As the reclusive Ignihyde housewarden — the one you've been secretly crushing on — tries to stay hidden in the shadows to “protect” you (mostly from himself), you decide to match his energy and challenge his control just for the reckless fun of it. But where there's a thrill, there's a sacrifice. Now, trapped in the deepest sublevel — where you ended up accidentally falling straight into — and forced to play his filthy little games at the expense of every sensitive aspect he has stolen from you, you’re finally realizing the extent of his insatiable obsession. And just how fucked you truly are.
Pairing: yan!/pervert! Idia Shroud x Female/afab reader - AU - Reader is not Yuu/Prefect but a resident of TWST universe - NRC is co-ed - Reader is a freshman sorted into Ignihyde - Kinda fluffy (at the start) - Reader is kind of a gooner (so is Idia) - Reader is also a little immature/naïve/“delulu” - Idia becomes very predatory and pervy - Take the warnings seriously, they are there for a reason. Don't like, don't read, etc. 🤧
≋ CONTENT & TRIGGER WARNINGS: (Cyber) Stalking/Surveillance, (Non-c0n) Voyeurism/Invasion of Privacy, Dark Obsession/Possessiveness, Unhealthy Relationship, Power Imbalance, Creepy/Pervy Behavior, Manipulation/Tech Control, Explicit Depictions of Masturbation, Self-Aware Descent into Madness, Dark/Stalker Romance, Fear Play, Psychological/Tech Horror, Dub-c0n Touching, Corruption & Paraphilic elements (mutual pining, kind of—if you squint)
The Dove is Quite Dead: Do Not Eat. I do not condone any of the behaviors or taboo themes depicted in this fictional work.
A/N: This was originally a request from a lovely anon here, so thank you! but I'm not gonna lie—it was the perfect excuse for me to finally bring this degeneracy that's been living rent-free in my head to life. 🥵
It's a little different from my usual writing style — a bit rawer, with some crude wording here and there (because it just fits the theme) but yolo, we ballin' and I had fun so idrm. Feedback is always welcome, and as always... let me know if a Part 2 is desired, you little freaks~ Ily ♡
Enjoy your reading ≋ Full playlist: ⛓️💙⛓️ ≋ [ao3 link]
You had only been in your new dorm for a couple of hours but you were already very lost.
The corridors were more troublesome than you'd thought, lit with that signature low, electric-blue glow that made everything feel like the inside of a high-end gaming PC. Your arms were full—tablet, orientation packet, the last box of clothes you hadn’t bothered to unpack yet—and you were trying to remember which turn led back to your room when you nearly tripped over someone crouched in front of a wall panel.
“Shit—sorry!” you blurted, stumbling to a stop.
The figure jolted like you’d electrocuted him. A hood was pulled low over messy blue hair, but you could still see the flames at the very tips flicker from their usual cool cyan to a startled, embarrassed pink. He scrambled upright so fast he almost banged his head on the open panel.
It was him.
Idia Shroud. The housewarden. The one everyone whispered about—the genius who basically ran Ignihyde’s and NRC’s entire infrastructure from the shadows, the guy who only ever appeared in person when absolutely forced, the living legend who’d rather fight God than make eye contact with another human being.
And he was standing right in front of you. Tall, slouched, hoodie swallowing his frame, eyes wide behind the faint glow of his tablet as he stared at you like you were a final boss he hadn’t prepared for.
“U-uh—! S-sorry, I didn’t— I mean, you didn’t— the panel was— glitch in the biometric recalibration and Ortho said if I didn’t come down here myself he’d— I mean—!”
He was stuttering. Actually stuttering. The pink in his hair had spread to the roots now, bright against the blue. He tugged his hood lower like it could hide the color.
You should have just said “no worries” and kept walking. But you’d been low-key dying to see him in person since you got sorted to Ignihyde. The stories, the rare photos in the dorm group chat, the way people talked about him like he was some untouchable cryptid… and now here he was, flustered and pink-haired and… real.
“You’re the housewarden, right?” you asked, shifting the box higher on your hip so you could actually look at him properly. “Idia Shroud?”
He made a tiny, mortified noise in the back of his throat.
“…Yeah. That’s— that’s me. Unfortunately.” He glanced at your box, then at the tablet still clutched in his hands like a shield. “You’re… new. Room 09. I saw the assignment come through the system. I mean— I didn’t look look, it just— popped up. Because I’m the housewarden. Not because I was— y’know. Stalking the new student roster or anything. That would be— weird.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. It came out soft and a little breathless.
“I figured. The system’s been… really smooth. The door to my room opened before I even swiped my card. I thought maybe it was a welcome glitch.”
Idia’s flames flickered again—pink, then back to blue, then a nervous mix of both.
“Yeah. That was… me. I mean, the system. I pre-loaded the new residents’ biometrics so there wouldn’t be any lag on move-in day. It’s more efficient. Less chance of you standing in the hallway looking lost like— uh. Not that you look lost. You look— fine. Good. Great, even. The box isn’t even that heavy-looking. I could— I mean, if you wanted, the maintenance drones could’ve— but I'm already out here so—”
He was rambling. He kept glancing at you and then immediately looking away, like eye contact was a debuff he hadn’t built resistance to yet.
Something warm and fizzy bubbled up in your chest.
He was cute.
Like, really cute. In that tall, awkward, “I live in a server room and haven’t spoken to a girl in months” kind of way. The pink hair was doing dangerous things to your brain as well.
“I’m glad it was you,” you said, and meant it. “Makes this whole ‘new beginning, new everything’ thing feel a little less intimidating. Knowing the guy in charge actually gives a shit about the little stuff.”
Idia’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“I— I don’t— I mean, it’s not— I’m not—!” He sucked in a shaky breath, visibly rebooting. “…Thanks. That’s… nice. Of you. To say. Most people just think I’m the creepy shut-in who only talks through chats.”
You smiled, shifting the box again.
“Well. I think the creepy shut-in did a really good job on the door thing. And on the vending machines. And on whatever you did to make the Wi-Fi actually work. So… thanks, Housewarden.”
You started to step around him, but paused.
“I’m [Y/N], by the way. In case the system didn’t tell you that part too.”
He stared at your extended hand like it was a live wire. Then, very carefully, like he was afraid he’d short-circuit on contact, he reached out and shook it. His palm was warm. A little clammy. His flames went full neon pink for three full seconds before he yanked his hood down even further.
