𖦹°‧ Hiii I'm Teisha!! I'm 23 and mainly on here just to read and hopefully work up the courage to maybe create some of my own stories/fanfics. I'm mainly into Yandere tropes, thriller/horror but I'm also a sucker for some platonic family stuff. I'm a definite people-pleaser and not very secretly obsessed with Spongebob. So, shoutout to my fav FreakBob Squarepants ᯓ ⟡And I'm from Australia so hiii to my fellow Aussies
And tiy remember it the way one remembers drowning, not the water itself, but the weight.
The terrible, bone deep heaviness that settled into your lungs, while he court physicians spoke in low voices outside your chamber door, and though they thought you couldn't hear them, but you caught every damning word.
'The Queen will not survive the week.'
Your husband, your wonderful, broad-shouldered, tearful wreck of a husband, refused to accept it.
You'l had watched him from your bed, barely able to turn your head, as he paced the length of your room with red-rimmed eyes and a jaw set hard enough to crack teeth.
"There are legends," he'd said, gripping your hand so tightly it was the only thing you could feel anymore. "A golden flower. Born of a single drop of sunlight. They say it can heal anything."
You had wanted to tell him that legends were for children. That he was a king, not a knight errant. And he should stay, hold you, and let you memorize his face for whatever came after.
Instead, you had whispered, "Then find it."
And because he loved you with the reckless, irrational, magnificent stubbornness that had made you fall for him, he did.
𖤓𓇢𓆸
The broth was warm.
That's what you remember most. Not the golden glow or the way the healers' hands trembled as they brought the bowl to your lips, nor the way the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Just....warmth. Liquid sunlight pouring down your throat, flooding your veins, reaching into every dark and dying corner of your body and saying, very simply saying.
Not yet
The sickness broke like a fever dream, Color returned to your face. Strength returned to your limbs.
You sat up in bed and your husband let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and he gathered you up in his arms and buried his face in your hair and you held him right back and...
And your hair was glowing.
Not your baby's hair. Not the child still growing safe and sound inside you , who would be born three weeks later, a healthy, screaming, beautifully ordinary little girl with her father's eyes and a wisp of brown hair.
Your own hair.
The golden light pulsed from root to tip, warm and alive, cascading over your husband's arms like a sunrise he could hold. You both stared at it, breathless, and then you laughed.
"Well," you'd said, watching the glow fade to a gentle shimmer. "That's new."
𖤓𓇢𓆸
The kingdom celebrated.
The Queen was healed! The Princess was born!
Lanterns were launched into the sky, thousands of them, a constellation of joy burning above the castle, and you stood on the balcony with your daughter in your arms and your husband's hand on the small of your back and you thought.
'This is the happiest ending anyone could ask for.'
You were right.
It was an ending.
You just didn't know whose.
Meanwhile, he watched from the treeline.
He had watched the soldiers tear his flower, his flower, his precious, centuries-kept secret from the earth like common weeds.
He had watched them carry it behind castle walls. And felt the years begin to crawl back into his skin the moment the petals disappeared from sight, and for the first time in longer than most kingdoms had existed, Gothel had felt something close to panic.
And then rage.
Cold, patient, ancient rage.
He had planned to take the child, of course. Word had spread quickly through the kingdom, the magic flower, the miraculous recovery, and the baby.
It was always the baby. The power always passed down. That was how these things worked in every story, every legend, every whispered fairy tale.
So he waited.
He had watched the castle from the shadows with dark eyes and a darker patience, hands clasped behind his back, his cloak drawn close.
He studied the guard rotations. Counted the steps from the eastern wall to the tower.
Then he was ready.
Yet the baby was born with brown hair.
Perfectly, utterly ordinary brown hair.
Gothel stared at the announcement, the criers in the square, the descriptions of the little princess, brown-haired, bright-eyed, beautiful, and something in his chest had gone very, very still.
'No.'
He had broken into the castle that same night.
Not for the child, not yet, not until he was sure but to see for himself.
The man moved through the corridors like a shadow, the guards didn't see him. The servants didn't hear him.
He found the nursery first.
The baby slept in her cradle, tiny fists curled, chest rising and falling with the untroubled rhythm of the deeply loved. He'd reached down his long fingers, and with steady hands, and lifted a single wisp of her hair.
Brown.
Just brown.
No glow, no warmth, and definitely no power.
Nothing.
Father Gothel stood there for a long moment, the baby sleeping on, oblivious, and the rage had coiled tighter in his chest because if the child didn't have the power then where is it?!
And then Gothel heard you singing.
𖤓𓇢𓆸
It came from down the hall. Your chambers. The door was cracked, just barely enough for the low, golden light to spill across the stone floor like a secret it couldn't keep.
Gothel moved toward it the way a moth moves toward a flame, and he told himself it was necessary, and logical, he was simply following the power to its source, and that was all.
He looked through the door.
And the rage went quiet.
You were sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair in long, absent strokes, humming a melody you didn't know the words to couldn't possibly know, because the words were his,
A song he had sung to a flower in a hidden glen for longer than your kingdom had a name.
But somehow you had found the tune, plucked it from whatever golden magic now lived in your blood, and you were humming it in the dark like a lullaby.
And your hair was glowing.
Every stroke of the brush sent a wave of light cascading down, gold and alive,
The years were falling off your face with each pass, not that you had many to lose, you were young, so young, and the light loved you the way it had loved the flower, completely and without reservation.
His breath caught
Gothel finally found what he was looking for.
He watched you set the brush down, as you twist your glowing hair over one shoulder and smile at your own reflection, a small, wondering smile, like you still couldn't quite believe any of this was real.
You touched a strand of gold and watched it glow and let out a little breath of amazement.
'Precious,' he thought 'You don't even know what you have.'
He pulled back from the door, and disappeared into the dark.
But he didn't leave.
𖤓𓇢𓆸
Father Gothel came back the next night.
And the next.
And the one following after.
While you didn't know you were being watched.
How could you? The castle was safe. The kingdom was at peace. Your daughter was healthy and your husband was happy and the magic in your hair was a secret kept close, known only to the King, the court physician, and two trusted advisors who'd been sworn to silence on pain of treason.
You only let your hair down at night, alone, in your chambers, with the door locked and the curtains drawn.
You had brush it and feel the warmth spread through you like sunlight through water, and you would hum that strange melody that lived somewhere behind your ribs, and for a few quiet minutes the world was golden and simple and good.
Honestly, You didn't know that the lock on your balcony door was nothing to a man who had four centuries to learn patience.
You didn't know that he stood in the shadow of your curtains, close enough to touch you, and watched the light play across your face and learned the rhythm of your breathing and memorized the exact way your lashes fanned across your cheeks when you closed your eyes.
This was inconvenient.
This was not the plan he placed for what he is about to do.
He was supposed to take the flower's power and disappear.
That was how this worked. He'd done it for centuries, simple, clean, uncomplicated. The flower sat in its glen and he sang and the years fell away and that was enough.
But you were not a flower.
In truth, he had stopped thinking about the power three nights ago.
For once, He admired something more then immortality and you.
And that is the way you talked to yourself while you braided your hair for bed, little muttered commentaries on your day, on the council meeting that ran long, on the way your daughter had grabbed your finger and held on with surprising strength, and you would say "she gets that from her father, the stubborn thing," with such nude adoration in your voice that something inside him would twist so hard he thought it might snap.
You alive and real in a way that the flower had never been, and Gothel understood with the clarity of a man watching his own execution that he was not going to be able to walk away from this.
Not now.
Not ever.
𖤓𓇢𓆸
It was the seventh night when he made his decision.
You were sitting on the edge of your bed, your glowing hair pooled around you like a golden sea, and you were talking to your sleeping daughter in the cradle beside you, soft, sweet nonsense, the kind of things mothers say when they think no one is listening.
"You're going to be so loved," you whispered, stroking one tiny cheek with your fingertip.
"You already are. You have no idea. Your father's already planning your first birthday and you're three weeks old, the man is absolutely hopeless-"
You broke off with a quiet laugh, and in the shadows behind your curtain, Gothel closed his eyes and pressed his fist against his chest and thought, very calmly that he needs to have you.
And in the eighth night, you wake up to a hand over your mouth.
Not rough, that's the first thing you register, in the half-second before the panic hits.
The palm pressed against your lips is firm but almost gentle, and there's a voice in the dark above you, low and soothing.
"Shh, shh, shh. Easy, now. Easy."
Your eyes fly open.
Moonlight cuts through the gap in the curtains and catches a face , sharp cheekbones, grey eyes, a mouth curved into something that's almost a smile but not quite.
He's beautiful in the way that exotic things are beautiful.
The stranger is leaning over your bed.
"There she is," he murmurs, and his dark eyes trace your face with an intensity that steals the breath he hasn't already taken. "Good morning, my flower. I'm going to need you to be very quiet for me."
But you bite his hand.
He hisses, yanks back, and you scream or you try to.
Gothel was faster.
The cloth is over your nose before the sound leaves your throat, filled with the strong smell of herbs.
You thrash, grab at his wrist, and your hair blazes gold in the dark, lighting up the chamber like a struck match, and you see his face clearly for the first time.
He's staring at your hair.
No, he's staring at you.
And the expression on his face is not one you've ever seen directed at you before.
"Beautiful," he breathes, and his free hand comes up to catch a strand of your glowing hair between his fingers. He cradles it like it's something holy.
"Every bit as beautiful as I knew you would be."
Your vision swims, the cloth is doing its work, your limbs are going heavy, your thoughts scattering like startled birds, and you fight it, but he shushes you again, so gently.
His fingers slide from your hair to your cheek and brush the tears away with a tenderness that makes your stomach turn.
"Don't fight it, darling," he whispers. "You'll only hurt yourself, and I cannot have that."
You try to reach for the bell pull, for the dagger under your pillow.
But your arm falls, boneless, and he catches your hand before it hits the mattress and brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles and holds it there, eyes closed, breathing you in.
"I have watched you," he says against your skin, casual, conversational, like he's telling you about the weather. "Every night for a week, I've stood right there." he nods toward the curtain
"and watched you brush your hair and sing my song and I thought, how poetic, the flower becomes a woman."
"I was going to take the child," he continues, and your blood goes cold at the mention of Repunzel.
Yet he shakes his head before the new wave of panic can crest. "But the power didn't pass to her. It stayed in you. And I'll admit, I was frustrated. At first."
"Then I watched you," he says. "And I wasn't frustrated anymore."
Your eyelids are so heavy. The room is fading at the edges, moonlight going soft and dark. You can still see him, just barely, a shadow leaning over you with your hand pressed to his cheek now, cradling it like something precious and breakable.
"Your king will search for you," Gothel mocks. "They always do. They will send soldiers and scouts and they will comb every forest and field and they will never. Find. You."
He lifts you from the bed.
You weigh nothing to him. He carries you, one arm under your knees, one behind your back, your glowing hair spilling over his arm in a river of gold, and he looks down at you with those dark, dark eyes and the smile is gone now, replaced by something raw and absolute.
"I have kept a flower alive for four hundred years," he says quietly. "Imagine what I will do for you."
The last thing you see before the darkness takes you is the open balcony door. The night sky beyond it.
The thousands of lanterns that still hang from every eave and window in the kingdom, strung up in celebration of your recovery, and of your daughter's birth.
They look, you think dimly, like tiny suns.
And then the dark swallows everything, and you feel him pull you closer, and his heartbeat is steady against your cheek, and the last thing you hear is his voice, low and warm and terribly.
Based on Christine by Stephen King
After your boyfriend's death, you're eager to sell his vintage Mustang. The car reminds you far too much of him and worse than that, it feels oddly alive. The only problem? Your dead boyfriend isn't ready to let go.
Tags: Male Yanderes x Fem Reader, Horror, Character Death, 12k words
Taglist: @mel-vaz
When your boyfriend died, you and Christine were the only witnesses.
All through his funeral, you kept thinking of ways to get rid of her. You were being paranoid and you knew it - she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. But having her around put you on edge, made you grit your teeth until your jaw ached.
After the wake, you approached your boyfriend's parents and asked if you could have her. They were pale and shaken, reeling from the suddeness of death just as much as from grief. His father nodded like a sleep walker, his voice older than his years.
"He would have wanted you to have her. She's yours."
His mother squeezed your shoulder. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear. Whatever his faults, my boy loved you. I know that."
You managed a smile, managed to thank them through the tears that were suddenly falling. But your mind was on Christine. Always on Christine.
You were the last to leave the funeral parlour. You tried to tell yourself it was a coincidence, but deep down you knew the truth. You were scared. Scared of Christine, scared of your too quiet townhouse, scared of the dreams that would come when you closed your eyes.
It was early evening and the streetlights were coming on in the narrow tree lined avenue outside the funeral parlour. When you stepped out, goosebumps crawled across your arms.
She was waiting for you.
Christine. Your boyfriend's 1969 Mustang, cherry red and entirely rebuilt.
She was directly under a streetlight and her paint gleamed. The light reflected off her windshield so you couldn't see inside, but for a second it seemed like someone was already sitting behind the wheel.
You squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them, the shadow driver was gone.
Christine. For most of your relationship, you loved her just as much as your boyfriend did. She was a labour of love and you felt it every time you sat in her passenger seat.
But things were different now.
You walked towards her cautiously. It was ridiculous to be scared of a car, but you were.
When you opened the driver side door, you almost expected to see your boyfriend. Despite the funeral, the wake, the late morning call to please come and identify a body down at the morgue, you still expected to see him. Light green eyes looking up at you, half smile that was half teasing and half lecherous.
The seats were empty.
You slid behind the wheel, your breathing shaky. You almost never drove Christine. Not that your boyfriend didn't offer. It was just that you liked riding passenger - liked looking over and seeing your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, liked seeing the muscles flex in his forearm when he steered.
The car still smelled like him. That was the first thing you noticed. Despite being impounded for a week while the cops did forensics, despite the valet scrubbing and steaming the seats to get the blood out, it still smelled like him.
You rested your head against the steering wheel, closed your eyes and sobbed for the first time since the night you killed your boyfriend.
When you put Christine up for sale, the calls started coming in almost immediately. It wasn't surprising - she was in incredible shape, she ran like a dream, and her white leather upholstery was original.
At first, you thought you'd be able to sell her before the month was up. The buyers would look under the hood and whistle in admiration.
But something always changed when they took her for a test drive. You couldn't understand it - she would drive perfectly but by the time you got home, the buyers were almost always frowning at you, or worse - not looking at you at all.
No matter how fanatic they were at first, no one wanted Christine.
You dropped the price and then dropped it again, but still no takers. The car spent all winter in the garage. You'd turn her on to idle every few days, clean off any dust and check that the mice weren't nibbling at the wiring, but you never stuck around for long.
It hurt to leave her locked away - your boyfriend poured so much of himself into her - but it hurt even worse to drive her. Whenever you were behind the wheel, you could feel the gaping emptiness of the passenger seat, could still see the bloodstains.
It was on the first warm day of spring when someone finally bought her.
Colt Guilder called you when you were just about ready to give up on selling her. You were literally about to take down the ad when your phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, with a slight southern drawl that immediately reminded you of your boyfriend.
"Can I come and take a look today? I wouldn't want to impose ma'am, but I'm in a hurry to see her before anyone else gets a chance to buy her."
Her. Even the older buyers didn't really call cars 'her' anymore.
"Sure. You can come by this afternoon."
You were sitting on the porch steps when he pulled up, a jug of iced tea and your novel abandoned next to you. He stepped out of his Jeep, a tall man in blue jeans and boots, and you felt your heart lurch. Something deep inside you told you that this was the man who would finally take her off your hands.
He smiled at you as he approached and for a second you wanted to warn him away. Wanted to tell him the truth about Christine.
