pope jerking off while you’re passed out right next to him.
it wasn’t his intention at all. he can barely get it up most nights anyway, he wasn’t planning for this. you were just so precious before you fell asleep. snuggling up to him, giggling at everything he said, playing with his rough hands until you dozed off. he can smell you, he can feel you— your sweet scent lingers while you’re slumbering on your side, thighs pressing up against his own leg as you face him.
he can either leave and risk waking you up, only to cling to him harder and force him to stay. or he can bite the bullet and get it out of his system. he tries his hardest to be quiet as he drags his zipper down, eyeing you and the way your pouty lips part with puffy breaths. his cock throbs at the sight, and finally he brings himself to wrap his fingers around his shaft. his cock bobs as he pulls his boxers down enough, moving his hand in a slow pump that has him throwing his head back already. he hasn’t been this sensitive in months, he nearly forgets you’re right there and not an image in his head for a moment.
“fuck, sweet girl.” it’s barely audible but it’s there. a breathy curse he lets out in order to stop himself from full blown groaning into the dark room while his pre helps him move his hand faster. he stares at you like it pains him but he’s imagining your pretty mouth is working him instead. his jaw becomes tight in his efforts to stay quiet.
his eyes roll back, and he’s too far gone to hear the sound of rustling sheets or your little gasp. then your confused, sleepy mumble for him meets his ears— your voice is all sweet and sugared, “andy?”
it’s all he needed to tumble off of the edge. he’s unable to stop himself even though he’ll be mortified within the next five minutes. his thick cum paints his lower abdomen in erratic spurts as his muscles tighten up, he’s panting and grunting and milking himself with his own hand as if you aren’t watching now. when you make a sound, something between a hum and coo, reaching out to run a hand over his skin and feel him twitch under your finger tips… he’s no longer so ashamed.
stalker!dex + witnessing you go through a break up …
benjamin poindexter & f!reader
content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, obsession, ongoing stalking, reader is briefly in a toxic relationship, heartbreak, crying -> dacryphilia, m. masturbation, mention of violence & murder.
months ago, when benjamin first caught on to the fact that you were in a blossoming relationship, he was gracious enough to let your boyfriend keep his life. his apartment gained a few new holes in the walls, he trained harder than he should have, he took his frustration out on some poor bastards in alleyways … but he figured that was better than having real blood on his hands and seeing you distraught. he only saw it as a minor setback in his grand plan as opposed to something he should actually be worried about. even if he feels sick any and every time he had to watch that man touch you or barely make you cum.
it’s just that, things go sour quickly and you seem to be distraught regardless of his decision to not meddle with your life.
he’s not expecting to see you and this man who’s about to have missing posters up within a few business days argue every week through your windows and sheer curtains. he isn’t expecting to hear muffled yelling and crying through your thin apartment walls. your relationship makes it to five months before it crumbles entirely in one night, leaving you choking on your sobs and clutching your chest in your bed. every part of benjamin aches to make it better somehow.
but he can’t. he can’t bring himself to step out of the shadows yet.
instead he wonders what the problem was— he wonders how anyone could let his perfect girl slip through their fingers, but they don’t deserve you anyway. he would treasure you properly, he’s thought about it for what feels like forever. he would take all of your clinginess and cry baby tendencies in stride until his beaten up heart stops. his boots are heavy on the sidewalk as he paces outside your window from a safe distance, weighing his options and knowing he’ll act on none of them because you’re not ready yet, and he doesn’t trust himself to be as gentle as he probably should be if he gets his hands on you tonight.
once he gets home, he finds himself digging into his stash of collectibles. just a few things he’s managed to snatch up in the past year … two pairs of panties, a scrap of paper doused in your perfume, a page from your diary that he ripped right out, and a single frilly sock.
he picks the cotton pair. soft and pink and perfect to wrap around his fist as he squeezes his eyes shut and strokes his cock to the thought of your teary face underneath him. he can see the way your lips part with your hiccupy cries from earlier so clearly. it’s already engrained in his memory, and he imagines what they would sound like as he splits you open for the first time, nudging spots no one has ever showed you.
“my sweet girl,” he drawls out to no one but himself in his cold bedroom, various images of your big wet eyes and pouty lips flashing behind his eyelids. he curses himself for being too scared to take any pictures. his rough hand squeezes his cock as the soft material goes damp with his pre-cum, “keep crying— fuck, y’look so pretty … you don’t need anyone else but me, isn’t that right?”
except you don’t know that he exists.
and the next time you try to call your ex, it rings and rings and rings.
Soap's heart races every time he sees you, even though he's been married to you for three years.
Ever since he met you, whether you're a new recruit or a civilian who randomly entered his life, his heart races every time he sees you.
Your mannerisms, your appearance, your voice, your sense of humor — all of it makes him smile like a fool.
And worst of all, he can't hide it.
The first time you noticed this, you were lying on his chest, just enjoying his company when you felt the vibrations from his core in your ear.
"Are you anxious?"
You lifted your head, staring at him with some concern.
And Johnny just let out a laugh, more like a sigh. Even he didn't know exactly what he was feeling, the sensation was a mixture of happiness to have you there and a certain nervousness, yes, because you were so close to him that it made his chest warm.
And then, five years after that happened, with you already married, he still felt the same way.
When he woke up in the morning and you were there with your hair messy, making coffee; when he heard you talking about something you liked or knew about; while you were having sex, ecstatic from the incredible sensations you both gave each other. And he loves that.
But now, Johnny's chest tightens. Yes, he can hear the sound of his heart beating in his ears, but now it wasn't in a good way.
Johnny stares at his cell phone with a blank look, watching you smile in a photo next to him, back when you were still married.
You divorced him, but he won't leave it at that. He needs to achieve that feeling again. That addictive thrill. That feeling of loving someone and knowing you are loved. It's like a drug: you get the dopamine flowing through his blood and then he needs more, he needs to believe that he depends on you to get that feeling all the time.
"Don't worry, honey, you'll come back to me again."
ummary: You’ve been in their home for weeks now. Maybe months. Time’s slippery when you’re kept warm, fed, worshipped. You should feel like a pet. Like a prisoner. But all you feel is wanted. Needed. Maybe even… loved.
Warnings: NSFW (explicit sex), obsession, unhealthy dynamics, possessive/controlling behavior, manipulation, dubcon-adjacent (reader is drugged lightly for “relaxation”), voyeurism, dom/sub undertones, pet names, praise kink, mild biting, dark romance themes.
You have been warned.
Not taking requests.
⸻
The sheets smell like vanilla, linen, and Love’s skin.
You stretch slowly, the silk blindfold still warm against your eyelids. There’s a buzz in your limbs—not quite sedation, not quite arousal. Something between. Something intentional. You know the tea Love gave you an hour ago had something in it. You’re past questioning it. You always feel good afterward. Calm. Soft. Docile.
Joe’s voice cuts through the haze, low and careful.
“You look perfect like this.”
You hear the click of a camera. Not a phone. A real camera. The kind he used back when he said he “wanted to capture the truth of things.”
“You’re taking pictures?” your voice is hoarse, half-curious, half-sleepy.
“You’re art, baby,” Love whispers from the foot of the bed. “We can’t keep you all to ourselves and not at least look when you’re not here.”
You feel a kiss on your knee. Then your thigh. Then teeth.
Your breath hitches.
Love climbs up between your legs like a predator, hands sliding up your sides, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. She’s naked. You can feel her heat against your leg.
“She’s wet already,” Love purrs to Joe. “Just from hearing your voice.”
There’s the sound of something being set down. The camera. Then the rustle of clothing. Joe’s taking his shirt off. You know the sounds now. You know the feel of him when he presses against you—sharp hipbones, calloused hands, thick and patient where it counts.
“Of course she is,” Joe says, now closer, breath hot against your ear. “She knows she belongs to us.”
The words make your thighs press together involuntarily. Love pushes them apart again, chuckling. “Uh-uh, sweetheart. No hiding from us.”
They don’t ask for permission anymore. But somehow, you never feel forced. It’s like they’ve trained you—slowly, lovingly, breaking you down until this became your sanctuary.
Joe’s hands slide beneath your back, lifting you slightly so he can kiss along your collarbone. His voice is gentle. Too gentle for how rough he can be.
“You’re our pretty little pet, aren’t you?”
You nod.
Even blindfolded, you can feel their smiles.
Love licks a long, slow stripe from your navel to your chest. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
Joe’s fingers wrap around your throat—not to choke, just to hold. “Good girl.”
You feel Love’s fingers first. Then her mouth. Joe keeps whispering—dirty things, loving things, terrifying things. You lose track of where one of them ends and the other begins. You’re breathless, aching, unraveling under four hands, two mouths, one obsession.
They don’t stop until you beg.
Even then, they keep going just a little longer. Just to hear you cry.
warnings: NSFW, ddne, non-con + dub-con, oral, p in v, creampie, knife play, blood play, carving/cutting, yandere!jeff, home invasion, stockholm syndrome, stalking, obsession, fear kink, dacryphilia, rough sex, choking, degradation.
words: 7.2k.
note: this fic was inspired in the dating sim game fear me. forgive me if there’s any errors or repeated words, english isn’t my first language. enjoy!
divider not mine!