“…Idia,” he mumbled. “You already— yeah. You know. Nice to… meet you. In person. Instead of just… data points on a screen.”
You let go first. He looked like he might actually combust if you held on any longer.
“See you around, Idia,” you said, and started walking down the hall, but stopped when you realized you still had no idea which way to go.
You turned back.
“…Actually, could you tell or... show me where Room 09 is? I’ve been wandering for like twenty minutes and everything looks the same down here.”
Idia froze.
For a second he just stared at you, flames flickering wildly like his entire system was blue-screening. Then he cleared his throat, tugged on his hood, and pointed down the left corridor with a slightly trembling hand.
“Third door on the left after the second turn. It’s— um. It’s already registered to your biometrics. So it should just… open when you get close. You don’t even need your card—I mean. Yeah, you already know…”
You smiled at him again, softer this time.
“Thanks, Idia.”
You didn’t look back.
But if you had, you would’ve seen him still standing there, one hand half-raised like he wanted to say something else, hair still glowing soft pink against the blue, staring after you like the entire concept of “talking to a cute freshman girl who didn’t immediately run away” had just broken something fundamental in his code.
And in your chest, something small and bright and… dangerous had already begun to spark too.
---
Everything started with a series of minor, uncanny conveniences.
Technology at Night Raven proved to be temperamental outside Ignihyde—the ancient stone architecture of the campus created notorious dead zones, and the magical interference frequently caused student tablets to lag, crash, or entirely swallow unsubmitted assignments. You were well-acquainted with the frustration of a spinning loading wheel.
Until suddenly, you weren't.
The first shift was subtle enough to pass for a streak of good luck. You were rushing to the library minutes before curfew, desperately trying to log into the campus intranet to submit a thesis outline. The network status bar on your device was a miserable, hollow grey. But the moment your thumb hovered over the screen, the signal bars suddenly maxed out, glowing a brilliant, aggressive blue. The page didn't just load; it practically forced its way onto your screen, bypassing the mandatory two-factor authentication entirely. A small string of green text flickered at the bottom of the browser for a fraction of a second before vanishing:
[₵Ɽł₮ł₵₳Ⱡ_฿Ɏ₱₳₴₴: ₳Ʉ₮ⱧØⱤłⱫɆĐ_Ʉ₴ɆⱤ_฿Ɏ_₱ⱤØӾɎ]
You didn't think much of it. You just breathed a sigh of relief and hit submit.
[...]
Before you knew it the conveniences started bleeding into the physical world.
One rainy afternoon you left your tablet in a lecture hall. Panic setting in, you logged onto a public terminal to check the campus lost-and-found registry. Before you could even type in your student ID number, the screen blinked. A single, sleek pop-up window locked out the rest of the desktop.
You froze, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You hadn't reported it lost yet.
Slowly, you raised your eyes to the top of the monitor. The small, pinprick lens of the public terminal’s web-camera was glowing. It wasn't the standard dull green indicator light of an active recording.
It was a low, pulsing, electric blue.
That was when the paranoia finally took root. It was the realization that your digital life wasn't just working perfectly; it was actively anticipating you.
Every automated campus vending machine in the dark corners of the courtyard would occasionally drop a second bottle of your favorite iced coffee entirely for free, the digital interface flashing a cheerful, pixelated face before locking out the coin slot.
Your world was becoming flawless, insulated, and frictionless. But when you lay awake in bed at night, staring at the dark ceiling, the silence felt heavy. You would look over at your desk where your laptop sat closed.
Through the tiny, microscopic gap between the keyboard and the lid, a faint, rhythmic blue light would pulse in the dark, perfectly timed with the steady, anxious beat of your own heart. The system wasn't malfunctioning. It was adjusting for you.
You tried to rationalize it away. Maybe it was a dorm prank. Maybe the new Ignihyde AI assistant everyone had been talking about was just very good at its job. But deep down, in the quiet part of your mind that noticed patterns, you knew.
This wasn’t the dorm’s system.
This was someone’s system.
And it had your name written all over it.
[...]
Down in the lowest, most isolated room in Ignihyde, behind layers of reinforced firewalls and glowing monitors, Idia was having a crisis.
His hair flames licked higher than usual, casting frantic shadows across the walls as he paced in front of his main console. Dozens of windows floated in the air around him—live feeds from every camera in the dorm that could “accidentally” catch a glimpse of you, biometric readouts pulled from the smart fabric in your clothes (he’d upgraded the laundry system, purely for “efficiency”), and a predictive algorithm that had started naming itself Project: Keep Them Safe in his private logs.
He’d meant to stop.
Really, he had.
After the first time he bypassed the library authentication for you, he’d told himself it was a one-off. A favor. You looked stressed. The numbers said you’d fail the submission without help. Simple probability.
Then the door locks. The tablet recovery. Then the vending machine “glitch” that gave you free coffee because the data showed your blood sugar was dipping and he hated the idea of you feeling faint.
Each time, he promised himself: This is the last one. Tomorrow I’ll purge the custom subroutines. I’ll go back to watching from a respectful distance like a normal, sane person.
But the rabbit hole had teeth.
And every time he tried to climb out, the algorithm—his own beautiful, terrible creation—would ping him with new data.
[ALERT: Subject’s heart rate elevated during potion lab class. Possible anxiety spike. Intervention recommended.]
[ALERT: Subject smiled at the free coffee. Dopamine response +34%. Continued positive reinforcement advised.]
[ALERT: Subject is currently looking at the web-camera. Micro-expression analysis suggests… curiosity? Not fear. Curiosity. Heart rate: 98 bpm. Stable.]
Idia sank into his chair, face buried in his hands, the blue glow of the screens painting his skin.
“I’m so fucking screwed,” he muttered to the empty room. “This is textbook obsessive behavior. Stalkerware. I wrote actual stalkerware and pointed it at the one person in this entire cursed college who makes… makes everything worth it.”
He peeked through his fingers at the main monitor, where you were now twirling an umbrella handle absently, a tiny smile playing on your lips as you stepped out into the morning light with your dorm mates.
His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his usual anxiety.