"Howdy ma'am. I'm real happy you agreed to meet me so last minute."
You smiled at him and shook his hand and bit back the truth. Oh, how you would come to hate that decision.
When he pulled up, Colt wasn't expecting the Mustang's owner to be a pretty little thing in a sundress. He was a gentleman, his mama raised him right, but even he had trouble keeping his eyes on your face and not letting them wander lower.
His hand swallowed yours when he shook it and it was hard not to notice the softness of your skin. Whoever rebuilt the Mustang, it wasn't you. You had the hands of a lady, not a mechanic.
"The car is out back. Keys are waiting for you. She's been serviced pretty regularly and my... my boyfriend built her up himself."
You started for the garage and he fell into step behind you. You were so much shorter than him - it was kind of cute to see your head bobbing in front of him. Like a pixie in a sundress.
"How come your man ain't the one to sell it?"
He wasn't surprised you had a boyfriend. Hell, he'd have tried his luck if he could. No doubt other men had the same idea.
"He... he passed away a few moths ago."
He cringed. Nice going, Colt. Bringing up painful memories only three sentences into conversation. Must be a world record.
"I'm so sorry ma'am. I had no idea."
You shrugged. "It's fine."
He was about to say something else when Christine came into view. Her grille was a newly buffed silver and her deep red paint caught the spring sun.
He gave a low whistle. "Pictures don't do her justice."
You smiled at that, but edged out of the car's direct line of sight. Neither of you consciously noticed it, but you approached the car like you would an animal. Slightly from the side so it couldn't charge at you.
"Mind if I take a look under the hood?"
"Be my guest."
He popped the hood and let out another low whistle. Without even looking past the surface level stuff, it was clear your boyfriend knew how to build an engine. The Mustang looked almost new.
"How long did this take?"
You leaned against the garage door and crossed your arms.
"A long time. He bought her a few months after we started dating. She was gonna be scrapped - looked like a total rust bucket."
He raised his eyebrows. If that was true, the body restoration alone must have cost a fortune. Did you realise how valuable a vintage ride like this was worth?
"Y'know, just from looking under the hood, I can tell you could get at least three times as much as you're asking."
If his uncle heard him sabotaging himself like that, he'd have given Colt a whack on the head. Truth was, he wanted the car. Wanted her so bad he would have taken out three separate loans to afford her.
But he wasn't a monster. It wasn't fair to buy something so fine from a girl who might not understand its true worth.
You raised your brows, more surprised at his honesty than at his statement.
"I know she's worth more. But I'm in a hurry to get rid of her. And well..."
You looked away. "People find the car a bit strange."
It was his turn to be surprised. He couldn't see any red flags in her upkeep or her paintwork. Maybe it was a deeper issue.
You pushed yourself away from the wall and nodded at the door.
"Keys are waiting for you. Take her for a drive and decide for yourself."
The interior was just as well taken care of as he expected - a tough job when the upholstery was mostly white. The keys had a tag attached with a name engraved in metal.
"Christine?"
"It's what we call her. It was a joke at first but the name sort of stuck."
You slid into the passenger seat and tugged your seat belt across your chest. He glanced at you out the corner of his eye and -
'Silly thing, doesn't she know better than to get into a car with a stranger twice her size?'
He shook his head, like that could dislodge the idea. He wasn't that sort of man, wasn't some kind predator with a mind full of filth.
'It would be so easy. You're so much bigger than her, so much stronger. You want her. Why not just take what you want?'
Where the hell was this coming from? He might have a guilty thought every once in a while, but he was always quick to squash it down. It wasn't like him to think something so...forceful about a girl.
He turned the key and the engine roared to life. And it really was a roar. V8 engine growling so loud he could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.
Oh baby, he was sold on her right then and there. The devil himself couldn't have outbid him. What little boy didn't dream of a car like this? Didn't spend his childhood looking through magazines and brawling over matchbox versions?
The clutch was smooth as butter as he cruised down your driveway and turned onto the main road.
God, he wanted to gun it. Floor the gas and find out for himself just how powerful old school muscle was.
He looked over at you, about to ask if you knew exactly what your boyfriend did to the engine. You were looking out at the passing trees, your hair stirring in the slight breeze from his open window.
'She looks like she belongs here, with you.'
It was another foreign thought, something he wouldn't expect of himself. But it was true. The Mustang would have felt empty without you - in your sundress and white sneakers, you completed the picture. Your boyfriend must have rebuilt the car just for you, as a way to keep you next to him. Colt wasn't sure why he thought that, but somehow he knew it was true. Whoever your man was, he put so much of himself into this car that Colt almost felt like he was right next to the guy.
You turned to him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.
"What do you think?"
"She runs sweet as apple pie."
You felt your heart stutter. Your boyfriend used to say the exact same thing.
"You alright there sweetheart? You look a little pale."
"Sorry. Just a little car sick."
Car sick was right - you were sick to hell of this damn car and the way it played with your emotions.
"C'mon, I know a diner just off the highway. We can stop for some fresh air and a bite to eat. You'll feel better in no time."
You didn't have time to protest before he switched lanes and turned onto the highway.
The diner he took you to really was just off the highway, a retro looking spot railed off from a steep cliff.
"How did you know about this place?"
He shrugged. "I must have heard about it from someone."
Strange. Colt didn't think he'd ever seen the place before, much less heard about it. But when you looked at him with that slight hint of panic, that sudden fear, somehow he knew this was the place to bring you.
He climbed out and opened your door for you before you had a chance to do it yourself.
"You know this place?" he asked.
If anything, you looked even paler than before. "Yeah. My boyfriend and I used to come up here pretty often."
He frowned, annoyed at himself for somehow making this even worse. "We can go somewhere else if you want."
"No!" You took a deep breath. "No, this is fine. I just need a moment away from the car, that's all."
He led you to a picnic table near the edge of the cliff. Far below you, the main road clung to the cliffside and disappeared into the trees.
"You just sit pretty and I'll grab us some chow."
You smiled up at him. "Thanks Colt. Really. I know this is probably eating into your day."
He waved it away. "Trust me, this is a much better way to spend the weekend than what I had planned."
It was true. He'd wanted to see the car and somehow that turned into lunch with a pretty girl at a table with one hell of a view. Maybe Christine had some good luck about her. Maybe all of this was just meant to be.
When he stepped into the diner, he was greeted by jukebox country music and the smell of good, strong coffee. He didn't bother to look at the menu. Somehow, he knew exactly what to order.
"I'll have a banana spilt, some fries and a toasted sandwich." He smiled at the elderly waitress. "Please and thank you Agnes."
"Sure thing sugar."
He frowned. How the hell did he know the waitress's name?
Must have seen her name tag, right? That made sense. Must have been a half second, subconscious glance.
When she handed him his change, he dropped his eyes to her lapel. No name tag. No label. Not even a necklace with her initials on it.
It was a warm spring day but he still shivered. Something strange was going on.
No, don't be ridiculous. Agnes was a common name, a vintage diner kind of name. That was probably why he said it. His mind must have just made a lucky guess. There's no way he could know her name when he didn't even know about the diner until he pulled up.
Unless... it wasn't him that knew her name. Maybe it was someone else, something else speaking through him.
"C'mon Colt, don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself.
"You say something sugar?"
He jerked his head to the side, his heart lurching. Just the waitress, just Agnes, looking at him with raised brows.
"No ma'am. Just thinking out loud."
"Alrighty then. Here's your order. Be careful not to spill the chocolate sauce. It's hell to clean up."
"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. Have a good day."
He was stupidly happy to step out of the restaurant. The place must have been getting to him. Why else was he suddenly so superstitious?
"You doing okay Colt?" you asked.
He grinned at you. "Just dandy sweetheart. I got you a banana split and some French fries."
"Oh! That's perfect, thank you."
See? Nothing strange at all. He had a sweet ride and a sweeter girl waiting for him. Why worry about some weird diner?
He sat down across from you and unwrapped his sandwich. Behind you, Christine looked at him with a shining chrome smile.
"Listen, you can get a whole lot more for a car that fine. But if you're willing to let her go for the price in the ad, I'll buy her today," he said.
You froze, a fry halfway to your mouth. He really wanted her? He wasn't coming up with some lame excuse or hurrying off with a mumbled apology?
"Done," you said, a bit too quickly.
You were finally getting rid of Christine. No more nightmares, no more tip toeing around the garage like you were scared she might notice you, no more unwanted memories every time you laid eyes on her.
You were burying your past like it should have been buried on the day of your boyfriend's funeral.
He offered you his hand and you shook it, a genuine smile on your face.
"She's all yours." And thank God for that.
Colt drove you home and followed you into the house to collect the car registration papers.
You frowned at your empty desk drawer. You could have sworn you left the documents right here...
You popped your head into the living room where Colt was waiting.
"Give me a second. I think I left them upstairs."
"Sure. I'm in no hurry."
He wandered around your living room while you were gone, too keyed up to sit still. It was a neat, modern room with art on the walls. The big bay windows opened onto the front yard and the driveway where Christine sat waiting for him.
Part of him still couldn't believe it. She really was his dream car. The sort of ride all his work buddies would be green with envy over.
He leaned against the windowsil and then quickly looked down when his hand brushed something metallic.
Picture frames, the small kind that usually sat on a desk. He picked one up, the frame cool against his skin. It was a picture of you and someone he guessed to be your boyfriend. Both of you were in formal wear - you in a deep red evening gown and him in a tailored tux. Christine was parked in the background, her red a compliment to your dress.
Your boyfriend was handsome in a rough cut sort of way, his hair swept back and a tattoo just peeking out of his shirt. He was looking directly at the camera while you looked up at him, his arm curled tightly around your waist.
Colt frowned. There was something about the man's expression... a kind of possessive meanness. He seemed the type of guy to start a fight and then finish it no matter what, a real tough customer.
And the way he held you... some might call it loving but Colt found it more proprietary than anything else.
'Mine. My girl, no matter what. Try and take her from me and I'll show you a world of hurt.'
Colt put the picture down with a frown and scanned the others. Out hiking on the mountains, at the beach, holding a huge bouquet while he kissed you. A perfect couple except... except for the way he looked at you. Sweet, yes. But somehow dangerous, in the way rattlesnakes and cougars were. Fine if they weren't disturbed, but tread on their territory and there'd be hell to pay.
He moved away when he heard you coming down the stairs. You were a little flushed, a little out of breath, but you grinned at him and waved a stack of papers.
"Finally found them! Just need to sign the change of ownership forms and she's all yours."
He watched you as you searched for a pen, your sundress swishing 'round your thighs. He didn't like your boyfriend - dead or not, he seemed like one mean bastard - but seeing you so happy, so flushed with life and hope and joy, Colt found he could almost understand the other man. If you were his girl, he'd hold you just as tight.
You finally found a pen and he scribbled his signature on the dotted line.
"Well, seems like you're the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang. Congratulations."
He carefully took the papers from you, his fingers brushing yours. "Real good doing business with you sweetheart."
You lead him out to the car, going through the list of things he'd need to do to properly register the car as his. Real cute of you, to think he didn't know it all already.
He slid into the driver's seat and when he touched the wheel, he felt that same sense of power. And under it, a strange feeling of being not quiet alone in the car.
You stood outside his window, running through a catalogue of spares and repairs that he might want to check out. If he had to guess, you seemed nervous.
He leaned back and smiled at you. "It's alright y/n. I ain't changing my mind. Deals done, remember?"
It was the first time using your name and it sent a small bolt of electricity jolting through him.
'Her name is mighty sweet, ain't it? Meant to be said oh so softly, meant to be savoured.'
You looked at him like you felt it too, your cheeks just a little warmer than before.
Oh Lord, what sort of bastard was he? Feeling this way about you when your boyfriend was in the ground for scarcely half a year? You were probably still mourning, still nursing your broken heart. He should be a gentleman and leave you alone, shouldn't take advantage of your vulnerability. He should be a good man.
'You'd be an idiot to let her go.'
The thought streaked through his mind. It almost didn't feel like his own idea. Wherever the thought came from, it wasn't wrong. He really would be an idiot to not ask you out when he had a chance. He got lucky with the car - prize piece like this would have been snatched up in a matter of hours. If he didn't ask you out, if he didn't push his luck for the second time, the same thing might happen with you.
"How 'bout I take you out to dinner later this week? As a thank you."
You looked unsure, your eyes jumping down to the car keys like you were expecting an objection.
"Please? I know Christine must mean a lot to you. I'd feel a whole lot better taking her off your hands if I could thank you properly."
You bit your lower lip and he found his eyes drawn to the sight of it. Please say yes please say-
"Yes, I think I'd like that. But no later than eight, okay?"
YES! He rubbed a palm across his jaw to hide his smile.
"I'll bring you home early, promise."
"I'll hold you to that, cowboy."
Oh god, he wanted to melt when you called him that. It was so silly - big guy like him getting butterflies over a sort-of kind-of date.
'Atta boy. You ain't gonna regret it.'
He was too distracted watching you walk away to realise the thought wasn't his own.
That night, you slept without dreaming. For the first time since your boyfriend's death, you didn't see his face when you closed your eyes.
You woke up the next morning expecting to be relieved. Christine was gone, wasn't that exactly what you wanted?
Yes, but...but what happens next? You weren't an idiot nor were you unduly superstitious, but Christine didn't feel like a normal car. Maybe that's what happens after a violent death - things change, the blood seeps through the fabric and poisons the aura, or the energy, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.
You made yourself breakfast but couldn't eat more than a few bites.
Okay, try and be logical. It was probably just your guilt playing tricks on you. You loved Christine and you loved your boyfriend, so it was only natural that you'd feel terrible about selling her. That's all. Blood and death can't change the nature of an inanimate object, no matter how violent or grisly it might have been.
Right. Just your guilty conscience. No need to work yourself up.
Across town, Colt slept through his alarm. He was dreaming, a sweet little fantasy of cruising down the highway on a brilliant summer day. You were next to him, your sundress even shorter than before, smiling at him and running your hand up his thigh.
You were his girl. His and his alone. He could feel the certainty of it in every part of him. You loved him, you stood by him, you did everything you could to support him, you were his.
Christine purred through her gears and he pushed the gas a little more, eager to get home. He would show you exactly how much he appreciated you - inch by inch and kiss by kiss.
"I love you darlin'. I need you to know that," he said. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was raspier, with an edge of meanness that not even love could soften.
You looked at him, smiling all soft and sweet. "I know. I've always known."
Colt jerked awake, smiling and shivering at the same time. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, disoriented and feeling like a stranger in his own body.
"One hell of a dream," he muttered.
'Not a dream cowboy. A memory from someone long dead.'
He ignored the thought, his mind already focused on the day ahead. He'd driven Christine home yesterday, but left his Jeep parked outside your house. He could either get one of his buddies pick it up or take a taxi over and get it himself.
Was it even a choice? He wanted to see you again. If he had to pay an ungodly amount for an Uber, he would.
Should he call you before showing up at your door? What would be a good time to see you? He didn't want to show up too late and catch you in a rush to leave.
'She'll be awake by now. But she'll only leave for work after twelve.'
How did he know that? Did you mention it yesterday?
He climbed out of bed and half stumbled to the bathroom. As the steam clouded up the mirror, he thought of his dream. And what might have happened if he'd stayed asleep longer. Maybe your hand would wander further up his thigh, and then...
He lathered up his fist and took hold of himself. He was already hard from just the thought of you. Your sundress looked so damn flimsy. He could probably yank it off you with just one hand.
He groaned, his forehead pressed against the tile. Picturing your hand dwarfed by his when you shook on the sale; how soft your skin was, how good it would feel if you touched him just like this.
'Fucking yourself like a dog at the thought of her.'