The red led cursor was blurry as you tried to adjust your tired, sleepy vision.
3:17.
Your digital clock reads.
You rolled over to your back in your bed, feeling an unnatural cold chill spilling through your room.
You turned your head, looking towards the window beside your bed. The curtains were swaying violently against the cold night wind that invaded your room. Your window was open. How weird. You clearly remember closing it before going to bed. You never leave it open, much less on windy days like these.
You sigh heavily, bringing a hand to rub your tired face as you close your eyes. You must have forgotten this time. Not very unlikely.
“Fuck.” you whisper a cuss at your own recklessness.
Groaning, you toss your covers away, sitting up in bed in a swift motion, even though you were dying of tiredness. You sighed again and stood up, feeling the sharp, cold wind kiss your exposed body, raising all your body hair at once.
Hissing through your teeth, you tried to shield yourself from the cold as much as you could and ran quickly toward the windowsill, grabbing the edges of both windows by the sills, sealing the latches and making sure they were properly closed. The icy wind ceased immediately. You looked at the small, dark forest that surrounded your house outside. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the leaves of the trees swaying in the wind.
You adjusted the curtains, letting only a small beam of moonlight illuminate the room, and took a step back without turning completely.
You yawned, ready to return to your warm bed and sleep a little longer before your alarm clock rang. Before another tiring day came...
You took another step back. Something that felt like a body bumped into you from behind.
Before you could even breathe to scream, or do anything, a cold palm brutally covered your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek. As you struggled forward, contorting your torso with all the strength you possessed in a desperate attempt to break free from whatever was holding you, something icy and metallic pressed firmly against the side of your neck — right over your carotid artery, which was throbbing frantically.
With all the strength you could muster, you looked down. Through the panic and the dim light, you saw a pale blur of a hand covering your mouth. Further down, gripping your neck was a sharp, bloody knife. You couldn’t tell if the crimson splatter on the blade was yours or someone else’s, but the sight made your heart race even faster, the pulse so violent you could see the blade jump slightly against your skin with each beat. Your hands instinctively flew toward the pale hand that was choking your mouth.
Your nails scratched and dug into the man’s wrist and knuckles with all the force you possessed, tearing the skin and drawing fresh blood onto your fingers. You poured all your strength into the attack, scratching him like a wild animal, but the man didn’t even flinch. His grip remained firm, unyielding, as if your desperate violence was nothing more than an irritating breeze.
“Mmmph!” you whimpered desperately against his palm, your eyes wide with terror as you writhed and struggled, trying to break free. But it was impossible to escape it.
“Shhh, now,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, his lips so close you felt the warm brush of his breath and the light touch of his mouth on the delicate shell of your ear. A violent shiver ran down your spine, every hair on your body standing on end. “Wouldn’t like waking the neighbors, would you?”
His tone was deceptively calm, almost intimate, carrying a dark amusement that made your stomach churn. The faint scent emanating from him — something coppery mixed with sweat — invaded your nostrils as he held you still. You could feel the firmness of his chest pressed against your back, the steady rhythm of his breathing in stark contrast to your own frantic, muffled gasps.
You tried to scream again, the sound dying uselessly against his palm. Tears of pure terror burned in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. The knife at your throat didn’t move, but you felt the slightest movement of the blade as he adjusted his grip, the sharp edge grazing your skin. Your entire body froze instantly. A sudden movement from either of you and the cut would be deep, perhaps fatal.
“Shhh, easy,” he murmured, his warm breath brushing your ear. “You make a sound, a fucking peep, and I’ll slit that pretty throat of yours. Nod for me if you understand.” he commanded.
All you could do now was cooperate if you wanted to get out of this situation alive and breathing. You closed your eyes and slowly nodded against his chest.
“That’s it… good girl.” he cooed, the compliment sliding smoothly against your ear. His thumb slid across your cheek in a teasing caress, spreading tears that had escaped your eyes down your cheeks.
The instant his palm lifted from your mouth, he violently turned you to face him. Brutally, he threw you against the bedroom wall. The back of your head slammed against the solid surface, sending a sharp wave of pain through your skull like blood mingling with water. The impact left you stunned and dizzy, the world spinning for a few terrifying seconds as black dots danced before your eyes. A low groan escaped your lips.
He kept the bloody knife pressed firmly against your neck, the sharp point now penetrating just enough to draw a thin, warm line of your own blood that trickled slowly down your collarbone. You gasped.
Now, for the first time, you could see him clearly, the dim moonlight illuminating his features; he was tall and thin, his skin terribly pale and covered in scars that looked like burns. His long, jet-black hair fell disheveled over his shoulders, partially covering one eye. Black ear gauges stretched his earlobes, accompanied by a few silver piercings. His nails were painted black, some chipped. Deep, black circles encircled his large, sleepless blue eyes, which remained fixed and motionless on you. And then there was his smile, brutally carved from ear to ear, the jagged scars pulling his lips into a grotesque, permanent grin, even when his mouth was closed. The cuts looked old, but were still fresh at the edges, leaking blood all over them.
He wore a white hoodie, filthy and heavily stained with splashes of dried blood on his chest and sleeves. Beneath, black jeans outlined his legs, and on his feet, black all stars sneakers, also worn and stained with dried blood.
Your breath caught in your throat as the recognition hit you like a second blow to the head.
You knew him. Jeff.
He’d walked into the video rental store where you worked about three weeks ago. Late at night, just before closing. He rented some old horror movies, barely said a word, only asked for your name, said his, paid in cash, and left. You remembered those piercing and unsettling blue eyes as he stared at you for too long while browsing the shelves in the horror movie aisle, a black bandana covering his sinister carved smile. He was… weird, to say the least. Sure, maybe weirder than most of the weirdos who usually showed up at the store. But harmless enough at the time.
Now, that same man had you pinned against your bedroom wall with a knife to your throat. But… how? How had he found your address? How had he managed to get in even with all the doors and windows locked? Well, now you couldn’t clearly remember if you had actually locked the bedroom window…
Jeff’s scarred lips tightened into an even wider, more horrifying smile, the sculpted edges stretching grotesquely, exposing his teeth through the lacerated flesh.
“You remember me, right?” he whispered, his voice low and heavy with dark pleasure as he noticed the recognition light up your face for a few seconds. He leaned closer, his face just inches from yours.
“J-Jeff…?” was all you managed to murmur, your voice barely above a shaky breath.
“See! You do remember me!” he exclaimed, sounding genuinely delighted. His manic blue eyes lit up with sick excitement, the deep black circles around them making the color pop even more unnaturally.
“Yeah… how could I forget a guy like you…” you couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic remark.
Jeff let out a low, raspy laugh that sounded more like a growl, clearly amused by your attitude. The carved smile on his face twisted grotesquely as he chuckled, the jagged scars crinkling and stretching.
“Feisty even with a knife to your throat… I like that…” he purred, his breath hot against your lips.
He slowly dragged the flat side of the bloody knife down the front of your throat, not cutting deeper, but letting you feel the cold steel and the sticky blood on the blade. That made you remember. Panic immediately flooded your senses.
“W-what… what do you want from me?” you whispered shakily, barely able to get the words out. “Please, Jeff… just tell me what you want.”
Jeff’s grotesque smile stretched even wider, the scarred corners of his mouth pulling tight as a low, delighted chuckle rumbled from his chest. He looked genuinely thrilled by your fear, like it was the best thing he’d heard all night.
“Oh, princess…” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He tilted his head, long black hair falling over one eye as he studied your terrified expression. “I just want to play. That’s all. You can entertain me tonight, can’t you? Be my pretty little toy for a few hours…”
You were terrified, he could see it, smell it — taste it. He suddenly leaned in even closer, pressing his nose into your hair. You felt him inhale deeply, slowly, deliberately, breathing you in like he was savoring the most intoxicating scent in the world. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you as he held the knife steady at your throat.
“Fuck, yes... you smell so good… even better up close.” he groaned, voice husky and dripping with hunger. He pulled back just enough to look at your face again. His wide eyes roamed over your tear-streaked cheeks with predatory fascination.
Then, without warning, he leaned in and dragged his warm, surprisingly long, wet tongue slowly up one of your cheeks, licking away the salty tears in one long, deliberate stroke. He did the same to the other side, savoring the taste, his scarred lips brushing your skin as he let out another soft, pleased groan.
“Mmm… so sweet...” he whispered against your damp skin, his breath hot and ragged. His fingers gripped your chin tightly, keeping your head exactly where he wanted it.
You shuddered violently, revulsion, fear, and… something else you couldn’t quite name twisted in your stomach. The wetness of his tongue lingered on your cheeks, making your skin crawl. Your head still throbbed from where it had slammed against the wall, and the cold steel of the knife kept you painfully aware that at any moment, he could end your life in an instant.