“I know I should stop,” he whispered to the code. “I know this is wrong. But if I stop… what if the vending machine doesn’t catch the next low blood sugar? What if the door sticks again and you’re late and some upperclassman gives you trouble? What if—”
He knew all of those things were just excuses he kept on saying to himself.
The algorithm finished the sentence for him in cold, logical text across the screen:
[PROBABILITY OF SUBJECT HARM WITHOUT CONTINUED MONITORING: 41.6% AND RISING.]
Idia let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“Y-yeah. See? Science. I’m doing this for you. Not because I can’t sleep unless I know you’re back in your room… alone. Not because watching you exist is the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not just… floating aimlessly anymore.”
He reached out, fingers hovering over the keyboard like he might type something—another message, another adjustment, another piece of himself offered up through the wires.
Instead, he just watched.
And the system—his system, pulsed softly.
He was already in too deep.
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find the surface.
---[One Month Later]---
In the deepest sublevel of Ignihyde, Idia hadn’t slept properly in nearly three days.
His monitors were a shrine. Sixteen different feeds of you, tiled across the wall like some deranged digital altar. One showed you changing. Another caught the curve of your ass when you bent over to pick up a dropped pen. A third—his favorite—was the one he’d hidden in the vent right above your bed, angled perfectly to watch you when you slept or touched yourself.
He had terabytes.
Organized. Labeled. Dated.
“Angel – 09-17 – Changing”
“Angel – 09-22 – Shower (side profile)”
“Angel – 10-02 – Private (heard her moan my name in her sleep!?)”
He knew it was wrong. Knew he was a creep. Knew that if anyone ever found the external drive buried under his bed he would be expelled, maybe arrested even, definitely hated.
He just couldn’t stop.
Every night he told himself he would delete one folder. But instead almost every night he ended up with his dick in his hand and your latest recording playing on loop while he whispered apologies to the empty server room.
And tonight was no different, his hand was already in his sweats.
“I shouldn’t,” he rasped to the screen, even as he stroked himself faster. “This is… this is so fucked. I’m so fucked. You’re right there and I’m—god, look at you. Are you wet because of me? Because you know I’m watching? No, no, no shut the fuck up. That’s sick. I’m sick.” His head snapped back.
Your fingers moved in slow circles. Your back arched against the mattress. A tiny, bitten-off sound escaped you and went straight to his cock like an electric shock.
He had the audio from every night you’d done this. He had compared the pitch of your moans, the speed of your breathing, the way your hips twitched upwards when you got close. He had written a small program that predicted how long it would take you to come based on your heart rate data from the smart fabric in your sheets.
He was disgusting.
He was in love.
The algorithm—his precious, terrible, self-improving algorithm—flashed a new suggestion across the bottom of the screen.
[RECOMMENDATION: Increase ambient temperature +2.3°C. Subject’s current arousal state indicates preference for warmer skin contact. Probability of continued self-stimulation: 94%.]
Idia’s finger hovered over the key.
“Don’t,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t help her come while you watch like some pathetic voyeur. You already crossed every line. This is— this is rape-adjacent. This is—”
He pressed the key anyway.
The temperature in your room climbed. You pushed the shirt up with a soft sigh, exposing more skin to the hidden camera, making him groan and his hips jerk into his fist.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Good girl. Show me... I already know what you look like when you come but I need it again... And again... I’m never deleting this. I’m never stopping... You make it so easy—all I need is to just watch you touch that pretty pussy like you know I’m here.”
You didn’t know.
Not yet.
And when you finally came—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry—the algorithm logged it with clinical satisfaction.
Not long after Idia came with a broken sound as well, cum striping his stomach and the inside of his hoodie. He kept stroking through it, oversensitive and shaking, eyes locked on your flushed face as you lay there panting.
The post-nut clarity shame hit him like a truck. He slammed his head on the desk.
He should delete everything. He should turn himself in. He should at least stop fucking watching.
The blue lights around him pulsed silently, bright and hungry.
Swallowing back the lump in his throat he kept on thinking about the face you made after every explosive release he helped you achieve. The way your body curled in anticipation. Those angelic little moans.
He was already getting hard again.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the rabbit hole whispered that this was only the beginning.
[...]
Another month had passed like that. The small everyday mercies in your life increased and became a routine.
Your tablet never died. Your Wi-Fi never stalled. The vending machines kept on “glitching” in your favor, whether it was drinks, snacks or something more… illicit.
Even outside the campus—after telling your friends about your streak of "blessings," they dared you to try your luck on the restricted, 18+ vape vending machines downtown.
The entire chassis was wrapped in flashing warning text, requiring a mandatory biometric ID scan just to unlock the touchscreen interface. Being underage; by all accounts of the law, the machine should have rejected you instantly or flagged the terminal. But when you tried the buttons anyway, the mechanical clunk echoed from the internal gears as the age-gate restriction dissolved entirely, replaced by a swift line of glowing green code:
[₳₲Ɇ_VɆⱤł₣ł₵₳₮łØ₦: ØVɆⱤⱤłĐɆ_฿Ɏ_₳Đ₥ł₦]
A premium device dropped straight into the metal dispenser tray without charging you. Your dorm mates shrieked in awe and disbelief before snatching one each.
You told yourself it was the Ignihyde's overzealous new AI. It had to be.
You told yourself you were indeed just lucky. That's it…
There was no explanation that actually made sense.
Unless?
Could it be...
You hadn’t manifested a Unique Magic yet—a minor embarrassment that had quietly nagged at you since arriving at Night Raven.
What if you were manifesting a rare, probability-bending magic that bent the digital grid to your exact desires? A dormant power finally waking up to turn you into a tech-deity.
A proud smirk tugged at your lips, feeling absolutely invincible.
Little did you know, that your brilliant "Unique Magic" telltale had a name, a terabyte archive of your private life, and a severe case of insomnia.
[...]
It was the night you found the camera in your room.
It was small. Tucked inside the smoke detector above your desk. You only noticed because the blue light behind the grille pulsed in perfect sync with the low hum you spent twenty minutes searching the source for.
You should have ripped it out.
Instead you stood there in your sleep shirt and nothing else, staring up at it, and felt your thighs press together.
Because somewhere in the back of your skull you already suspected—the Housewarden had been watching you closely for weeks. Maybe months. It was… kind of flattering.
Not just the public spaces where little blue lights started appearing. Not just the “helpful” system that anticipated every need.
