coming out of my hiding as a Marfan syndrome Dr. Jonathan Crane truther. It makes so much sense. He's lanky he's frail. He's inhumanely tall, poor eyesight. LIKEE???? Maybe i just want a hug from that spindly ass creepy ass toothpick sighhhh
Honestly I wanna see more time dedicated to highlighting how scarily intelligent some of the rogues are.
Black Mask and Penguin sniped most of Gotham out from under crime families that had been in power for decades, that isn't all ruthlessness and intimidation, that takes some serious skill in strategy to catch established mob bosses off-guard like that.
Harley Quinn and Scarecrow are some of Batman's most dangerous rogues built purely on how well they can read people and use it to their advantage. They're both extremely emotionally intelligent and Scarecrow's got quite a bit of biological and chemical knowledge on top of that.
Two-Face was a District Attorney, that means he's not just a damn good lawyer, he's a damn good politician, occupations that usually require both a lot of practical and emotional intelligence. It takes a fair amount of intelligence to win over a skeptical crowd--or a jury, for that matter.
We seriously sleep on how smart Joker is, comic writers included. It's not just him creating his own toxin from scratch; it's being able to manipulate a trained psychiatrist who is also fiercely intelligent, two of them depending on the comic.
Poison Ivy learned about and adapted to her own physical condition within days of discovering it. More than that, she used it to her advantage and used it to bolster her already expansive knowledge of botany and biology.
Riddler? Mechanical and computer engineering skill aside, ask any DM or game designer how hard it is to create a genuinely challenging puzzle or riddle. It's really hard; it doesn't just take intelligence it takes patience.
Need and control wasn't a good mix. And someone who is in control at all times. The mix of need. A need for you wasn't something he wanted but he craved nonetheless.
Your sweet taste, voice so melodic it fixes him on a song of fascination. Something he had never listened but he was familiar with deep inside.
Hannibal wasn't swayed easily. But the way your tongue pushes against his. The taste of your soft lips. Always prepared for his taking was something that weakend a part of him that he lost years ago.
He wasn't an aggressive man. Well, not when it came to his lovers. But you, you woke a primal part that was gentle with roughness etched at the edges. Handling with utmost care, as if fragility was a concern in his mind.
But the markings of his fascination, care or even, love was always present on your soft skin. The markings that would overshadow the scars. Marks of his declaration. His songs engraved.
When he would feel your soft walls around his pulsing cock. Engulfing him in such a vulnerable state that he could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of power.
His thumb trailing against your jaw before traveling down to your neck. Every breath of yours was his to inhale. Every inch of you was his to consume.
Something dark in him wonders how you'd feel on his tongue. Would you be tough? Perhaps soft like cream? Melting the moment it hits his tongue because you know it is him. Or would you want him to savor you a while longer to profess your love for him with flavors?
Hannibal wonders these thoughts frequently. It makes his heart detach from his mind for just a second to think on its own. To think of you.
a/n: I need to be loved by hannibal. Not even a joke.
pairing: hannibal x f!reader
tw: implied cannibalism, dubious consent, uhealthy/obsessive relationship dynamics, sexual content ( not full out smut but hints towards it )
word count: 1.8k (ish)
you step into the dimly lit gallery, your heels echoing on the polished marble floor. the air is heavy with the scent of aged wood and oil paint, a fitting atmosphere for the exhibition of renaissance masterpieces. but it's not the art that draws your gaze tonight. it's him.
dr. hannibal lecter stands before a botticelli, his profile sharp and regal in the soft lighting. he turns, as if sensing your presence, and his maroon eyes lock onto yours. a shiver runs down your spine - from fear or excitement, you're not quite sure.
"good evening," he says, his accented voice smooth as silk. "i was hoping you'd come."
you approach, drawn into his orbit like a moth to flame. "i wouldn't miss it, dr. lecter. your taste in art is... exquisite."
his lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "as is yours, my dear. both in art and... company."
the double meaning hangs in the air between you. you've been dancing this dangerous waltz for months now, circling each other in a game of cat and mouse. but which of you is the predator, and which the prey?
"would you care to join me for a closer look?" he asks, gesturing to the painting.
you nod, allowing him to guide you with a gentle hand on the small of your back. his touch burns through the thin fabric of your dress.
as you stand before the botticelli, he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "do you see how the artist has captured the vulnerability of the human form? the delicate interplay of light and shadow on bare flesh?"
your breath catches in your throat. "yes," you whisper. "it's beautiful."
"indeed," he murmurs. "beauty and suffering, inexorably intertwined. one cannot truly appreciate the former without experiencing the latter."
you turn to face him, your faces mere inches apart. "and which are you offering tonight, dr. lecter? beauty or suffering?"
his eyes gleam in the low light. "why not both?"
the world seems to fade away, leaving only you and hannibal in this moment of exquisite tension. you know you should run, should flee from the darkness you see swirling in the depths of his gaze. but you're captivated, ensnared by the enigma of the man before you.
"come," he says, offering his arm. "let us continue our tour. there is so much more i wish to show you."
you take his arm, your fate sealed with that simple gesture. as he leads you deeper into the gallery, you can't help but wonder if you're walking willingly into the lion's den.
the rest of the evening passes in a blur of wine, witty conversation, and lingering glances. hannibal is the perfect gentleman, charming and erudite. but beneath the polished veneer, you sense something wild and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.
as the night draws to a close, he escorts you to your car. "i've greatly enjoyed your company this evening," he says, his hand still resting on the small of your back.
"as have i," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.
he leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek. "until next time, my dear," he murmurs. "sweet dreams."
you drive home in a daze, your mind reeling from the evening's events. as you prepare for bed, you can't shake the feeling that something has fundamentally shifted. you've crossed a threshold, and there's no going back.
that night, your dreams are a kaleidoscope of images - flashes of steel, splashes of crimson, and always, always, those burning maroon eyes watching you.