He agreed. You really were turning him into a dog.
You were sitting in your living room, trying and failing to read your novel, when he knocked on your front window. You struggled to smooth down your hair while you scrambled for the door.
"Hi Colt! Came to pick up your Jeep?"
He was wearing blue jeans again today, with a tight wife beater that showed off arms thick with muscle.
"Yes ma'am. Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."
That made you smile. How often does someone go out of their way to check up on a stranger?
"I don't think so. But I've got some fresh orange juice and donuts, if you'd like to come in."
He smiled at you and for a second his gaze dipped down past your chin. "There's nothing I'd like better."
He took up a lot of space at your kitchen table, but you found it comforting. The room felt too big without your boyfriend to fill it.
You flipped open the box of donuts and he picked out the mint chocolate one.
"Never really liked the mint ones," he told you, "But I've got an awful craving for one right now."
"Oh I never liked them much either. It was my boyfriend who was the die-hard mint fan."
He looked away from you, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It must be hard for you. Losing him so suddenly."
"It was. It is. Everyone keeps telling me it gets easier, but it hasn't. Up until last night, I dreamt about him everynight."
"Dreamt of him?" he asked you suddenly, his eyes intense.
"Yep. Every single night. It was like I was reliving my memories again and again."
He looked a bit perturbed at your statement, but you put it down to him feeling awkward about the conversation. Death is never a fun or casual topic.
"So how's Christine treating you?"
"Like a dream. I was thinking of taking her down the coast next weekend. All open road and sea air." He paused, seeming to weigh something up in his mind. "Why don't you join me? The morning after I take you out to dinner. We can pack a picnic and have lunch at the cape."
"That sounds incredible." You looked down at your hands, slightly uneasy but not sure why. Your boyfriend spoke about doing that once. A mini road trip with the windows down and the sea breeze in your hair.
It's not that strange that Colt had the same idea, right? Everyone knew the coast road was a long, quiet stretch. Perfect for putting Christine to the test.
"You're gonna love it," he said. "I'll even make my world famous tiramisu."
You raised a brow. "You know how to make tiramisu?" Big guy like him didn't really seem the patisserie type. Did he have a cute apron with bows on it too?
He pointed his donut at you, blue eyes twinkling. "Not just any tiramisu. World famous."
You snorted out a laugh and for the first time in months, you kitchen felt like a happy place.
He dreamt about you again that night. Christine was parked in a dark corner on the edge of a cliffside hiking trail. He could hear waves crashing far below. It was nighttime, with the full moon outlining your face in silver and shadow.
He was in the driver's seat and you were straddling his lap. You were wearing a sweater and a cute pleated skirt that seemed oh so short with the way you leaned over him.
"You've been ignoring me," you accused him. You were pouting in an adorably petulant way. He looked at your lips - red and slightly swollen - and knew that he'd just been kissing you.
"I haven't been ignorin' you sugar. I've just been busy."
He spoke with that same raspy voice that somehow wasn't his.
"Too busy to say hello or drop by for dinner?"
You shifted in his lap and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. Oh, you damn tease.
"I'm filthy and tired after work sweetheart. You wouldn't want me."
You frowned, going from slightly annoyed to full blown angry.
"I always want you, you idiot. I'm not scared of a few stains. I like it when you come home smelling like the workshop. I like it when you're dirty from work." You tugged at his collar. "I like you. Why don't you get that?"
'Because you're too good for me.' He almost said it. It was on the tip of his tongue and it was only some dull instinct that kept him quiet. How couldn't you see it? You were everything he wasn't. You were educated and kind and selfless. He was just some bastard from the wrong side of the tracks.
He wanted to impress you. He wanted to be worthy of you. Fixing up the Mustang was just the start of it. He didn't care that it took him all summer and pretty much all of his pay cheque to do. He wanted a ride that he would be proud to pick you up in.
And it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing ever felt like enough.
He looked away from you and stayed silent.
You sighed and brought your palms up to his cheeks, gently turned his face back to yours. "I like you. I'm dating you. I want to spend time with you, no matter how grouchy you are. Okay?"
He should be a gentleman and let you go, shouldn't take advantage of your kindness. He should be a good man.
"Okay," he said and leaned forward to kiss you.
He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a gentleman. He was going to hold onto you for as long as he could.
Colt woke up with a snarl, slamming his fist on his alarm so hard the clock face cracked.
"I didn't want it to end, goddammit."
He rubbed his hand over his face. The dream felt so real. He could feel the late fall chill, could smell your shampoo and taste your cherry lip gloss. He wanted to go right back to sleep and fall back into that wonderful fantasy.
He scowled and threw the covers off. Dreams could wait, work couldn't.
All through the day he was snappish and irritable. One of the apprentices messed up an order and he snarled at them to stop being so fucking useless and fix it. His coworkers shot each other looks behind his back. He was behaving entirely out of character but both him and his buddies were helpless to stop it. It was only when he got home at the end of his shift that he realised why.
He wanted to dream about you again.
There wasn't any guarantee that he would. Dreams weren't exactly scheduled network programming. But somehow he knew it would happen.
He ended up going to bed before eight, a world record for someone who usually only considered sleeping when it was well past midnight.
He was right. He did dream of you.
You were in a bikini this time, lounging on a lawn chair in the backyard. You had sunglasses on and there was a slight sheen of baby oil on your skin. Your phone was on shuffle and pop music was blaring from the speakers.
You weren't expecting him and he kept his steps real quiet as he approached you. He kept expecting you to hear him and shoot up, and he was slightly annoyed when you didn't. What if he was a serial killer or some sick pervert, sneaking up on you while you were so vulnerable? Did you have no spatial awareness?
He made it all the way to the back of your chair and you were still totally oblivious. There was a magazine and a glass of ice tea on a small table next to you. You were softly humming along to the music.
He took a minute to just admire you. Your body stretched out and entirely at his mercy. His girl, his gorgeous girl.
He leaned down until his lips were right next to your ear.
"Hey there sugar. You miss me?"
You shot up with a shriek, your sunglasses flying. You whirled on him, grabbing your magazine like thirty pages of glossy Cosmo was going to help you fight off an attacker.
Your eyes narrowed when you recognised him and you smacked his chest, hard.
"You asshole! You gave me a heart attack!"
He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of you so riled up.
"You're lucky it was me and not someone else. Not everyone has such noble intentions."
"Yeah right. Was it your noble intention to scare the living daylights out of me?"
He held up his palms in a placating gesture. "Just teachin' you a lesson sweetheart. I was standing there for a good few minutes and you didn't notice a damn thing."
He cast a critical eye across your backyard. "I reckon some high wooden fencing would do the trick. 'Bout seven feet high, sunken flowerbeds on either side like trenches to make it even harder to get a leg up."
"I don't want a fence."
He ignored you, already mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need. "A nice light coloured wood. Pine maybe. Will match your house much better."
You sat back down, the fight draining out of you as your adrenaline dissipated. "What are you doing here? Did you get off work early?"
He narrowed his eyes but you didn't seem to notice. "Why? Don't want me around?"
That shocked you enough that you twisted around in your chair to look at him.
"Of course I want you around! Don't ever imply otherwise. This is a lovely surprise." You paused. "Near heart attack aside of course."
It was funny how easily you could calm him down. One sentence was all it took to get him smiling again. He leaned forward and hooked one finger under the strap of your bikini top.
"I haven't seen this one before. New?"
You blushed and looked down. "Mm-hmm."
"It's cute. But..."
You glanced up at him, suddenly self conscious. "But what?"
He grinned wolfishly. "But...you would look so much better without it."
He tugged at the bow holding your top up. The strings unravelled and fell down your back. The bra cups started to slip down too, and his eyes were glued to their steady fall.
He was going to teach you a whole 'nother lesson about wearing such a skimpy outfit where anyone could see you. Show you exactly what sick, twisted bastards would do to your body. Teach you a lesson you won't forget, so maybe, just maybe... you'd learn to be more cautious around men like him.
Colt woke up with a hunger like death. His cock so hard it was actually throbbing. He didn't feel well rested, despite having slept more than he had in two weeks.
It played over and over again in his mind. The strings unravelling, your bikini top sliding off... Always stopping right at the good part, the part he most wanted to see.
He got ready for the day with a savage efficiency. Bolting back his protein shake without even tasting it. He didn't realise it, but he'd started counting down the days until he could see you again. Just two more days. Two more nights of dreams and then you'd be there in the flesh and he could finally - finally what? He shook his head to clear away the dirty thoughts that were crowding him.
He was being a real bastard. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, when he had no right to. You hadn't shown any romantic or physical interest in him. You were clearly still grieving your man. He needed to get himself under control - what you needed in your life was a friend, not another man to obsess over you.
He forced himself to take a cold shower. Forced himself to avoid thinking about you. And to especially avoid thinking about the you from his dream.
'Good luck with that buddy. I used to be so tired I was falling asleep on my feet and I still couldn't get her out of my head.'
Work was thankfully busy that day and he threw himself into it with every feverish ounce of energy he had. Whenever his thoughts wandered towards you, he would find something else to do. He didn't eat anything at all and he didn't even notice getting hungry. He took on an extra shift and finished long after the sun went down, his muscles a hurting mess and his head not much better.
Christine was the last car left in the parking lot, sitting under a streetlight like she was waiting for him. He found his steps unintentionally getting slower the closer he came to her.
In the dark and lonely emptiness of the parking lot, she didn't feel like a normal car. If anything, she seemed to be watching him. Her headlights like eyes and her grille a silvery gash of a smile.
If he had to guess, he'd say the car was almost unhappy with him.
"Because I'm thinking about her?" He asked as he climbed behind the wheel. Immediately, he felt stupid and superstitious for talking out loud.
'Because you aren't thinking about her.'
He'd driven Christine to work the last few days despite not wanting to cause unnecessary wear and tear. Being in the car, driving it, was still a thrill.
Not tonight though.
He felt on edge, wanting to get out as soon as possible. She purred to life with the same thrumming power as always but his throat was tight with a nervousness he couldn't explain.
The inside of the car was suffocatingly quiet. He turned on the radio and old school rock 'n roll poured out.
'Just the sort of thing her boyfriend used to listen to,' he thought to himself. And then he laughed a stuttering, barking sort of laugh because there was no logical way he could have known that.
'Take it easy big guy. You and I are just gonna cruise. That's all.'
A nice cruise. Yeah, that sounded good. Calm his nerves, get rid of the nameless dread that was building all day. He relaxed into his seat, the streetlights crawling past in a hypnotic line of bright and dark.
He didn't notice when the radio dial moved on its own and the station changed from rock 'n roll to country. The singer sounded awfully familiar. His voice a kind of husky rasp. He was singing about his girl, his pretty woman, and he was singing about the grave and he was singing about the dark that waited.
'Oh,' he thought to himself dully, 'That's the voice I keep hearing in my dreams.'
When he finally reached home, it was two in the morning and the petrol gauge showed an empty tank. He'd somehow driven enough to eat through a full tank of gas. A drive that should have taken twenty minutes took five hours.
He got out of the car on legs that felt numb and cold. He couldn't remember driving. He couldn't remember the strange music or the even stranger passenger that rode with him. In his mind, there existed the clear cut memory of leaving work and climbing into Christine. Then there was nothing but a long, grey blankness that was tinged with a muted terror.
He collapsed into bed still in his work clothes. By morning, his mind would have stitched over all those things too terrible to contemplate. He would wake up feeling groggy and confused, and probably put it down to the strain of a long day.
Colt slept after driving with the dead and didn't dream.
On the day before your date, he found an engagement ring under the passenger side carpet.
He had no reason to look there, no reason to pull the carpet up by its seams. But he did it anyway and his reward was a silver and diamond band with blood dried in the crevices. There was an engraving on the inside and he had to take it out into the sun to try and read it.
'Mine. Forever and always.'
He shivered despite standing in the bright midmorming sun. Most rings would say 'yours' instead of 'mine.' He had no doubt that the change was entirely intentional. Your boyfriend was staking his claim on you - not just with the ring but with the intention behind it.
He looked at the brownish red stains and knew in his heart they were blood. Your boyfriend's blood.
Colt didn't know how the man died, but looking at the ring, he felt sure that it was bloody and far from natural. How would a blood stained ring end up in Christine? If the guy had been in accident sure. But the car was in perfect condition. The ring shouldn't have been there.
Unless he was murdered. Soaked in blood and tossed around during the struggle, the ring probably got pushed under the seam of the carpet. It was a sealed off spot and even a forensics team might miss something that small.
It was an outlandish and macabre theory to be basing entirely off one mysterious engagement ring. If he stopped to think about it, he would no doubt be able to poke a dozen separate holes into his theory.
Somehow, he knew it was true. The same way he suddenly knew Christine wasn't just an ordinary car and that his dreams about you were far from natural.
He felt a queer prickling all across his nape. He wasn't the type to scare easily, but this... This frightened him. He didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like if he looked up at the rear view mirror, he'd see someone in the back seat. No, not just someone. He'd see the dead man who owned the car before him.
He'd see the man who wanted to marry you.
He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. He wasn't a superstitious man. He didn't let fancies of ghosts and ghouls affect him. But even he couldn't deny the way he felt. His gut was telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong.
He climbed out of Christine like a man scared of waking a sleeping bear. He didn't even bother to grab the keys.
He couldn't explain any of it. Not the dreams, not the thoughts that felt like someone else, not the prickling certainty that a man died right where he'd been sitting.
He got into his his Jeep and pulled out of the driveway, his eyes on Christine the entire time. Like she'd somehow roar to life and slam into him.
He didn't know where he was driving to until he parked. A bar across town, a real rough spot that on most days even he wouldn't want to stop at. But today wasn't like most days.
The place was dark and the folk sitting around weren't exactly the friendly sort. He settled at the bar and ordered a tequila without really thinking about it.
Funny. He used to hate tequila.
It went down like fire, and he shuddered. He wanted to laugh. What else was a mam supposed to drink when the world didn't make a lick of sense anymore?
"Give me another one." His voice was raspier somehow. Even though that never happened when he drank vodka or whiskey.
There were mirrored shelves opposite him and he caught sight of his eyes. A pale green. He tossed back his second shot and tried to tell himself it was just a trick of the light.
He wasn't sure who to talk to. Not the Sheriff's Office. Yeah officer, there was a man murdered in my car and now I can't stop dreaming about his girlfriend didn't exactly scream unimpeachable sobriety.
And not the pastor either. Father, I'm being haunted by filthy thoughts and I'm not sure if they're my own. He doubted the old man at his mother's church was qualified to deal with that sort of thing.
But he couldn't keep quiet either. He had to tell someone about it. If they called him crazy at least it was an acknowledgement. At least it was better than being dead drunk and being scared of his own eyes in the mirror.
Who could possibly know anything about it? Oh. Of course.
He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and almost threw it across the room when it wouldn't turn on. He charged it every night, goddammit.
"There a pay phone somewhere 'round here?" he asked the bartender.
The man jerked his face at the side door that lead to the back parking lot. Colt stumbled out - swaying on his feet far worse than two drinks should warrant.
It was late afternoon. He shaded his eyes and tried looked at the sun like it was deliberately lying to him. He arrived at midday and he couldn't have been in there for more than twenty minutes. How the hell was it this late?
'Time moves differently when you're dead cowboy. You should know that by now.'
The payphone was in the shadow of the bar and he shivered when he stepped out of the sun. Wrong. It was all wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. Why was the voice still in his head when Christine was all the way across town? Why did he still feel life he wasn't quiet alone?
It was only when he had the receiver up against his ear that he realised he didn't know your number. Shit.
He leaned his forearm against the payphone and rested his forehead against it. Could he maybe get a taxi and show up at your house? He scoffed. Yeah, that would go well. Showing up dead drunk just to say he knew you liked short skirts in fall and that he dreamed of pulling off your bikini top. He'd be lucky if you only mildly tazed him.