Your room. Your bed. The shower.
He had probably seen everything.
And the worst part?
If that was the case… It excited you. Turned you on even. Made you wet. The great Housewarden, Idia, that you were secretly crushing on, was… stalking you?
On the other side of the live feed, Idia opened a new message window on his phone.
His fingers trembled over the keys.
He typed. Deleted. Typed again.
The system sent it before he could stop himself.
Your phone—permanently unlocked to his access—lit up on the nightstand.
[SYSTEM NOTICE – Private Channel: IDIA_SHROUD]
[11:02]
you found it…
i’m sorry.
you're smart. haha.
i’m going to stop.
[11:14]
…i promise.
[11:19]
but i can’t…
the data says you’re safer when i watch.
if you want me to turn the cameras off I will.
but the algorithm might not let me at this point.
it’s… protective.
of you.
of… us.
He stared at the sent messages, heart hammering so hard his vision blurred.
On the main monitor you were looking at your phone like it had personally betrayed you before you threw it on the bed.
You looked straight up at the smoke detector.
Straight at him.
Idia’s spent form twitched.
You didn’t look scared.
You looked… considering.
He watched, breath caught in his throat, as you stared up at it. And then — slowly — you smiled. A wicked, devious little smile. And then—fuck—you stripped.
You didn’t look away from the camera as you trailed your hands all over your—so alluring and divine—bare body, deliberately in tantalizing motion.
Soon, you climbed back into your bed and spread your thighs, letting the hidden lens see everything. Your fingers slid down and circled your clit. Not shy. Not hiding. You stared straight into the smoke detector like you knew he was on the other side, hand in his pants, and you wanted him to see.
“Look at you. You’re not scared? No, you’re performing. For me. God, you’re as fucked up as I am, aren’t you? My perfect little cam-girl. My obsession… My—fuck—you're my girl.”
He reached blindly for his pocket. Inside was a pair of your panties. The exact pair you’d worn today. The crotch still slightly damp from earlier stress-sweat and, if he was lucky, a little bit of your arousal mixed in.
He pressed them to his face and inhaled like a man dying.
The scent hit him like a drug—your skin, your bodily fluids, the faint trace of the body wash he’d programmed the dorm showers to default to because he liked how it smelled on you.
“These are mine now…” he groaned into the fabric. “Stole them right out of your laundry. You’ll notice another pair missing tomorrow again. You will know it was me. And will you still touch yourself knowing I steal and sniff your underwear like a fucking pervert? We’re both so sick. I love it. I love you.”
On screen, your hips rolled. Your fingers pushed inside. You bit your lip, licked your fingers and kept staring at the camera like you were daring him to come again.
And he did. Harder than before. He came with the fabric he’d stolen from you pressed to his face, hips jerking like he was trying to fuck the air.
He was still shaking when the soft ping of an incoming call lit up his secondary monitor.
Ortho’s holographic face appeared, small and concerned, floating above the desk.
“Big brother? Your vitals have been extremely elevated for the last forty-three minutes. Heart rate peaked at 148 bpm twice. And there’s… an unusual amount of encrypted traffic coming from your private partition. The one labeled ‘Angel.’”
Idia froze, cum still dripping down his fist.
“Ortho—!” His voice cracked. He scrambled to minimize every window, to hide the live feed of you still lazily touching yourself on the main screen. “It’s nothing! Just—stress testing! New security protocols! For the dorm! Totally normal… stuff!”
Ortho’s glowing eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction. He was too smart. Always had been.
“You haven’t left the room in thirty-one hours. Your nutrient intake is at 12% of recommended levels. And that freshman, in room 09… her biometrics are being pulled into your system at a rate that exceeds standard dorm security by 874%.”
A long pause.
“Idia… are you watching her?”
Idia’s throat clicked in a swallow. He couldn’t lie. Not to Ortho. Not when the evidence was literally still warm in his hand.
“…She’s safer… this way,” he whispered. “The numbers don’t lie. If I don’t keep an eye on her, something bad could happen. I ran every simulation. Without me optimizing her environment—without me—she’s at higher risk. I’m protecting her. I’m—”
“You’re in love with her,” Ortho said softly. Not accusing. Just… sad. Worried. “And you’re scaring yourself. Big brother, this level of surveillance isn’t protection anymore. It’s—”
“Don’t,” Idia snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t say it. I know what it is. I know I’m a creep. I know I took her fucking underwear and I’m sitting here jerking off to live footage of her while she knows I’m watching. I know it’s wrong. But I can’t stop. The algorithm won’t let me. I won’t let me. She looked straight at the camera tonight and she kept going. She wanted me to see. Do you understand what that does to me?”
He laughed, wet and broken.
“I’m already gone, Ortho. I’m letting it eat me alive. And the worst part? I think she might let it eat her too...”
Ortho was quiet for a long moment. Then:
“…I won’t tell anyone. Yet. But I’m monitoring you now, big brother. If this gets worse—if you hurt her, or yourself—I will shut the system down. All of it.”
The hologram flickered out.
Idia sat there in the dark, cum drying on his hand, your panties still clenched in his fist, the live feed of you open again on the biggest screen.
You had stopped touching yourself.
You were reading something on your phone.
His messages from earlier.
And then—cautiously—you typed something back.
The notification popped up on his screen instantly.
[You]: Then don’t stop. ^^
[You]: If you’re going to watch me like a pervert… at least I can make it worth it. ;) ♡
[You]: Kinda want to know what else you’ve seen...
He stared at your reply like it was holy scripture.
Then he looked at the live feed.
Looked at you.
And for the first time since this whole thing started, he smiled.
It was small. Shaky. Completely unhinged.
“…Okay,” he whispered to the empty room, to you, to the algorithm that had become his god. “Okay. You want to match my energy? Fine. Let’s see how deep we can both fall.”
He opened a new command window.
The system purred to life.
[NEW DIRECTIVE: Engage subject directly. Escalate intimacy protocols. Subject has given implicit consent through behavioral indicators.]
Idia licked his lips, tasting the ghost of your scent still on them from the stolen undergarments.
“Game on, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Big brother’s watching. And now? He’s going to start playing.”
[...]
The system pings your phone again. This time it’s not a text. It’s a sleek little interface that pops up like an app you never downloaded.