But he was savoring every second of it, you were aware of that. As if he was preparing the meat before devouring it. So… you could take advantage of that, couldn’t you?
“J-Jeff…” you started, trying to sound firmer, softer. “You… you said you wanted to… play. Well, we can play now.” you suggested, forcing a shaky smirk, your fearful eyes searching his hollow, manic blue ones, desperately looking for any sign that he might accept instead of simply gutting you right there.
Jeff froze immediately, and he just stared at you for some agonizing seconds. You were already thinking your attempt to make him decline the idea of gutting you had failed when his scarred smile slowly stretched wider, upwards, into what you thought was supposed to be a smirk. A dark, amused, delighted laugh bubbled from his throat.
When his laughter died out, he tilted his head, that smirk still there. He leaned back just enough to look you straight in the eyes, his voice turning playful yet dangerously serious.
“Right. Here’s the deal then. We’re going to play a little game. Hide and seek, my favorite. You get one minute to run and hide anywhere in this house. I’ll close my eyes and count. If I find you…” his tongue slid slowly across his scarred lips. “Then I get to do whatever I want with you. Anything. No limits.”
He paused, letting the horrifying weight of his words sink in.
“But if I can’t find you before the sun comes up… I’ll leave. I’ll walk out that door and you’ll never see me again. I promise.”
You didn’t know if you could trust a guy who has stalked you for weeks, just broke into your house and now is making you play a twisted game to not kill you. Oh, yeah, of course. But, as much as unpredictable, unstable and untrustable Jeff seemed to be, you decided to agree. Whatever to stay alive.
His blue eyes gleamed with pure madness and excitement as he watched your reaction. The permanent carved smile on his face made the “promise” look like a sick joke.
Jeff finally stepped back, giving you the tiniest bit of space. He pulled the knife away from your neck, though he still held it casually in his hand, the blade glinting under the moonlight.
He raised one black-nailed finger to his lips in a mocking “shhh” gesture.
“Better start running. Your minute starts… now.”
He turned around dramatically, facing the opposite wall, and began counting in a low, singsong voice that echoed through the silent house.
“One…”
“Two…”
His voice was calm, almost cheerful, but you could hear the hunger underneath it.
“Three…”
Your legs felt like jelly. Your head still throbbed from being slammed against the wall. Every instinct screamed at you to run. But all you could do was stand there like a terrified lamb waiting for its sacrifice.
“Four…”
Jeff didn’t even turn around, but you could feel his twisted smile growing as he counted.
“Five…”
“Six…”
Adrenaline flushed through your veins, burning away the dizziness in your head from hitting the wall. Without thinking twice, your legs bolted.
You sprinted down the room, flashing the dark hallway, bare feet against the cold wooden floor. Your breath came in short, panicked gasps as you tried to think of the best spot for hiding, your eyes flickering frenetically from each end of each way possible. All of them seemed like a trap now.
“Seven… eight… nine…”
Jeff’s calm, singsong voice was a constant reminder of how much time you were losing by standing there. Your heart was pounding in your ribcage, you could hear the frantic pulse in your ears, while your mind raced desperately.
You didn’t dare turn any lights on. The only lighting came from the faint moonlight filtering from the half-open curtains and the single hallway bulb you’d left on earlier. You still had some seconds to think.
Closet? Too obvious. Under the bed? It’ll be the first place he’ll check. Basement? No, too far, too dark, too loud...
You darted into the living room, nearly tripping over the coffee table in the dark.
“Twenty… twenty-one…”
Heart pounding, you made a split-second decision and ran toward the kitchen. You quietly opened the pantry door, slipped inside, and carefully closed it behind you, leaving only a tiny crack for air. The small space smelled of spices and old wood. You crouched down behind the tall shelves, pulling your knees to your chest and trying to make yourself as small as possible. Your hands trembled violently as you pressed them over your mouth to muffle your loud, erratic breathing.
“Thirty-five… thirty-six…”
You tried to steady your breathing, but every inhale felt too loud. Tears streamed silently down your cheeks. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. The image of Jeff’s pale face, those black-ringed eyes, and that gruesome smile burned behind your eyelids.
“Forty-eight… forty-nine… fifty…”
His counting grew slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.
You squeezed your eyes shut, praying that he wouldn’t find you. You could still feel the ghost of his body pressed against yours, his hot breath on your ear, the cold blade against your skin…
“Fifty-eight… fifty-nine… sixty.”
Silence.
Then came the sound you dreaded most; slow, deliberate footsteps echoing through the hallway.
“Ready or not…” Jeff called out in a playful tone that sent ice through your veins. “Here I come!”
You heard him move around the house with terrifying calmness. You heard your closet door creaking at first, furniture being shoved aside, drawings being opened… He didn't seem to be rushing. He was enjoying the hunt.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” he hummed softly, his voice growing closer to the kitchen. “I can smell you, you know. It’s sweet.” he let out a soft, raspy, disturbing chuckle.
He went into the kitchen, you were sure. You could hear his shoes scrapping through the tiled floor, slow and steady. It stopped right in front of the pantry door.
Your entire body went rigid. You held your breath. You closed your eyes shut, feeling the tears soak your cheeks.
The pantry door creaked open slightly.
Moonlight spilled in through the crack, illuminating the shelves. You saw the shadow of Jeff's tall figure standing there.
Jeff inhaled deeply, almost like he was smelling the air.
“Mmm… I know you’re there,” he whispered, voice dripping with dark hunger. “I can hear your little heart racing.”
He took one step closer. Then another. The door opened wider.
Your stomach dropped as his pale hand with black-painted nails appeared, gripping the edge of the pantry door fully and yanked it open with a sharp motion. The sudden movement made you flinch violently. You tried to shrink further into the corner behind the shelves, but there was nowhere left to go.
Jeff tilted his head, that horrifying carved grin widening as his eyes locked onto you. For a second he just stared, drinking in the sight of you trembling, curled up like a frightened, wounded animal.
“There you are…” he whispered, almost tenderly. “Look at you. So small. So scared. So fucking perfect.”
You couldn’t stop the broken sob that escaped your lips.
In one swift movement, he reached in, grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you out the pantry. You cried out as he yanked you forward, your scalp burning. Your bare feet stumbled across the kitchen tiles as he pulled you upright and slammed your back against the kitchen counter.
The knife was back at your throat instantly, the cold, sticky bloodied blade pressing firmly under your chin, forcing your head up.
“Game over,” Jeff said with dark amusement, his face inches from your. “I win.”
You were shaking uncontrollably now, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your voice cracked with pure terror as you murmured: “No, wait… Please… you said if you didn’t find me…”
“I said before sunrise,” he interrupted, chuckling. “And I found you in under two minutes. Pathetic, really. I thought you could do better than that...”
He pressed his body against yours, trapping you between the counter and his lean, surprisingly strong frame. You could feel the warmth of his chest through the bloody hoodie, the metallic smell of blood and faint sweat invading your senses. His long hair brushed your face as he leaned in closer, his scarred lips ghosting over your jaw.
“You lost, princess,” he breathed against your skin, voice husky and dripping with excitement. “That means I get to do whatever I want with you tonight.”
His free hand slid slowly down your side, fingers digging into your waist possessively. The knife stayed steady at your throat, a constant deadly reminder.
Jeff pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes again. His manic blue gaze was filled with pure, unfiltered hunger, madness and… affection?
“I’ve been waiting for this for so long…” he muttered softly, his wide eyes roaming over your tear-streaked face. “Watching you, waiting for you…” he leaned slowly closer until his scarred lips were ghosting over your cheeks, depositing, to your surprise, small kisses all over the damp skin of your cheeks.
Surprise flashed through your senses at the unexpected tenderness, the contrast jarring against the cold bite of steel pressing into your neck. His lips were rough, scarred and warm, brushing away a few of your tears with each gentle press. He hummed low in his throat, almost content, as if this were some long-awaited reunion rather than the nightmare it was.
“You’re even prettier up close,” he whispered between kisses, his voice dropping into something almost reverent. His fingers on your waist tightened, pulling your body flush against his in a possessive hold that left no room for escape. “So soft… so perfect. My pretty little thing.”
He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, careful not to let the knife slip, and inhaled deeply, like he was savoring your scent. The tip of the blade never wavered, but his other hand stroked up and down your side in slow, soothing circles, as if trying to calm a frightened animal.
“I love you,” Jeff breathed against your skin, the words raw and fervent, laced with that unhinged devotion. “I love you so fucking much it hurts. You have no idea how long I’ve loved you… how many nights I spent watching you, how many nights I spent planning this perfect moment…”
He pulled back again, just far enough to lock eyes with you, his grin stretching wider, the carved smile pulling at his pale cheeks. The affection in his gaze was genuine in its own twisted way, burning brighter than the madness. “Now say it back,” he demanded softly, though the command was edged with steel, just like the knife. His thumb brushed tenderly over your bottom lip, wiping away another tear. “Say it: ‘I love you too, Jeff’.”