Fuck. Okay. Home again. Sleep it off. Charge his phone. Call you in the morning and try not to sound too crazy. He could manage that.
He called the taxi company listed in the phone book. Half wondering if they were still in operation. When it finally connected, the call was thick with static.
"Yeah?" The man's voice was raspy and standoffish.
"Can I get a cab at Ronnie's on Westside?"
The man laughed. "Oh you must be a real tough customer to be drinking there. Didn't think you'd have the balls cowboy."
Colt wanted to cuss him out. What kind of fucker answers the phone and insults you less than two sentences in? He squeezed the receiver until he felt he could control his voice.
"Yeah. I'm a real mean guy. So can I get my cab or not?"
"Oh, I'll send you a ride alright." There was a mocking tilt to his voice. "Best fucking ride you'll ever take. Just sit pretty. You'll know when it's for you."
The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He hung up without another word.
The streetlights were coming on and the gold of sunset was giving way to the awful in-between greyness of twilight. He waited for his ride.
You came home to find flowers on your doorstep. A bouquet of white roses. You froze. There was only one man who sent you flowers and he was cold and dead for the better part of a year.
You picked the card up by the edge and flicked it open.
Hope you didn't forget our date. See you soon dollface.
-Colt
Oh. You laughed, ridiculously relieved. Of course.
Dinner tomorrow night with the cowboy. You took the roses inside and hunted around for a vase. Was it actually a date? He'd said it was a thank you dinner, but it wouldn't hurt to dress up a little. Do your makeup a bit fancy, maybe wear your new heels. It'd been months since you'd gone out, had a nice dinner with a friend. This could be good for you. Just one more step back into normalcy.
The clouds were starting to gather and as evening came on, they broke with a shudder of thunder.
You curled up on your couch, all the lights on. It was going to be a bad storm. The first really awful one in almost half a year. You tried not to, but it got you thinking about that night. The night your boyfriend proposed to you. The night you killed him.
You closed your eyes and tried not to see it, but the memories followed you even past the darkness. You couldn't run from them for long.
It was cold outside, rain drumming on Christine's roof. Sharp, constant. Your boyfriend was in the driver's seat, buckling his belt. A lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.
You liked it when he looked at you like that. Satisfied. Mellow. It never lasted long, but in the few minutes after fucking you, he would agree to just about anything.
"I'm drunk on you baby," he'd said once. "Heads all woozy. Would do anything for you. Fucking anything."
Christine's windows were all fogged up, and you traced little hearts on the glass. To be honest, you felt a little drunk on him too. Heart still pounding, head reeling. Cunt still fluttering and full. He was so good at reading you, at fucking you just how you needed it. No man before him could make you come so hard, or do it so easy.
"I got something to ask you, baby."
You turned to him, hand reaching out for his and pulling it into your lap.
"Yes?"
He rubbed a thumb across your knuckles. He wasn't looking at your face, just down at your interlinked hands.
"You're my girl, yeah?"
"Obviously. I love you."
"And you ain't going to leave me?"
"Never."
He sighed. Managed to raise his eyes to meet yours. You weren't used to seeing him nervous. Usually he'd just bull doze his way through a conversation, not stopping until he got what he wanted. This was...new. It made a whole new crop of butterflies start up in your stomach.
"Will you marry me?"
You froze. What? Where was this coming from? You loved him. You cared about him. But marriage? That was such a big step. Such a grown up thing.
"I've got money put away. And Christine. I can put a deposit down on a house by the end of the month. Can pay for a nice wedding too. All white and frilly, like you want."
"I..."
"You don't got to worry 'bout your student loans neither. We can pay 'em off a whole lot faster if we're together. You can even go back to school if you want. Get that second degree you're always talking about."
"I...can't."
You pulled your hands away from his. Looked away from him.
"I love you. I really do. But it's too...much. We're too young. I... I just don't want to rush into things and make a mistake."
He was quiet. Awfully, dangerously quiet. His hand was still in your lap and you could feel when he clenched it into a fist.
"Is there another man?"
"What?"
You whirled to face him, suddenly angry. How could he even suggest...
"I haven't touched another man since the day you asked me out."
He wasn't smiling anymore. His green eyes were narrowed, mean.
"Who are you fucking? Which bastard is it? Huh?"
"No one! There's no one else. I just don't want to get married and make a -"
"Mistake? You think I'm a fucking mistake?"
You flinched. His voice was even louder in the closeness of the car. It made your ears throb.
His fist uncurled and he grabbed your hand, hard. Yanked you towards him so your upper body was sprawled across the gear shift.
"Was it a mistake to fuck me? A mistake to say you loved me?"
"No! That's not what I-"
He cut you off with a hand around your throat.
"You want to leave me. That it? You're going to fucking leave me?"
You pulled at his fingers with your free hand but it was useless. His grip was getting tighter the angrier he got. Your head felt all swollen, your nose and throat burning.
"Please just -"
"No! No fucking please. No changing your mind at the last minute. You ain't gonna be my girl? Ain't gonna be my wife?"
He pulled you towards his face, his lips barely brushing yours.
"If you won't be mine, then you'll just have to fucking die. It's me or no one else, baby. I told you that, all those months ago."
You scrambled for some way to get loose, but you were in an awkward position and he had all the leverage.
"I fucking warned you. I told you that if you dated me you couldn't ever leave. I knew I was going to fall in love with you. Hell, I was half in love before you even said hello. I tried. But you just didn't listen, did you?"
Your hand brushed something cold and metallic in the centre console. His switch blade. He usually kept it in his back pocket to help with work. Oh, and he kept it sharp. You grabbed it, more on instinct than anything else.
Your head was pounding and your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears. But the rain was somehow worse. Falling so loud you thought you'd never get the sound out of your head.
You tried to plead with him again, reason, beg, whatever it took. But when you tried to speak he just closed his fist even tighter and your words died in your throat with a shudder.
Oh god, he was really going to do it. He's eyes were wild, mad with something beyond reason. He'd seen reason in the rearview mirror about a hundred miles ago and now he was headed straight down the highway of fucking insanity.
How? How could the man you loved be choking the breath out of you?
Because he loves you. Because he'd rather see you dead than lose you. Because you were too damn blind with love to notice how dangerous he is.
White starbursts bloomed across your vision. Little fireworks to celebrate your brain dying.
You stabbed him.
You didn't fully mean to. You were half mad with fear, half dead in his grip. Not sure what you were doing until you felt the blood.
The switchblade sunk straight into his neck.
You didn't even pull it out. Just left it there and scrambled back when his grip on you loosened, your chest heaving. You throat and eyes and nose all felt swollen. Your lungs burned like fire.
He reached up and touched his neck. Looked down at his fingers like he couldn't believe the blood was his.
You might have tried to save him then. Might have come to your senses and called the ambulance, might have stripped off your shirt and tried to stop the bleeding.
But a knife in his throat apparently wasn't enough to stop him. He looked at you and there wasn't anything rational left in him. He reached for you again, hands curled like claws. He was dying and all he wanted to do was take you with him.
You screamed. So loud that it made your own ears ring.
You grabbed the knife and pulled. You didn't realise it was acting like a stopper until his blood splashed on you. Hot, stinking of metal. It sprayed across your face, got into your mouth and nose, soaked the whole front of your shirt.
You scrambled for the door handle and fell backwards out of the Mustang. Landed on your ass and pushed yourself away.
He was halfway over the passenger seat by then, hands still reaching, mouth pulled into an ugly snarl.
You kicked the door shut.
It slammed with a bang and mercifully blocked him from view. Your turned onto your knees, pushed yourself to your feet and ran.
The rain was coming down so fast that it stung your skin. You didn't rightly know where you were going. Only that it was away.
You still don't know how you made it home. You were a twenty minute drive away and it was too dark to see more than three feet in front of you. Must have been luck. Must have been fate.
When you got home, you were shaking so hard you couldn't even open the door for a good five minutes.
You stripped off your clothes right there on the doorstep and threw them in the trash. Switch blade too. You don't know how you managed to hold onto it during that wild, reckless run.
You took a long shower. Sat under the hot water with your knees curled to your chest. Too scared to cry.
At some point, the better part of your brain must have taken over. You vaguely remember burning the bloodstained clothes. Remember taking a drive and throwing the bleached switchblade out the window.
And when the call came a few days later, to please come down and identify a body, you were calm enough to not give yourself away.
If it was anyone else, maybe the cops would have tried harder. But your boyfriend was a rough man from the rough side of town. They gave you looks of sympathy but shook their heads behind your back.
Guy like him had it coming.
When it was all said and done, you and Christine were the only ones who knew the truth.
Colt waited all evening for a cab that never came. And when the storm started, he was annoyed enough to consider driving home on his own. He'd only had two shots. And that was a few hours ago. He'd be fine. Folk got away with worse all the time.
He left the bar with his jacket over his head and his eyes darting down the road. The rain was sheeting and he had to scramble to make it to his Jeep without getting totally soaked.
Wet and hungry and still a little drunk, Christine didn't seem like quite so big an issue. He was just jumping at ghosts. Tequila got his thoughts all twisted up, that's all.
Driving was miserable. Even with his headlights on bright and his wipers cranked all the way up, he was having real trouble seeing the road. The yellow line was the only thing he could properly rely on.
When the headlights showed up behind him, it took him a while to notice them getting closer.
"Guy's got a death wish, driving so fast in this weather."
The driver behind him was gaining quickly. Colt expected them to try and overtake, but they didn't. Just got closer and closer. A car's length away. And then half. And then almost kissing his bumper.
"Why is this dude so up my ass?"
He hit the gas, but the guy behind him didn't care. Just picked up and kept coming. Revved it a little and Colt could hear the engine even through the rain. Some kind of muscle car. A loud, growling thing.
Almost like a...Mustang.
His whole back suddenly felt icy. It couldn't be. Christine was back home, keys still in the ignition. Even if someone did steal her, why the fuck would they track him down? Must be another muscle car, with some ego tripping asshole behind the wheel.
He told himself all that and more, but his foot pressed harder on the gas.
And still the Mustang kept coming.
The speedometer crept upwards. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.
Too fast for the narrow roads, and sure as hell too fast for a rainy night like this one.
A curve was coming up soon, the road ringed off with guard rails. He could see the reflectors glinting orange at him. Shit.
He took it wide, drifting into the opposite lane. He could feel his tires slipping a little and he hit the breaks just enough to steady the Jeep.
The Mustang didn't have any trouble with the curve. Stayed in its lane and gained a little more speed, so that when they were straight again, its hood was in line with his trunk.
Good. Maybe now the fucker would finally overtake him.
He couldn't see the car clearly. The headlights were bouncing right off his side mirrors. He couldn't even make out the silhouette of the driver.
Screech.
The Mustang's hood scraped against the side of his Jeep. The whole car lurched to the side, tires slipping.
"Fuck!"
Colt gunned it again, trying to out race the mad man. But whoever was behind him had no intention of letting that happen. They kept pace with him, blocking him from getting back in his lane.
Lightning flashed and Colt looked in the mirror just in time to see the car properly.
The thunder was loud enough to drown out his scream.
The car trying to run him off the road was none other than the 1969 cherry red Mustang that should have been sitting in his yard. Maybe he could have accepted it as a coincidence. Someone else had the exact same car as him and just happened to be driving like an asshole. Maybe he could have accepted that.
But the car didn't have a driver.
He saw it clear as day. The lightning glared straight through all the windows and there wasn't a single person in that car.
Impossible. This can't be real. There's no fucking way.
He could almost hear the laugh.
'Do I got you scared cowboy?'
Colt didn't have time to answer. The road was merging into the cliffside, and the wall of rock kept him trapped. There were lights coming straight at him, the blaring of a horn as whoever it was tried to warn him.
He slammed hard on the brakes. Christine shot ahead and at the last second he managed to edge back into his lane. The headlights roared past, the huge semi exhaling a spray of water and smoke.
It would have flattened him, even in his Jeep.
Christine's tail lights were a pair of glaring red eyes in the rain, until suddenly they weren't. Gone.
Colt slowed the Jeep, parked on the shoulder.
The rain was drumming on the roof and his hands were shaking. He got out of the car, water soaking through his shirt almost immediately.
The paint on the back door was scratched off in huge swathes. The metal was dented.
He climbed back behind the wheel, mind teetering on the edge of something past sanity. The world wasn't sane anymore. Nothing was.
He heard the growl of the Mustang through the rain. No headlights this time, just the whine of tires on slick tar.
Where?! Where was she?!
Christine slammed into the Jeep head on. All Colt saw was her red face and silver smile in the glare of his headlights before his whole world was filled with the grinding of steel on steel. His head slammed backwards, the whole car shuddering.
The airbags came on, blinding him.
Christine didn't stop after hitting him. He yanked the hand break up but she kept pushing forward, edging his car closer and closer to the edge. He felt it when the guard rail scratched against his bumper.
An ugly scream of metal, but the rails held. Christine didn't seem to like that. She pulled back, her tires shrieking as she got ready to slam forward again.
Colt jumped just before she hit the Jeep. His seat belt was almost the death of him. It wouldn't release and he couldn't see the catch in the dark. He must have had at least one lucky star though, because the door wasn't too mangled and he managed to kick it open just in time.
He landed hard, on his hands and knees.
Metal shrieked. Christine slammed into the Jeep hard enough to send it through the rails. He turned just in time to see his car go tilting off the road and down into the dark.
For a second, he thought he might have made it. Maybe she didn't notice him. Maybe it was all over.
Christine pulled back and her headlights washed over him, still on his hands and knees. One of the lights was hanging loose from the crash, making her look lopsided. The rain was still coming down hard and the droplets were gold in the light between them.
She revved.
Colt scrambled to his feet and ran straight for the guard rail. He jumped.
It wasn't a sheer drop. It was instead a steep slope, thick with shale and slippery with water. His knees buckled under him and he ended up on his back, half rolling and half sliding down the embankment. His palms were bleeding and as he fell, the gravel lodged itself in his open skin.
He couldn't see where he was headed. Could only try and and protect his head and brace for impact.
His slide ended with a boulder. He slammed into it his ribs first. Heard a crack before all the air was knocked straight out of him.
He could see the headlights way up above him, cutting through the rain.
At least she can't follow me down here.
True. Christine couldn't follow him.
But that's when Colt saw him. The driver. Coming to stand in front of the headlights, the silhouette of a man.
The silhouette stepped through the gash in the railing left by the Jeep and dropped out of the light.
Colt knew he should run. He could hear the shale slipping as the other man came down. Controlled. Measured. Nothing like his own tumble.
But he couldn't move. Everything hurt. Breathing sent sharp spikes of pain all across his chest.
"Well, well cowboy. Look at you."
The voice was low and raspy, mean. He knew that voice. Had been hearing it in his head and in his dreams and was fool enough to think it was his own.
His eyes were getting used to the dark. He could just about see the stranger. Tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. There was dirt thick on his boots, in the folds of his clothes. Not the black shale of the slope, but a reddish clay.
Kind of like in the cemetery.
No, he realised as the stranger squated down in front of him. Exactly like the cemetery. It was grave dirt he was seeing.
He was looking at a dead man.
The stranger might have been handsome once, but now one cheek was filled with holes. Ugly, clustered together things that showed his teeth. His other cheek was a mass of white. Worms, tiny little worms wriggling in and out of his face.
Colt wanted to scream. And vomit. And then scream some more.
There was a dark hole in the stranger's neck and when he moved it oozed a sticky, thick kind of blood.
"You know why I'm here?"
Colt didn't really notice it at first, but his voice was different. Thicker somehow. Like his vocal cords were packed full of dirt and blood.