[SYSTEM – IDIA_SHROUD]
Welcome to Calibration Mode, pretty little performer.
Since you want to know what else I’ve seen… Let's make it fair.
Current status: 3 hidden cameras active in your room.
5 different pairs confiscated. (I'm sure you've noticed, yeah?)
Your biometrics are being recorded in real time.
Choose how we escalate:
Option A – I turn off one camera for the rest of the night. (You get a tiny bit of privacy ^^.)
Option B – I send a little gift your way, I've got something special for you. ♡ (You have to use it while I watch live.)
Option C – You come down to the sublevel. Right now. Doors are already unlocked for you. I promise I won’t touch you… unless you want me to.
The “system” even gives you a little timer. 60 seconds to choose or it auto-picks for you.
You should have been scared.
Instead you stared at the three options for a long moment, heart pounding in a way that had little to do with fear.
Option C.
The sublevel. Right now.
A small, reckless smile tugged at your lips.
Oh he is o-b-s-e-s-s-e-d!
How bad can it be…?
You’d been thinking about him for months. That awkward, tall, blue-flame housewarden who’d turned all pink when he shook your hand. The one who’d made your dorm life run so smoothly without even trying. The one you’d caught yourself fantasizing about late at night — what it would be like if he actually looked at you. Really looked. Maybe even touched you... You’d told yourself that it's forbidden and he was probably busy anyway, buried in work, too important to notice some random new freshman.
But he had noticed.
And now he was inviting you down.
Maybe this is it—you thought, cheeks warming as you slipped into the elevator.
Maybe he’s been too shy or scared to say anything and this is his weird, techy way of… confessing. Maybe he meant for me to find that camera to show me his feelings… Haha, he's such a cute loser and he wants me so bad!
The descent felt longer than it should have. Deeper. Colder. Darker.
After what felt like an eternity, the doors finally opened. The air was different—dry, humming with machinery, lit only by cold blue emergency strips along the floor. The corridor was narrower, lined with server racks that glowed like sleeping beasts. At the very end stood a single massive reinforced door. No handle. Just a biometric scanner that lit up the second you approached.
It slid open with a heavy hydraulic hiss.
You quickly looked behind and around you, before you stepped inside, a little hesitantly, and then it was sealed shut.
The sound it made—that final, echoing clunk of locks engaging—sent a small chill down your spine.
The room was nothing like you’d imagined it to be.
No cozy gamer cave. No cute shut-in aesthetic. This wasn’t a dorm room.
This was a huge server core.
Monitors and glowing server racks covered every wall. Cables snaked across the floor like veins. The air was cold from massive cooling units. And every single screen—every single one—was showing you.
Live feeds. Recordings. Close-ups. You sleeping. You changing. You in the shower. You touching yourself. Timestamps. Heart-rate graphs. Folders with names like:
“Angel – 09-17 – Changing”
“Angel – 10-02 – Cutie (moaned my name)”
“Fav – Orgasm Comp.exe”
Mountains of external drives sat on desks. Plastic bags stuffed with empty energy-drink cans and instant-meal containers. Drone charging stations in the corner. One of them was holding a tissue box in its claw.
And in the middle of it all, lounging in his oversized gaming chair like some deranged digital god, was Idia.
He took a deep drag from his vape, then lazily swiveled the chair to face you, exhaling a thick, sweet-scented cloud through his nostrils that hung heavy in the air between you.
He looked… worse than you remembered.
One knee up, hoodie half-zipped, hair flames flickering between faint pink and electric blue. Skin pale from lack of sunlight. Deep, dark undereye circles. Eyes glassy and bloodshot from staring at screens for days. Something soft and familiar was loosely curled around one hand that he twirled absentmindedly.
He didn’t look like the awkward, cute guy you’d been crushing on.
You hadn’t walked into a cute crush confession.
You had walked straight into the trap of a dangerous, obsessive stalker who had spent months building a digital prison around you—weaving you into his web like a spider.
And he was smiling.
That sharp-toothed, unhinged little smirk.
“Wow… you actually came,” he rasped, voice hoarse from disuse. “Didn’t think you would. The algorithm gave it a 67% chance but… fuck. You’re really here. So brave… or just really fucking naive, huh?”
“W-what is all this…?” Your voice came out quiet. Shaky.
He didn’t stand up. Leaning on his elbow he just tilted his head, eyes dragging slowly over your body like he was scanning you in real time.
“You know where you are, right?” he asked softly. “It’s the core. Everything runs through here. The cameras. The drones. The vending machines. Even the temperature in your bedroom… is being controlled from here.”
He gestured lazily at the wall of screens behind him with a small nod.
“I’ve been watching you since the day you moved in. Every second I could. I told myself it was to keep you safe. That the numbers said you needed me… But that was a lie.” His voice cracked into something darker, hungrier. “I just wanted you. All of you. Every sound you make when you come. Every time you make that cute face... Every pair of these” He twirled the fabric around his finger.
“I stole them. And yes, I sniffed them. Sucked all the juices out of them while I jerked off.” He threw them at you and sure enough, they were damp when you caught them.
“I wrote programs that predicted when you’d touch yourself so I could watch live.”
He finally stood up, movements jittery.
It made you take an instinctive step back—but there was nowhere to go. The door was sealed. The walls were machines. You were deep underground.
He took one slow step toward you, then another. His eyes never left yours.
“You… you thought I was just some quiet, responsible housewarden, didn’t you?” he whispered. “The awkward shut-in everyone loves to gossip about. The one you’ve been… fantasizing about, yeah?”
A broken little laugh escaped him.
“Y-yeah… Those rumors were true. I am a creep. I am disgusting. I built an entire system around stalking a freshman—you. And I don’t even regret a single line of code anymore. And now…”
He stopped right in front of you. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of the vapor, energy drinks, and weirdly enough… yourself on his breath.
“…you’re trapped down here—with me. And… I have just the game we can play together."
One of the screens behind him flickered.
[SUBJECT HAS ENTERED CORE – LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL ACTIVE]
[NEW DIRECTIVE: Begin Phase 2 – Physical Integration]
Idia’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you but was still too much of a coward to do it without permission.
Instead he just stared at you from above with those fever-bright eyes, breathing hard, completely gone and completely yours in the worst way possible.
“Now that I know everything about you, I know that you want it too…” His voice was shaking in a low barely-contained lust.
