crime, they would try to protect him…it was beyond anything he’d ever known. No one had ever sought to protect him before.

Munson’s brow ticked up, his gaze sliding like oil over Janice’s trembling body, but she held firm with her head up. His sardonic smile only grew. “Are you now?”

He appreciated her help, he did, but he couldn’t let Janice risk everything for him. Before he could stand, before he could come clean with the truth, a firm hand was pressing down on his shoulder as Mona stood up from behind him, forcing him to stay kneeling.

“I was also a favorite, sir,” Mona says, making Steve wonder what in the I-am-Spartacus hell was going on. Still, warmth and fondness for his girls spread through him quickly as he looked around and noticed every last one of them had bunched muscles indicating preparation for movement. For him.

Munson looked a whole lot less amused, however, his brow dropping into a deep furrow as his gaze settled on the new apparent favorite. Kas was well-known for not taking fondly to liars and cheats. If he suspected that they were trying to pull a fast one on him…

Just as Munson was opening his mouth to say something, looking far less than pleased, Steve hurriedly shot to his feet. “It’s me,” he said quickly, almost breathlessly, wanting to say it before someone else decided to shout out Spartacus in a misguided attempt to help him. He moved to take a step forward and away from the others when he froze in place by the sound of a gun being cocked and levelled behind him.

Another tense hush fell as Munson stared at him, his eyes dragging over Steve’s form with both brows raised this time, an almost startled air to his mean smile. He waited a few moments more before flicking his wrist, the sound of the gun and man holding it returning to standby mode. Two fingers were then crooked at Steve to indicate for him to finish stepping forward.

Steve glanced at Janice and Mona, giving their beseeching looks a small shake of his head, and then they were slowly and reluctantly returning to their kneeled positions. Taking a deep breath, Steve crossed the distance and moved to take his place in front of Munson, kneeling at his feet without hesitation. “It was me, sir,” he murmured, keeping his gaze down. “I was Master Porzio’s favorite.”

It took all of his willpower (and training) not to flinch when Munson’s chunky rings came into view, his calloused fingers touching Steve’s chin to lift his face to meet his gaze. Steve couldn’t suppress the tremble at finally meeting Munson’s eyes for the first time, terrified of seeing recognition there.

Instead, Munson’s eyes stayed hard and flat, though with a touch of curiosity. A small smirk curled his lips. “Well now. Who would have guessed Porzio was a fudge packer,” he lightly sneered. His gaze moved over to the kneeling women before back to Steve. “And this is why they lied to me, to protect the fairy amongst them?” He snorted. “Who knew there was honor amongst whores.”

Munson’s thumb slid lightly against the edge of Steve’s bottom lip, and well familiar with the gesture, Steve parted his lips obediently. Something dark but pleased flashed behind Munson’s eyes, and praying he was doing the right thing, Steve let the tip of his tongue flick ever so softly against the pad of Munson’s thumb.

Almost immediately after, Munson pressed the rest of his thumb into Steve’s mouth, pressing down on Steve’s tongue enough to make him briefly gag. “Suck,” he ordered harshly, and Steve obeyed.

The familiar taste of sweat and blood filled his mouth as Steve’s lips wrapped around Munson, but he paid it no mind as he worked at fellating the man’s thumb. He kept eye contact the entire time, his hands curled in his lap, as he worked his mouth over the digit. He swirled his tongue over the thumb like it was a cock head, bobbing his head ever so slightly. Munson’s dark eyes watched him the entire time.

Just as Steve was beginning to wonder if he should start faking some moans, Munson pulled his thumb from Steve’s mouth with a slick wet sound, leaving a small trail of spit over Steve’s lips. Munson lightly snorted, lifting his gaze to look at his men. With silent communication, the men nodded and motioned for the kneeling women to stand, ushering them out of the room.

Steve could feel the eyes on him, knew his girls were looking at him, but he knew better than to return the look. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on Munson who now leaned back against the deck with his arms crossed watching Steve.

Once the thick doors clicked closed behind the others, leaving Steve and Munson alone, a wry grin curled over Munson’s lips. “I can see why you were the favorite, if you suck cock half as good as you suck thumb.” Munson shrugged, pushing off the desk with a small snort to walk around it, settling in the leather chair behind the massive thing. He reached forward and tapped the desk beside him.

Once more obeying wordlessly, Steve swiftly stood and moved around the desk, settling his ass just to the side of where Munson sat as had been indicated. A derisive laugh left Munson then, but he didn’t look like he was about to punish Steve for being what he was. Or who he was. Instead, he looked mildly contemplative as he rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair, propping his chin up with his fist.

“Tell me, sweetheart, you got a name?”

Relief coursed through Steve so quickly he lost his breath for a moment, as though lightning had struck him down. Munson didn’t know his name, meaning he didn’t recognize Steve. Even better, Steve hadn’t gone by Steve in a while. He needn’t worry about someone slipping up and revealing that information when none of them knew it either.

“I’m Vee,” he answered, fingers moving up to lightly graze against the charm hanging from his collar. “But you can call me anything you want…” Steve swallowed quickly, glancing down before peeking up demurely through his lashes, “Daddy,” he finished on a soft breath.

A grin spread across Munson’s lips, and though it wasn’t quite as manic as the ones he used to smile back in high school, a spark of something like genuine amusement flashed behind his eyes. He leaned forward then, sliding his hand over Steve’s fishnet covered thigh until his fingers brushed ever so slightly under the bottom hem of his tight skirt.

“I’ll keep that in mind, precious,” he smirked. “And maybe you can keep your status as favorite, if you’re a good little boy.” His eyes traveled once more over Steve’s body, his smirk growing. “Though I bet there’s nothing small about you, Vee.”

Steve swallowed, feeling oddly flushed at being on the receiving end of Munson’s gaze. Of Kas’s gaze. He had to remind himself that this was more than just his former schoolmate; this man was perhaps one of the most dangerous men alive. His vast network spread far and wide, spies hiding everywhere.

“I’ll be good for you, Daddy. Promise,” he said softly.

“Oh, I’m sure you will, precious. I don’t tolerate failure.”

What was expected of him now? Should he slide into Munson’s lap? Move underneath the desk? Bend over the top? Wouldn’t be the first time he was in any of those positions in this very room. Munson simply continued watching him, however, indicating nothing.

Just when Steve was ready to beg for an order, Munson sighed and removed his hand from Steve’s thigh, settling back further into the expensive rolling leather chair, pressing his fingertips together into a steeple before him.