Colt coughed and his whole chest hurt so bad he thought he was dying. Something was definitely broken. He'd be lucky if there wasn't internal bleeding too.
"Let me guess. Came to punish me for my sins?"
The dead man laughed.
"Not yours, no. Don't give much of a damn about you. I'm here to get what's mine."
The pieces were clicking together in his head.
"Your girl."
"My girl," your boyfriend agreed.
He reached for him, the nails on his hand either blue or totally ripped off. His skin filled with holes that showed pale white tendons and ugly pink flesh.
That was when the adrenaline really kicked in. Colt shoved at the man with one hand and pushed himself up with the other. It was like touching a carcass at the butcher. Cold. Limp. Just a piece of meat. No human should ever have to feel a body in that state.
He made it to his knees before the bastard hit back. Your boyfriend kicked straight at his jaw and Colt's head flew backward, smashed into the rock behind him. He dropped back down like a stone.
"Why you gotta be so fucking difficult, hmm?"
Colt was too out of it to pull away. The man reached for him and the skin of his hand was crawling with bugs. He grabbed his collar and dragged him up.
"Just gonna go to sleep for a little while cowboy. Maybe you'll wake up. Maybe you won't. Either way, I've waited too fucking long to let this chance go."
The corpse kissed him. Or more accurately, pressed his open lips against his and breathed.
His lips were cold and stiff and utterly beyond human. The taste was rancid. Worse than the worst thing he'd ever had. Metallic like blood, sweet like rotted meat.
Colt fainted.
The rain drummed down. Christine sat on the roadside and waited, her hood and paintwork back to normal. In bed, you tossed and turned in the hands of a nightmare.
The thing that was Colt Guilder opened its eyes.
It was your phone that woke you up. Your ringtone blasting even through your dreams.
You fumbled for it, eyes squinted against the brightness.
"Hello?"
The call was thick with static. Still, you recognised the voice. Would know it even from beyond the grave.
Obnoxious rich yan: where is my beloved? They said they would be home by now but their location says they aren’t. I need to go find them, to make sure they aren’t hurt or with someone else. *on they yandere bullshit*
Checks his darlings location, which is a 7/11 in their shitty neighborhood. Drives there in record time to Sees his darling holding a big momma slushy while dancing in the parking lot with a crackhead.
Broke! Darling: BITCH! Lemme see you shake dat ASS! 🕺💃
Crack head: 💃🕺SHAKE DAT ASS HOE-SHAKE DAT ASS HOE!!! 🔊 *starts throwing that THICCY*
Yan: 😐 how am I still in love with this person? *goes home to practice shaking ass*
Hello dear, can I ask Yandere! Emperor!Anakin, in love with Senator!Reader. The reader cannot come to terms with the cruel rules of the Empire, fearing the Emperor. Anakin, fearing to scare her, takes care of her, gives gifts, after which he invites her to become the Empress and his wife. The reader, realizing that she can soften the methods of government in the Empire, agrees. Anakin is gentle and affectionate with the reader.
My Beautiful Little Wife
AO3
Pairings: Yandere! Emperor!Anakin Skywalker X Senator! f!Reader
Summary: The Emperor wants you to be his beautiful little wife.
Warnings: Smut, non-con, obsession, threats, lose of virginity
"Senator, the Emperor has sent you a gift. and he said he wanted to take you out to dinner today."
You looked at the small box handed to you from your seat. The Emperor sent you his twenty-ninth gift this week. As the weeks passed, the number of gifts he sent increased regularly. There were also short notes on them.
"To the beautiful senator."
"To the most attractive woman in the galaxy."
"Delicate flowers for my delicate angel."
You got the box. "Thank you. Tell the Emperor I accept his offer. You may go."
What choice did you have but to accept? You had to accept everything he asked of you and everything he gave you. Otherwise, you were afraid of his reaction. He was holding the entire galaxy in place with his formidable card. Death Star. He's shown before that he won't hesitate to use it for you.
As usual, a card greeted you when you opened the box.
"An elegant necklace for your delicate skin. I hope you'll wear it with the red dress I gifted you when you meet me."
You remembered the red dress he asked you to wear. It was quite daring. It was definitely not for a senator. An unusual, stunningly low-cut dress sewn with a quality fabric that every woman in the galaxy dreams of. It had noted in his note that it was a dress for the Emperor's woman. A dress that would reveal your delicious body just like you (and he) deserve. He asked you to wear it to a dinner he invited you to, but you refused. You said it wasn't fit for a senator, you didn't want to wear that dress, you didn't want to go out to dinner with him, and you weren't his woman.
As a result, he blew up the planet he wanted to have you dinner on with the Death Star.
And you were scared.
You were so scared.
But he didn't want that, he didn't want to scare you. He didn't do this to scare you or to threaten you. He just got so angry. He didn't want a planet to exist that you rejected.
Even though he doesn't regret what he did, he sent apology gifts for scaring you. He hated to scare you.
"Please accept these earrings as an apology gift."
"Modest jewels for you to decorate your silk hair. You are always safe with me, remember that. I apologize."
"These roses have no thorns. There's nothing to hurt you. Just red leaves and their fragrance. Just like your red lips and dizzying scent. I'm sorry. Please don't be scared of me."
But you did.
You feared him and his cruel rule.
Planets were in danger, his regime was unacceptable. He could blow up a planet with just one decision.
After that day, you did whatever he asked of you. You accepted his gifts, wore them or used them. When you asked for a date, you went, if he wanted to see a gift on you, you did it. And you noticed he became a softer, more compassionate ruler. As compassionate as the most feared man in the galaxy can be, of course. At least he killed less.
You took the card and looked at the necklace underneath. It was absolutely breathtaking, you couldn't deny it. The Emperor's wealth had no limits.
You got up from your seat. "I'll be getting ready."
...
And there you were. When you got out of your ship, you saw the Emperor waiting outside to greet you. As you slowly walked towards him, he immediately approached you and took your hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes roamed your breathtaking body, adorned with the red dress and jewels he had gifted, and your messy bun hair revealing your inviting neck.
"You are so beautiful, m'lady."
He led you to a rather opulent table in front of a breathtaking view. A hand was around your waist, holding your belly along the way. You felt he caressed once in a while. His other hand was holding the one he brought to his lips.
He pulled the seat for you and made you sit down. "Thank you for accepting my invitation." Instead of sitting across from you, he took a seat near to you. Then put one hand on the leg that was coming out of the slit of the dress and squeezed it a little. His grip was firm. "This dinner is important to me."
"May I ask why?" You asked, extremely nervous about his grip.
"There's no need to rush. I want us to enjoy the invitation first." After his eyes scanned your entire face, he shifted his gaze to your breasts. The dress was very revealing.
"As you wish."
You didn't talk much during the meal. Except for the dirty hints and compliments the Emperor made to you. Because he talked about them a ton of times. And he touched you a lot as he spoke.
"You look breathtaking." He brought his hand to your cheek.
"Your hair looks so soft. The jewelery I gifted you really suits your hair. I'd love to see it open, but the look of your neck makes it all worth it." He caressed your neck and shoulders.
"You look so attractive in that dress. I want to discover you while you're in it." He brought his hands to your bare back and slid them down your hips.
You just sent forced smiles where it was obvious that you were disturbed. Whether you forced a smile or not, Anakin knew how you felt. He knew how uncomfortable you were and how scared you were. He knew why you were obeying to his wishes. He also knew that you didn't love him. But he didn't care. He loved you, he wanted you, and he was going to get you.
"Beautiful senator, now that we're at the end of dinner, I can tell you about the importance of this evening." He grabbed your hand and got you on his lap. You clung to him in surprise, while he putting one hand around your bare back and the other grabbing your arm.
"I want you to be mine. Only mine." He pulled his hand away from your arm, rubbing it lightly on your breasts and gripping your chin. "I want you to be my Empress. You'll rule by my side. You'll be my woman."
He kissed your cheek several times as he gently stroked your back. "You'll get a quite comfortable life if you are with me. The safest place in the galaxy is next to me. No one can touch you." He lightly bit your neck, causing you to moan in pain.
"Beautiful senator, sweet senator... Come where you belong. Where you belong is my bedroom. What you deserve is me taking you down in pleasure and leave you there completely messy. What you deserve is me pleasing you in a way you deserve. You deserve a strong man to make you feel good, and that's me. I'll give you anything you want, anything you want is yours. Anything."
He removed his hand from your chin and slid it towards your most private area as he parted your legs. "All you have to do is being a beautiful doll in my bed. All you have to do is being my beautiful reward. It's a reward for being Emperor, for being the most powerful man in the galaxy. I deserve it."
He rubbed a finger into your slit as his hand slowly slid your panty. "If you become my lovely little lady, my lovely little Empress, I'll follow a milder regimen. Isn't that something you've always wanted?"
He stroked your clit slowly. "I'll protect you. I've always protected you, but it's different. It's not the same as the reputation you get when you become the Emperor's wife."
You couldn't object when you started getting wet. You couldn't go against him, you didn't have that power. He could do anything he wanted.
You didn't know what you did to get caught Anakin's attention. You didn't know if that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, you had the protection of the most feared man in the galaxy. He wasn't lying when he said that next to me is your safest place.
But on the other hand, the most feared man in the galaxy had an obsession with you. He wanted you. He wanted you in his bed, as his reward. And he was saying that if you accept this, he'll soften his cruel regime. It wasn't because he left the choice to you, he would take you anyway. In his mind, you were his. He just didn't want to scare you.
While you were getting more wet from his intense touches, he brought his hand on your back to your breasts and pulled your low-cut dress to reveal them. Your round, jewel-like, dazzling breasts. They were hard from the arousal, begging for Anakin's mouth.
He leaned forward and took one in his mouth as he brought his hand back to your back. After a few moments of torturing your hard nipple begging for attention, he pulled himself to move on to the other. "You were born to be the Emperor's wife. You were born to be my wife. Our destinies are bound together."
His fingers were soaked in the wet slit as he paid the same attention to your other nipple. The obscene sounds as he massaged your clit and slit from head to toe made Anakin's cock upright.
He pulled and buried himself in your neck. "You're mine. My beautiful little senator. How do you feel, huh? You feel so good, right? I satisfy my woman in the best way."
He reluctantly pulled his fingers out of your slit to get his cock out, begging to be released, and earned a whim from you.
"Don't worry, m'lady. I'll make you cum soon, the way you deserve." He revealed his thick and veiny cock with his crimson head. It slammed into the part of his belly button and stood in front of him. Your eyes widened when you saw it and groaned in fear.
Anakin smiled at you as he stroked his big cock. "Don't be scared my little wife. You'll take my dick. All the way. Your delicious little pussy was made for me."
You wrapped your arms around his neck as he pinned you to his cock. He whispered while sucking on your earlobe. "My woman."
You thought you were falling apart as he slowly entered you. "Stop, please stop!" You cried while breathing deeply. "Too big!"
"Shh... You're taking me so well. You're great." Pleasure made him dizzy as he inserted you halfway. You were so tight. He untied your hair and let it hang down your shoulders. Sucked on your neck as his fingers ran through your hair.
“No, stop…” You felt something warm flowing as you burst into sobs.
"Your little virgin cunt is only mine. Only mine." He didn't move for a while for you to get used to him when he finally in you. Ah, how you clenching around his cock.
"The galaxy will be at peace. If you please me, I will spare those worthless lives." Licking your tears, he brought his other hand to one of your breasts and squeezed it. "Don't cry, my beautiful wife. Soon you will cum around me."
You screamed as he started to move slowly. You pounded on his shoulders and tried to get away, but he pulled his hands from your hair and breast and wrapped them tightly around your waist. Increased his speed while keeping you steady.
"You're so good, you're so sweet. Your sweet little cunt hugs me so well..." As you sobbed, his grip hardened and he hit your cervix, making you jump. "Small, tight pussy."
As time passed, it didn't hurt like before and the spot he hit started to give you pleasure. Sensing this, Anakin hit harder there. "Is that there, hm? That's where you like it?" He was making you groan, bouncing on his lap. "My Empress is enjoying it there. That's where I'm going to make you a mess."
Your shaky moans filled the whole place as he made you bounce hard. Your juices were spreading everywhere, the wet sounds were so obscene.
"Ohh... yeah. Yeah. Just like that. Just like that, my baby. Just like that." He grabbed your hips and kneaded them. You threw your head back as he hit your spot hard. "Cum for me baby."
He pulled his hands from your hips and wrapped them around your waist again. Slipped in and out with incredible speed. "Cum for your Emperor."
You were screaming and moaning in your divine voice as his hits on your spot finally made you shiver and cum. Anakin hit you with hard, slow hits. One by one. He was growling every time, mumbling every time.
"You. came. so. beautiful."
One last hard hit. And then he cum into you.
"Mmh... My beautiful baby."
When you came down from the peak, you realized what happened and you started crying again. Anakin stayed inside as he got your hair in his fingers. He brought his face close to yours and kissed your cheeks.
"You were so good, my angel. You took me so well. Your little pussy is so tight, so tiny. So vulnerable and so needy for my hard dick. My beautiful wife." He kissed your lips passionately.
The atmosphere was tense as your eyes fluttered between the exit and the bleeding man. No, no no! you were so close to escaping! Shit, why did he have to be so strong?!
“y/n, come back… you’re a good darling, yes? I’ll forgive you if you just… drop the antics and come back…” the dark haired male slurred as he trudged closer and closer. You felt your palms grow sweatier as you backed up against a cold wall. Shit! he’s coming closer! Fuck, if only you didn’t treat him like a normal person! If only you had just minded your own business and ignored him! If only-!
Your thoughts raced as you bit your lower lip in frustration. Should you risk it? No, it would be too risky… Fuck it! You have nothing to lose anyways! How strong could a wounded man even be?!
You let out a feral scream as you made a run for the exit. Adrenaline fueling you as you pushed through the pain from the bruises on your legs that were made from previous punishments. Previous punishments from earlier attempts at rebelling and escaping. Well, it doesn’t matter anymore because those would go away once you-
“Got you. Did you really think… You were about to leave me? Naughty… How naughty of you… To leave your husband all by himself…?” you yelped as he roughly pulled you by your hair. Your throat burned as you felt yourself get lifted up from the ground as if you weighed nothing. No… You couldn’t end like this… How could you lose to a wounded man?! Shit, he’s going to chain you up even longer now! There really was no escaping, was there?
Tears swelled up in your eyes as you came to the realisation of how you would never be able to escape him no matter how hard you tried. You felt one of your captor’s cold and slender hands rub away your tears, even going as far as to lick them off his hand. God, it was disgusting. But what’s even more disgusting is how you failed to run away from a man who was stabbed in the abdomen and was bleeding out.
“Shh… It’s alright sweetheart, there’s… no need to cry. After all, I’m here to take care of you… Don’t worry, I won’t punish you. I’m sure you’ve learnt your lesson… So don’t try to run away any more, hm?… I’ll be good to you, like I always have, my precious darling ♡”
Yeah, there’s no escaping. Don’t even dream of it. Don’t worry, at least you’ll have a dedicated husband by your side until you die. He’ll always be there for you, your loving husband. :)
warnings: noncon, petplay, dacryphilia, yandere, name calling(pet, pup, puppy, dummy), drool, pain play, r word usage, biting, marking, cervix fucking, breeding, creampie, abuse, abusive
sneak peek: another night, another stalking incident. you left your window unlocked again, honestly...
A/N: Hello! another lucas work, but this time i feel like i wrote his character a bit more like how i wanted him. im still working on the VN and various other projects, but i really wanted to get this down to share insight as to how i would characterise him. im still uncertain regarding certain elements of him and his story, but i feel like this piece is a whole lot closer to what i want <3 anyways, i hope you enjoy!