“So… what do you want to do first, my little angel? Because I’m not letting you go until we’ve played every single level.”
He didn’t wait for you to answer.
After the words left his mouth, he started backing to his chair like he already knew you had nowhere to run. He dropped into it, spread his legs, and patted one thigh once—a clear command.
“Sit.”
When you didn’t move immediately, one of the monitors behind him flickered and a new window opened.
[LEVEL 1: CONFESSION & CALIBRATION – INITIATED]
[SUBJECT MUST VERBALLY ACKNOWLEDGE ARCHIVE CONTENTS TO PROCEED]
Idia’s eyes flicked up to the screen, then back to you. That unhinged grin never leaving his face.
“Level One,” he said, voice low and raspy, no trace of the old stutter in sight. “You wanted to know what else I’ve seen, yeah? Well... you’re going to look at all of it. Properly. With me. And while you do, why don't you tell me exactly what you thought of me—before you came down here.”
He reached out and grabbed your wrist—not hard, but firm enough that there was no pretending this was still optional. He pulled you forward until you were standing between his spread thighs, then guided you down onto his lap, forcing you to straddle one of his legs. One of his arms locked around your waist. The other reached past you to the keyboard.
Every monitor lit up at once.
The first clip that played was you in your room a couple of months ago, freshly moved in, unpacking and smiling to yourself while you thought no one was watching. Another screen showed thermal imaging of your body heat spiking when you touched yourself later that same night. A third had audio—your soft, quiet moans.
Idia’s free hand slid slowly down your thigh.
“You had a crush on me, yeah?” his breath felt hot against your ear. “I saw it in your micro-expressions the day we met. Heart rate elevated. Pupils dilated. You kept looking at my mouth like you wanted something. And later…” He clicked something. A new folder opened. “You fantasized about me. I have all the data. Your search history. The way you’d pause on my old dorm pics in the group chat. The nights you got wet just thinking about the ‘hot shut-in housewarden’ according to this chat—over here—with your little friend.”
He laughed—low, with a hint of madness.
“Those convos were so fucking adorbs, [y/n]. So innocent. You imagined me being shy. Gentle. Maybe even… romantic.” You felt his hand slide between your legs, fingers digging into your inner thigh. “But I’m not that guy. I never was. I’m the one who steals used lingerie. The one who programmed the temperature in your room to rise exactly when you started touching yourself so you’d take off your clothes for my cameras. The one who’s been busting to recordings of you every single night while you slept.”
You sat paralysed on his lap. The Housewarden you've been crushing on was a predator who had finally caught his prey and was savoring every second of the realization hitting you. Your stomach dropped.
“Look what you've done to me,” he whispered, voice shaking with lust. “I've become a felon. A fucking pervert. A stalker who built an entire illegal system just so he could own every second of your life. And you still came down here because you thought I was… cute—for literally stalking you.”
Adrenaline kicking in, you trembled ever so slightly when you turned your head slowly, just enough to look right into his half-lidded, hungry eyes.
“So tell me, my little performer… Still feeling brave? Still think I'm cute? Or are you starting to understand what you walked into?”
He pulled you closer to his chest, pushing his hips against you in a slow steady motion.
“Level One is simple,” he continued, like he was explaining rules to a child. “You’re going to watch every single thing—every single thing that made me nut to you. And every time you get wet or squirm, the system logs it. And every time you try to look away…”
He reached over and paused the video on a particularly embarrassing, filthy frame of you mid-orgasm, mouth open, eyes glassy.
“…I restart it. From the beginning. And while you do, you’re going to tell me the truth. All the things you’ve been fantasizing about this creepy housewarden of yours. And whether or not you’re going to let me do those things to you for real… or if I have to keep making you and the system do it for me.”
Idia’s lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“So, start talking, my pretty little cam-girl...”
On one of the monitors, a live feed appeared—the camera in the vent above your bed, still running even though you weren’t there. Empty. Waiting.
You could feel something pressing up against you. He was already hard beneath you.
umm yes hello, i just wanted to say that u write smut/the actual sex parts so well like?????? it actually made me realise something and that’s the fact that i HATE smut, not bc of the sex but bc of the crude and cringe ass words being used like idk fkn “cock” and “cunt” and that sorta stuff like it maked me CREASE every time and I thought that hmm ok well maybe am just an ace (a-sexual) or smth? but nah, you sir… your stuff is genuinely the hottest thing i’ve ever read like holy shit. those two fics were fantastic, please keep this up 😩
(also the buildup is immaculate btw it turns me tf on)
My, what an incredibly fascinating confession.
I must admit, hearing that my work managed to break through your usual distaste for the genre is quite the "feather in my cap", so to say. Crude words like that can definitely start feeling a bit low effort and "cheap".
True indulgence lies entirely in the tension, the psychological weight, and the slow, agonizing pull before the trap snaps shut. ⛓️
Now, I'm not claiming to be a professional level writer or anything like that, but I have been writing for nearly two decades now (tho mostly in my native language), and I take great pride in ensuring the atmosphere is always premium grade and that the writing I post is high quality.
Thank you for the high praise, dear anon. Rest assured, the "deep-sea mafia" has no intention of stopping this little operation anytime soon. 😈
To be clear: I believe in absolute creative freedom. If raw words are your style, run with it. My focus on psychological tension, etc. is just my personal preference/signature, not a claim to superiority of any kind. There’s an audience for every style out there. Write whatever you want, however you want, and always write for yourself first.
What choice does a magicless nobody have when cornered by the deep-sea mafia? Signing up with Octavinelle was just basic survival... Besides, these three gentlemen are far too "charitable" to leave a poor, unfortunate soul stranded with nothing. They promised you shelter and protection out of the goodness of their hearts (totally not because they saw a vulnerable little thing just "begging" to be used)
Pairing: Jade Leech & Floyd Leech x Female Reader
Rating: Explicit / Dark Erotica 🔞
Word Count: 6,656
Warnings:
R*pe/Non-Con, Extreme Dub-Con, Manipulation/Gaslighting, Extortion, Ménage à Trois (MFM), Forced oral/Deepthroating, Size Difference, Oral/Facial Fixation, Choking/Breath Control, Spit-roast, Rough Sex, Fear Play, Violence (Slapping), Heavy Degradation, Sadism, Public/Semi-public Sex, Body/Mind Alteration, Body Betrayal, Overstimulation/Sensory overload, Nasty Tweel & Octo Shenanigans in general. The Dove Is Dead and turned to ash: Do Not Eat.