You hesitated, your trembling lips refusing to form the words. Then, you felt the press of the knife just a fraction firmer against your pulse, quickly reminding you again of your fate. That gave you enough courage to force your fear-hazed brain to work.
“I… I love you too, Jeff.” you felt your cheeks burning as soon as you realized what you just said.
Jeff’s expression shifted with triumph, the manic light in his eyes flickering with amusement, something almost playful. “Liar,” he whispered, chuckling lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest where it was pressed against you, sending shivers down your spine. “But you will soon.” he promised, voice dripping into an affectionate murmur.
Without any warning, Jeff suddenly spun you around, bending you forward over the kitchen counter with brutal force. Your cheek pressed hard against the cold marble as he kept the knife to the side of your neck. His hips pressed against your ass from behind, pinning you completely.
Jeff’s carved smile pressed coldly against the nape of your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as his fingers continued their slow, possessive journey under your thin t-shirt. His black-painted nails scraped lightly up your spine, raising goosebumps everywhere they touched.
You were bent helplessly over the kitchen counter, cheek smashed against the cold marble, ass pushed out against him. The bloody knife stayed firmly against the side of your throat, the sharp edge biting just enough to remind you how easily he could end you.
“Such soft skin,” he murmured, voice thick with lust and madness. “I’ve imagined how you’d feel for weeks… and you’re so much better than I thought.”
His hips rocked forward slowly, grinding his growing erection against your ass through his jeans, letting you feel exactly what the game had done to him. A low, raspy groan escaped his scarred lips.
You whimpered, fresh tears slipping down your face and onto the counter.
“P-please… Jeff…” you begged, voice small and broken.
He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against your back.
“Begging already? But we’ve barely started…”
With one rough tug, he yanked your t-shirt up to your shoulders, exposing your bare back to the cool air. His hand roamed greedily over your skin, squeezing, scratching, claiming every inch. Then he reached around and roughly palmed one of your breasts through your t-shirt, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you gasp sharply.
“That’s it,” he hissed in approval. “Make those pretty little sounds for me.”
He suddenly pulled you upright by your hair, spinning you around to face him again. Your back hit the counter edge as he towered over you. Up close, his appearance was even more terrifying and… mesmerizing.
Jeff stared straight into your terrified eyes as he slowly dragged the flat of the knife down between your breasts, the cold steel making you shiver violently.
“Take it off,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous. “All of it. I want to see what’s mine tonight.”
When you hesitated, trembling too much to move, he pressed the blade harder against your stomach.
“Now,” he growled. “Or I’ll cut it off you myself… and I might not be careful.”
With shaking hands, you pulled the t-shirt over your head and dropped it to the floor. The cool air hit your exposed breasts, making your nipples harden immediately. Jeff’s eyes darkened with hunger, his carved grin widening impossibly.
“Fuck… look at you.” he breathed, almost reverently. He holstered the knife for a second in the waistband of his jeans, only to replace it with his hands. Both of them grabbed your breasts roughly, squeezing and kneading while his thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples.
You bit your lip hard to stay quiet, but a soft, involuntary moan escaped anyway.
Jeff’s eyes lit up with savage delight.
“Don’t hold back,” he whispered, leaning down to drag his tongue slowly across your collarbone, licking up the trail of dried blood from earlier. “Let me know how good I’m making you feel…” he let out a delighted whimper.
One of his hands slid down your stomach, fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. He pushed them down along with your panties in one rough motion, letting them pool at your ankles. You were completely naked now, pressed against the kitchen counter while he remained fully dressed in his bloodied clothes.
Jeff stepped back for a moment, just staring at your exposed body like a predator admiring his catch. His long hair fell across his face as he tilted his head, black nails tapping the handle of the knife still tucked in his jeans.
“So fucking beautiful,” he said softly. Then his voice dropped into a darker, more commanding tone. “Get on your knees.”
When you didn’t move fast enough, he grabbed you by the hair and forced you down onto the cold kitchen floor. The knife was back in his hand instantly, pressing against your cheek as he stood over you.
“Look at me while you do it,” he ordered, using his free hand to unzip his black jeans. “No teeth.” he smirked.
His hard cock sprang free, pale and throbbing, the tip already glistening. He guided it to your lips, smearing the precum across them.
“Open your mouth, princess,” Jeff commanded, his voice low and rough with arousal. His fingers twisted tighter in your hair, yanking your head back slightly so you had no choice but to look up at him.
You hesitated for only a second, lips trembling.
Jeff’s manic blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
He gave little taps on your cheek with the cold flat of the knife, pressing it harder against your skin, just to remind you of what was waiting for you if you didn’t comply; the sticky blood smearing across it beautifully. You gasped, flinching away from the steel instinctively. Jeff was quick to put you back in your place; tightening his knuckles against your locks, the pain pinching deeper in your already sore scalp.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Jeff said mockingly, shaking his head as he kept tightening his knuckles on your hair. You let out an involuntary cry. “Tsk, tsk… such a bad girl. Still fighting…”
Your hands immediately flew to his knuckles on your hair, scratching your nails on his skin, while your watery, pleading eyes were set on him, silently asking for him to be gentle. Though that didn’t make him loosen his grip.
“Try to run again and I’ll cut you open,” he warned, voice low and serious. “Understand?”
You nodded frantically, a whimper escaping you. Your hand immediately left his knuckles to rest flat and shakingly against your thigh.
“Open your fucking mouth. Now.” Jeff commanded again.
You parted your lips, and he immediately pushed forward, sliding the head of his cock into your warm mouth. He was thick and hot against your tongue, the salty taste of his precum filling your senses. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest as he sank deeper, not stopping until he hit the back of your throat.
“Fuuuck… that’s it,” he hissed through his carved smile, the scars stretching grotesquely. “Look at those pretty lips wrapped around me. Just like I imagined...”
He held your head in place with both hands now — one still gripping your hair, the other pressing the knife flat against your other cheek, the tip dangerously close to your eye. You could feel his pulse throbbing against your tongue as he started to move, slow and deep at first, savoring every second.
Tears spilled down your face as you struggled to breathe around him, gagging softly when he pushed too far. The sound only seemed to excite him more.
“Yeah… choke on it,” he growled, his long black hair falling forward as he looked down at you. His pale skin was flushed with pleasure, the deep black circles around his eyes making him look even more deranged. “You have no idea how many nights I jerked off thinking about fucking that smart mouth of yours while you were safe in your bed.”
He began thrusting harder, hips snapping forward with more force, using your mouth roughly. The wet, obscene sounds of him sliding in and out filled the silent kitchen. Every time you tried to pull back for air, he forced you back down, the knife never leaving your face.
“Good girl… just like that,” he praised breathlessly, his carved grin never fading. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so deep even while you’re crying. Fuck, you look beautiful like this.”
After several long, brutal minutes, he finally pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock. You gasped desperately for air, coughing and trembling on your knees.
Jeff didn’t give you long to recover. He grabbed you by the arms and hauled you up, slamming your back against the kitchen counter once again. In one swift motion, he lifted you onto the cold marble surface, spreading your legs wide and stepping between them. The knife returned to your throat immediately.
“Spread them more.” he ordered.
You obeyed, terrified, your entire body shaking. Jeff looked down between your legs, his blue eyes darkening with raw hunger as he saw how wet you were despite your fear.
“Pathetic,” he mocked with a dark chuckle. “Scared out of your mind and your pussy is still dripping for me. What a filthy little thing you are.”
He rubbed the head of his cock slowly up and down your slick folds, teasing your clit, coating himself in your arousal. You whimpered, gripping the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turned white.
Jeff leaned over you, his bloody hoodie brushing against your bare breasts. His face hovered inches from yours, that horrifying permanent smile filling your vision.
“Beg me to fuck you,” he whispered hotly against your lips. “Beg me nicely, or I’ll shove this knife somewhere much worse than your throat.”
Your voice came out broken and small, thick with tears: “Please… Jeff… please, fuck me…”
His eyes flashed with triumph.
“I can’t hear you...”
“Please! Please, fuck me, Jeff…” you cried, voice cracking.
That was all he needed.
With one brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, stretching you open painfully. A sharp cry tore from your throat as he filled you completely. Jeff groaned loudly in pleasure, his head falling back for a moment, long black hair swaying.
“Goddamn… so fucking tight.” he growled.
He didn’t wait. He started fucking you hard and fast right there on the kitchen counter, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the house. One hand kept the knife pressed to your throat while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, pulling you into every savage thrust.
“Say my name,” he demanded, pounding into you mercilessly. “Say it while I ruin this pretty pussy.”
“J-Jeff…!” you sobbed.
“Louder!” he snarled, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes.
“Jeff! Oh God… Jeff!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face.
His carved smile widened into something truly monstrous as he fucked you harder, leaning down to lick the tears from your cheeks with his tongue.
You felt your body jolting with every deep stroke, your gummy walls already clenching around his length. Despite the absolute terror you were feeling, you couldn’t help but whimper every time Jeff stroked that soft spot inside you.