Not much gets him going quite as well as your tears do.
Big fat drops painting your cheeks all pretty for him, your sobs cutely muffled behind his unflinching hand digging deep into your hair and pushing your head against your pillow. “C’mon, cutie…” He laughs, a deep sinister sound while he pokes his tongue against his cheek in faux annoyance at just how useless your attempts to fight back are. Flailing around under his touch like you don’t want him, it’s adorable. Makes his cock twitch, just a weak little girl, just how he likes you. “What did ya expect to happen, huh?” his tone is scathing, taunting you from behind while he positions you just how he knows you’d look prettiest. Face down, ass up, back deeply arched despite your attempts to escape his tight grasp as he effortlessly handles you into place. It’s his favorite position, and oh, he can barely contain his enjoyment already. Cock hard and needy under his loose sweatpants, tugging them crassly down his thighs as he kneels behind you with glazed over eyes. Honestly, you stupid little girl, leaving your window unlocked again? He’s convinced by that fact that you know what you do to him as you wriggle around, the breeze from your left open window causing a shiver to run down his spine while his exposed tip leaks pre all over your ass. “Wanna be a little tease, huh? S’at it?” He rambles behind you, though his words are tense when spoken through his severely lacking self restraint and perverted tendencies aimed exclusively at you. Because what else could you possibly be if not a tease, seeing as you’ve allowed him direct access to your perfect little cunt for a second time in a row. He wants to shove it in you already, no patience left in him when you’re displayed so submissively like a good pet, hooking a thumb under your panties to ping the fabric back against you while you cry for him. Such a pretty sound, though nothing could ever compare to the soft gasps and sighs you let him listen to last time. Or, maybe your painful moans tonight will take the number one spot, his heart racing just at the thought of unwillingly fucking more lewd noises out of you. He bends down, letting his bare chest lay flat against your back to nestle his chin against your shoulder, and the meager skin to skin contact causes his hips to hump forward against you and his precum to smear your behind. Good, now you can feel exactly what your erotic body does to him. Can’t blame him, then. “Y’wanna know what happens to teasing little pets like you?” he whispers, immediately hissing into the feeling of repeated thrusts against your clothed cunt when his hips refuse to let up. His tip just drooling for you, turning your panties practically see through with how much he wants you, letting his cock rub so well against your clothed slit while he continues his assault. “They get exactly what they’re asking for.” He promises, and he can’t stop the smile that settles onto his face at the loud cry for help you sound at his threat. Fuck, thaaat’s it. You’re so hot when you’re all scared, the sound of your upset causing his cock to throb against you with the dominance you hand him on a silver platter.
It’s a bit annoying how loud you’re being though. Not because he’s upset at the fact that you’re playing hard to get, no — that’s exciting, that should be rewarded, he thinks. But rather, he’d loath for anyone else to hear your pretty sobs and pathetic whimpers while he humps his pervert cock between your thighs. You’re his pretty pet, so it should be only him who gets to hear those sounds, and so he forces your head further against your sheets until he’s sure you can barely breathe at all, even if it means he loses the enjoyment of hearing just how well he’s about to fuck you, just to satisfy his selfish need to keep you all to himself. He figures after tonight he’ll have more than enough opportunities to turn your throat red raw from the amount of sounds he’ll fuck out of you anyway. It’s what good pets do, after all. Speak only when spoken to. And as he coos down at you all mockingly sweetly for finally seeming to settle enough for him to nicely rock his cock against your slit, he’s impressed you’ve picked up on that lesson so quickly — the quick gasped breaths of air you let out at the sound of his jeers causing his hips to still against you, simulating being buried deep in your tight little pet cunt like he’s about to be. But God, the way you wiggle and writhe against his fat cock drives him insane, pushes him to act rashly as he uncaringly rips your panties down just enough to allow him entry despite your obvious upset at his actions.
“Don’t worry pup, I’ll get ya a new set.” He speaks through his teeth, too preoccupied by the sight of your sticky cunt giving your enjoyment away. His chest tight with the deeply rooted knowing that you fucking enjoy this, you sick dog. Not that he has any right to talk himself, depraved pleasure pooling in his tummy at the mere act of taking what he wants. Even if you refuse to admit it yourself, your body sure as fuck seems to be honest, and that’s enough for him to line his heavy cock up to your twitching hole like he’d originally intended on tonight, hearts in his eyes at the way your ass shakes for him— he’s imagining a tail wagging happily for him.
“Poor pup jus’ wants some cock, right?” He teases you, letting his tip catch on to your wanting hole while you sob into your sheets. “Want is s’bad yer cryin’ for it? Aw… Sweetheart—” He tries to sound sympathetic, but he’s sure you can hear the twisted smile in his voice anyway. It’s too difficult for him to hide his love for you, affection spilling out in the form of a tight grip in your hair, his free hand coming down to harshly spread your pussy open so he can watch you take cock like a good girl as his breath catches in his throat at the squeal you make at his actions. Immediately following, he feels you tug away from his touch, not that you can get very far, but your continued fighting starts to irk him a little. Don’t you know just how much he loves you? How he wants to make you feel so good with his cock head pressed flush against your hole. You’re leaking all over him, honesty drenching his cock as your cunt gives your wants away. But still— “Don’t make me hurt you, baby…” He quietly warns you, tone suddenly predatorily serious as he wraps an arm around your tummy to keep you in one place. “Please, c’mon— Y’want this too, yeah?” He tries to convince you, because while he has no qualms in roughing you up a little to get what he wants, he’d much rather have a good girl. A good pet that bends over and presents herself to her master without too much fussing. And you were doing so well too, soft little submissive sniffles sounding from behind his iron grip on your head to let him know that his warning is enough to keep you under his control. Your body rigid in his hold, but he pays it no mind. You’ll soon learn to love his lessons.
And since you’ve decided to be so good for him at the moment he decides to give you a little reward, in part because he hopes to positively reinforce the position of power he holds over you while slowly pushing his cock into your tight puppy cunt, hearing you instantly howl for more. Ah… He’s so happy, even just from the initial stretch. His mouth hanging open and eyes rolled back as he forces you to endure his kindness. Leaning over you to properly mount you like a bitch in heat, still pressing your pretty face into your tear stained sheets for leverage as his hips drive ever forward. Slowly fucking your hole into his shape, claiming your insides. He could cum on the spot the moment his hips are flush against your ass if he’s honest, the feeling of your hole choking his fat length so much more intense compared to the fuck he gave you when you were fast asleep. And having you fight back just a little is so fucking hot, drool collecting on his tongue to dribble down his chin from just how truly infatuated with you he is. If you couldn’t tell from just how hard his cock throbs inside of you then you surely can hear from the low growl he lets out at your incessant whining once you’re stuffed full. “I know— fuck, I know it hurts…” He mumbles above you, his eyes squeezed firmly shut to try and focus on the task at hand but your tight little hole is making it difficult for him to reason with his instincts. And truth be told, watching you struggle to fit him inside only serves to turn him on more. Lust pooling in his tummy at the thought of causing you pain, encouraged to fuck you all better by the clenching your cunt offers his cock.
It’s as he’s drawing his hips back so painfully slowly in order to make you feel every inch of his cock that he hears you whimper a pitiful stop. A gross grin spread across his face at the way you cry for his attention, balls tight at the sound of your pitiful tears. Stop? No, he’d never consider it. “Dummy.” He playfully whispers in your ear, wincing a little as he continues to pull out until just the tip is left inside at just how tight you get from hearing his deep voice. “You caused this.” His tone is low, reprimanding you for the current situation. “You baited me, yeah? Skimpy little outfit— Fuck.” He cuts himself off by bucking his hips back against you, his cock shoved into your tight heat with such force that you’re fucked up the bed a little. Can’t seem to keep his composure after all, not with how whiny you get at his unfair treatment. And so he keeps going, repeating the brutal motion as he quickly settles into a too fast pace for your body to reconcile with, but he just can’t stop. “Open window an’ all? Shit, y’wanted this, didnt’cha? It’s all yer fault—” He trails off into a breathless laugh, unable to properly keep up with each snap thrust of his hips, mating you as deep as he can in your bent over position, enjoying the pained gasps he fucks out of your sore throat. Thinks they match so well with the wet suck of your hole swallowing his cock over and over again. “From now on, yer gonna listen.” He all but barks down at you, hunching further over you by raising off his knees just a bit to drive his cock into you better, like a properly mounted bitch. The movement causes his sweats to drop further down his legs until they’re under his knees, but he doesn’t seem to care when your cunt accepts his cock so good. Can feel your slick coat his balls with how hard he repeatedly slams into you.
It’s just, he gets lost in the feeling all too easily, not only from the power trip of raping your perfect little pussy, but also from how deep down, he knows you fucking like it. Loud smacks of his balls hitting your sopping cunt ring in his ears as he harshly thrusts into you, his upper body easily overpowering you with his trained strength to keep you pinned below him. You’re so perfect. Such a pretty little pet, puppy cunt wrapped around masters cock so well— Oh, he just adores you. Sharp canines pressing gently against your neck as he buries his face against you, huffing with satisfaction and getting drunk off your scent with each indecent inhale. He can barely hear your attempts to get him to stop, instead focused on marking you up with a makeshift collar of his own making, letting his tongue poke against your skin before he cruelly bites down. Much too hard for it to be pleasurable for you, but your sobs turn him on anyway. Instantly he sucks away at your soft skin, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull at your sweaty taste, making his cock fuck faster into you to make the bed creak from under. A loud, ugly noise, but he can’t notice it with how much more desperate your crying gets. A hiccuped no rising from the muted sheets prompting him to let go of your neck with a loud pop!, his upper body rising to lean back on his knees once more for one purpose only— a cracked clap shutting you up as he slaps your ass enough to leave a red mark. And then again, and again. Enough until you stop resisting for the meantime and instead focus on choking his fat cock like a good pet. “Don’t say no. Don’t fuckin’ disobey me.” He seethes at you, brows knitted together as he concentrates on training you. “Y’should be thankful.” He mutters more to himself than you, but he knows you’ve heard him when you tense up in his hold. No matter, because he couldn’t stop humping you even if he tried. Even if you tense up, even if your hands splay out and knot in your sheets, a slight pull forward before he quickly fucks you back against his cock with a matched greedy thrust of his own. “I’m too strong!” He snorts laughter down at you, revelling in the way you try to crawl away again. It causes him to tut, emphasizing his point by stopping all movement himself and making you fuck his cock. Slamming your hole back against his fat length as if you were just that— a hole, and sometimes that’s all a good pet needs to be. Something he thinks you excel at, breathing growing increasingly difficult with how tight the fit inside of you is, especially now that he has a chance to just sit back and enjoy your cunt. “Y’can’t get away, aw… Poor pup!’ His voice is laced with faux concern, intersperse with occasional grunts and moans himself as he forces you to fuck him for him. His composure slipping, the tough guy front he’s put on for you thus far fading with each bounce of your ass in his seated lap. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn. Promise t’teach ya real good.” His voice gradually growing quieter and lowers until all that’s left are raspy moans and panting breaths which he’s been hiding from you until now. And it seems you’ve finally gave up too, all the fight fucked out of you with his unfair treatment, allowing him to hump his favorite little fleshlight to his hearts content. His pretty little pup. Precisely aiming his cock against your cervix, painting precum right against it in an effort to keep you all to himself.
By any means possible, of course, but this is the easiest attainable at the moment.
With new resolve he starts fucking into you again, tuning out everything except your whimpers. It’s challenging to focus on anything else as his mouth starts running without much thought, brain turned off and cock in control thanks to his pretty pet sucking his cock off in your cunt so well. “Gonna— Gonna knock ya up…” He teases as if in a trance, deaf to your refusal of his offer, but maybe thats because it was more like a statement. His eyes wandering to your deeply arched back, forced into that position, but still just so perfect, like you were made to be fucked like this, by him. One hand dropping to your ass to watch his cock disappear into your tight hole, mesmerized by the wet ring at the base of his cock that forces him to bite his tongue in order to swallow an obnoxiously needy whine that crawls to his throat. Fuck he loves you, loves fucking your pet cunt more than anything in the world, holding you so bruisingly secure to show his obsessive affection for you. “Y’got the perfect body for it, y’know?” He continues between gasps for air, intending to compliment you in a moment of weakness, though he can hear that it only makes you cry more. That’s okay, a shock of arousal spiking down him until more pre leaks against your insides at the high pitched nature of your despair. Fuck, nothing gets him off more than being the source of your everything— including upset. His balls taut with seed for his pretty puppy, biting down on his bottom lip to mute his overflowing fondness for you. And he keeps going, fucking deeper, harder, faster into you as he repeatedly knocks against your cervix, intending to spill right into your womb from how frantically he humps your ass. “Yer— fuck me— G-Gonna be stuck with me forever—” He smiles warmly, a smile that’s only ever been yours, but you’re deprived the sight, the feeling of your lifeless body in his hands enough for him to feel like he’s won, that regardless of how he’s attained it— he’s finally got you. For tonight, at the very least, but that’s all his cock could care for at the moment. The feeling of your warm little cunt driving him crazy with want, a deep need rising to his chest as he grows desperate himself to show all his love for you in one simple action, taking hold of your hips to force you to sit on his cock with a hissed command. “Jus’ like that— Good girl—” he praises you, a gentle rub of his thumbs against your hips before he’s roughly bucking into the tiny amount of space left as you’re made to take his whole length and then some, small humps up into you as you lay limp on the bed for him to use, hearts in his eyes at the sight.
He can already imagine it. You, with a tummy full of pups, knowing full well that he raped them into you. Oh, how he’d dote on you. Would only rough you up a little knowing that you were carrying his kids. And, most importantly, you’d never be willing to leave him. Him, the father of your children. God, he’s intoxicated by the thought, making you grind down on his cock as he uses your hole like a pocket pussy, manhandling you with his abundance of strength into whatever movement he needs, matching your circling hips with strained whines of appreciation. Of course, he’d never actually allow you to give birth. More than he’s willing to admit, he needs your full attention. But the fantasy of it is fun, right? Fuck, yeah. He’s so close, his nails digging into your skin as you meekly whine during his assault. And then, though he may just be deep in his delusions, he swears he hears you whisper his name, all distraught and knowing. It’s all he needs to fulfill his promise of trapping you, violently pulling you down to sheathe his entire length in your dribbling cunt to milk himself empty. Abusing your hole for a final time tonight as he pumps you so full, every single last drop of cum pumped directly against your cervix until it starts to leak back down his cock, the feeling of which causes his hips to stutter inside of you in sheer infatuation. His grip on you showcasing his absolute fear of having you anywhere but his side, keeping his cock lodge deep inside your hole until he’s sure he’s done— and even then he refuses to pull out. Huddling over your tired body while you quietly cry to yourself, his eyes catching sight of the various pools of tear stains on your sheets, your messed up hair, the way you just fall once he finally lets go of you.
And yet, he can’t help but fall further in love with you even if you look so used and abused. Hushing your faint sobs with gentle quiet coos, lovingly circling the small of your back as he warms his cock in your used cunt. It’s rare for him to show this side to anyone at all, but for you, he thinks it’s worth it. Especially when you took him just oh so well, placing soft kisses against your shoulders in a bid to praise you enough to reel you to his side. “Such a good girl.” He sighs against you, feeling more of his cum leak from your cunt as you continue to squeeze around him, all exhausted and fucked given the fact that you can’t muster enough strength to answer back. Good girl indeed, maybe now would be a good time to go all the way with you, he thinks. His cock already hardening again just at the chance of stealing you away, completely, by way of fucking you so much you grow too tired to do anything but rest in his arms.