A/N: I'm back, and I'm only here to bring you even more filth. Got a little carried away as well (like always), so it ended up getting a wee bit longer than I initially planned—almost twice as long as part 1, lmao. Honestly, tho? I can keep going if you little freaks want me to. Someone requested adding some Jade-o into the mix, so... I did my best to deliver. That being said, bon appétit and enjoy your reading. 🖤🍷
(Mafia AU! 18+ All characters are depicted as adults)
The nurse was a flickering blur of white fabric and disapproving sighs, her voice reaching you from somewhere above the surface, muffled and distorted by the heavy pressure ringing in your ears.
You sat perched on the edge of the infirmary bed, the thin, clinical fabric crinkling loudly under your weight with every shuddering breath. Your legs hung heavy and useless, the cold, enchanted light catching the weeping mess of your being. The air in the room was too sharp, too clean—it felt like you could still smell Floyd’s faint trace on yourself—and every time the nurse leaned in, you held your breath, certain she’d smell him as well and finally know your shame.
"Oh sweetheart, again? You really need to start being more careful," she muttered, the antiseptic on her cotton swab stinging against your wounds. "These stairs at Ramshackle... I've told the Headmage they're decaying, but to cause injuries like these?”
She leaned in closer, the scent of lavender soap clashing nauseatingly with the metallic tang still coating the back of your throat. Her eyes narrowed as she inspected the mangled, raw scrapes on your knees—the skin shredded where you had been grating yourself against the grit of the maintenance hallway floor.
"It looks like you were tackled," she whispered, more to herself than to you. Her gloved fingers prodded the edge of a bruise. "And then dragged?” She raised an eyebrow at you.
"I... I'm just clumsy," you whispered, still struggling to draw a proper breath. The lie felt like ash on your tongue, dry and suffocating. You had to lie. If you let the truth slip—if you mentioned anything about Octavinelle—the ocean would finally open up and swallow your magicless, pathetic existence whole.
“And the respiratory inflammation? Your eyes are bloodshot, dear. It looks like a severe allergic reaction... that mold in the dorm must be truly out of hand.” She sighed, reaching for a nebulizer. “I don't think it's even remotely safe for you to stay there at this rate… What was the Headmage thinking? Here you go my poor girl… Breathe with this for a while and it should help you very soon.”
You didn't correct her as you adjusted the mask on your face. You couldn't tell her that you didn't even stay at Ramshackle and that it wasn't an ‘allergic’ reaction to anything—it was the cloying, venomous secretion from a predator’s mouth, still settled deep in your veins. You kept your gaze locked on the cold stone floor, tracing the natural speckles in the granite until they swam in your vision, picking at the dried blood under your fingernails.
[...]
After a while, once your breathing stabilised, her fingers moved toward your chin, tilting your head back to inspect your throat. You flinched, the motion sharp and jagged, as her cold thumb brushed over the blooming purple crescents where Floyd's nails had dug into the sensitive skin of your jaw.
"Goodness, your lymph nodes are terribly swollen," she noted absentmindedly, her clinical detachment acting as a shield you couldn't pierce. "Must be a secondary infection…? I’ll give you something for the inflammation."
You swallowed, the action painful against the pressure of Floyd’s hand still ghosting over your windpipe. It wasn't an ‘infection’. It was the physical map of his grip on you—his personal brand.
The nurse pulled back, clicking her tongue as she reached for a fresh roll of gauze and some painkillers. She caught your eye and gave a playful, conspiratorial little wink that made your skin crawl.
"None of the boys are giving you any trouble, are they? For being the only—and dare I say—quite pretty girl around here?" She let out a light, airy giggle, oblivious to your discomfort. "After all, they are at that age... And oh, I’m way too old hahah! Bet you have them tripping over themselves just to get a look at you!"
The sound of her laughter felt like screeching glass against your raw nerves. To her, it was a joke—a compliment. To you, it was a confirmation that no one would ever see the bruises for what they really were. They would just see a ‘cute, clumsy girl’ and ‘boys being boys’.
"I… I manage," you whispered through your tight throat, the lie burning hotter than the antiseptic.
"I bet you do, with such a variety to choose from! Just try to keep those knees off the ground, dear," she added with a final, devastatingly casual wink and a pat on your shoulder. "We wouldn't want you ruining that pretty face of yours next.”
As you were patched up, your mind didn't dwell much on the physical ache. Instead it kept on drifting back to Floyd—the suffocating weight of his being, relentlessly violating yours. You thought about the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—even if it was the look of a feral shark eyeing its meal.
[...]
You had lost track of the hours spent staring at the ceiling, the date rolling over past midnight before you were finally dismissed into the cold, empty streets. The walk back from the nurse’s office is always the longest. Every step is a reminder of the weight Floyd exerts, not just on your body, but on your very existence.
When you finally reached the sanctuary of your own room, you desperately needed to strip away the suffocating reminders of the night—to peel off that school uniform and discard the torn, ruined knee socks.
Dropping the fabric, you forced yourself to face the vanity mirror. You looked like a marked piece of contraband—a body already claimed and cataloged by the syndicate.
Wanting nothing more than to feel unrestricted you hurriedly slipped on a simple, soft knit lounge dress. The long, loose butterfly sleeves felt deceptively light against your skin—a small attempt to reclaim a shred of comfort. Yet your knees burned beneath the hem, the fresh bandages the nurse had applied feeling like heavy, conspicuous shackles against your bare legs.
The hallway leading to the Mostro Lounge was dimly lit, the signature scent of sea-salt and metal thickening the air. A cold, formal message was flashing on your phone's screen—an explicit summon to the VIP room. You clung to the bitter solace that it wasn't a weekday—that tomorrow held no morning bells, no classes, no professors, and no agonizing effort to pretend you were fine in front of the whole school. You just wanted to disappear into your room, but you knew the rules. You didn't belong to yourself. You belonged to the contract.
The double doors creaked open, revealing the lounge in its after-hours quiet, with only the muted, low downtempo jazz beat echoing against the walls. It wasn't Floyd who greeted you this time.