“Fuck, Jeff… yeah…” you whimpered pathetically as he kept abusing your cunt, his scarred lips now leaving your cheeks to work on your neck, nibbling and twisting the skin hard between his teeth. He chuckled when you gasped and clenched harder around him.
“Yeah? You like that?” he asked, his breath ghosting over your ear. “I knew you would end up liking it. Such a filthy little slut for me…” he purred.
Unexpectedly, the knife that was being held up to your neck was left aside as he tossed it somewhere — still close enough that he could grab it by the handle and press it against your beautiful neck if even the slightest thought of escaping crossed your, now, useless cock-drunk brain — in the counter, being replaced by his white pale hands.
Jeff laced his hands on your throat, squeezing the sides of your skin at the same time he pounded into you. The pressure made your head spin, vision blurring at the edges as pleasure and fear mixed into something sick and addictive. Your nails dug deep into his shoulders still covered by the hoodie, and he hissed in approval, hips snapping harder.
“J-Jeff…” you let out a weak whisper, feeling your vision hazing. The lack of air only made Jeff's thrusts even more intense and delicious now. Not long enough, you became a babbling mess below him.
You could feel your orgasm building up in your stomach. You were so close, and you could tell Jeff was as well by the way his hips were faltering against you, his thrusts getting more erratic and a little slow. You could feel his fingers starting to loosen its tight grip, increasingly easing the delicious, delirious pressure on your neck until his hands were just there, holding your sore throat gently.
Jeff’s hips stuttered, his breathing turning ragged as he felt you tightening around him again.
“Aww, you’re gonna cum for me, right? C’mon… you were so chatty before. Use that pretty mouth of yours.” one of his hands left your throat, slipping between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing it in fast, relentless circles.
A gasp followed by a sharp whimper rolled out of your lips as you tried to gather any words to reply. Your mind felt like a huge cloud of pleasure. “Mmmph, yeah… I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum, Jeff.” was all that you managed to let out, your hips shakily moving against his fingers, trying to get more of the friction he was applying while his cock kissed your cervix deliciously.
Jeff’s eyes lit up, amused by your attitude, amused that you were chasing more of him. The pressure built fast until your vision whited out and your whole body seized, orgasm crashing through you in violent waves. You cried out his name in frenetic follow-ups.
Jeff followed right after with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled his cum deep inside you, hot and thick. He didn’t pull out. Instead he collapsed against you, still twitching, still leaking, arms wrapping around your trembling frame like a vice.
“My sweet girl…” he murmured into your neck, pressing soft, obsessive kisses along the bruises he’d left.
His lips left your neck and he pressed his forehead against yours, those unblinking eyes staring straight into your hazy ones with something that looked like worship. He leaned in, letting his scarred lips hover against yours for a bit, his quick hot breath fanning across them. He kissed you then, messy and desperate, tongue pushing past your lips like he wanted to crawl inside your soul. You whimpered against his mouth, trying to keep up with his pace, moving your tongue against his.
When he pulled out, a weak string of saliva connected both of your mouths.
“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, the words dripping with obsession, sick and heavy. “Love you so much. I’d kill anyone who even looks at you. You know that, right? You’re mine. Only mine.” his hands slid up to cup your face, thumbs brushing away the almost dried tears from the corners of your eyes. The touch was gentle, almost loving.
He pulled away just enough to look you straight, he seemed to enjoy the vision. Now, you could see his face more clearly above you; his dark pupils were blown wide, almost covering the blue irises entirely, his eyelids — now you saw that he actually had them — were half-lid, the tips of his dark hair brushing the sides of your bruised neck, his expression distorted with affection. He was beautiful.
You could feel him growing flaccid inside you, and he immediately slid out of you, leaving you empty again, but his cum leaking down your thighs obscenely. Without letting his eyes leave your face, he straightened up, pulling his pants up. You realized you were bare naked as you straightened yourself on the counter, sitting up to meet his gaze.
He seemed to realize that as well, tilting his head slightly before bending down to gather your clothes from the floor. He moved with an odd calmness, like this was something ordinary, something domestic.
He handed them to you without a word.
“Thanks…” you said softly, pulling your shirt over your shoulders, then your panties followed by your shorts.
He watched you finish dressing, that wide, carved grin never leaving his face. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Your heart hammered so hard you were sure he could hear it. Now that it was over, the fear came crashing back in full force.
You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “…Are you going to kill me now?”
Jeff paused. For a second the only sound was the faint drip of the kitchen faucet. Then a low, raspy chuckle slipped out between his teeth.
“Kill you?” he tilted his head, the motion almost bird-like. “Nah. Not tonight.”
Not tonight? So he has plans to kill you sometime? That made your throat tighten and… your cunt clench.
He stepped closer again, crowding you against the counter. One pale hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek hard enough to make the skin whiten. “Say it,” he murmured, voice dropping into that dangerous, velvet-rough tone. “Tell me you love me. And this time… mean it.”
Your lips trembled. The words felt heavy, but they came out willingly, soft and gentle. “I love you, Jeff.”
Something shifted in his expression. The endless black pits around his eyes seemed to soften, just a fraction. The carved smile actually looked… pleased. Genuinely pleased. He let out a slow breath, almost like relief, and his forehead rested against yours for a moment. “Good girl,” he whispered. “My good fucking girl. You finally get it. You’re just like me.”
For a heartbeat, the moment felt almost tender. Then, without warning, he grabbed you by the hips and slammed you back down onto the counter, pinning you flat with his body. The breath left your lungs in a gasp. Before you could even react, his hand flashed to the end of the counter and the familiar silver blade of his knife appeared, gleaming under the dim kitchen light. He pressed the cold edge right against your throat, the sharp tip kissing your pulse right again.
He said he wasn’t going to kill you. Well, maybe not tonight. So, he should keep his promise... right? But the thought of him just pushing that knife into you, coating himself with your blood… was enough to make you whimper involuntarily.
Jeff let out a dark chuckle when he noticed the needy sound that slipped through you. “Oh, you like this, don’t ya?” he hissed, eyes wild with dark delight. “Knowing I could slit your pretty little throat right now and watch you bleed out while you’re still leaking from me. Say it. Tell me you love that I can kill you whenever I want.”
Your voice cracked, fear and something much darker twisting together. “I… I love it…”
Before you could finish, he dragged the knife down in one smooth, deliberate motion. The blade bit into the soft skin of your lower belly, carving deep enough to draw a bright line of red. Pain exploded across your nerves. You cried out sharply, body jerking against his hold, tears instantly springing to your eyes.
But deep down, beneath the burning sting and the terror, a sick, shameful heat bloomed in your chest. You hated how much you craved the ownership in that cut.
Jeff kept carving, slow and careful, forming the jagged letters of his name into your flesh.
J E F F
Blood welled up immediately, trickling down your sides and staining the edge of the counter. When he was finished, he lifted the knife, admiring his work with a smile. He brought the blade to his mouth and dragged his tongue along the flat of it, licking your blood clean off the steel with obvious relish. You felt your folds wetting beneath your panties yet again at the sight of that.
“It gets so much sweeter when you’re scared,” he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction, tongue licking his lips like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. “Just so you won’t forget me.”
You were still panting, tears streaming down your face, the fresh cuts throbbing with every heartbeat. He stared at you for a long moment, drinking in the sight of you broken and bleeding and still looking at him like that.
Then, without another word, Jeff turned and walked out of the kitchen. You heard the front door clicking shut a few seconds later, leaving you alone on the counter with his name freshly etched into your skin and the echo of his words ringing in your ears.
Just so you won’t forget me.
You definitely wouldn’t.
The twisted warmth of knowing that made you smile.
Warnings: NONCON, stalking, obsession, violence, innocence/corruption kink, degradation, humiliation, use of words like 'slut' and 'bitch', p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex,creampie.
Summary: You called him the bad guy. He decided to prove you right.
(A/N: Got this idea randomly when I woke up and wrote it in one sitting. I also love your requests, guys! I'm trying my best to do them justice. 🤍 Like and reblog!)
Tag list: @mirwors
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! SENSITIVE CONTENT AHEAD!!
The first time Seongje saw you, it wasn't a glance; it was a claim. You were laughing with your friends, a sound that cut through the noise of his world and anchored itself in his brain. In that instant, something cold and possessive in him snapped to attention. Mine.
After that, he was everywhere.
A tall, silent figure in the periphery, his glasses hiding eyes that never seemed to blink when they were fixed on you. At the coffee shop, reflected in a window. Leaning against his car across the street from your classes. Your friend group had a new, chilling routine: a nervous whisper of "Don't look now, but he's here again."
Everyone knew him. Seongje. The name was synonymous with calculated cruelty, a ruthless bully who ran the union with a quiet, psychopathic intensity. His attention wasn't flattering; it was a suffocating weight.
The day he finally closed the distance was brutally ordinary. Your friends, giddy and oblivious, ditched you for the ice cream stand across the park, leaving you exposed on the sunny bench.
A shadow fell over you before you heard his voice.
"Hi."