“We will be remaining here for several days as we go over Porzio’s records,” Munson stated, startling Steve slightly. He was unused to being addressed about any affairs other than what happened in the bedroom. Or anywhere else his master wanted him. Having Munson tell him what was going to happen now was thus unprecedented.

“You and the other whores will have your room guarded at all times and you will require, let’s say, a chaperone of sorts to move around the manor, at least until I can trust you,” Munson said with another small smirk. “Once I am satisfied with my acquisition of the estate, we will be moving to my main residence. Should you and the others please me during this transition, we can negotiate a reward for behaving so well. Do you understand?”

Though Steve’s insides always pinched at being called a whore, seeing as how neither he nor the others ever chose that particular career path, he had enough practice now to ignore such things. It wasn’t like someone of Kas’s reputation would care overly much about their sob stories. No, Steve gave such things only a passing thought, his mind caught on the end of his new master’s sentence.

“A reward?” he couldn’t help but ask, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Luckily for him, Munson did not seem to be particularly annoyed at his wagging tongue.

“The exact circumstance of which will depend entirely on you,” Munson agreed. “Consider it a quid pro quo situation. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. I can guarantee that this is a far better deal than you had with Porzio. However,” he cautioned, holding up a single finger. “Any failure to comply or please me will make whatever Porzio did to you seem like a shy lover’s kiss.”

Steve swallowed down a grimace. That he understood perfectly well.

“I will also have a doctor visit to ascertain your health,” Munson added with a small shrug, clasping his hands before himself. “I have no use for spoiled goods.”

“Master Por—”

A loud smack of hand meeting wood startled Steve greatly enough that a small noise left him as he jumped, leaning away with wide eyes. Munson stared hard at him, leaning in with a small growl of warning.

“Porzio is not your master now, Miss Vee,” the man sneered mockingly. “You will no longer refer to him as such. You may call him either ‘Porzio’ or ‘that pig’ and nothing else, do I make myself clear?”

Steve swallowed, hastily nodding his head. “Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy,” he rushed to say, dropping his gaze and trying not to tremble too greatly. His—Porzio was never consistent. Whether he liked you timid or not could change at the drop of a hat, moving from one extreme to the other at a moment’s notice. He didn’t know if Munson would appreciate a fearful display, or become annoyed with it. Only time would tell.

“I-I merely wished to assure you that we receive regular checkups to ensure our optimum health,” he murmured quietly. “But we will gladly submit to any examination or procedure you wish of us.”

Munson sat back in the chair as he studied Steve with an unreadable expression now. He glanced down at his still bloodied hand and the rings there. He gave a small snort, moving to slowly and carefully pull the stained items off his fingers and settling them in a small pile on the messy desk.

“Clean those,” he ordered. “And then bring them to my room tonight.” He smirked then, his eyes sliding over Steve’s figure once more. “We have much to…discuss,” he murmured, his brows raising slightly. “And Vee,” he added when Steve nodded and moved to stand up, causing Steve to pause.

Munson’s smirk seemed colder then, causing Steve to shiver as though physically chilled. “While I appreciate your immediate acceptance in the change of leadership around here, know that how quickly you switched your loyalties has not been unnoticed. Should you ever attempt to switch them again…you will not find the outcome favorable. Do I make myself clear?”

Dread settled low in Steve’s belly as he stared at Munson with wide eyes. He was standing on the edge of a precipice he hadn’t known existed until too late. He should have realized things would not be as easy as he had hoped they would be, should not have grown complacent when Munson didn’t recognize him.

Licking his lips, Steve swallowed back the threatening rise of bile. He dropped his head, chewing lightly on his bottom lip before glancing at Munson through his lashes once more. “I had no genuine loyalty to…to that pig, Daddy,” he murmured. “He was not a respectable man. Unlike you, sir.”

Had it been Porzio, he would have attempted a coy smile. He had a feeling Munson would be able to see right through it, however, so he instead tried to look as earnest as possible without actively begging. He slowly slid off the desk, catching Munson’s eyes.

“We know who you are, Daddy. None of us would ever dare to oppose you. I know the loyalty of a whore means nothing, Don Kas, but I was the favorite. The other girls will follow my example, and I pledge my loyalty wholly unto you.”

Munson snorted, looking for all the world like Steve amused him. Like Steve was some insignificant insect with delusions of grandeur. The man rubbed at his facial hair with a wry smile that did not meet his eyes. “And what of your body, darling? What if I told you that your dear Mr. Porzio and I shared…similar predilections.”

Steve squared his shoulders, a more genuine smile on his own lips because he had already been expecting this, had known his career on his knees was far from over. One hand on the desk as he leaned over to grasp the waiting rings and the other on his hip, he offered a small shrug of a shoulder.

“My body already belonged to you the second Porzio thought to move against you,” he replied easily. “He was not my dear anything. Not when I was already yours, Master.”

Munson studied him for a moment, but something almost pleased curled at the corners of his lips. “I think I much prefer you calling me ‘Daddy,’” he replied, reaching out to grasp Steve’s chin again for the briefest moment. He withdrew almost immediately. “Go now. And wash your face of that makeup while you’re at it. Make yourself presentable for me tonight.”

It was as he expected. He could not be bitter or regretful when he’d known this was coming all along. It was, after all, much better than his own blood staining the rings he now held in his palm.

“Yes, Daddy. Should I prepare myself for you?” he asked easily as he straightened. He would play his own part well. He was used to this role he’d been thrust into ever since he put his trust in the wrong person. He had seen it enough with his own parents, making him wish that little high school Steve Harrington had known what he knew now:

Love is just a fairytale.

Standing from the chair, Munson let out a soft huff of laughter, amused by Steve’s words. “You really do have your lines down, don’t you?” he scoffed as though reading Steve’s mind. “No matter. We’ll see how well you play your part tonight,” he said in a tone that was almost teasing, his hand moving to settle over Steve’s lower back to guide him around the desk and towards the carved double doors.

He paused then with a hand on the doorknob, eyes almost black as he grinned a shark’s grin, and let his voice drop to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “Trust me when I say that nothing you could do would prepare you for what I have planned tonight, sweetheart.”

Munson opened the door then, ushering Steve out with a slap to his ass, though the soldiers guarding the door didn’t react at all. However, Steve could not spare them even a passing thought as his blood turned to ice in his veins when Munson’s grin grew, uttering the words that sealed Steve’s doom.

“See you tonight, Harrington.”

As the door clicked closed, as his prison guard stepped forward to take him by the bicep to drag him away back to his gilded cage with the others, Steve felt that blade of ice pierce his chest with extreme certainty.

