Anon who asked for Oleander and NSFW, you know what is coming.
This work is inspired by this series by @jumpywhumpywriter.
CW: cuts, vomit, chains, threats, NSFW, non-con. This chapter is properly messed up.
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The sun was shining, children were laughing, and the world had begun to move again. Without Villain, the streets became livelier. Heroes were giving candies to the kids. There was a bouncy castle in front of the agency, and free strawberry lemonade for everyone who passed by.
Hero was supposed to welcome visitors in the lobby and present the organization, but her thoughts kept drifting elsewhere. She couldn’t stop replaying the images in her head, over and over: the needles slick with blood, jutting from the meat of his body; the desperation in his eyes as he looked at her; the muffled screams. And finally, the resignation in his voice when he said: “I am yours.”
A shiver ran down her spine every time she remembered his lips forming those words.
She threw her head back and yowled.
It wasn’t fair. She wanted to test this new dynamic, to understand what it meant but she was stuck here, smiling for visitors. While Superhero “handled” Villain. Keeping him compliant, they said. Stupid and scared and without spirit.
She wondered what new injuries she’d find on his body when she finally saw him. And she wondered about many other things: How had Superhero caught him? How had they brought him to this point in only a week? What methods did they use, and most of all: how did they learn them? The needles had been placed with complete precision—no severed arteries, no damaged nerves. It took skill she couldn’t account for. Training. Experience.
“Hello there,” Oleander propped themself on the table in front of her, pulling her from her thoughts. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Hero looked around in confusion, then pointed at her own chest. “Me?”
“Of course. Come on. I told Vicky you got diarrhea and that she should handle welcoming our guests.”
Hero had no idea who Vicky was, but Oleander didn’t wait for an answer. They grabbed Hero by her wrist, leading her up the stairs and through the maintenance door to the roof. By the time they arrived, Hero was struggling to catch her breath—she really needed to start working on her physique again.
Hero glanced around. The city stretched below them in the fading orange light, civilians moving through the streets, some rushing, others lingering in the evening air.
Oleander shrugged. “You looked like you needed to get out.” They flashed her a playful smirk, then leaned back against the railing, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sky.
Hero joined them. She rested her elbows on the railing and watched the people below—reduced to small, moving dots—going about their lives now that Villain was gone. The world seemed so far away. She could almost pretend everything was back to normal.
Oleander lingered in their position a moment longer, breathing in the fresh air, before turning to her. A small smile crossed their face, but still Hero couldn’t tell what they were thinking.
“It helps a bit, don’t you think?”
She knew exactly what they meant. She had seen how many names they had beaten out of Villain. How many people had been torn from their life. It all seemed… less real up here. She looked back over the tiny world bellow and breathed: “Yes. Yes, it does.”
They stood in silence for a while before Oleander spoke again, their voice light. “So… They call you Bunny?”
Hero laughed. “It’s just a nickname from when we were kids.”
“You’ve known Super that long?”
“Yeah… Yeah.” She hesitated, then added, “Come to think of it, we never properly introduced ourselves, did we? I’m Hero.”
Oleander took it. “Oleander. But you can call me Olli.”
It was weird making friends, after Sparrow and Blue. And especially with them. But Hero was so tired from the pain that she wanted someone who understood. Someone who felt as alone as she did.
So they talked. First, about the new arcade games spot that just opened up, then about travelling and food, about chickens (for some reason?) and about their hero shenanigans. About Villain.
And with each word, Hero knew she needed to tell someone. She took a deep breath. Bit her lip. “I… I did something. It’s just- well… I might have made Villain promise to belong to me and I don’t know what to do.”
She was looking at the streets below, avoiding Oleander’s eyes… when they bumped her shoulder hard enough to make her sway. “Are you kidding?!”
“Well, I-” she said quickly. “I’m sorry-”
“That’s superb, babe. I need to hear everything!”
“It’s… nothing, really. Probably. I don’t know. I don’t know what it means, how to- I don’t know why I made him say that.”
She pressed her forehead to the railing, memory of his surrender still echoing in her mind. She was sick. Twisted. Evil.
“Well,” Oleander sang, their signature smile—sharp and full of teeth—growing wide. “I say we make him obsessed with you.”