Your heart didn't just skip a beat; it stuttered into a frantic, panicked rhythm. You looked up, and there he was. Seongje. In the flesh, standing too close.
"Hi…" you breathed out, the word barely a whisper. Your eyes darted toward the ice cream line, desperately seeking rescue.
He noticed. Of course he did. A faint, unnerving smile touched his lips. "You're Y/N, right?" he said, as if this were a normal introduction and not the culmination of a weeks-long silent siege. "I'm Seongje."
You could only manage a slow, stiff nod, your throat too tight to form words.
"Don't be scared," he chuckled, a low, soft sound that didn't reach his cold eyes. His gaze dragged slowly down your summer dress, and for a terrifying second, his expression shifted. It was a look of pure, rapturous possession. He’d fantasized about this—about you in these soft, innocent dresses that made you look like something untouched, something to be unwrapped. He wanted to be the one to ruin it, to leave the imprint of his touch on that prettiness, to taint that innocence with everything he was.
He leaned in, invading your space, forcing you to look directly into the lenses that hid his soul. "I was wanting to ask... would you like to go on a date with me?"
Your face must have reflected pure, unadulterated horror—the look of a rabbit realizing the wolf can talk.
"I'm sorry—" you choked out, but the sentence died as your friends descended, a bubble of noise and laughter.
"Here's your vanilla, Y/N!" one chirped, before her smile faltered. Their eyes landed on Seongje, and the air went cold. In an instant, your arms were hooked through theirs, a silent, united front against the threat. They didn't say a word to him, just leveled protective glares until he finally, slowly, turned and walked away.
You didn't need to finish your sentence. The rejection was written in every terrified line of your body.
"He asked me out on a date," you blurted out as soon as you were a "safe" distance away, the words tasting like ash.
The shocked gasps were immediate. "What did you say?!"
"I was saying 'I'm sorry, but no' when you showed up."
"That's a rejection," your friend Sumi giggled, a nervous, relieved sound.
"Why on earth would he think you'd say yes?" Yerim muttered, shaking her head. "We can't leave you alone anymore."
"Shut up," you said, a wave of cold hatred washing over you. "You know exactly why I said no. He's a bully. He's a bad guy. I would never, ever date someone like him."
You didn't see the figure who had paused just around the corner, listening to every single word.
Seongje stood frozen. The words—bully, bad guy, never—didn't just hurt. The city lights, knowing everyone could see you were his. The hatred in your voice shattered the daydream, leaving only the cold, hard reality of your rejection.
The pain was sharp and shocking, a crack in his cold exterior. But it didn't soften him. It solidified him.
Without a sound, he melted back into the shadows, a new, grim determination settling over him. Fine. If you wouldn't accept the pretty fantasy, he’d give you a different reality. He would show you. He would make you see.
He would have you. And he’d make sure you never wore that innocent look for anyone but him again.
[♡]
The next day, nothing.
The day after that, nothing.
A whole week passed without a single glimpse of him. No silent figure across the street. No dark car idling near the curb. The oppressive weight of his presence, which had become a constant in your life, simply... vanished.
You were hesitant to believe it at first, constantly scanning crowds, flinching at every tall figure. But as the days bled into a week, a cautious, dizzying relief began to bloom in your chest. Maybe... just maybe, he’d taken the rejection well. It was a shock, completely at odds with the ruthless bully everyone knew, but you weren't about to question it.
"See? I told you he'd get the hint eventually," Sumi said, slurping her bubble tea. "Even psychopaths have to accept a 'no' sometimes."
"Guess we can stop the bodyguard routine," Yerim laughed, though her eyes still held a trace of unease.
You laughed with them, the sound feeling foreign and light. The world seemed brighter, the air easier to breathe. You started taking your usual routes again, staying out a little later, embracing the freedom you'd lost. It was a trick. A beautiful, naive trick.
He had given you exactly what you wanted: a false sense of security. He wasn't gone. He was just setting the stage.
It was late. The walk home from the library was quiet, the path through the familiar, dimly lit alley a shortcut you’d started taking again now that the fear was gone.
The alley seemed to shrink around you, the walls closing in. You quickened your pace, the cheerful melody from your headphones now feeling foolish and out of place. That’s when you heard it—a low, grating whistle that cut through the music.
You pulled one earbud out. Three figures were leaning against the graffiti-stained wall ahead, smirking. They pushed off and fanned out, casually blocking your path.
"Hey there, pretty thing. Where are you off all by yourself?" the one in the middle drawled, his eyes roaming over you in a way that made your skin crawl.
"Just heading home," you said, your voice tighter than you intended. You tried to step around them, but the one on the left shifted, cutting off your escape.
"Don't be like that. We just wanna talk," the second one said, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. "That's a cute dress. You got a name to go with it?"
A cold knot of fear tightened in your stomach. "Leave me alone," you said, injecting a strength into your voice you didn't feel.
The one in the middle chuckled, taking a step closer. "Or what? You'll call your boyfriend?"
"Please, just let me pass," you insisted, your heart beginning to hammer against your ribs.
He reached out, his fingers aiming to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Why? We're just being friendly—"
His words were cut off by a sickening, wet crunch.
A fist had seemingly materialized from the darkness, connecting with the side of the guy's head. He dropped like a sack of stones, unconscious before he hit the ground.
You stumbled back with a gasp, pressing yourself against the cold brick wall.
Seongje stood there, his expression a mask of cold fury. He moved with a predator's grace, a blur of brutal, efficient violence. He caught the second guy with a vicious elbow to the throat, silencing his choked cry. The third turned to run, but Seongje grabbed him by the collar and slammed his face into the wall with a nauseating thud.
It was over in less than ten seconds. Three bodies lay motionless on the dirty pavement. Seongje stood over them, his chest rising and falling steadily. He calmly adjusted his glasses.
His eyes, cold and sharp behind the lenses, finally landed on you. You were frozen, trembling, a silent scream trapped in your throat.
He took a step toward you, then another, until he was standing far too close. The air grew thick and heavy.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, almost gentle.
You could only shake your head, mute with shock and a dawning, horrifying realization. The timing was too perfect. His violence was too practiced, too immediate. It felt staged.
Mumbling a shaky, automatic "th-thank you," you tried to sidestep him, your only instinct to flee.
He moved with you, blocking your path effortlessly. A slow, cold smirk spread across his face as his eyes traced the lines of your fear.
"So," he purred, his voice dropping to an intimate, threatening whisper. "This is what I get for saving you? A mumbled thanks and you trying to run away?"
He leaned in, his breath ghosting your cheek.
"You should be more grateful. Though I suppose I can't blame you for being confused," he murmured, his smirk widening into something truly monstrous. "It's hard to know who to thank, isn't it? The man who saved you... or the man who sent them in the first place?"
The confession hung in the air, sucking all the oxygen out of the alley. The world tilted on its axis. He hadn't just saved you.
He had engineered the entire nightmare.
"I think you owe me a little more than a 'thank you,' don't you, Y/N?”
The smirk on Seongje's face was triumphant. He watched the horrifying understanding dawn in your eyes—the realization that your fear, your relief, your very reality, were all toys he had played with.
"Why...?" you breathed out, the word a shaky exhale of pure terror.
"Because you needed to see," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He took a final step forward, eliminating the last bit of space between you. "You needed to understand that the world is full of monsters." His cold hand came up, and he traced a single, possessive finger down your chilled cheek. You flinched, but were too frozen to pull away.
"But I'm not like them," he whispered, his voice dropping into a horrible parody of comfort. "I'm the only one who can keep them away. I'm the only one who can keep you safe."
You are out of words at his sick revelation. Your mind, reeling and shattered, could only form one broken sentence.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you let out, your voice a croaked whisper of pure horror.
He chuckled lowly, a dark, amused sound that seemed to suck all the warmth from the alley. He slowly reached up and fixed his glasses, a casual, calculated gesture that was utterly at odds with the violence surrounding you both.
"What's wrong with me?" he repeated, taking a slow, deliberate step closer, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. "Nothing. I finally see things clearly."
Another step. You were pinned between him and the cold brick wall.
"You were confused. You needed... a demonstration. A lesson to help you understand." His voice was terrifyingly calm, like a professor explaining a simple concept. "Those fools..." He gestured dismissively at the unconscious men. "...they were the lesson. And I was the answer."
He was now so close you could see the dark, unwavering certainty in his eyes behind the lenses.
"The only thing 'wrong' here," he whispered, his breath ghosting across your cheek, "was your refusal to see that I'm the only thing that's right for you."
His hand came up, not to strike you, but to gently—possessively—cup your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.
"But don't worry. I'm going to keep teaching you until you get it.”
"It's getting late so I better go home.” You tried to sidestep him, your voice trembling as you attempted to create distance, to inject some shred of normalcy into the horrific reality crashing down around you.
The polite, everyday words sounded absurd and pathetic in the dark, silent alley.
But his hand shot out and clamped down on your wrist.
You turned around to face him, wincing at the painful way his fingers were digging into your skin.