There was no escape for him. His fate had been sealed the day he had defied his parents, had fled town with the boy he had thought loved him, and he had only brought it all upon himself. Munson was going to kill him. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but one day. Perhaps even one day soon.

Thrust into the room he shared with the others, he felt the door close and lock behind him, heard the worried voices and careful touches of his girls as they frantically tried to make certain he was all right, but it was like hearing them underwater, like he was wading upstream through a deadly current. He was shaking, he realized, fat tears sliding down his cheeks.

Only belatedly did he realize his hand was hurting where he had curled his fist around the chunky rings. With an almost detached curiosity he glanced down as he released his clenched fist and stared at the rings he may very well be cleaning in preparation for his own blood and skull and brains to stain their surface.

Absently, he reached out with his free hand to pluck a strand of hair caught in the snarled teeth of a silver monster. There was a clump of bloody scalp still attached to the end of the follicle.

Steve laughed.

~

TBC…

~

This scene comes from an idea that would not leave me alone until I wrote it down. I don’t know if I’ll ever continue it as it is quite different from my usual stuff, but I do have some ideas for possible continuation and further backstory for our two leading men

Yeah nvm I’m gonna continue this, it won’t leave my thoughts

~

Fun fact: I almost named the second OFC Monica but then I realized that with the first one being named Janice that I was unintentionally writing it as a Friends crossover and I had to change her name before I named the next one Phoebe or something 😂 oops my bad

Also, Porzio means “hog”, while Carmine means “vivid red” lol

~

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR — #5: Marked for sale

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: dehumanization, captivity, non-con medical procedures, implied threats of sexual violence, physical restraint, psychological torment

The room was stark, bathed in harsh white light that bounced off the gleaming surfaces and sterile instruments. The antiseptic smell was overpowering, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood that Samuel had begun to associate with his new reality.

Two technicians, masked and gloved, awaited him with cold, clinical efficiency. They moved with practiced precision, their expressions hidden behind masks, their eyes detached and impersonal.

"Strip," one of them ordered, the command devoid of emotion. Samuel hesitated, a flush of humiliation rising in his cheeks.

"W-What..?"

The technician's eyes narrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. "Now."

When Samuel only returned a glare, the technician sighed. He flinched as his hands were seized and his clothes were roughly removed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. He tried to shield himself with his arms, but the guards were relentless, their hands unyielding as they forced him to the table.

"STOP! LET GO!!" His lips were trembling, his mind going insane with the thoughts of what they were going to do to him. "D-Don't do it please..."

This was it. They were going to do the thing he had been fearing since the moment he got here. He was going to be raped. Or maybe even worse.

The men laughed only adding to Samuel's confusion and his tears. "Hey now. There's no fun in having a used toy y'know. Your owner could do those things you have going on in your dirty little mind later."

"N-No.. I wasn't- I.." Samuel's cheeks flushed in embarrassed and he only continued struggling wishing that would somehow fit the hole of what he was trying to say.

One of the guards were going to smack him on the face, before the other stopped him. Samuel flinched, kind of surprised there was someone with even a tad bit of humanity left in them.

That innocent thinking was gone soon enough though when the other spoke to the guard.

"We need him to be in his best condition. I don't think he'll be looking presentable with a damn bruise on his face." He said with a scowl, which Samuel could make out was half directed towards him. The guard only rolled his eyes before forcing him on the table.

Restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles, pinning him down. He struggled, panic surging through him, but the bonds were unyielding.

The other technician approached with a handheld scanner, its screen flickering to life as it passed over Samuel's body. "Subject 42, S class," he read aloud, his tone monotonous. "Begin prep for auction."

Auction. The word sent a chill down Samuel's spine, a reminder of the dehumanizing fate that awaited him. He would be paraded before the highest bidders, reduced to a mere commodity in a world that saw him as less than human.

He had wanted nothing more than to kick these bastard's faces and ask them what the actual fuck was wrong with them? But now he was the one being asked these questions.

As the technicians began their work, Samuel's mind drifted back to his life before the classification, when he was simply Samuel—a boy with dreams, friends, and a future. The memories felt like fragments of a distant past, slipping through his fingers like sand.

One of the technicians roughly grabbed his arm, inserting an intravenous line with ease. The cool rush of fluids coursing through his veins brought him back to the present, a stark reminder of his reality.

"Hold still," the technician muttered, adjusting the flow. Samuel winced at the sharp sting, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he fought to suppress the rising panic. He was determined to retain some sense of control, even in the face of overwhelming fear.

The other technician approached with a tray of instruments, their metallic surfaces gleaming ominously under the fluorescent lights. Samuel's breath hitched as he recognized some of the tools—restraints, measuring devices, and branding irons.

"Prepare the restraints," one technician instructed, his voice cutting through Samuel's thoughts. They moved with efficient brutality, securing his limbs to the cold metal frame that dominated the center of the room. Samuel's skin prickled against the unyielding surface, the restraints biting into his flesh.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his breathing steady. The technicians worked in silence, their actions methodical and detached, their faces masks of indifference.

"Subject 42, ready for inspection," one of them announced, stepping back to assess their work. Samuel lay splayed on the table, his body exposed and vulnerable, a living testament to the cruelty of the system that had condemned him.

The door to the room opened with a hiss, and a figure entered—a man in a tailored suit, his presence exuding an air of authority. Samuel's pulse quickened as the man's gaze swept over him, appraising him with a calculated detachment.

"Excellent," the man said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "He'll fetch a high price."

Samuel's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He was being evaluated like livestock, his worth determined by the whims of those who saw him as nothing more than property. The indignity of it all burned within him, a simmering rage that threatened to consume him.

The man approached, his fingers brushing over Samuel's branded skin, tracing the letters that marked him as property. Samuel fought the urge to recoil, his muscles tensing under the man's touch.

"Don't worry," the man said, his voice a mockery of reassurance. "You'll find a good home. Someone will take care of you."

Samuel's eyes blazed with defiance, a fire that refused to be extinguished. "I'm not a pet," he spat, the words laced with venom. "I'm a person."

The man chuckled, a low, condescending sound. "Not anymore," he replied, his tone dripping with arrogance. "You're whatever we say you are."

The technician injected something into Samuel's IV line, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred, the edges of the room growing hazy as the sedative took effect. He struggled to hold onto consciousness, to maintain his grip on reality, but it slipped through his grasp like water.

As the world faded to black, Samuel clung to a single, burning thought—a promise to himself and to the others who suffered alongside him. He would survive. He would endure. And one day, he would reclaim his humanity from those who sought to strip it away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Samuel awoke in a dimly lit room, the sterile white replaced by a more subdued, yet equally oppressive, atmosphere. His head throbbed, the remnants of the sedative lingering in his system. He tried to move, but the restraints held him firmly in place.