There was this noise in his brain, static and constant. It made it difficult to concentrate on anything, but the pain—and sweet Mary—the pain was everywhere. It clutched his whole body, clawed at his muscles, tore his insides. He didn’t understand the point—he was good. He kept his head bowed and his mouth shut. He didn’t complain. He let them handle him as they wanted. Still, they brought him here and cut his skin open. Filled his mouth with sewage water until he vomited all over himself. The acid burned his wounds, mixing with his blood, pooling on the ground around him. He wanted to move away from the gore Superhero left him in, but he didn’t find the will to shift.
He was slow to lift his head, his eyes struggling to focus on the door; to sharpen all the lines and the edges-
The door flew open and there stood a person dressed in black. Raven, Villain thought. Their hair slicked back and smile sinister—that kind, Villain knew, meant pain.
Two pairs of cuffs dangled from their fingers, swinging lightly as they played with them in a mocking manner. They moved closer, unhurried. Knowing that their prey had nowhere to run, that they could take their time and play.
Villain pushed himself up onto one elbow. The wounds on his skin reopened, spilling fresh blood and protesting with sharp pain, but in that moment, fear overpowered everything else.
The hero stepped up to him and leaned down; making sure Villain could see their face clearly.
Dread crawled up his spine, clawing at his insides, finding purchase in his chest. He shook his head, barely holding his tears.
The hero smiled, sharp. “Oh, yes. Me.”
Villain tried to shift and hide his privates. He didn’t remember much these days, but the memory of Oleander’s fingers around his manhood still haunted him. What would they do today, unsupervised?
They threw the cuffs into his lap.
Tears spilled from his eyes.
He was tormented every fucking day. He just endured Superhero with scalpel in their hand. And now, this. Everything had to be drenched in his pain. He didn’t even know how long he’d been there. Days or weeks or months or his whole fucking life. Nothing outside the pain felt real anymore. It became his everything. His always and his forever.
Oleander sent him back to the ground with a crushing punch.
For a split second, there was nothing. No sound, no pain—just a blank, swallowing dark. Then the floor found him. His cheek struck the concrete with a menacing crack, and the sound rushed in all at once. Blood pounded in his ears as he wheezed for the air, Oleander’s sickening laughter echoing in the background. Too close to his head, boots scraped against the floor. He felt tight grip in his hair-
And he was yanked back up.
“I told you to put the chains on.” Their voice was demanding, and though Villain heard the words, it was too difficult to make any sense of them. They reverberated in his brain, devoid of meaning.
He received another slap, light, but it stung nonetheless.
He looked to his lap at the cuffs there, tangled around his limbs. He lifted them slowly, pulling at the metal links to loosen the knots, and his chest tightened with every tug. Dread pooled in his stomach. He couldn’t breathe.
God, he couldn’t breathe.
He fumbled with the cuff until he forced it closed around his ankle, then the other.
He knew he was dooming himself.
He clasped the locks around his wrists, the metal cold and unyielding against his skin. His breath came in shallow, trembling gasps. He didn’t dare to make them audible. It served him better to behave. In the end, his life was this and this was his always and his forever.
Oleander didn’t give him a moment. They pulled him up and drove him against the wall, crushing him into the concrete. Villain’s head bounced back with a loud thud, as he slid back down to the floor. A smear of blood streaked the wall, dark and glistening.
“Up,” they ordered. “You reek.”
Clumsy, Villain struggled to his feet, leaning his shoulder against the wall. The room spun around him. His ears rang. Nausea churned in his stomach. It was difficult to maintain balance with his hands and feet bound. But by some miracle, he succeeded, even as Oleander aimed a hose at him and sprayed him with water. It was icy against his skin. But the stream was weak enough, that it didn’t knock him back to the ground. He tried to think of it as chance to wash away the gore clinging to his skin. Last comfort before the pain comes. Yet, his intestines coiled tight—a relentless knot of panic he couldn’t shake.
When Oleander was done, eyeing Villain with hesitant satisfaction, they led him out of the basement.
Villain didn’t know where he was. Superhero had brought him here with a bag pulled over his head, and they hadn’t allowed him out of the underground since their arrival. Now, as he followed Oleander, he moved with careful, measured steps, his feet barely making a sound against the thick carpets. Only the clinking chains disturbed the silence.
The corridors, with their softly colored walls, felt unfamiliar. It was almost worse than the dungeons he had grown used to. He pressed his hands against his stomach. Because of the cuffs he couldn’t wrap his arms around himself, but he didn’t dare to complain.