Surely that way you’ll know just how much he loves you.
pussy is quite literally the prettiest sight, but it feels even better. it’s soft. pillowy folds all wet, slick oozing from the center. the fat of your pussy lips feels good when he cups a hand over the mound.
and your clit, it’s all puffy and swollen, and throbbing. he hasn’t done a thing to it yet.
“how pretty, right?” he marvels as he rubs two fingers through your folds, slicking up your slit and gathering cream to your clit, the excess dribbling down the globes of your ass. “it’s messy. your pussy’s a mess.”
that has you closing your thighs and crossing your arms over your face, but he tuts at you, snaking his hand in the apex of your thighs to cup your cunt. “don’t be shy. it’s pretty.”
then he’s grinding his palm against it, the joints of his fingers getting all sticky and tacky with cum. he keeps grinding and grinding despite the noises of disapproval from you, despite the death grip of your thighs closed around his wrist, despite the squirm of your hips.
when you cum, thighs finally parting, he focuses his hand in an angle that digs the heel of his palm over your clit, then swipes it up. your pussy throbs and twitches. back arching, eyes rolled back, mouth agape in a silent scream, legs twitching, you squirt and squirt your release.
Slasher Reader, running up to a police officer covered in blood: Get me the fuck out of here!
Cop: Whoa, whoa calm down- what's going on?
Slasher Reader: Those crazy fucks knew about those death and still came up here. They here to get me. And not in the way you think. They said their my biggest fans. What the hell is wrong with them-
Cop: What??
Slasher Reader: I said I'm responsible for the recent like- 20 disappearances. Prison is nothing compared to them. One of them fucking moan when I cut open their cheek.
Cop: Alright, alright save it for when we get into town
[The cop handcuffs you and leads you to their car. Looking through their passenger window you see your first mask. The cop leans over your shoulder as a scream rises in your throat.]
Cop: Don't worry, darling. Nobody will ever take you from me again
Summary: Jerry decides to take you from her rival, and Silas decides to take you back, creating a cat and mouse game where you're nothing more than a prize in their game.
[I wrote this a year ago, so I apologize if it's not as good! This was originally written in 3d person and Jerrys character was a man, so please excuse the errors I couldn't see during editing!!]
Jerry is humming for herself as she makes her way through Silas’s house. It’s in the middle of the night and she can’t sleep. Why not bother her rival? She struts around, looking for her dear rival. The men in his house are dead, Jerry’s men have made sure of that. Jerry walks upstairs.
“Silas~”, she sings, spinning the gun on her fingers. “Where are you?”
No answer.
“He doesn’t seem to be home, ma’am”, one of Jerry’s men says. "Must be out on a mission."
Jerry opens Silas’s bedroom door and walks in. She turns on the lamp, looking at the bed. There is someone lying in the bed, but it’s not the man Jerry’s searching for. It’s a woman tied to the bedpost.
“Oh?” Jerry says in shock.
She walks over to the girl, sitting down on the bed beside her. She meets your terrified eyes. Jerry lets her eyes wander over your body. You’re not visibly hurt which means that Silas must be fond of you. And for the situation you appear to be in, you’re not very fond of him. Bingo. Jerry needs to take you.
"W-Who are you?" you cry out.
Jerry can't help but think it sounds beautiful. Normally, she finds girls in fear annoying, but there's something mesmerizing about you.
“Be quiet”, Jerry says. “I’m going to untie you and you’re going to come with me. I’ll help you away from here.”
“D-Do you promise?”
“Yes. I’ll help you away from this bad man. You'll never see him again.”
She’ll make sure Silas never sees his precious little prisoner again. She unties you and helps you stand, holding her hand on your back, pushing you with her. Jerry’s worker looks at her with a weird glance in his eyes. Jerry sends him a stern gaze before directing her eyes down to you.
"Come with me quietly", she says, taking out her gun. "I don't know if there are any guards still alive. We don't need to get them here. I need you alive."
You grab her arm, not wanting your savior to leave you. Jerry looks down at your hand in confusion before meeting your scared eyes. Her brain goes blank before she grabs your hand in hers and starts walking. Her heart jumps.
You make your way out to the car. Jerry helps you into the backseat. She sits down beside you, gun still in his hand. The man in the driver's seat starts the engine.
"Where are we going?" you ask weakly. "Can I go home?"
"You can't go home", Jerry says, tilting her head to the side with a smirk. "Two reasons. I need you to piss Silas off and you're kinda cute. I don't know if I want to let you go home."
You suddenly realize that who you just saw as a savior doesn't seem to be a hero after all. What if she's another villain?
"B-But…"
Jerry cuts you off. "Just rest. It's in the middle of the night. I'll wake you up when we get home. What's your name?"
"I don't feel comfortable telling you…"
Jerry puts the gun to your throat.
"Y/N."
"Cute name. I'm Jerry."
The car stops outside a house. It's different from Silas’. You can’t tell how though, it just different.
"Get out", Jerry says.
You do as she says, too scared to do anything else. The voice in your head is screaming at you to run, but you can’t. She’s right behind you with the gun in her hand. She leads you into her house, gun visible.
“Stand still, Y/N”, Jerry says and goes to get a knife. “I’m going to do something.”
“PLease don’t hurt me!” you beg.
“I’m not going to hurt you … a lot.”
Her men hold you still as she cuts a quick cut on your cheek. You scream in both pain and shock. The woman cleans the blood on her black clothes.
"Come here", she says, bringing you into his arms. "Don't worry about that evil man. I'm here now."
Jerry takes you up to the bedroom and runs her hand through her shoulder length black hair.
“I’m not going to tie you to the bed or lock the door”, Jerry says. “But I’d advise you to stay here. I can’t guarantee what you’ll see if you leave.”
“Let me go home”, you plead.
“Let’s compromise. If you go to sleep and actually sleep for the rest of the night, I’ll answer every question you have tomorrow. Good enough? Nothing is going to hurt you as long as you stay in this room. I promise you that.”
“Alright …”
What other choice do you have? You don't want to get hurt. You need to be healthy and alert if you want to be able to run and fight back. Jerry fixes the bed for you and watches how you lay down. To your surprise, she tucks you in before leaving the room. Right on time, her phone rings. She can see Silas’s name pop up on the screen.
Brilliant.
“Silas”, she says.
“Why are you always messing around with my fucking stuff?!” Silas groans.
“Because it’s fun, old man.”
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
Jerry knows damn well who he’s talking about, but hearing the frustrated hisses from him is all he wants.
“The woman”, Silas says. “The woman that was sleeping in my bed.”
“I wouldn’t say that she was sleeping. She was more or less crying.”
“Stop fucking doing that! Where is she?!”
“With me of course.”
“Why can’t you just leave her alone? Why do you have to mess with me all the time?”
“I told you … I think it’s funny.”
“You’re so immature. Give me my lady back. She literally doesn’t have anything to do with our business. Let’s keep it professional. For real.”
“Why would I? If you need to have her tied to the bedpost I’d say that she’s better off here.”
“It wouldn’t be forever! Just until she learned to trust me!”
Jerry laughs. “That’s so tragic, man.”
“Give her back. Let me have one thing for myself.”
“She’s so cute though. I don’t think I can let you take her.”
“Stop. Seriously.”
“Such a beautiful woman…”
“Jerry, I’m telling you, leave her alone. She’s mine.”
“Not anymore.”
Jerry smiles and hangs up, stretching her neck.
After a night of barely sleeping, you wake up, seeing Jerry sleeping beside you. Your eyes linger on her for a while. She’s wearing a black bra and the tattoos on her shoulders and arms look too harsh for the face that now is turned towards you. She looks sweet, not like last night. You sit up, rubbing your eyes. Jerry is indeed sleeping. Could you try to get out of this house? You carefully get out of the bed and walk over to the door opening it. Right outside lies the body of a girl, a girl you recognize all too well. Someone you wished to see again. You let out a screeching scream that wakes the sleeping woman.
"I did say I wouldn't be able to guarantee what you'd see if you tried to leave the room", she yawns from the bed, stretching her body.
"W-What have you done?!"
"Isn't it pretty obvious?"
You put your hand over your mouth, too shocked to even cry. Jerry drags herself up from the bed, over to you. She walks up behind your stunned figure and wraps her tattooed arms around your waist, locking her hands in place before resting her chin on your shoulder. She’s warm and puffy from sleeping and her bare skin feels too warm for her ice cold heart.
"That stupid bitch Silas thinks he can have you", she scoffs with a small smirk, voice raspy from the lack of talking during her sleep. "No, he can't. I like watching him struggle. And I don't want to be alone again. You're going to stay with me."
You rip her arms off of you and jump over the dead body. You start to run before Jerry can stop you.
"I'm too tired to play!" Jerry groans, but sets off after you.
She doesn't even try catching up with you. She knows he doesn't need to. Every door and window in this house is locked. You stop after trying to open every door you pass.
"Poor thing, did you think I left doors unlocked like Silas? I'm not that stupid. I'm not unlocking them until I trust you", she cooes, pulling you to her chest. "Let's go eat something."
She lets go of you and starts walking downstairs. You look at her matching underwear, appalled that she was sleeping like that right next to you. You feel a couple more doors, all are locked.
"No use, Y/N", Jerry smirks over her shoulder.
“How do you know Silas?”
"Me and Silas aren’t friends. We kind of were, but not anymore. I used to be his right hand man, but quit. I can’t stand that bitch. He seems to have gotten fond of you and I had to take you. Out of spite."
"So can you let me go home? You don't want me-"
"I think I will be interested in you, pretty thing, so no. I can't let you go. And I told you that I didn’t want to be alone again! Never again.”
You decide to keep silent from now on as a protest. Jerry makes a simple meal and gives you one plate. You look away.
“Eat. I’m not telling you twice”, she warns.
You shake your head.
“I haven’t put anything in it for fuck sake, if that’s why you’re so hesitant”, he sighs. “I could do it, but not without a reason.”
She starts to feed you when you refuse once again.
After breakfast, she takes you to the bedroom again. The body is still lying outside the door, but she covers your eyes and nose and closes the door behind you.
“I have some business today”, she says, placing you down on the bed. “You will be alone until night time. I want you to tell the man downstairs when you’re hungry and I want you to behave and not cause any trouble. Can you do that for me?”
You only find yourself nodding.
“You can walk around in the house how much you want, you can watch TV. That's it. Got it?”
You nod.
“Good girl. I’ll be back later!” Jerry smiles, walking out. “I’ll remove the body, I promise!”
Only a few minutes later, all you can hear is silence.
When your stomach is rumbling, you walk downstairs. No man can be seen.
“Hello?” you say hesitantly. “Hello?”
“Yeah?” the man says and comes out of a room by the living room.
“Jerry told me to tell you when I got hungry…”
“I’ll make you something. Go up and wait until I call for you.”
“Can I watch TV?”
“Go ahead.”
You walk into the living room and sit down on the couch, turning on the TV with a remote. After not being able to sleep for a few nights, you feel like a walking zombie. You fall asleep while watching TV, waiting for your meal.
While you’re sleeping, the front door gets unlocked and a familiar face walks in, hiding the gun in his belt. His men kill the cooking man quickly and quietly to avoid any drama.
“I’ll go find her”, Silas says.
“The TV is on”, one of his men says, listening closely. “Look there. I’ll go to the bedroom.”
Silas nods. He walks into the living room, seeing his darling sleeping on the couch with a blanket over your body. His heart melts upon seeing the sight. He walks up to you and crouches down by your face, caressing your cheek. You open your eyes.
“Y/N …”, he says with a voice full of regret. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have gone on that damn mission, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“S-Silas?!” you stutter, quickly trying to get away from him.
“Shh, shh, it’s alright, come here, let’s go home now. Everything will be okay.”
He traces the cut on her cheek with a hiss.
"I'll kill her."
He starts pulling you into his arms and lifts you up. You start to panic. He might save you from Jerry, but he’s no better himself.
“Let me go!” you shout.
“Shh, it’s alright, I’ll save you from this bad man. I'm so sorry I didn't come earlier, I could have prevented you from getting hurt. Jerry’s a madwoman, it wouldn’t surprise me if she hurt you to make me mad. ”
He picks you up and walks with you out to his car, placing you down in the backseat. You hug yourself and feel how you’re shaking. This can’t be happening!
“I’m here for you”, he says, hanging his jacket over your shoulders. “It’s alright now, my love.”
You stay quiet. You should be happy that you’re out of Jerry’s claws … only problem is that you’re now back in Silas’s.
The car stops outside his house. He walks around the car and opens your door.
“Come, let’s go inside”, he smiles. “You’re safe now. With me. You must be hungry. Are you?”
You nod slightly. Silas smiles and brings you inside.
“If you want, you can take a shower while I cook food and then we’ll eat together. Does that sound good?
You nod almost unnoticeably. He leads you to the bathroom and gives you a towel and clothes.
“All clothes I’ve gotten for you are soft, made of cotton, satin or that fluffy teddy bear material and my laundry detergent are allergy free”, he says. “I don’t think any of the clothes will give you any discomfort. The shampoo, soap and conditioner are also allergy free and skin friendly. I have moisturizing cream in the cabinet in case you want some. It’s all yours.”
He gives you a little pile of a nightgown, cardigan, socks and underwear. He puts the towel by the sink. He walks out. You close the door, locking the door. While you remove your clothes and step into the shower you can only think of the last few days and how bizarre they’ve been.
Afterwards, you walk downstairs, looking at Silas’s back as he stands by the stove. He turns around, looking at you with a smile.
“I thought I felt someone staring at me”, he says. “You look beautiful, baby. The lunch is done, let’s eat.”
You sit down by the table. Silas puts a pink plaster over the cut Jerry’s done. You poke the food with the fork, not feeling hungry anymore. You were hungry before you got kidnapped back to Silas’s place. Now, you just feel nauseous.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Silas asks with a frown.
“I don’t know …”, you say quietly. “Sorry…”
“Don’t be, sweetheart. Whatever damage Jerry has done to you, I will heal. I will take care of you.”
“Please don’t tie me again …”
“I won’t. If you promise me you will give me a chance.”
“Alright …”
Silence.
The very next day, Silas takes you on a mission, refusing to let you get out of his sight again. When you come back however, something seems to be wrong. The house is on fire and two of Silas’s now dead men are hung on the wall by the front door. Silas hurries to turn you around before you see too much. One of his men who has gathered outside the burning villa gives him a bloody note.
“How are you going to take care of Y/N when you don’t have a house, huh?”
Silas turns around, looking at you who look more than terrified. He clenches his jaw.
“We need to move her. Now”, he says in stress and calls two of his men over. “You two, drive Y/N to the secret base. She has to stay there for a moment.”
He hugs you tightly. You can feel his hammering heart against your chest
“I’ll go kill Jerry and then I’ll come for you. She can’t have gone far. I’ll come soon, I promise. I love you so much, baby.”
The two men take you to the car to drive you away to the safe place.
Jerry knows you’re in that black car that drives on the empty road. And she knows what to do with it. Crash it. Not a chance she’ll let it reach its destination. To him. She tells her men to crash the other car, but make sure not to kill anyone. She’ll kill the chauffeurs alone and bring you back to safety. The car Jerry’s men are in crashes into Silas’s, making it come to an abrupt halt. Jerry runs out of her car — doesn’t even close the door behind her— over to the destroyed one. You’re lying in the backseat with blood running from your mouth, nose and hair, eyes barely open. The very sight makes Jerry’s heart ache. She pulls you out and holds you in hernarms. You whimper out a broken sob, moaning in pain.
“Shh, don’t cry”, Jerry whispers. “It’ll be over soon.”
She holds you gently in her arms as she walks back to her car. You’re crying loudly from fear, shock and pain, moaning painfully from every step Jerry takes. It reminds her of a baby that hurt themselves. But this is not a baby overreacting from walking into a wall, this is a real scenario of a broken girl in a car crash.