He was no longer alone. The figures whispered among themselves sending shivers down Samuel's spine.

"Look at this one," one of them said, his voice dripping with curiosity. "Quite a specimen, isn't it?"

Another figure approached, leaning over Samuel with an appraising gaze. "Indeed. It'll be a popular choice."

He didn't know what was more scary. The fact that these people were calling him an 'it' or the fact these people were staring at him like they were ready to tear him apart.

Samuel's heart raced, panic rising in his chest. He was being inspected, evaluated like a piece of merchandise. The reality of his situation settled over him like a suffocating blanket, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of despair.

The figures moved with unsettling precision, their hands tracing over his body, noting every detail. Samuel clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

"Prepare him for display," one of them ordered, stepping back. "The auction is about to begin."

Samuel's stomach churned at the words. Display. Auction. He was about to be paraded before a crowd of potential buyers, his fate determined by the highest bidder. The thought made him sick, a wave of nausea washing over him.

They worked quickly, removing the restraints and lifting him onto his feet. Samuel's legs wobbled, weakened by the drugs and the strain of his ordeal. He stumbled, but a firm hand caught him, steadying him with a rough grip.

"Stand up straight," the figure commanded, their tone harsh and unforgiving. "You need to make a good impression."

"And if I don't?" The words slipped past his lips before he could realize. The man only leaned in close to his ear, and Samuel couldn't suppress the flinch that went through him.

"Well then, we have some other measures to make you listen as well. Surely you wouldn't like your head to be dipped underwater continuously until you become obedient, would you?" What scared Samuel more was the smile maintained on the man's face while he spoke.

Samuel gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand tall despite the trembling in his limbs. Just how sadistic were each one of these bastards?

They dressed him in simple, clean clothes and moisturized his skin making it glow. The fabric felt foreign against his skin and the moisturizer only itched him. They groomed him meticulously, every detail attended to with an almost obsessive precision.

His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were snapped with cuffs tight enough so that he could walk but wont be able to run.

"It's ready," one of them said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

"I'm not an 'it'"

"Shush. Now listen. You will keep your head down throughout the auction. You will only speak when spoken to. You will not struggle or fight. You will not be defiant. And you will behave. If we get any trouble because of you, I swear to gods I will make you regret it."

What the lady said basically went through one ear and out the other. Before he could question anymore, he was pushed to a large wooden door.

What was up with these people and their obsession with pushing?

The door opened, and Samuel was led down a corridor lined with ornate decorations that seemed out of place in such a grim setting.

They reached a set of heavy curtains, the barrier between Samuel and his uncertain future. He could hear the murmur of voices beyond, the eager anticipation of those who awaited the auction.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the blood rush to his ears. He was on the bound of a panic attack. After going through so much, now he was scared?

The man beside him gave a final, appraising look before nodding. "Do as you're told, and you might just survive."

Samuel swallowed hard, his mouth dry with fear. The curtains began to part, revealing the crowd beyond. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his breathing steady steeling himself for what lay ahead.

As the curtains fully opened, the auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, welcoming the eager bidders. Samuel stepped forward, the weight of a thousand eyes upon him, each one assessing, judging, determining his worth.

One day, he would reclaim his freedom from the chains that bound him. For now, he would play their game, but he would never forget who he truly was.

The auction had begun, and Samuel's fate hung in the balance, but his spirit remained unbroken, a beacon of resilience in the face of overwhelming darkness as bids began storming in.

Next

Reblogs are appreciated

PS- Guys, I'm actually really busy nowadays, and my writing asks have been storming in. Especially for BTBH. Asks are still open, and I will be answering those asks, but I can't confirm that it'll be soon.

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[konigsblog]

PLS expand more on konig lying abt his age!! he takes her home and keeps her safe and all to himself of course <333

cw: rape, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con, age difference/gap, dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

50-year-old könig knows that if you knew the truth—that he was lying about his age—you would block him within seconds.

he says he's in his late twenties, using photos of his muscular and lean body from when he was younger and more athletic, a decade into the military, to seduce you with and capture your interest and attention. the truth is that he's in his early fifties, chubby, and perverted. he gets off to the nudes you send him, drooling all over himself at the sight, his black t-shirt sticking to his body from the sweat, his body musky, and his chubby, hairy abdomen covered in strings of his milky, hot load.

he's creepy, obsessive, and manipulative. he messages you multiple times a day and gets infuriated with you when you return a text later than what könig finds appropriate or acceptable. you're coerced to send photos of your beautiful body in return for getting him upset, for the older male to use for his own pleasure.

könig begins to get anxious when you mention meeting each other in person. in the past, könig explained that he didn't want to meet up, using his social anxiety as an excuse. but now, you were adamant on meeting up; you wanted to see him, and you weren't going to let him back away from this anymore.

due to könig not looking like the photos he'd sent you, you didn't notice anything. you didn't pay attention to your surroundings, being snatched away by a large, tall, and intimidating man who threw up into the back seat of his car, pressing a cloth against your face, smelling oddly medical.

you were raped and brutalised for hours until you had blood smeared across your thighs, könig admiring every inch of your skin. he rubbed his calloused, rough thumb over your soft face, admiring your youthfulness and your naivety, stupidity, and vulnerability. how could you be so fucking stupid, little mouse? your cunt split open, swelling with pleasure and arousal, your tight pussy throbbing around his girthy, fat cock. :(

poor thing, held captive in his basement. it's better this way, liebling...

[adverbally]

The Victims Have Been Bled

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Vampire” | wc: 1,585 | rated: M | cw: canon-typical violence and gore, violent animal death (offscreen but the aftermath is discussed), non-con/rape vibes around a forced biting situation | tags: evil vampire Eddie, psychological torment, obsession, vampire lore in the style of Buffy the Vampire Slayer | title from “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” by Bauhaus

———

It starts small. Misplaced belongings, clothes that he must have left at Robin’s the last time he slept over. Feeling like he’s being watched from the tree line in the backyard. Startling awake from a dead sleep, thinking he heard someone call his name. Just enough to leave him unsettled.

Then the dead animals start appearing around his yard. Rats and birds, at first, making Steve wonder if a stray cat is leaving gifts on his doorstep, until the carcasses get bigger. Rabbits, bobcats, foxes, even a massive buck one memorable morning. As vicious as their wounds are, there’s hardly any blood on them.

“They’re being killed somewhere else,” Robin theorizes, pacing around Steve’s kitchen. “That’s why there’s so little blood, someone is doing the killing somewhere else and bringing the bodies here.”