Oleander stopped suddenly and looked back. A fox-like grin split their face, teeth bared enough to make Villain instinctively take a step back.
Without breaking eye contact, the hero reached for the handle and slowly opened the door.
“Please,” they gestured, still watching Villain closely, that unsettling smile lingering on their lips.
Reluctantly, Villain stepped inside.
It was a room, with fancy, king-sized bed in the middle.
He slowly looked over the furniture, taking in the satin covers, and felt bile climbing up his throat.
Maybe, he shouldn’t have cussed at Superhero. Maybe, they would have let him keep his clothes. Maybe, it wouldn’t have come to this.
Oleander joined him, eyeing the bed like piece in an art museum. “Nice change of scenery, isn’t it?”
Villain couldn’t respond even if he wanted too; everything in his body tightened. He stared at the furniture like on an execution stand—his eyes wide with horror, his breaths caught deep in his chest. He wished for his old cage—hell—he’d prefer Superhero’s cruel hands on his body. Anything, but this. Anything-
He felt a hand on his skin, trailing mindless shapes along his spine. Oleander’s fingers burned, and Villain was unable to hold the whimper that escaped him.
They travelled lower, they knuckles circling around Villain’s butt cheeks, then, groping him.
This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. The room started tilting to the erratic drums of Villain’s heart, his lungs deprived of oxygen. But Oleander’s body was real, pressed against his own; oppressive.
The hero’s hand wrapped around his waist, holding him in place, while their other hand pulled at his thigh, forcing it aside as much as the chains allowed it. Villain’s knees nearly buckled at that moment. He felt their fingers trace slowly over the blue skin of his thighs, nails pressing into the fragile, pinkish skin left behind the blisters.
“Please,” he whispered. “It hurts.”
“I’m being gentle. So shut up and enjoy it.”
Oleander’s grip on his torso loosened, as their hand explored his ribs. Villain hissed at every cut reopened with the other’s prying nails.
It’s nothing, he kept telling himself.
It’s nothing. It’s nothing.
When Oleander got bored of their ministrations, they led Villain to the bed.
They pushed him onto the mattress, lowering over his body. They trapped his head between their arms. Gazed at him. But those were not the eyes of a lover, but a lion. A beast about to devour its pig. Because that’s all Villain ever was, and God, it dawned on him now. He was about to be violated.
Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the sudden terror. He drowned in it. He knew this would come, sooner or later, yet he allowed himself to hope. But there was no line where would the so called heroes stop. There was no hope for someone like him.
Oleander straddled his waist, their hands circling Villain’s throat.
“Tell me—does it excite you, being choked?”
There was no right answer. No matter what Villain said, Oleander would take his air anyway. So he only drew a deep breath-
The pressure around his neck tightened. Villain’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. He could feel his carotid arteries pounding wildly, straining to carry oxygen to his brain—but none came. The edges of his vision flickered, then began to darken.
He started to kick, thrash, and struggle.
Those primal instincts kicked in.
There was no space for obedience in his brain; he forgot everything Superhero had beaten into him, and fought.
He kicked Oleander off and, in an instant, sprang up onto his knees. The chains got in his way, but the animal inside him didn’t think; it didn’t understand consequences. He lunged at his tormentor and drove his thumbs into their eyes.
Oleander let out a sharp gasp, but quickly wrenched free of Villain’s grasp.
“You wretch,” they growled. “You’ll regret that.”
They grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into their knee. Once. Twice. A third time.
Then they threw him aside.
Villain lay sprawled on the mattress, coughing up bubbles of blood.
The hero glanced down at the satin sheets, already darkening with blood, and look of distaste crossed their face. “Let’s get this over with. Before I lose my appetite.”
Villain wasn’t strong enough to protest. Oleander seized the chain around his ankles and dragged him closer. They ignored the way his body jolted with the pull, and yanked him into place; pressed him down with a firm hand against his chest. Pinning him.
“Please…” Villain begged. “It hurts. Everything hurts so much.”
Oleander bared their teeth. “You say 'it hurts' again I'll show you the real meaning of pain.”
Their hand travelled down, and found his phallus. “Now,” they purred. “Let’s look at your little toy.”
They slowly stroked him, up and down, up and down, and Villain didn’t hold his tears anymore.
After all, this is his always.
He closed his eyes, and just lay there.
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Well… I did end up splitting it after all.
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