* * *
days pass, but you can't get dr. lecter out of your mind. his presence lingers like a phantom limb, an ache you can't quite shake. you find yourself obsessively replaying every moment of your encounters, analyzing each word, each gesture.
when your phone rings and his name appears on the screen, your heart leaps into your throat.
"hello, my dear," his voice purrs through the speaker. "i was wondering if you might join me for dinner tomorrow evening. i'm preparing a rather special menu, and i can think of no one i'd rather share it with."
you know you should refuse. every instinct screams at you to make an excuse, to put distance between yourself and this man who both thrills and terrifies you. but the words that come out of your mouth betray you:
"i'd be delighted, dr. lecter."
you can almost hear his smile through the phone. "excellent. shall we say 8 o'clock? and please, call me hannibal."
the next evening finds you standing before his door, your heart pounding a staccato rhythm against your ribs. you smooth down your dress, take a deep breath, and knock.
the door swings open, and there he stands, resplendent in a three-piece suit. "good evening," he says, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your form. "you look ravishing."
he ushers you inside, taking your coat with the grace of a perfect host. the air is rich with the aroma of simmering herbs and spices, making your mouth water despite your nerves.
"i hope you're hungry," hannibal says, leading you into the dining room. the table is set with exquisite china and gleaming silverware, a single red rose in a crystal vase serving as the centerpiece.
"starving," you reply, and something in his eyes flashes at your choice of words.
he pulls out your chair, ever the gentleman, before disappearing into the kitchen. you take the moment alone to steady your nerves, reminding yourself that this is just dinner. nothing more.
but as hannibal returns, bearing plates of food that look more like works of art than mere sustenance, you know you're only lying to yourself. this is so much more than just dinner.
"our first course," he announces, setting a plate before you. "carpaccio of veal heart, with a black truffle emulsion."
you raise an eyebrow at the choice of meat, but the presentation is stunning. hannibal watches intently as you take your first bite. the flavors explode on your tongue - rich, complex, unlike anything you've ever tasted before.
"it's incredible," you breathe.
his smile is one of genuine pleasure. "i'm so glad you enjoy it. i always take great care in selecting the... ingredients for my special guests."
the meal progresses through several more exquisite courses, each one a symphony of flavors and textures. hannibal is the perfect host, keeping the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. but there's an undercurrent of tension, a predatory gleam in his eye that both excites and unnerves you.
as he clears away the dessert plates, you find yourself feeling slightly lightheaded. whether from the rich food, the wine, or simply hannibal's intoxicating presence, you're not sure.
"shall we retire to the study for a digestif?" he suggests, offering his hand to help you up.
you take it, relishing the warmth of his skin against yours. "lead the way."
his study is a temple to refined taste - walls lined with leather-bound books, artwork that probably costs more than your yearly salary, and a crackling fire that casts dancing shadows across the room.
hannibal pours two glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. "armagnac," he explains, handing you one. "a 1965 vintage. i've been saving it for a special occasion."
you accept the glass, your fingers brushing against his. "and what occasion might that be?"
he takes a step closer, invading your personal space. "tonight," he pauses, eyes transfixed on your face, "the night you become mine."
your breath catches in your throat. this is the moment you've both been building towards, the culmination of months of tension and unspoken desire. you should be afraid - you know, deep down, that there's something not quite right about hannibal lecter. but all you feel is a burning need.
"what makes you think i want to be yours?" you challenge, even as your body betrays you, leaning into him.
his free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "you've been mine since the moment our eyes first met."
he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. it's nothing like you imagined - it's better. his mouth is hot, demanding, tasting of armagnac and something darker, something uniquely hannibal.
you melt into him, your glass slipping from your fingers and shattering on the hardwood floor. neither of you pays it any mind. your hands fist in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer as his own hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
when you finally break apart, gasping for air, his eyes are wild with hunger. "tell me you want this," he growls, his accent thicker with desire. "tell me you want me."
"i want you," you breathe, beyond the point of no return. "god help me, i need you."
it's a desperate, violent thing, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. you pour all your fear, all your desire, all your conflicted emotions into that kiss. and hannibal matches you passion for passion, his hands gripping you so tightly you know you'll have bruises tomorrow.
when you break apart, you're both panting. "what happens now?" you ask, your voice hoarse.
hannibal's smile is a thing of terrible beauty. "now, my dear, we feast."
he lead you back to the wooded table, lifting you effortlessly to sit upon it. the material cold against your bare thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of hannibal's body as he steps between your legs.
"are you afraid?" he asks, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.
you consider lying, but you know he'd see right through it. "yes," you admit before considering the thought further.
"good," he says, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. "fear heightens the senses. makes everything more... intense."
his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. you shiver, but not entirely from fear. despite everything - or perhaps because of it - you want him more than you've ever wanted anyone in your life.
"hannibal," you gasp as his lips trail down your neck, "i need-"
"shh," he soothes, his breath hot against your skin. "i know exactly what you need. trust me."
and lord have mercy on you, you do. you trust him as he slowly undresses you, as he worships your body with his hands and mouth. you trust him as he takes you there on the table. your cries of pleasure echoing off the stone walls.
afterward, as you lie tangled together, your body humming with satisfied desire. you lose yourself in his embrace once more, you know that you've crossed a line from which there's no return. you've willingly stepped into the darkness, hand in hand with the monster who now owns your heart and soul.
and god help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.