“Why would anyone do that?” Steve rubs his hands over his face. He’s hardly slept in the past week, jumping at every little noise in the hopes of catching the culprit in the act.

Robin’s face is serious. “To send you a message.”

Hopper seems to agree, since he asks the department to assign a patrol to Steve’s block. “Make sure you’re locking your doors and windows,” he reminds Steve as they walk the perimeter of the house. “People who kill animals for fun don’t always stop there.”

Steve keeps everything locked up, even when he’s staying at someone else’s place more nights than not. Robin’s parents insist it’s safer for him to stay with them than in that big empty house, and Dustin invites him over when his mom has to work the night shift. It would be kind of nice, being fussed over like this, if the circumstances weren’t so alarming.

Being around other people doesn’t stop the dreams, though. Every night it’s the same— someone whispering Steve’s name right behind him, cold fingers tracing over his shoulders and up his neck. Let me in, they encourage, until it feels like the idea was Steve’s to begin with, until teeth (fangs?) sink into his flesh with a sting that radiates red-hot through his body and he’s gripping at the cool limbs holding him in place like they’re the only thing keeping him from floating away…

When Steve wakes up, he’s drenched in sweat and hard in his boxers and shaking with fear.

He’s sick of this game, where he’s not even a player but a pawn to be toyed with. He’s sick of being afraid of every little sound in the dark and sick of wondering how far this is going to go. He’s not waiting around until things get worse or this psycho goes after his friends. This ends tonight.

The sun is just sinking below the horizon when Steve pulls into the driveway. The front yard is clear, from what he can tell, and the house stands dark and silent in the twilight. He grabs his bat from the trunk of his car and heads around to the backyard.

The pool lights are on and steam is rising from the surface into the cool autumn air, though he’s pretty sure he shut everything off before he left. Steve’s sweaty grip tightens, raising the bat so he’s ready to swing at the first sign of trouble.

As he inches past the diving board toward the back door, a dark shape in the water catches his eye.

“Hey,” he calls with a confidence he doesn’t feel, “I’m gonna give you one minute to leave before I call the cops.”

There’s no response, just the gentle splash of the water as the shadow floats around.

Steve takes a step closer. “You hear me?” It’s so hard to see in the fading light and steam coming off the water. He scoots as close as he dares to the edge of the pool and squints for a better look.

It’s a body.

A woman’s body, with long brown hair and suntanned skin and freckles, wearing a yellow sweater and blue jeans and white sneakers. She’s clearly dead, floating with her pale face on display and her vacant stare aimed at the sky.

“Pretty, huh?”

Steve startles at the voice echoing across the water. “Who’s there?” he calls back in the direction of the tall dark figure at the other end of the pool.

“She reminded me of you,” they continue, ambling along the deck toward Steve with a purpose that feels predatory. “Gorgeous hair, all those little beauty marks.” They tilt their head thoughtfully. “You won’t beg like she did at the end, you’re braver than that. I just wish you could’ve been a little braver when it counted. Probably would’ve saved my life.”

The back of Steve’s neck prickles. That’s the voice from his dream, but it sounds familiar now in a way it hadn’t upon waking. His voice shakes when he asks, “Eddie?”

“Steve?” he mimics, pitching it to match Steve’s fear, before he relaxes into his natural voice. “Yeah, did you miss me?”

“You were dead,” Steve insists, trying to hold the bat steady in front of his body as Eddie continues to stalk around the pool, closer and closer. He can make out his shape now, the riot of curls and his lanky frame and the big, piercing eyes peering out of the darkness.

He shrugs. “That’s the first step. Imagine my surprise, waking up alone in the Upside Down, knowing I had died but feeling better than ever. Stronger, faster.” His grin shows a glint of fang. “Deadlier.”

Steve shakes his head uselessly. “The animals, the dreams— that was all you.” It’s not a question but a painful statement of fact.

“I’ve been thinking about you. Even before I died, you know? Popular, gorgeous, noble Steve Harrington, who wouldn’t fall for you? I just wanted to make sure you were thinking of me, too.”

“Yeah, mission accomplished,” Steve spits. “You’ve been tormenting me for months.”

“You think you know torment?” Eddie closes his eyes and tips his head back as he takes in an exaggerated breath through his nose. “Every night, I stand out here and smell you. All spicy and warm. It’s so good, it’s like torture, especially when I know you’re gonna taste even better.” When they open again, his eyes are such a deep red they seem to glow.

“You need to leave,” Steve tells him.

Eddie laughs out loud, that same wicked cackle that was so contagious. Now it just makes Steve’s blood run cold. “Who’s gonna make me?”

Steve doesn’t even think before he’s sprinting for the back door, following some primal corner of his brain that’s telling him to run for his life. He makes it about halfway there before he’s tackled to the deck.

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie croons from above him, “you didn’t have to go to all this trouble just for me.” He mouths at Steve’s jaw, buries his nose just under his ear and sniffs.

Eddie hadn’t been kidding about the enhanced strength; he doesn’t even flinch when Steve pounds his fists against his chest or tries to push his face away.

“I can make it so good for you,” Eddie promises. He licks a thick stripe up Steve’s neck that makes him shiver despite himself. “Just a little taste. Then you’ll be begging me for more.”

“No, Eddie, please,” Steve protests, no longer fighting down the terrified tears springing to his eyes. “Please, don’t do this.”

The scrape of fangs against his skin makes him feel sick. Desperately, he gropes along the deck with one hand, trying to get away from the piercing violation as Eddie bites down—

Steve’s fingers close around the handle of the bat where it had fallen beside him. Without a second thought, he raises it and slams it down into Eddie’s skull.

With a yowl, Eddie pulls away from him, distracted enough by the nails tearing through flesh and bone that Steve can shove him off and stumble to his feet, barely keeping hold of the bat. He darts forward, yanks at the handle on the sliding glass door, and…

It doesn’t budge. Through the glass, Steve can see the mechanism on the inside handle, firmly set to the locked position.

Thank god it’s glass, Steve thinks, and he winds up and swings the bat hard into the door. It shatters immediately and he jumps through the falling shards just as Eddie’s clawed fingers swipe at his jacket collar. From the pile of broken glass on the floor of the sunroom, Steve looks up and sees Eddie slamming his hands into an invisible barrier in the doorway.

So, it’s true that vampires can’t enter a private residence without permission. Steve makes a mental note to tell Dustin.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s head is drenched in his own blood and his eyes are flashing in the moonlight, but his manic grin hasn’t changed. “This is no way to treat a guest. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Steve claps a hand over the bite on his neck, putting pressure on the still-oozing wound. “Go to hell,” he says.