“Stop it–”
“You just thanked me because I saved you. Don't you think I deserved something nice in return?” There was a dangerous edge to his voice as he pulled you closer to him, looking down at you. “I mean I wasn't shown at the right time. God knows what would have happened to an innocent girl like you.”
“I wouldn't have thanked you if I knew you were behind all this. You're not only a bully but a liar also. Now let go of me.”
Your words made him even angrier.
“What if I don't want to? Are you going to make me?” he sneered, looking at your scared face, your wide eyes and wobbly lips. “I definitely deserve something for looking out for a dumb slut like you.”
He held you in one place with one hand while the other wrapped around your throat.
Your eyes widened and you thrashed against him. His grip around your throat tightened, cutting off your air.
With all your courage, you aimed your knee upward, missing his crotch but striking his thigh hard enough to catch him off guard. A grunt of surprise and pain escaped him, and his grip on you loosened for a split second.
You screamed—a raw, desperate sound—and ripped yourself away from him, stumbling backward before turning to run. You prayed someone, anyone, might hear. Even if the chances were low.
But before you could get more than a few steps, his longer legs easily caught up to you. You were no match for his speed or his strength. He grabbed you by the arm and roughly yanked you back, shoving you hard against the cold, unforgiving brick wall. The impact knocked the wind from your lungs.
“Wasn't expecting you to fight,” he growled, his voice low and venomous now, all pretense of calm utterly gone. His eyes glinted with a new, volatile fury. The mask had fully slipped, revealing the raw predator beneath.
He leaned his weight into you, pinning you completely, his face inches from yours.
“That was a mistake.”
You gulped, a useless, terrified sound. Acting on pure, desperate instinct, your hand flew up and slapped against his chest. It was a pathetic gesture, the weak thud of your palm against the solid, unmovable wall of his body.
He didn't even flinch. He was strong, big, and utterly immovable. Your small act of defiance was nothing to him. Less than nothing.
A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating through the hand you'd just tried to use to push him away.
"Cute," he murmured, the word dripping with condescension. "You think that's going to work?"
You were leaned against the wall, completely trapped, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The fear was a live wire in your veins, sharp and paralyzing. You were scared beyond thought, beyond any coherent plan. Every cell in your body screamed at you to run, but there was nowhere to go.
He brought his hand up again, not to hit you, but to cage you. His forearm pressed against the wall beside your head, his other hand still a firm, threatening weight on your body, eliminating any last hope of escape.
"The fighting," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "The running. The slapping. It's all just part of the lesson, Y/N. You're learning what happens when you defy me."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.
"And the lesson isn't over.”
The sound of your delicate buttons of your summer dress popping and skittering across the alley pavement was horrifying sound. A cold yelp escaped you as the front of your dress was ripped open, leaving you exposed in the thin fabric of your bra and panties, the torn dress hanging uselessly off your shoulders.
His hands were on you immediately, kneading the flesh of your ass with a possessive growl, the thin material of your bra doing nothing to hide you from his touch. A fresh wave of terror washed over you as he hooked his fingers into waistband of your panties and yanked them down in one brutal motion. Your legs wobbled violently, threatening to give out entirely.
“Seongje please —” you begged, your a voice broken whisper.
But he was beyond listening, driven by a dark, all-consuming desire to claim and taint the innocence he'd become obsessed with.
He roughly pulled one of your legs up, hooking it around your hip to hold you open and in place. The cold air hit your most intimate skin. The metallic rasp of his belt unbuckling sent fresh, hot teats spilling down your cheeks.
“You know I asked you out nicely,” he taunted, his voice a low, vicious snarl against your ear, “but you thought I was a bad guy.” He was throwing your own words back at you, twisting them into justification for his violence.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to blink away the tears as he positioned himself. There was no preparation, no tenderness–only one brutal, tearing thrust that forced a choked gasp of agony from your throat.
“Fuck.” He growled, his pleasure mingling with your pain.
He began to move, his grip on your knee bruising as he jerked your body against the wall with each grinding thrust. You dug your nails into the rough brick behind you, your ankles straining against your own weight, the sensation of a painful fullness that drowned out everything else.
Every pound into your core was meaner and harder than the last. “You act like some upright bitch and rejected me.” He spat, his breath hot on your neck. “You think you're better than me?”
You couldn't speak, you couldn't form a word. Only small, pathetic whines escaped your lips, each one fueling the humiliation burning on your cheeks.
He drove into you relentlessly until he hit a deep, jarring place that made you clench around him involuntarily from the shock of pain. “Look at you now,” he sneered, his voice thick with contempt and arousal. “You're just a cock hungry slut. Fuck, you just clenched around me?”
A few more frantic, punishing pumps and you felt the hot, sudden rush of his release filling you. He didn’t pull out. Instead he pushed himself as deep as he could possibly go, grinding against you, ensuring his seed spilled inside.
“Fuck.” He breathed out, a final, satisfied groan fanning over your sweat dampened neck.
Then the weight of him, the horror of what he'd done, and the crushing reality of your violation came crashing down. He remained there, inside you, for a long moment, a living breathing monument to utter your defeat.
He finished straightening his clothes, his movements slow and precise. Then, with that same unnerving calm, he reached up and adjusted his glasses, pushing them back into their perfect, calculated position on the bridge of his nose. The gesture was so ordinary, so mundane, it made the horror of what he had just done feel even more surreal. The silence that followed was not peaceful; it was the kind of silence that comes after a bomb has gone off—deafening, heavy, and full of invisible shrapnel.
He looked down at you.
You were curled on the cold, filthy ground of the alley, your knees pulled to your chest. And there it was—the final, perfect image he’d craved. The pretty summer dress he’d fantasized about for weeks was now torn and stained with grime and tears, hanging off your shoulders in ruined shreds. Your body shook with silent, wracking sobs you didn't have the strength to voice.
A deep, profound satisfaction settled in his chest. This was better than any fantasy. He hadn’t just seen you in the dress; he had ruined you in it. He had left his mark on the very innocence that had captivated him, tainting it completely with everything he was.
His gaze was not one of passion, or anger, or even pride. It was one of cold, clinical assessments. Like a sculptor stepping back to examine a piece of finished work.
He took one last, slow step closer, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. He leaned down, his voice a soft, chilling whisper that cut through the silence.
"Now you know," he said, the words devoid of any emotion but finality. "Now you know exactly how bad I can be."
It was not a question. It was a statement of fact. The lesson was complete.
He didn't wait for a response. He simply turned and walked away.
His footsteps were calm, measured, and eerily quiet on the pavement. He didn't look back. He didn't issue another threat. He just left.
The sound of his retreating footsteps was somehow more violating than the act itself. It was a dismissal. It said you were nothing. A used thing. A concluded lesson.
You were alone.
Utterly, completely alone.
The three men he’d beaten still lay unconscious nearby, their presence only heightening the surreal horror. The alley walls seemed to press in, the darkness swallowing you whole.
You felt… ruined. Hollowed out. The person you were just an hour ago was gone, and what was left was a raw, exposed nerve, trembling on the cold ground.
He had taken everything. Your sense of safety. Your dignity. Your body. And with his final, whispered words, he had seared the truth of his nature into your soul before he simply walked away, leaving you there in the wreckage.
Victor Gideon who is far to busy to have actualy introduced himself to his latest obsession outside of work yet.
Victor Gideon who settles for stalking you instead.
Small outings putting trackers on your vehicle, tapping your wifi, and chipping your phone. Nothing big just walks by your place when you're away or asleep, he needs to go out more anyway and walks are good for ones health he tells himself.
Data telling him where you go to shop and work, for how long, wich days you go out, closer specifics about where you are in buildings getting specific to almost square feet with your home wifi, what you look up, patterns in phone use and plants of spread sheets to record and track it all.
Though eventualy he runs out of information he can gather from these "small outtings" alone. Its not enough anymore, has lost its excitement, lost its novelty, he needs more.
Expanding on what he already has is a good place to start. His walks by all sorts of your property, the car and home, soon become outings to places you go.
Going to your work on days your not on shift, walking routes he figures you do, stopping by stores you go to and things you buy ever so curious as to what you eat, what you need for your hobbies, things you may like to wear.
He tries to be good, to be somewhat normal and not intrude on your safe space but the little he gets from following your steps isn't nearly enough, no where near as satisfying as the data gathering he started with. What a better place to feel that excitement again than by breaking a few laws?
It elevates to him breaking and entering your home. Taking everything he can in. His tounge flicking out in every room and hallway to scent it. His eyes eating up every square inch to dissect your taste in colors and furnature his visor even helping him get the make and model of some of the more distinct pieces. Eyes looking over the titles of every book you own every movie and cd, hands feeling every blanket to figure out your preferances in texture and softness. Everything you in your space.
The little in him that remebers social rules feels a bit bad for entering your space but if it cant even be traced that he was here would he really be intruding in your safe space? He only has your best interests in mind so really its no big deal that hes here, he can be trusted.
For a few weeks when his days off and your days on line up he is able to satiate himself by exploring every square inch of your personal space. Never coming close to leaving when you arrive since he has your belongings chipped so hes free to snoop around as much as he pleases.