Hello! Could you write something about how Hannibal(Hannibal NBC) fell in love with a reader(preferably male, but female is okay too!)who is also a surgeon? Perhaps they could cross paths while working on the investigation of one of the cases? And what if the reader is cold, distant and paranoid, the one who keeps everyone at arm's length. I just absolutely LOVE this parallel between Hannibal and Franklin, because Hannibal would probably be "the Franklin" in this situation. It's okay if you're uncomfortable or don't want to write it! Have a nice day!🌸🌸🌸
Give Me Attention (Hannibal Lecter x M! Reader)
Hi, I absolutely love the request because it strays so far from what Hannibal is (and believe me, I did take advantage to write a needy and pathetic Hannibal who's down for the reader.) So this might not be the most realistic but it's fun! Hope you enjoy it.
tags: down bad Hannibal, Hannibal finds reader endearing, even if they're rude, open ending??
You always prided yourself on your surgical precision, the clean lines of your incisions, the careful stitching that spoke of a quiet dedication to your craft. But the work before you now—the dissected realities of crime scenes rather than the sanitized sterility of an operating room—was a grotesque mockery of your life’s work. When Jack Crawford had approached you, his eyes weary and voice heavy with unspoken desperation, you had felt compelled to help, drawn in by the promise of stopping a monster. Little did you know, you’d be working alongside one.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter was an enigma wrapped in a facade of impeccable suits and polite smiles. From the moment you met, his gaze lingered too long, his questions probing too deeply. You wanted a professional relationship, nothing more. Yet, Hannibal seemed determined to weave himself into the very fabric of your life.
“Dr. Lecter, I appreciate your insights, but I'm quite capable of drawing my own conclusions,” you said, after he had offered yet another piercing analysis of a body you were examining. Your tone was polite but distant, an invisible barrier you continually reinforced.
“Of course, my apologies. I find our collaboration most enlightening,” Hannibal responded, his voice smooth, betraying no hint of offense. “Perhaps we could discuss our theories over dinner? I believe a change of scenery could prove invigorating.”
You paused, the scalpel in your hand hovering above cold flesh. “That won’t be necessary, Doctor. I prefer to keep my work at work.” You didn’t miss the brief shadow that crossed his face before his polite smile returned.
“As you wish.”
Despite your refusals, Hannibal’s attempts at friendship only escalated. It started with chance encounters. You’d see him at the coffee shop where you grabbed your morning espresso, a polite nod exchanged, nothing more. Then it was the bookstore you frequented on quiet Sundays, Hannibal browsing the aisles, a thoughtful expression as he picked through titles you’d just glanced at minutes before.
But it wasn’t just public spaces. It was recommendations left on your desk, notes about books or wines he thought you’d enjoy, reservations made at restaurants you’d mentioned offhandedly during meetings. It was becoming too much, his presence too suffocating.
One evening, as you were leaving Quantico, you found him waiting by your car. The parking lot was nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows. “Dr. Lecter, this is becoming inappropriate,” you said, your tone sharper than before.
“My intentions are purely of a friendly nature,” he explained, stepping closer. “I find your mind fascinating. It’s not often I meet someone whose intellect I admire as much.”
“You need to stop this,” you insisted. “Whatever you think is happening between us, it isn’t. I'm not interested in becoming your friend nor do I find you interesting. Now, leave me alone." You hissed, unlocking your car and sliding inside before he could respond.
Hannibal stood silently, the sharp sting of your words cutting through the cold air between you. He watched as you slid into your car, his expression unreadable, a mask of calm painted over the tumult inside him. For a moment, he remained motionless, the weight of rejection settling heavily on his shoulders.
As your car's headlights flickered on, casting long shadows on the pavement, Hannibal's thoughts churned. Rejection was an unfamiliar and unwelcome guest in his life, one he was not prepared to entertain graciously. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you drive away, the tail lights blurring into the growing dusk.
In the solitude of the empty parking lot, Hannibal allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. "Not interested," the words echoed in his mind, a stark contrast to the usual praises and desires he elicited in others. His interest in you had been genuine, profound even, transcending the usual boundaries that defined his relationships. You were a challenge, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of your own moral and professional fortitude, and he had failed to unravel you.
Turning slowly, Hannibal walked back to his own vehicle, his steps measured, the grace of his movements belying the turmoil within. As he drove home, the streets empty and bathed in the glow of streetlights, he contemplated your words.
"Leave me alone." The finality of it should have been a deterrent, a clear signal to cease and desist. But Hannibal Lecter was not a man deterred by the conventional responses of others. To him, every human interaction was a complex dance of wills and desires, and he was a master choreographer.
In the quiet of his kitchen, Hannibal poured himself a glass of Chianti, the rich red liquid swirling in the glass, a dark mirror to his thoughts. He pondered the nuances of your rejection, searching for a sliver of meaning or a crack in your armor. Was there truly no interest? Or was it a defense mechanism, a wall built to keep the world—and perhaps him—decidedly out?
"You do find me interesting," he murmured to himself, the words a whisper against the clink of the glass. "You must. The mind like yours cannot help but be intrigued by the anomalies of human behavior, and I," he paused, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "am certainly an anomaly."
Resolved, Hannibal set his glass down. Your rejection, while clear and stinging, was but another layer of the complexity that made you so fascinating. He would give you space, for now, to contemplate and perhaps to miss the dance of intellects that had begun to form between you. Patience, after all, was a virtue he possessed in abundance.
Tomorrow, Hannibal would return to Quantico, his demeanor unchanged, polite and professional. He would respect your wishes, maintaining a distance. But he would watch, and wait, and perhaps, in time, you would see that the dance was far from over. The game, as they say, was afoot, and Hannibal Lecter was never one to walk away from a challenge, especially not one as intriguing as you.
CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni) dubcon, breath play, murder, violence, slapping, stalking (the reader), gun play, hair pulling, choking, forced oral (male receiving), forced fucking, sabotaging the reader, humiliation, degrading & praise, threats, abuse, forced fingering, breeding kink (nigel wants to baby trap reader), a completely filthy fucked up oneshot
SYNOPSIS: Going to a club in Bucharest was normal, you thought. But when bodies of the boys you interacted with after leaving the club started turning up, your vacation was put on hold. Worried whether you were the killer’s next victim — you were all over the place but what you didn't know was you'd caught the eye of a well known mob boss, Nigel Banyai and the man was willing to do just about anything to make you his.
Fourth body this week.
Found dead in the woods — littered with knife wounds like fucking red confetti. You were terrified but what scared you more was the Romanian police on your ass since all the boys ending up dead were somehow leaving links which trailed back to you.
Everytime a boy or a man was found, they called you in for questioning. Having no solid proof against you, they always released you but with a warning that they will catch you if you were behind the murders. It all became worse when you were forbidden from fleeing the country or even the city — forced to suffer in fear in Bucharest.
It angered you.
Why the fuck was someone targetting you, like this? Sabotaging you, forcing you to stay in Bucharest? It irritated you and this was not something you had looked forward to when you made plans to come to Bucharest.
You were puzzled.
Were you also on the killer’s target list? Was he going to come for you too, kill you too? Were you also gonna end up on the news like all those boys?
You made up your mind to visit the club from where this all began from.
Ever since you'd left, a bloody trail fucking followed and this was getting out of hand. Four men were dead — because they had interested with you. One had asked for your number at the club, the other had catcalled you a few days later on the street and the other two were friends who harassed you after you rejected them.
You decided to go.
In the same outfit, at the same exact time.
You entered the club — it was in a shady area but it was a fun club. Filled with escorts and strippers. It was the best kinda club, especially for a wild girl like you. As you maneuvered your way through the sweaty crowd of people dancing on the floor, you made it to the bar.
Plopping down on a stool, you ordered a simple martini and threw your bare leg over the other. In certain scrutiny, your gaze ran over the people. Attempting to find the person who had sabotaged you this bad. All you saw were people having fun, kissing and grinding against each other.
When your drink arrived, you took a sip and groaned in frustration. Hand drowned in your hair, gripping onto it to relieve yourself from some of the frustration.
You decided to scan the crowd once more and this time a pair of piercing dark eyes captured your attention. A blonde man, standing there, in a secluded corner. He stared at you, like he was drinking you in and the way he looked at you caused chills to run up your spine.
He was fucking gorgeous.
But his aura was prominent enough for you to notice it throughout the whole club.
You lowered your gaze and shook your head, emptying out your martini. The song changed and everyone screamed, their energy rejuvenated. You ordered another drink and then felt someone sit right next to you. It was that blonde, gorgeous with golden strands hovering over his forehead.
“First time here?”
His thick accent was delicious. You wanted to eat him because of the way he sounded and looked.
“No. Second, which is ironic because my first was fucking awful.” You spat out the venomous words, fingers tightening around the glass as you brought it to your red lips and drank a sip.
The handsome stranger scoffed at you, ordering himself a drink too. A Bourbon and it fit his taste. “Why was the first time awful?”
You sighed, leaning into your seat. “Someone is killing every boy I talk to. I'd be careful if I were you.”
It was as if you'd cracked a joke. His laugh was loud and deep, sending chills direct to your already soaked cunt. The man was straight out of some fictional book, his demeanor and looks making you act like some feline in heat ready to mate.
Too bad, you had no idea what was coming.
“Sounds like someone's got themselves the attention of a stalker.” His comment caused you still. He was right.
It could've been a stalker.
Which only heightened your fear. You finished your glass of martini and before you could order another one, the man spoke up. “Boys should learn how to take no for an answer. It would save them a lot of trouble.”
With that, he rose up from the stool and walked into the crowd of people. Your blood ran cold when your brain registered his words through the heavy bass of the music roaring through the speakers. Eyes widening in realization, you also stood up and ran in pursuit of him.
You didn't know what you were thinking, following the man that was murdering all these boys. You were afraid but you were also curious — like a cat that was about to get slaughtered because of her curiosity.
You only caught a glimpse of his blonde hair moving through the crowd and you followed him, heels clicking against the floor as you found yourself making your way outside through the back door. This exit lead you to an empty area, deserted and abandoned. The music slowly disappearing the further you delved into this area.
It was like some tight alleyway.
The smell of rain and concrete prominent.
“What a silly move. Following your stalker out here, all alone.” You heard his voice to your left and a drop of sweat trickled down your spine.
Your gaze followed from where his voice was coming from and you found him leaned against the wall, under a dimly lit lamp. Between his fingers, he held a cigarette as he smoked. You swallowed tightly and gathered your courage, the same determination which you used to track down the man who'd ruined your vacation.
You were pissed.
“Fuck do you want from me? Just why are you killing all these boys?”
He continued smoking. Dragging in puffs and squinting his eyes while doing so. Then he finished it and threw the little cigarette aside, not bothering to crush it. He took slow, predatory steps towards you, standing at a foot's distance.
Then he lit up another cigarette.
“They dared to approach what's mine.” He said, with boldness.
You let out a dry laugh. Was he fucking serious? He was a handsome man, too bad he was also delusional. You approached him, your finger extending out and pointing at his chest. “I'm not some fucking piece of land you'll claim. I haven't even met you, nor do I know you. You have the fucking Romanian police on my ass like cat after mouse.”
Your anger was bubbling up with each passing second. You didn't even care that he'd killed people — that being the least bit of your concerns. You were upset because you couldn't have fun, you couldn't roam around the country like how you'd dreamed to. It was all going down.
Because of him.