Any warmth that might have lingered in Eddie’s gaze disappears like a switch has been flipped. “I think you’re the one who’s going to be in hell,” he says calmly. “I’ll see you soon. Just let me know when you get tired of letting innocent people die in your place.”

With a little wave of his fingers, Eddie is gone.

Steve sits there among the broken pieces of glass and feels himself break a little, too.

[mugloversonly]

I Don’t Need to be Fixed

This is for week two of @steddiesmuttyseptember Prompts: soft and slow | bruise | Rating: E | CW: rape/non con (not between main pair), use of the T slur, misgendering, misgendering of self, mentions of corrective sex. | All tags on AO3 there is a scene of the non con that can be skipped. It will be marked by !!!!! You can pick the story back up at the second !!!!!

AO3 link

Eddie’s been acting strange for the past few weeks. One Sunday when he came home from work, he seemed off. He usually slammed the door open when he came in to alert Steve to his presence, but recently he creaked it open slowly, sliding in, and into the bathroom. He took a shower like normal, but instead of coming out naked to flash Steve (something he’s done since his top surgery), he wrapped the towel around himself tightly under his arms and practically sprinted to the bedroom. When he came out, he was wearing a big hoodie with the hood pulled up and a pair of Steve’s baggy sweatpants.

Today it’s been nearly six weeks and he’s still acting strange, repeating that same behavior after every shift. Even on his days off, he was still wrapped up, and when Steve made a move he flinched back hard. When he asked, Eddie always said he was fine just tired. He was trying not to spiral, but it was like his boyfriend was hiding from him, what could it mean? Was it the upside down? Was he cheating? Steve shook his head, he knew Eddie would say if it was the upside down and he wouldn’t cheat.

“Babe? You doing okay?” Steve asked as Eddie got ready to leave for work.

He nodded once before he left throwing a quick, “bye, love you” over his shoulder. That couldn’t be good.

About an hour later, the phone rang but before Steve could answer it it went to voicemail. “This message is for Eddie Munson. This is the free health clinic, we have his test results in.” The message went on, but Steve didn’t hear anything else.

~~~

Eddie sighed as the current patron he was serving finally moved from the bar. He could feel his energy draining. He loved this job, he did, but he’d be lying if he said it was perfect. Things were wonderful until a few weeks ago.

As he was ruminating on it, the problem customer in his thoughts walked up. “Hey there, beautiful.” Eddie stepped back and without saying a word went over to the other bartender of the night.

“Jeff, can you take this one?” Eddie said pleadingly. He never asked Jeff to take his customers unless something was really wrong.

“I’ll be right with you sir.” Jeff called to the man whose eyes were trained on Eddie.

“Did I make you feel better girlie?” the man asked. Eddie swallowed his fear, turning away with disgust. Jeff’s eyes were huge as he looked at Eddie.

“I’m going to get the bouncer.” He quickly ducked out from behind the bar and practically sprinted to the bouncer.

“Hey Bear? That guy I told you about, he’s talking to Jeff.” Bear didn’t need him to say anything else, he simply walked behind the man and started dragging him out.

“Hey! I’m a paying customer!” The man screamed.

“Not anymore. Now you’re banned.” Bear said calmly.

“Because of that fucking Tranny?!” Bear stopped suddenly. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and threw him to the ground.

“Apologize. Now, or you walk out of here with a broken nose.” The man sneered and spit towards Eddie. “Okay.” Bear said before flipping the man onto his stomach. He slammed his face into the bar floor twice. He went to do it a third time when Eddie spoke up.

“That’s enough Bear. I just want him gone.” The bouncer stood the man up and frog marched him out all the while telling him he’d put up his picture to get him banned permanently.

Eddie took a deep breath and turned back to the bar. Chrissy the manager stopped him, “that was intense. Do you want to go home?” Eddie glanced around at the patrons and everyone was staring. He nodded, as he walked into the back to get his things. Chrissy promised he’d still get paid for the night and the police would be contacted. She took over the bar so Jeff could drive Eddie home since he walked and they didn’t know if the guy was hanging around.

Back at home, he sat in Jeff’s car outside the small house he and Steve shared. He stepped out and waved at Jeff once he got inside. He really needed to talk to Steve about what happened, but he was scared this would be it. His fears were nearly confirmed when he entered the house quietly to find Steve sitting on the couch with a bag packed. “Stevie?” He whispered.

“You got a message Eds.” He replied monotone. Eddie walked to the tape machine, hitting play with confusion.

“This message is for Eddie Munson. This is the free health clinic, we have his test results in. They have all came back negative, have a nice day.” The tape beeped. Eddie sunk to his knees, tears of relief streaming down his face. He moved until he was sitting with his knees against his chest and his arms were wrapped around them.

“Thank god.” He whispered over and over as he rocked back and forth. Steve’s voice cut through his small breakdown.

“When were you going to tell me?” His whispered. Eddie wiped his eyes, Steve’s tone confused him.

“Do you listen to my message?” Eddie asked angrily.

“Not on purpose. When were you going to tell me?” Steve repeated.

“When I got the results back.” He replied quietly. Steve stood and stalked over to him.

“Get up,” he snarled. Eddie just looked at him so Steve reached down and yanked him to his feet by his arm. “I said get up!”

“Ouch! You’re hurting me.” Eddie said yanking his arm out of the hold.

“Were you going to tell me if they were positive so I could get checked too?” Steve asked. Eddie shook his head.

“You wouldn’t have needed to, I’ve been keeping my distance, just in case.” Eddie said quietly. He isn’t sure how Steve figured it out, but he was even more unsure of his anger.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me and shying away when I try to touch you?” Eddie nodded, the fear was clear in his eyes but Steve didn’t care right now. “I’m going to Robin’s” Steve huffed as he pushed Eddie away. Eddie felt himself crumble.

“You won’t even listen?” He cried. Steve stomped to the couch.

“I don’t want all the gory details no.” He said, his full mean girl coming out.

“Am I disgusting to you now?” He whispered, hugging himself.

“Kinda” Steve grabbed his bag and went to the front door. Eddie couldn’t take this. Why did Steve get to be angry about this when all Eddie felt was pain? Why was he angry at Eddie? Maybe it really was Eddie’s fault? He collapsed to the floor.

“Just a dumb Tranny, who got what he deserved right?” He sobbed out. Steve opened the door, but paused at that. “Something to fix him. But now, he’s damaged goods. Even the man who promised to love him no matter what hates him. But don’t worry, she’s fixed now.” Steve turned around to see Eddie staring at him, his eyes were blank, empty, and cold, even as the tears continued. “Back to her old self.”

“Eddie, what happened?” Steve asked softly, his blood frozen in his veins. “Why are you talking about yourself like that?”

“Don’t worry, Steve. I wouldn’t want to make you listen to the gory details. Have fun at Robin’s. I’ll be gone by morning” Eddie stood and sprinted to the bathroom, locking himself inside. Once there he climbed into the tub and turned on the freezing water, fully dressed. Once he was chilled all the way, he turned the water to scalding. He’d been doing this after work for the past few weeks to try to shock his system back to normal, it hasn’t really been working, but he didn’t know what else to do. The hot water burned his freezing skin but it gives him something to focus on, it’s then that there is a knock on the bathroom door.

“Eddie?” Steve called. Eddie rolled his eyes. After all the shit he just said, he has the gall to sound so concerned?

“Fuck off!” He shouted but Steve just knocked again.

“Please, baby. Let me in?” Eddie huffed, he could tell he wasn’t going to go away. He climbed out of the shower, not worrying about all the water he was getting all over the floor, and unlocked the door. He waited until he was safely back in the spray before giving the okay. The door opened slowly, cautiously, like Steve wasn’t sure what he’d see on the other side. Their eyes met and Eddie got the pleasure of watching Steve’s face frozen in shock as he took in the scene. “Can we get you out of the tub and into bed so we can talk?” Steve asked. Eddie hesitated before nodding. Steve grabbed a towel and turned off the water. He attempted to grab Eddie again but he flinched back hard enough to slam into the tile wall behind him. Steve raised his hand in surrender before handing the towel over and holding his hand out in offer.

Eddie looked at his hand as he wrapped the towel about himself, but he didn’t take it. Steve followed him into the room, sat on the bed, and stared expectantly at Eddie, who stood there in his wet clothes. “Can..can you uh turn around?” Eddie asked quietly. Steve’s heart broke but he did as he was asked. “Okay, you’re good.” He said a few minutes later. He’d pulled on his biggest hoodie and sweatpants that would hold him but also cloak his body, practically hiding it from view. He curled up on the bed as far away from Steve as he could, keeping his eyes on his knees to avoid Steve’s heartbroken face. The room was quiet for a long time before either of them spoke.

“I’m sorry I grabbed you like that earlier Eddie. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Steve broke the silence. Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yes you did. You just thought you were hurting a cheater.” He mumbled the last part. The word cheater hung heavy. “You didn’t even let me explain. You just...decided that I wasn’t worth it.” Steve stared at Eddie. “You wanna know what happened Steve? You wanna know why the free clinic called?”