“Shh, shh”, she hushes, kissing your forehead.
Jerry sits down in the backseat with you in her lap, putting a blanket over you. You cling onto her, crying heavily. Her heart flutters. You’re searching for safety in her.
“Do you think you have any broken bones, Y/N?” she asks.
“I-I d-don’t k-know!” you sob loudly.
The drivers look at each other.
“I have you, baby. You’re okay”, Jerry whispers. “Try to relax. Can you do that for me?”
“M-Mhm”, Y/N sobs.
“Good girl. My best girl.”
You meet her dark eyes. She can see the pain you’re in, it’s exposing you. She kisses your bloody forehead.
“I’ll take the pain away”, she promises. “Just hold on a little, baby. You’re so strong, I’m so, so, so proud of you.”
She holds you in her grip all the way to her house. Jerry carries you inside, changes your clothes, wipes the blood off your face and washes your hair. She gently removes your clothes, seeing the bruised mess underneath.
“Everything hurts!” you almost scream as she pulls one of her t-shirts over your head and moves her arms to get in the arm-holes.
“Shh, I know, I know”, Jerry cooes before placing you down on his bed, tucking you in.
“Why did you do this to me?” you asks weakly.
“I had to risk it to get you back. I’ll take away the pain. I promise. I’ll take good care of you. Can you try to move your body? We have to make sure nothing’s broken.”
You wiggle your fingers, lift your legs and arms, turning your head. Nothing’s broken, only badly hurt and bruised. Jerry sighs out in relief. She knew what she was doing, but the small risk of anything unplanned happening was always there.
Her phone rings and when she sees the name, she smiles sadistically.
“I’ll go get you some painkillers”, Jerry says and leaves the room. As soon as she does, he picks up the call. “Hello, Silas.”
“What the fuck have you done?!” he shouts on the other side. “First, you burn down my fucking house and kill two of my guards and now the car is wrecked and the drivers are killed! What have you done to Y/N?! Don’t you realize how badly you could have hurt her?! Are you fucking insane?!”
“She’s a little manhandled, but she’ll be fine. She’s strong. I’ll take care of her very well and make sure she heals right.”
“You’re risking Y/N’s life! You’re playing with her as if she was some toy! She can die!”
“I know what I’m doing, old man. Loosen up. I don’t like seeing Y/N in pain, but I’ll do anything to get her away from you. And you should see how dependent she is on me when she’s hurt. You wish it was you, don’t you?”
“You’re a damn parasite, Jerry! Let me talk to her.”
“Why?”
“I need to see so you haven’t fucking killed her!”
“Fine. Two minutes.”
Jerry walks inside the bedroom again, putting on the speaker, giving you the phone.
“Hello …?” you whispers quietly.
“Y/N, oh, my … darling, are you hurt?” Silas asks worriedly.
“Everything is hurting …”
“I’m sorry, once again I fucked up, I‘m sorry! I shouldn’t leave you alone. You know I would never do that to you, right? I’d never hurt you.”
“Hey, don’t manipulate her like that!” Jerry scoffs, taking the phone. “You’re worse than me.”
“I’m not trying to manipulate her! I’m telling the truth!”
Y/N whines out a broken sob. Their loud, upset voices make her head pound heavily.
“Shh, it’s alright, baby girl”, Jerry cooes, caressing her cheek. “I’ll go get that painkiller now, I promise.”
She walks outside the room.
“I’ll never forgive you if you give Y/N forever damage, do you hear me, Jerry?” Silas says.
“If you don’t want her in every condition she comes in, I’ll gladly take her. I’ll love her however she is.”
“I will too, but if she’s suffering, I’ll kill you!”
“Try. I dare you. While you plan it out, I’ll be with Y/N.”
Jerry smirks and hangs up, going to the bathroom to get the painkiller. She walks back with the little pill and a glass of water. You tries to sit up, but moan in pain.
“No, no, I’ll help you”, Jerry says. “Don’t move.”
She helps you up in a half sitting, half lying position with a big pillow behind your back. She holds the glass and pill to your mouth. Thankfully, your neck wasn’t very badly injured so you can swallow it yourself.
Silas pulls the knife out of the man’s chest, exhaling shakily. He’s never felt this type of anger. He imagines that the near dead man under him is Jerry. You’re lying in her bed, hurt beyond infinity and he can’t do anything about it. Silas lets out a loud, animalistic roar before dumping the body down in the water. He sits down on the sand and starts to cry into his hands. He neither has have a home or the person that matters to him the most. Jerry is two steps before him and he has to think quickly if he wants to win.
I have to do something. I have to hurry.
Silas has to get a new house and a new plan. The house is the most important at the moment. He has to have a safe place for you when he rescues you. The base isn't a good place, it's not safe. He doesn’t have much time.
“I’m going to kill you, Jerry, and I’m going to enjoy it”, Silas says before standing up.
One of his men is quick to find a new house for Silas. He likes it, but there’s a lot to fix before you come back. His men have to take care of that. Silas has another thing to do: to get you back. He thinks about how to do it. No way he'll do what Jerry did. He'll never scare or hurt his love. He is way too mature for that.
"Jerry is violent, but she's dumb", Silas tells one of his men. "She is in that age where she thinks she's untouchable. She's never on her guard.”
“We'll get her back, boss."
"Yeah, we will."
The pain is eating you up from the inside. You want to scream, but you’re too exhausted to do that. Jerry is downstairs today and you’re all alone in the room. The silence is just what you need. There are guards right outside the door, ready to attack in case Silas appears. They have one objective: to protect you at all costs.
All you are doing is lay in that bed, day after day. When Jerry isn’t home, you watch TV, listen to music or sleep. You’re exhausted. Getting kidnapped back and forth is tearing you physically, mentally and and emotionally. You can’t take it anymore. Jerry was willing to crash a car to get you. What more is she prepared to do?
Silas makes his way through the house, finding Jerry by the bedroom door. Silas’ men take her by surprise and hold her still as Silas makes his way into the bedroom, over to the bed. Jerry should have known. The sound she heard earlier was footsteps, she should have known!
"Don't you fucking touch her, you sons of bitches!" Jerry shouts angrily, trying to get out of the grip the guards are holding her in. One of them holds their arm around her neck in a chokehold. "Let me go, you fucking idiots!"
She almost doesn't sound human, more like a demon. The fear of Silas taking you away makes her adrenaline pump through his veins.
“That you can use those kinds of words in front of Y/N is just disgusting”, the older man says. “You really are horrible.”
You whimper out a sob, a single tear running down your cheek as you watch Silas get closer. He looks heartbroken to see you in this condition. You look like you’re on the edge of seeing death.
"Don't be scared", Silas says gently. "I got you."
You think about all the times you had to get manually moved to the toilet to empty yourself and how badly that hurt. You can’t get moved again.
"Don't move me … please", you whisper.
"What?" Silas asks. Please tell him he heard wrong. That can’t have come out of your mouth.
"Please don't move me … it hurts so much."
"You heard her!" Jerry almost shouts, fighting against the guards. "Leave her alone!"
"Y/N’s opinion doesn't really matter now", the older one says, standing up. "She doesn't understand what's best for her. I'll take care of her even better than you do."
He bends down to pick her up.
"No, no, no, no, please-", you whine.
"Shh, it'll only hurt for a little while, I promise. Then everything will be good again."
"No, please…"
"Shh."
"Why don't you listen to her?!" Jerry spits.
You let out a moan of pain as you get lifted off the bed.
“Stop, Silas, for real!” Jerry panics. “She wishes to stay! You can't do that to her!”
You have never seen her like this. She actually looks — and sounds — terrified. She doesn’t look like the cruel woman who wears an iconic smirk … for once she resembles a real human.
“I can do whatever I want. Shut her up, she’s too loud”, Silas says and walks out of the room with you in his arms.
“D-Don’t kill her”, you manage to get out.
It’ll all be your fault if Jerry loses her life.
“I wasn't going to kill him!” Silas hurries to say. Clearly lying.
“Let me down, it hurts too much!”
"I'm so sorry. We're soon in the car, I promise."
He carries you out to the car and places you down in the backseat with your head in his lap. You start to cry as the car drives. The small jerking, rocking motion makes every muscle in your body ache. You’re deadly afraid that Jerry will crash this car too. You won’t survive another attack. Silas wipes your tears. God, his heart is aching. How could Jerry do this?
A week goes by. By now, you can walk normally, it’s only in the mornings and evenings you feel the pain in your body. Today though, a weird feeling has entered your body and won’t go away. Something will happen, you can feel it. It's been too peaceful for too long.
“Let’s bake something”, Silas says. “Let’s bake … a cake! You deserve a cake for being such a good girl even though Jerry broke your body.”
They walk down to the kitchen and prepare everything, taking out the eggs, milk, sugar, flour and what more they need.
“Are you ready?” Silas asks, holding up his phone for the recipe. “Let’s go.”
You start pouring in the different ingredients in the bowl and stir.
They take the cake out of the oven thirty minutes later. A wonderful scent has spread throughout the house. You smother the purplle vanilla cream over the cake, looking at the pretty color. You’re all in your own world.
Suddenly, she hears some weird sound. Silas frowns, looking behind him. Jerry and five of her men enter the kitchen with guns in their hands, directed at them.
“How nice to meet you again, Silas”, she smirks and looks at Y/N. “Hello, baby. You don’t have any bruises left. You’re still pretty.”
“Leave”, Silas growls. “Leave us alone.”
“I’m going to leave, but I have to bring my baby home first. I let you have her, I was generous. But now it’s time for her to come home. And I’m going to have her. You care about your men, don’t you? I will kill them one by one until you give Y/N to me voluntarily.”
She shoots one of the men to show that she’s serious and that she’s willing to kill more. You force your scream to silence as you watch the man fall down, blood covering his corpse. You start to shake as tears fall down your cheeks.
“One down”, Jerry says, tilting her head. “If you don't want more of your men to get a first class ticket to Hell, Silas, leave the room. Now.”
Silas sighs heavily, gives you a defeated kiss on your cheek before passing Jerry in the door.
“I will get her back, you know that”, he says. “I’m only letting you get her because I know you’ll do something insane that’ll scar her for life or give her even more bruises. Look at her, you’ve already done enough.”
“You’re right, I’d do something worse. Don’t worry though, I’ll take care of her, like I always do.”
Jerry walks over to the scared girl by the cake, collecting some purple icing on her finger, tasting it. Her gun is still in her hand, resting on the kitchen aisle. Your gaze is stuck on it as the tears fall down, shoulders shaking worse than before.
"It's good, you're a good baker", Jerry smiles. “Look at me.”
You force her eyes to meet hers.
“You’re going to come with me now, won’t you?” she asks.
You don’t answer.
“Y/N, I’m going to shoot one of Silas’s men for every minute you refuse to come with me.”
“Please don’t …”
“I’m not kidding.”
“Okay, okay, okay, fine, I’ll come.”
“Good girl..”
Jerry takes your hand, giving it a kiss. You have to walk over the dead body to get out of the kitchen. The smell of fresh blood is making your head and stomach spin. Jerry brings you with her out of the house, just in time for you to duck into a bush and throw up.
“Ah, poor baby”, she says worriedly, holding up your hair. “You’re not used to death. It’ll be fine.”
She helps you to the car. Your gut had been right. It had been too calm for too long.
Am I just a ragdoll for them to pull apart as they please? you think. I can’t deal with this anymore.
Dub-con breeding blurb with Sukuna? You can't tell me he wouldn't do it, the men has to be pent up as hell.
Pent up yeah, I bet, a whole lot, just waiting.
Pairing: Sukuna x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con, breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, use of the word Master, creampie, name-calling, degradation, demon mode Sukuna
Word count: 0.8k
A/N: This ended up being a lot longer then a blurb sorry not sorry lmao. I think Sukuna is the embodiment of if evil why hot? If evil why you wanna suck him off?
"What's the matter, where did all your attitude from before go, huh sweet cheeks?" Sukuna's hands held you by the wrists, pulling them towards himself while his other two pairs of hands kept your legs spread open, "You were so feisty before I got my cock in you."
"S-Shut up. Just... fuck!" Your back arched at one particularly deep thrust. Damn it, you were supposed to be watching him, making sure that he's not up to anything crazy. Last time you checked your duties didn't include being absolutely railed by him, but that was what was happening.
Sukuna's eyes darted all over your body, from your pretty, flustered face, your lips, red and swollen from his, your eyes welling up with frustrated tears, your body, marked by him, kisses and scratches painting such a pretty picture of his ownership over you, your clit, which was just begging for attention, your pussy, being rammed by his cock. What a sight you were.
"Your cunt is opening up. It knows it's master, about time you accepted me. You're finally being more honest with yourself. Ah, but I want you to say it, say it. Before I breed you like the bitch in heat that you are, say who your master is." You almost did, your body on the verge of betrayal, your pussy walls tightening around his dick. No, no, you couldn't lose to him. "What a stubborn bitch. It's fine, I always welcome a challenge." He started pulling on your wrists, pulling your body towards his, no longer were you just having his cock rammed into you but he was pulling you onto it too, the frequency of the wet, slapping sounds increasing, along with your moans. "Close?"
He was so damn smug, he knew it already, he just wanted to humiliate you more, "No." You lied, "I... I can't... I won't..."
"You can and you will. Disobedient slut, think you can lie to the King? Fine, I'll make your slutty pussy admit it then as it takes my seed." Sukuna almost roared as he smirked down at you, his eyes locked on your still defiant face, "It wants it already, your pussy wants my cum. So dirty of you, wanting to be breed by the man who you're supposed to hate. I'll breed you for all to see, for all to know you're my woman, mine."
"Go. To. Hell." Your threat was a lot less convincing with how good his cock felt inside of you. Sukuna's hand guided one of yours towards your clit and without thinking you started rubbing to. "Fuck...!" It felt so good, so damn good, you shouldn't enjoy it, you should hate him, want him dead. You did but... a part of you also wanted his cock, and that part was starting to get hard to ignore.
His triumphant laughter made you feel even more ashamed, "That's it. It feels good doesn't it, to give in. Surrender, and I'll take good care of you. You don't need the Sorcerers anymore, hell they probably won't take you back now that you've enjoyed my cock. Or maybe they will, because they know your good pussy can keep me at bay."
You bit your lip, struggling against the reality of his words with little success. He shouldn't be right, he shouldn't hold any sort of power over you, he shouldn't make you feel good. But he was, against all your wishes he was making you feel so damn good right now. Desired, and the way he spoke, like it was all you, it was you who could keep him at bay. You, as long you were his.
"Never again." You still tried to argue against him.
"Liar. You're such a liar. But I have all the time in the world to get you to be honest with me. In the meantime, I want to see how much cum this hole can hold." He started going faster, at lightning speed almost as his thrusts actually stung where his body met yours, "Dishonest mouth but a honest pussy I see. You'll take it, take my seed, get pregnant you little lying whore, see if you can deny me then, when you're properly breed and round with my child." Sukuna roared his release, his cock shooting bursts of thick, hot, white cum.
The sensation made your body halt in the spot, then start shaking as your orgasm hit you, your fingers moving recklessly and with wild, lustful abandon over your clit. "Pull out." You groaned and whimpered, already knowing it was too late for him to do so. Still he obliged, smug as ever, but only to see the flood of his cum rushing out of your still clenching hole. "You're such a fucking bastard."
"Agreed. At least I admit what I am. You'll get there soon too, until then..." Sukuna leaned back and pulled you along, four arms wrapping around you, "I'll have to teach you your lesson over and over. Get ready for round two." His cock entered your sensitive hole again, starting the process until you admitted that you were his.
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