“I wouldn't speak to me like this if I were you. I don't like brats.” He said, voice dangerously low and my knees nearly buckled. You frowned and furrowed your eyebrows at him. “I don't give a fuck. You're ruining my vacation, for what reason? What did I do to you?”
He sighed, flicking open the pale packet and retrieving another cigarette. He lit it up and looked at you, as he placed it between his lips.
“You belong to me, darling.” He blowed the smoke of his cigarette into your face and you coughed out, hand flying in front of your face to move the smoke away.
Before you could argue more with him, he had his hand wrapped around your throat and forced you up against the wall. You struggled, caught off guard but you still struggled although it proved useless. He discarded his cigarette, spitting it out to the side. The man was ten times stronger than you, his rough hand clasping around your throat while his other retrieved a gun from his leather belt.
Your eyes widened in horror at the weapon.
Was he going to kill you?
Glancing between him and the weapon, you shook your head. He brought it up to your head, holding it against it. “Such a dirty little mouth you've got. I bet it can also take my gun when I fuck your little cunt, no?”
You gasped at his words.
And he took it as a chance to slide the barrel of his gun into your mouth. The metal cold and sour against your flaccid tongue, nostrils inhaling the strong scent of gunpowder wafting off it. Tears had decorated your waterline, mind registering the vulnerable situation you were in.
You tried to apologize — regretting following him but it didn't work. The words came out as muffled cries when he slid his gun further into your mouth.
“You look pretty like this.” He whispered against you, staring into your teary gaze. “I bet you've got quite the perfect cocksucking mouth.”
You tried to say something, so he retracted his gun from your mouth, allowing you a chance to speak. “Please—let me go. I'm sorry, I want to go.”
He smiled at you. “Oh no baby, you're not going anywhere. The only reason why I got the police after your sweet little ass is because I knew you'd try to escape. Try to make a run for it. How could I let that happen, hm?”
Your gaze enlarged.
So it was him who purposely did that?
This was all a part of his fucked up plan to sabotage you from leaving the country? Just who was he, how did he have this much power and why the fuck did he want you? It all came crashing down on you like a damn plane.
“Why?” You croaked out.
He sighed, still holding the gun in his thick hand. That was a question of pure foolery. Had you not noticed the way he looked at you? How possessive he was acting? Nigel’s feelings for you went past something as minor as lust. He was truly devoted to you and needed you by his side. Even if it meant by force. “When you came to my club, dressed like this,” he pointed his gun up and down at the same outfit you wore from before. “it made me want to fucking kidnap you and keep you away from everyone. Dressed like a little whore, only I deserve to see this beautiful body of yours.”
You flinched at his words.
The stranger trailed the cold and wet —from being in your mouth— barrel down to your top, as it hung by a chain over your round tits. He scoffed at the sight of it. He fucking loved how you looked in the outfit but if it was enough to give him a hard time in his pants, it was enough to give others a hard time concealing their lust too. That did not sit right with Nigel.
He was a beguiling man.
You could see it in his darkened gaze but your fear had gotten the best of you.
He used his gun to remove the loose top hanging on your tits, a hoarse chuckle emitting from his throat when he saw just how easily the glimmering fabric exposed your tits to him. Your bare chest on full display, peaks hardened to perfection. The tip of his barrel ran over your right nipple and a suppressed whimper escaped you.
“I-I promise I won't tell anyone.” Your endeavor to get yourself out of this situation was of proper amusement to him.
Nigel raised a brow. “Yeah? Even if you tell someone, no one will help you. There's no point in begging and pleading — unless you're into me taking you by force. I wouldn't mind, I fucking love breaking stubborn little girls like you and leaving them damaged.”
It was as if your heart had stopped pumping blood into your veins, your brain growing cold and numb. Obviously there was no point in begging and you tried to struggle against his frame pressed up against you, pushing him with the strength of your shoulders. It only worked as fuel to his incinerating anger.
Nigel walloped you across the face with his other hand before shoving the gun back into your mouth. Actions rough and full of vigor, he rammed it in and out of your mouth while tears furiously fell down your face. The stinging pain from the slap and the searing of your jaw was a combination you found yourself to loathe.
He stared at you, eyes sharp and pupils completely dilated. Deep down you wished that someone, anyone came in this area and saved you from the man but your brain told you over and over again that no one was coming. Your body begging to surrender to the man's abuse.
The feeling of his cold barrel on your tongue felt foreign, your eyebrows scrunching up and Nigel nearly melted at how fucking cute you appeared. Saliva sputtered around the gun, coating your chin in slick and then once he'd had enough, he pulled it out.
“God, you have it so wet, I could easily fuck you with it.” He commented, head tilted as he stared at the gun covered in slick.
You shook your head, making a meek little sound at the suggestion. Getting fucked with a gun was not on your vacation list, especially by a dangerous killer like him. He could fucking blow you up with one single push of the trigger and the idea scared you but also —excited you.
“I wanna go home.” You cried, struggling once more. Nigel took hint of how you were not gonna become pliant anytime sooner so he reached over and grabbed a fistful of your locks — covered in confetti and glitter from being in the club. There it was. Another heavy slap delivered to your cheek, this time not only did your cheek hurt but also your lips stung too.
Running a tongue over it, you tasted metal and cringed.
He'd busted your lip.
“Get on your fucking knees if you still want all your damn teeth in your mouth.” You shivered at the sheer dominance behind his chilling threat. Nodding your head at him, he forced you down on your knees and you allowed him to. Knees scraping against the hard concrete, body aching from all sides.
Nigel pulled more on your hair, tugging you by your locks against the prominent bulge in his pants. “Take it out and suck it. If you don't want me to kill you right now, you better show me just how good of a cocksucker you are.”