~~~

Steve looked at this broken man and felt a pang in his heart. He had huge bags under his eyes and his lips were still a little blue. Steve knew something had been going on, but now he was even more unsure about it. “If you want to share, Eddie.” Eddie scoffed. Steve could understand that, “I promise, I know you didn’t cheat, I won’t leave unless you want me to, tell me if you want, not because you think it’s the only way I’ll stay.” After what he just witnessed he’s willing to go on a little faith. After a brief moment of hesitation, Eddie finally spoke.

“I really was going to tell you once I got the results in.” Eddie promised. “You remember that guy at work a month and a half ago?” Eddie asked. Steve did remember, he was an older guy who made gross comments to the wait staff and hit on Eddie. He nodded. Eddie held out his hand for Steve to take, he did and Eddie continued. “He came back a week or so later.”

!!!!!

Eddie and Chrissy were working close that night. The bar was packed but the rude man from the week before stood out. He kept hitting on Eddie and Chrissy all night and he stayed until Bear kicked him out. When the two bartenders were ready, Bear offered to walk them to their cars. Since Eddie tended to walk to work, he let himself be escorted to the end of the block.

He didn’t live far, only a mile or two, but about half way there he felt like he was being watched. When he glanced over his shoulder he saw a few people milling around and assumed it was from them. He didn’t see the guy moving closer to him until it was too late. When he turned the corner, the guy pushed him into the alley and forced his chest into the bricks.

“Hey what the fuck?” Eddie yelled but the man shoved something into his mouth. Eddie froze for a moment when he recognized the man from the club. They thought he left, but he must have been hiding somewhere.

Eddie tried to struggle but the man was stronger and held his wrists behind his back with one hand. With the other he wrapped around Eddie’s waist and undid the button of his jeans before shoving his hand inside. “So the rumors were true huh?” The man whispered in his ear, it sent a shiver of fear and disgust up Eddie’s spine.

Eddie screamed against the gag, thrashed his body, but the man ignored him. He removed his hand for a moment to yank Eddie’s head back and slam it into the wall making his vision fuzzy. The man yanked down Eddie’s pants and boxers to his knees, shoved his own down, and forced Eddie’s legs apart.

He did his best to fight back, but with the blow to the head and his restricted airflow from the gag, he wasn’t able to do much. The man shoved his dick inside Eddie’s pussy but growled angrily when he found he wasn’t wet. “My dick not good enough for you tranny?” He snarled. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head girlie, I’ll show you what it’s like to be with a real man and you’ll be all fixed.”

He shoved against Eddie again who began silently crying. The tears dripped steadily down his face and off his chin, the man scoffed and licked at them. “Don’t cry, I’m just healing you.” Eddie didn’t know what to do. He tried thrashing again but that only seemed to make the man harder. He did the only thing he could and just shut down. Emptied his mind, hid in the same place he used to when his dad would hurt him.

It was finally over when the man’s hips sped up slamming his own into the brick wall no doubt leaving bruises. He had the decency to pull out before cuming on the alley floor. He pat Eddie once on the shoulder. “You’ll be all better soon girlie.” He said before he pulled his pants back up and walked out of the alley. Eddie stayed frozen against the wall for a minute before spitting out the fabric in his mouth and fixing his clothing. His hands shook, he felt his body draining of any energy but he knew he needed to get home.

!!!!!

When Eddie finished speaking, his face was wet as tears had been steadily streaming down his face. Steve lifted his free hand and reached toward Eddie but paused until he nodded his permission. He gently wiped the tears from his boyfriend’s face but it wasn’t until Eddie did the same that he realized he was crying too.

“Baby,” Steve whispered. “I wish you told me.” Eddie’s eyes closed and he hung his head.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He was quiet, if Steve wasn’t sitting so close he wouldn’t have heard him. “I’m sorry I let it happen.” Steve leaned back to look into Eddie’s eyes.

“It’s not your fault, my love.” Steve whispered.