But as the weeks go on he gets thoughts, inquiries he can't answer with what knowlage he has at his disposal.
How do you prefer to sit, what do you cook, do you spend lots of time dressing yourself or do you lay outfits out for the next day, do you prefer baths to showers? He tried really hard to solve that one with what was available but by the time he got there the tub was always dry.
To many questions not enough answers. He was getting restless again.
His only issue with going further, with involving himself more in your life? Why of course it was how he was going to do it next. He didnt know if he should hide cameras out of your view or try to stay overnight withought your knowing next. Such fun possibilities.
pairing: hannibal lecter x afab!reader
genre: smut
notes: winner of my recent poll!, hannibal comes home lateee afer work (and other murderer stuff) and... well... hes a bit needy
warning: smut, unprotected pinv, also lowkey cockwarming, choking, fingering
MINORS DNI!!
─── ꒰ 🍽️ ꒱ ───
It wasn’t unusual for Hannibal to come home late, oftentimes you’d wait for him in the living room, if you knew it wouldn’t be too late. But today, you had waited and waited and… waited. It was almost past midnight when you decided that today was one of these days where he would just join you in bed later.
You were fast asleep after slipping into something more comfortable and settling into bed. And when Hannibal came home, it was extremely late, well past midnight when he crawled into bed beside you.
But, contrary to how things usually went, he wasn’t exactly… tired today. Hannibal was rarely very needy, most of the time he received what he wanted from you without issue. Occasionally he made both of you ‘wait’ for what you wanted, but that fueled his desires more than made him needy.
But tonight? He was being needy.
He peered over at you, “Love, are you awake?” he whispered lowly. But at your lack of response, neither in words nor movement, he wrapped his arms around you slowly and pressed his face into your neck.
He exhaled softly before breathing in your, even sweeter seeming, scent. “Love…” he mumbled against your skin, “Please.”
You let out a half asleep huff, “Hm..?” you made.
Hannibal hummed softly against your neck, feeling the warmth of your body as he pressed you closer to his.
“Missed you..” he mumbled, his voice thick with both fatigue and the building neediness. One hand slid up slowly to brush along your hip.
You yawned, “Hanni…” you made, words still half slurred as you were fighting sleep.
Hannibal pressed another soft kiss to your jaw, then along the delicate line of your throat. Each touch was both slow and tender, like he had all night to worship every inch of you, but also growing more in ‘intent’.
“Stay awake just a little longer?” he whispered against your skin, voice rough and pleading in that rare way you never really heard of him.
“Hmm… what?” you sighed, still half asleep. But the way you felt him press into you was… undeniable. “Really… now?” you mumbled sleepily.
Hannibal chuckled, the sound dark and low in his chest, tinged with amusement as you finally caught onto what he wanted, no, needed.
He knew you were barely waking up, and probably needed sleep at this late hour. He knew he was being unfair.
But god help him, he needed you.
“Yes,” he breathed against your ear before nipping it gently. His hips shifted forward instinctively, a subtle roll that presses his growing hardness against the curve of your backside.
His breath audibly stuttered in his throat at the contact. “I know… I’m home late,” he apologized hoarsely between kisses down your neck. “But you feel too good to ignore.”
You sighed as you could no longer ignore Hannibal grinding against you, “Can’t this wait until the morning…” you mumbled, but the kisses down your neck already started to ignite the slight heat growing in your stomach.
“Morning is too far,” he breathed against your shoulder before biting down gently.
You hiked your sleep shirt up a bit, inviting and promising in one.
A low, approving growl rumbled from Hannibal’s chest the moment he felt you shift, a silent form of permission.
Without hesitation, he slid a hand beneath your clothes, fingers tracing your inner thigh before finding the damp heat between your legs. A single fingertip circled over your clit, teasing and testing how awake you really were.
You immediately let out a low moan, “Hannibal…” you hummed, a bit amused at his need for you.
Two fingers sank into your slick warmth with a smooth thrust, curling them just right, the way you liked it, and began moving in slow deep strokes.
You couldn’t help but let another moan tumble from your lips, your body really jolting awake now with pleasure.
His palm pressed firmly against your clit with every stroke, “Feel good?” he breathed, his own hips rocked subconsciously against nothing. The friction of his pyjamas too much and not enough all at once.
He wanted to be inside of you, but not until you came apart in his hand first.
“Yeah–” you let out, breath fractured by moans. You were still slightly dazed by sleep, head swimming in pleasure as you pressed your back against him, letting his hands work between your thighs.
“Just like that, Hanni–” you moaned as his fingers brushed perfectly over that spot that had you see stars.
The praise went straight to Hannibal’s cock, hard and aching against your back. He groaned, low and deep, fingers curling relentlessly on every stroke, palm grinding faster now. His breathing turned ragged, and it took every inch of self control to hold himself back.
“Come for me, love” he spoke, the words something between a command and a desperate plea.
Your legs shuddered, core hot with pleasure as you did exactly what he wanted, a few more thrusts of his fingers and you came, coming undone in his hands. “Yes–… yes–” you moaned, grinding against his fingers through your orgasm.
Hannibal felt every pulse around his fingers, tight contractions as your body arched into his touch. He didn’t stop, letting you ride it out with slow deep strokes until you were just a panting trembling mess. Only then did he withdraw gently, and brought slick fingers to his mouth. A deliberate lick, one finger at a time, as he tasted you like a true delicacy.
“Beautiful” he hummed contently before his hand came to turn your head to the side, capturing your lips in a messy kiss, the taste of your orgasm passing between them.
You were undone, but knew it was far from over. You liked into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.
For a brief moment you broke apart, turning to face him, your hand already greedily pushing against the tent in his pajamas.
He ground into your palm instinctively, already leaking at the simple contact. The need to be inside you was primal now.
In one fluid motion, he shoved down his pajamas, tossing them off somewhere carelessly. He guided you onto your back without breaking the hungry movements, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, aligning himself in seconds.
He was done with waiting.
With a low groan, Hannibal pushed himself inside, first slowly easing in his tip before he pushed deeper, burying himself fully in the warm heat, still pulsing around him from your climax.
You let him, your hips lifting up a bit, supported by his hands, a low whiny moan came from you, hot with overstimulation.
Hannibal stilled for just a heartbeat, buried to the hilt inside you, letting you adjust around him. Or maybe he just enjoyed the view and the feeling of being inside you, he could stay like that for hours. But the way your walls fluttered greedily around him made it impossible to resist.
He began to move, slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that made sure you felt every inch that he dragged himself out and thrust in again.
One hand gripped her thigh high, the one that rested against his chest, ankle resting on his shoulder, while the other braced your hip, holding it up at a slight angle. “Too much?” he rumbled between ragged breaths.
You nodded, it was too much, the overstimulation deliciously painful, but your moans told that it was too much in the best way possible.
You shuddered, pushing your head back into the pillow, “Ah… Hannibal–” you moaned and whined.
But your whining only made his restraining snap more easily, the way you moaned his name, full of pleasure, his hips thrust harder, deeper, the bed creaked beneath them, skin slapping mingling with the moans that filled the room.
He abandoned one hand from your thigh to grip both of yours instead, pinning them above your head as he pistoned relentlessly. You squirmed under him, pinned down like a delicious specimen.
“Look at me” he demanded between panting breaths. Your eyes were focused on him, more moans tumbling from your lips.
His other hand came to wrap around your throat, not squeezing just yet. Just resting.
His hips snapped forward almost brutally now, hitting that spot inside every time, and his groan was raw when you clenched around him in response.
You had to work hard to keep your eyes open, and on him, not to let them fall close from the overwhelming pleasure, but that hand on your throat had you whining even more. You leaned into it, begging him to squeeze down on your delicate throat, make you his entirely.
Hannibal did so without hesitation, the moment you leaned into his palm, he tighten, just enough pressure to have your breath hitch, your pulse jumping wildly under his fingers.
That was what pushed you over the edge, the blur of possession, pleasure and submission. You came again, squeezing clenching him inside you. “Fuck– please… fuck” was all you could pant out when you felt his hips jerk unevenly into you. With a dark groan, he buried himself inside you as deep as possible and came hard. Hot spurts of cum filling you while he rode out the orgasm.
He shuddered through the aftershock, forehead dropping slightly as he struggled to catch his breath. The hand at your throat loosened instantly, sliding up instead to cradle your jaw tenderly.
For several long moments, you laid tangled together, skin slick with sweat and hearts hammering wildly. He pressed lazy kisses along your collarbone and neck.
“… I love you… so much”
Rare words from Hannibal, despite the fact that he truly loved you deeply.
You needed a second to suck in enough air to respond, “… love you more,” you hummed contently, completely spent now.
A smile twitched on Hannibal’s lips as he pressed another kiss to your skin. He shifted carefully to avoid pulling out just yet, instead he rolled onto his side and pulled you with him, spooning again like you had started the night.
One arm draped heavily over your waist, while he pressed soft lingering kisses between your shoulder blades.