You cried tears of vulnerability and devastation, nodding your head at him. Nigel wasn't actually going to kill you, no. He adored you too much to do that but this was necessary, in order to make you more pliant and obedient. More bendable and easy. His cock throbbed in his briefs, enjoying the look of fear that crossed your features. It suited you well.
You'd come here with the attitude of a fucking lioness and now you were nothing but a scared little bunny, cornered and captured.
With shaky fingers, you reached for his little zipper and pulled it down. Then you slowly maneuvered your hand through the little space and felt the thickness of his cock. Rock hard and girthy, you pulled it out. It immediately slapped you across your face and the size of it left you dismayed.
How the fuck were you going to fit that into your mouth?
“I-It won't fit.” You whispered, looking up at him and when you did that, you felt the vein going underside his cock throb against your hand. You weren't gonna lie, it was a pretty cock. It's head thick, seeping with precum and almost a dark shade of pink. The rest of it was long, thick and had protruding veins going up and down. Your jaw still ached from the gun, just how badly was his cock going to destroy you?
Nigel bucked his hips forward, causing his cock to nuzzle against the side of your face, a satisfied hum eliciting from his chest. “It'll fit, I'll make it fit. Even if I have to shoot your throat open so I can fuck it.”
Panic settled in. His ability to throw such gruesome threats around like nothing terrified you. It made you wonder just who this man was and how powerful he was to have you cornered like this — without a care in the world about the law enforcements or the repercussions to his actions.
Your tongue peeked out from the folds of your lips, running over his slit in one single lick and as a response the man shuddered in your hold. His groan was loud as he stared down at you, grip painfully tight on your roots. “Don't fucking tease me, my darling. I wouldn't want to mess up this beautiful face of yours.”
Idle threats were not his cup of tea. He meant every word he said when his gaze darkened and you got to work. Lips circling around his head, taking him into your mouth and sucking on it. Tongue caressing the underside of his cock, running over the protruding purple vein.
Nigel nearly melted at how fucking tight your mouth was. Even after preparing it with his gun, fucking it thoroughly so it'd expand, he was still feeling its contraction around his cock. Wet, tight and gummy. He slipped his length past by your palate, hitting it against your uvula and then sliding it along your windpipe.
When he did that, entered such a forbidden territory, you tried to stabilize your breathing and body by resting both your palms against his thick thighs. Fingernails scraping the cotton fabric of his dress pants — eyes falling shut. You tried to ignore it, the pain you felt and how you were fighting not to gag over it.
But you did.
Ended up coughing, sputtering all over his cock and he only moaned at that. Your saliva trickling down your chin and making a wet ring around his length.
Nigel held your head firmly with both his hands and began to fuck into your mouth. Thoroughly and carefully, he pressed his cock along your tongue and everytime you made a gagged sound, you felt it throb inside your mouth.
He seemed to love how much you were struggling against him. Little fists delivering hopeful thuds to be freed but all he did was shove himself farther down your tight little throat. “Ah, fuck. I wonder how tight your cunt is going to be. Just the thought of being inside your pussy has me near.”
Nigel’s huffed out a sharp breath, his hips twitching forward helping himself breach the barrier of your throat. Tears streamed down your face and at the sight of you this fucked up, he pressed at your head all the way until his perfectly trimmed hair at the base of his cock brushed against your nose.
You tried to inhale through your nose and Nigel chuckled. His thumb and finger pinched your nose, preventing it from breathing. Your lungs expanded, desperately trying to intake any form of oxygen and when it didn't receive it, you started to punch and beat at his thighs.
Loud gagging sounds filled the air and as he fucked your throat, he let out prominent grunts of pleasure. Chest rumbling from how good you felt wrapped around him, how he forbade you from breathing. Your life dancing in the palm of his little life, completely controlling you.
“Christ, you're so pathetic like this. What was it that you said? I was ruining your vacation, huh? Try to escape me now, Darling.” His words burned you with humiliation as you punched and threw a fit, eyelids dropping and eyes rolling back to your skull. You nearly saw black, almost on the verge of passing out but he pulled out.
Only for a split moment.
To admire the trail of spit connecting your lips to the head of his cock. The saliva glistening around your mouth, forming small bubbles underneath the dimly lit lamp. Your short gasps echoed in the alleyway, as your lungs swelled up to take in air. Nigel found you so beautiful like this, wrecked and ruined. And the best part was that he hadn't even fucked you yet.
The fact filled him with overflowing excitement.
You could only catch your breath once or twice before he occupied the expanse of your mouth again, thrusting roughly and painfully down your throat. He caught a glimpse of the print of his cock in your throat and nearly came — hips driving themselves in aggressive and vigorous thrusts. You could tell he was close by the way his hips twitched and his balls throbbed.
“Yes. Yes— Just like that. Take it baby, take all my fucking cum. You're so good, so fucking good.”
Nigel, with one aggressive thrust, shot his load right down your throat. Barely giving you a chance to spit it out, forcing you to swallow it. When he pulled out and found your mouth to be empty, no sign of his cum, a satisfied glint appeared in his gaze.
“Good girl. You swallowed before I could tell you.”
No, you didn't swallow. He'd forcefully cum down your throat and fucked it down your fucking windpipe. Your body shivered up, feeling cold but Nigel didn't really seem to care. The man was panting like a dog, chest rising up and down while he supported himself against the wall with his palm.
His other hand still in your hair, lazily sitting atop it.
You sniffled, swallowing back a loud sob threatening to escape. There was still hope inside you, that maybe after giving him his release, he'd let you go. So you tried your luck.
“Can I go now? Please?”
His head dropped down. Eyes holding contact with your teary ones and your words made him laugh. A deep, breathless laugh ringing against yours ears. He shook his head at you as if you were a child, who'd asked a question beyond stupidity.