“Yes it is! I tried to fight but I couldn’t. If I wasn’t… I’m sorry, Steve.” Steve’s heart broke for his boyfriend. He opened his arms in offering, nearly falling off the bed when Eddie launched himself into him, apologies pouring out of him. Steve couldn’t take him feeling like this.

“Hey, it’s not your fault baby boy.” Steve swore. “You didn’t ask for it, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t listen the first time.” He held tight to Eddie as his cries shook his body. “You’re not wrong, you don’t need to be fixed.”

Steve continued his reassurances as Eddie’s sobs quieted into soft sniffles. “You want to know the worst part of all of this?” Eddie asked wetly. Without waiting for Steve to respond he continued, “I feel like my body isn’t mine anymore.” Steve wanted to find that guy and punch his face in for hurting Eddie. He finally got to a point where he felt like himself, just for this guy to ruin it?

“What can I do? How can we make it feel like yours again?” Steve asked.

“I have an idea, it might seem a little out there” Eddie hesitated. “Can we...have sex?”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.

“Yes.” Eddie confirmed. Steve nodded in thought for a moment.

“Okay, but if you start getting uncomfortable we stop, okay?” Eddie nodded.

~~~

“Can I ask? How will this help?” Steve asked as he stood.

Eddie stood too and took off his shirt. “This time it’s my choice. You know?” Steve agreed and went to take off his own shirt but Eddie stopped him. “Can I do it?” When Steve nodded, Eddie pulled him away from the bed and undressed him slowly.

He kissed his lips softly before unbuttoning both of their jeans and shoving them down. When they both stood naked in front of each other, he paused. “Can we use the strap tonight?” Eddie asked shyly. They normally switched but he didn’t feel ready to bottom right now. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready again.

“Of course, whatever you need.” Steve promised. While Eddie made his way to the closet to get his harness on, Steve climbed on the bed, grabbing the lube and a condom. Eddie slid his little bullet inside the harness and tucked the controller into the waist band, right next to the lube plunger.

“Oh, gonna cum in me tonight baby?” Steve asked when he saw which dildo Eddie was wearing. It was average sized, something they used when they weren’t in a full scene. Eddie smiled softly as Steve threw the condom back in the drawer. Eddie climbed onto the bed, leaned over, and kissed Steve chastely. It quickly deepened as he licked into the other man’s mouth, softly stroking Steve’s with his own. “God you’re so handsome.” Steve groaned.

Eddie blushed and slid his hand down Steve’s chest, rubbed and twisted his left nipple until he moaned, then did the same to the right. Without separating their lips, he gripped Steve’s cock softly, stroking it to full hardness. Steve kept his hands on the bed until Eddie took his wrists and put them on his hips.

“Touch me Stevie.” He whispered against his lips. Steve slid his hands up Eddie’s sides then around to his chest.

“Can I jerk you off?” He asked quietly. Eddie nodded and he didn’t waste a second slipping his thumb and forefinger into the harness to grasp his cock. He stroked up and down before pausing with his middle finger hovering over the man’s cunt. “Can I touch you there?” Eddie hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded. He slid his finger through the wetness seeping from him but when he went to insert his finger inside, Eddie locked up.

“Stop!” Eddie yelled. His hands and lips stopped, and Steve pulled his hand back.

“Sorry.” Eddie whispered as his body shook. “I don’t know why I can’t…” he choked up. Steve gently stroked Eddie’s back.

“It’s okay baby, no apologies okay? If you want to stop we can” Eddie whimpered and shook his head. “If you want to keep going we can, I just won’t finger you okay?” Steve promised.

Eddie kissed him softly again. “Thank you. Can I get you ready?” He asked. Steve went to flip himself over but Eddie stopped him. “I need to be able to see you, is that okay?” Steve knew it would hurt a bit more than normal, but the trust Eddie placed in him over road that fear. He grabbed the bottle of lube and pressed it into Eddie’s hand.

Eddie felt almost shy when he poured lube on his hand, rubbing his fingers together to warm it up. They’ve done this hundreds of times by now, but every time felt like the first time. He kissed down Steve’s neck, sucking bruises into the skin as he slid a finger inside. When he didn’t meet any resistance, he moaned softly. He thrust his finger a few times before adding a second, quickly followed by a third.

“Eddie, baby. I’m ready, please.” Steve begged. Eddie smirked, twisted his fingers until Steve screamed.

“I found it, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, already knowing the answer, especially when he hit that spot again and again until Steve clenched around his fingers. Feeling mean, Eddie stopped moving, dangling Steve’s release in front of him like a carrot. He sat back on his heels, reveling in Steve’s betrayed glare. “What’s a matter baby?” He asked innocently.

“I need you Eds. Get in me before I explode!” Steve whined.

“Your wish,” Eddie began as he lined up, “is my command.” He thrust his hips forward sinking to the hilt in one motion. Steve shook as he tried to adjust, but Eddie wouldn’t let him. He thrust deeply and slowly, dragging his strap out inch by agonizing inch, making sure to hit Steve’s prostate on every inward push. He flipped the bullet vibrator on, moaning as it kicked into gear.

“Harder baby.” Steve begged, “please sir, give it to me.” The honorific always sent Eddie hurtling toward the edge. He bit harshly into Steve’s shoulder as he began pounding into him. The vibe pushed against his cock and the base of Steve’s making them both shudder.

“Feel good, doll?” Eddie asked, not waiting for Steve’s answer before his hand was back around his cock. Steve wailed as he was jerked quickly, the difference between Eddie’s hips and hand driving him insane.

“I’m close baby. I’m so fucking close.” Steve panted, wrapping his hand around Eddie’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. He began lifting his hips to meet his boyfriend’s thrust for thrust, incidentally pinning the vibe against his cock. Eddie threw his head back and grabbed the plunger in his waist band.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Together” Eddie growled into his ear. That’s all it took for Steve. He released hot ropes of cum all over the both of them at the same time Eddie pushed the plunger. The body temp lube filled his ass while Eddie shook as he came. He worked them through it before he collapsed onto his boyfriend.

After when they were all clean, the sheets were changed, and they were cuddling, Eddie kissed one of Steve’s bruises. “Thank you.” He whispered. Steve smiled, grabbed Eddie’s chin, tilted his head up, and kissed him gently.

“No need to thank me. You’re my boyfriend.” Eddie sighed happily. Steve’s gentle words and touches helped him feel like himself.

“And don’t you ever forget it.” Steve smiled cockily and pulled Eddie until he was on top of him.

“Wanna go again?” Eddie eagerly nodded and jumped off the bed to get his strap.