“You thought this was all in the heat of the moment, that I needed a pretty mouth to cum inside?” His hand reached for you, fingers circling around your arm and pulling you up on your feet. His rough manhandling caused your knees to scrape brutally along the floor, a small whimper expressing your pain.
He was glaring at you. “I own this fucking club and all the escorts that work here. I could cum down anyone's throat here, my darling girl.” Nigel leaned in closer to you, the space between the two of you shrinking and it worried you. “It is your mouth I want to cum inside and your cunt I want to fuck. The soonee you accept it the better it is for you.”
You shook your head.
There was still fight left in you.
As you raised your hand, you slammed it down on his cheek. Tears swimming in your eyes causing your vision to become a blur but the pure rage that had awakened in his eyes was something even your blurry vision couldn't ignore.
You almost immediately regretted it.
“Fine.” He muttered, “you wanna act like a brat, you'll get treated like one.”
Nigel slammed your head against the concrete wall and the newfound pain in your head fucking throbbed, increasing and swallowing you whole. The next few minutes were a blur. You could feel him roughly pulling up the mini skirt you wore, in a fit of rage ripping the material of your lace panties. Nigel hated and loved how you were dressed at the same time.
Like some little prostitute.
“I wanted to be gentle but look what you're making me do. All you had to do was be fucking still and obey me, now I'm forced to treat you like this.” His raw manipulation nearly made you feel guilty in the vulnerable moment. Brain succumbing to his words and actions of pure brutality.
Nigel hiked your leg up, wrapping it around his own waist. He brought his hand down to your cunt and smacked along the stripe, watching you flinch. The action slightly brought you back but still not enough to register what was happening.
You were dumb now.
Like a braindead puppy who'd suffered enough.
Your body gave up to him. “Look how wet your little pussy is. All this fucking act of resilience for what? Just to have a soaked cunt?”
You flinched at his words. The brutal man shoved a finger inside you, forcing it in and you cried out. Blurry vision struggling to make out the outline of his face, the hard ridges blending in with the background. He soon added another, followed by another. Pace rough and fingers curved — he slammed them upwards and made you cry out with each thrust.
“N-No.” You managed to cry out, throat completely parched and dry from all the crying. The amount of tears you'd shed had you dehydrated and you needed a crisp bottle of cold water. Only that could cure all this now.
Nigel was knuckles deep inside you and he enjoyed how your pussy clamped around his fingers, wet and squelchy. The sounds of your flesh reacting to his had made his half soft cock erect again. Standing tall and curved against his stomach. He was still being too kind, preparing you to take his cock. He didn't know how many dicks had you taken in your cunt but his was about to be the last.
Thumb caressing your swollen bud, moving it in circles. He loved the way your body twitched and moved, your face still drenched in tears as if you hated this meanwhile your hot little body had its own mind. Clenching around his fingers, nipples hard and sensitive, your hips grinding against his fingers.
“You've got the prettiest fucking cunt I've ever seen, darling.” He commented, pulling out his fingers and rubbing them all over his length. his act of lubrication of his own cock with your arousal making you cringe.
Nigel rubbed his fat head over your swollen clit, watching your face distort in one of pleasure. You cried yet you let out soft little moans of complete contentment. Your lips were agape, and your eyebrows were pinched together. It was such a beautiful sight.
“Look at me.” He commanded and this time you hurried to listen. Finding his gaze and meeting it, you blinked away a few tears and he leaned forward to finally do what he had been wishing to do.
He occupied your lips in a rough kiss, head tilting to the side. His tongue forced open your lips — although he didn't have to actually force it open. The pain in your head made you pliant and obedient, which was a result of satisfactory for him. The man was practically eating your mouth. Teeth clashing against teeth, tongue fighting with tongue, saliva mixing in together. He didn't care your mouth was stained with the salty taste of his own cum.
Nigel was a filthy fucking bastard.
While he kissed you, he stroked himself a couple of times before guiding his thick head to your hole. The second you felt the burning stretch, your hips began to writhe against the wall. Before you could struggle more, Nigel’s brawny arms slithered down to your waist and he lifted you up with ease.
Pinning you on the wall.
He wrapped both your legs around his hips and fully bottomed out inside you. Feeling each and every vein grazing against your tight gummy walls. You had the cunt of a fucking virgin, so tight and so fucking raw. He knew how virgins felt like — he loved the taste of innocence.
Though he knew you were anything but a virgin.
That fiery little mouth you had proved that he wasn't the only man whom you had wrapped around your finger just by existing. He stalked you, everytime you tried to get laid he'd eliminate the men. Kill them and make sure no one could ever lay their hands on you, with or without your consent. Without your knowledge he'd protected you against multiple men.
The man eventually bottomed out inside you, his pelvis pressed against your clit. He still had his hands pinning yours to the wall and it was beginning to hurt. You needed some sort of relief from this torture so you looked at Nigel, with a pleading look of innocence in your eyes. “My arms, t-they hurt.”
He looked at you, contemplating whether to release you or not. “Your arms hurt, yeah? You wanna rest them on my neck?”
You nodded your head when he raised a brow at you. The amount of control he had over his actions, his expressions, it was too attractive but also intimidating. A chuckle rumbled from his throat and you flinched at it, staring at him in confusion. “Aw, and what makes you think I'll let you? You have been nothing but disobedient. Your behavior has been a fit of utter disappointment.”
You were speechless. How could he be this cruel to you? A lone tear slid down your face as you accepted your faith, the ache in your shoulders growing by each second. Nigel’s heart clenched at the sight, he couldn't be mad at you anymore. Not when he was entirely whipped.
His hands slowly retracted and your head slowly rose up, staring at him. He brought your arms to his nape and circled them around it. Your hold tightened and you leaned forward, burying your face into the crook of his neck.
There was no fight left in you.
You wanted this to get over with as soon as possible.
Nigel found this version of yours endearing and he couldn't wait till he had completely broken you. His cock began to move inside you, in agonizingly slow thrusts and your soft whimpers slid right in his ear. He held you in his arms while he fucked himself into you, feeling how your thighs twitched and your cunt clenched around him.
“You're so tight, baby.” He slurred, his strokes going more vigorous. Hips snapping inside you and your moans delighting him to a new extent. You could feel the stinging sensation of his fingernails piercing through your skin from how hard he was gripping onto your hips, using your hole to chase his own release.
Nigel was breathless, panting like some wild animal when ravaging its prey. You were that prey and being ravaged by him was something that broke you apart. Blonde strands hovering over his forehead, he was honestly a godly sight. The skin of your back scraped lightly across the wall — whenever he thrusted inside you.
Stomach flipping and heart thumping wildly in your ears, you sniffled and whimpered from each harsh stroke. “Look at me, fucking look at me.”
And you did.
Lifting your head from his shoulder and meeting his dark gaze. The way he stared at you, it was like he had finally found purpose in life. The raw obsession in his eyes was overwhelming for you to even register. Nigel dug his nails into your skin, littering crescent moons. All the sensations — of pain, of pleasure, of the taboo this was, of everything, you were consumed by it.
“You're gorgeous.” He whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. Your heart flipped and you realized how fucked out you were because there was no way in hell you were flustered over compliments by this man.
Your hair stuck to your drenched forehead, a few strands finding residence over your cheeks too. Your lips are swollen and busted and your eyes are continuously glossing from the aggression of this man. Why did you capture his attention? Why couldn't it be someone else?
Nigel felt himself close.
So did you.
Your stomach had aggressive butterflies and your thighs convulsed, letting him know that you were near. He leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it. That and his thumb rubbing your clit was enough to send you over the edge. “Cum for me, my pretty. Cream all over my cock. Claim me as yours.” A loud scream tore through you, as you unraveled.
Eyes rolling back to your skull. Lips agape and the heaving movement of your chest cutting short — your cunt clenched around him and sucked him in. Desperately trying to keep his cock inside you. All this was enough to send Nigel over the cliff too. Seeing how beautiful you looked when you came all on his cock, your breathing short and little huffs escaped your lips. It was all so etheral for him.
To chase his own release, his thrusts grew relentless and he started to pound into you like some fucking animal. “I'm gonna cum inside you. I'm gonna give you a child, our child. You can't escape me, ever.”
You weakly shook your head but the way he fucked you had your body surging forward over his. You sobbed, tears of pleasure and sensitivity streaming down. Your cunt was throbbing and so was his cock, pulsating inside you. Balls hot and then he did what he'd promised you. He coated your insides white, spilling his hot seed inside your cunt.
Nigel was gasping — eyes squeezed shut and the blonde strands clouding his darkened vision. His hips stuttered, the more he came inside you. Rope after rope, enough to give you a child and you mentally punched yourself for not being on birth control. Him eliminating all the men around you made you not take the birth control anymore.
It fell right into his favor.
“You're going to milk me fucking dry, my pretty.” He growled, his own head falling into the crook of your neck. You could feel his harsh pants crashing against your sensitive skin. After catching his breath for awhile, Nigel pulled out of your cunt and you immediately arched your back — a whine sputtering from your lips.
The feeling of his cock sliding out of your hypersensitive walls made you clutch tightly onto him. Nigel held you with one hand and his body pressing into yours, while with the other he tucked himself inside his briefs and zipped up his pants. Then he also fixed you up too. Placing you down on the floor.
Your mini skirt was thankfully not ripped as he pulled it down over your ass. He tossed his jacket over your in a possessive manner. The man didn't want anyone to see you in this slutty little outfit anymore, now that he had claimed you as his.
“You're quiet.” He said, as he watched the cum leak out from underneath the mini skirt of yours, staining your legs. Nigel didn't bother to clean you up, reveling in the idea of his cum leaking out of you. You stared at him, a little braindead from what he'd done to you.
Then you swallowed, in an attempt to coat your dehydrated throat with your saliva. “Can I not be quiet? Does that bother you too?”
Nigel was surprised for a moment. He'd expected you to be silent but your sass was still there and he fucking loved it. How despite what he'd done to you, your sassy little attitude was still there concealed behind the frozen response of your brain to this situation.
He picked you up and smiled. “You're mine now. I'm taking you home.”
You didn't have it in you to resist him anymore. He'd already gotten what he wanted; you. Your face laid across his shoulder as he took you towards the open road and soon slid you right inside the passenger seat of his car. Your head leaned on the leather seat as you watched him, while he drove.
Nigel was fucking enthralled. Even if you weren't going to get pregnant, he'd make sure he's fucked you enough times to make you have his child. He didn't care if it had to be by force, he needed you. Wanted to keep you with him. Forever. In Bucharest.
Younger writers. Please, just know that you could not skip to different songs on a cassette tape, that’s CDs. With tapes you pressed fast forward or rewind and prayed.
Also, VHS tapes did not have menu screens. Your only options were play, fast forward, rewind, pause, stop, or eject.
Y’all are making me feel like the crypt keeper here, I’m begging you 😭
Is it just me or has a lot of fandom forgotten what "AU" means? It's short for Alternate Universe. I keep seeing people talking about, like, "fake dating AU" or "only one bed AU." Unless your characters exist in a world where a) beds don't exist or b) beds exist in such abundance there could not POSSIBLY be only one of them, that's not an AU. It's just a regular degular story.