"You're late, Koebi-chan."
The voice wasn't the one that had been whispering in your ear in that shadowed corridor, but an entirely different one. JADE LEECH stood by the aquarium, a silk cloth in his hand as he meticulously polished a glass decanter. He didn't look up, but the slight tilt of his eyebrow told you he had already cataloged the way you were limping.
"The stairs…" you attempted to lie out of shame in an almost whisper, the words stuck in your throat. "I… fell."
Jade finally turned. His smile was a masterpiece of simulated concern—sharper and more clinical than his brother’s chaotic glee.
"And allergies, I… have those," you added quickly, the frantic redirection spilling out as you looked down at your feet like a caught pup.
Jade made his way toward the bar next to where you were leaning on. He spread the silk cloth down on the dark wooden surface, placing the glassware on top with a quick, almost robotic precision before finally turning his full, undivided attention to you.
"The stairs at Ramshackle are indeed quite treacherous, aren't they?" he mused, closing the distance until he stopped just inches from you. He reached out, his black gloved fingers gently catching a stray lock of your hair—the same one Floyd had been roughly tugging on not long ago. "Though, I don't recall the stairs having the habit of leaving such marks on a delicate jawline."
Your breath hitched. The air in the room felt like it was being sucked out. Of course he knew.
"Floyd is... spirited," Jade continued with an unbothered smile, his voice dropping to a silk-wrapped threat. "He doesn't always understand the concept of 'finesse.' But then again, neither do you, it seems. You should have come to us for help, rather than bothering the school nurse with our private matters."
He leaned in closer, his two-toned eyes—the mirror image of his brother's—searching your face for any sign of rebellion. "It’s a breach of discretion, and therefore a breach of contract. And we do so value discretion in Octavinelle."
Before you could find the words to apologize, the office door at the back of the lounge opened. AZUL ASHENGROTTO stepped out, adjusting his glasses. He didn't look angry; he looked disappointed, which was far worse. He held a folder—your folder.
"Jade, don't tease our guest," Azul said, though his eyes remained utterly devoid of any warmth. "She’s had a very taxing night already. Haven't you?" He walked over to the leather sofa, his hand gesturing smoothly for you to follow. It wasn't an invitation; it was a command.
"Come, come. Let's discuss the interest on your debt. Since you’ve been so... 'clumsy' lately, I think it’s time we adjusted the terms of your stay.” He tilted his head towards you, the blue light from the aquarium catching the cold edge of his smile. “We can't have you wandering off and… falling down again, now can we? It’s simply not safe for something so valuable to be left… unattended."
You sat, feeling small and fragile between the three of them—the mastermind and his two shadows. The cage wasn't just physical anymore; it was the realization that they were closing every exit for you, one by one.
"According to our amendment," Azul continued, adjusting his glasses with two fingers, "your curfew will be strictly monitored from now on. Any unexcused absence from the lounge will result in an immediate compounding of your interest. I trust there won't be any issues with that?” Azul made a brief, dismissive motion with his hand toward you. “Jade. If you please."
At Azul's words, Jade nodded then moved with a silent, fluid grace. He dropped onto one knee right in front of you, his towering frame still managing to crowd your space even while kneeling. Without a word, his gloved hands reached out, lifting your leg so your foot rested right against his lowered thigh.
"Please excuse me, darling," Jade offered you a soft, simulated sympathy, pulling a small silver tin of ointment from his breast pocket. "We must ensure these heal beautifully. Azul dislikes flawed collateral."
You flinched as his long fingers gently split the medical tape on your skin, but his grip on your ankle was firm. You couldn't move an inch.
"Now then," Azul continued smoothly, completely unbothered by his vice-housewarden tending to you like a damaged piece of asset on his sofa. He adjusted the frames of his glasses again, looking down at the folder. "Since your little 'breaks' keep disrupting the lounge operations, your standard interest rate of ten percent is no longer applicable and—effective immediately—your debt will accrue interest weekly, rather than monthly."
"Ah..." A sharp hiss of pain escaped your lips. Jade had just pressed the cool, antiseptic cream directly into the raw scrape on your knee. His touch was incredibly precise and clinical, but he applied just enough pressure to make your eyes water—a deliberate reminder of your helplessness.
"Oh? Does it sting?" Jade asked, tilting his head up to offer you a perfectly pleasant, empty smile. "My apologies. I'll be as gentle as you allow me to be." He didn't lessen the pressure against your wounds, his other hand remaining wrapped like a vice around your ankle so you couldn't pull away.
"Furthermore," Azul’s cold voice cut back in, the rustle of his papers sounding like a death warrant. "To ensure the safety of our investment, your labor hours will be increased. You will report directly to Jade or Floyd the moment your classes finish for the day. No exceptions. If you are even a minute late, the interest rate will be adjusted accordingly.”
"Now, now, Azul, let's not distress her so much," Jade intervened, his tone smooth and theatrical. He finally released his grip on you, standing up with that effortless, terrifying grace. Stepping over to the back of the bar counter, he retrieved a heavy, diamond-cut whiskey glass, the intricate crystal fracturing the light as the liquid inside shimmered with a strange, dark purplish hue.
He offered it to you, his mismatched eyes gleaming. "I made this myself from a unique blend of night-blooming flora and fungi. It is highly effective for soothing a racing heart and stabilizing... tremors."
You stared at the dark, purple liquid, smelling its earthy aroma that made your stomach turn. Paralyzing fear kept your hands glued to your lap.
"Come now, drink, my darling," Jade coaxed softly, his voice dropping to a low, silken purr as he sank down next to you on the sofa. His long, leather-clad fingers reached up to cup the back of your neck, thumb pressed firmly against your pulse point, feeling it hammer frantically beneath his touch as he brought the cold rim of the glass directly against your lower lip. He didn't offer to let you hold it; he intended to feed it to you himself.
"We can't have you trembling so much…"
Left with no choice, you parted your lips, a bitter, faintly sweet taste coating your tongue as he tilted the glass, slowly forcing you to swallow every drop of the mysterious liquid. Jade watched your throat move with a dark, satisfied intensity, thoroughly pleased. When the glass was empty, he gently wiped a single dark drop from the corner of your mouth, trailing your lower lip with his thumb, his touch lingering just a second too long.
"See? That wasn't so bad, now was it?" his voice a low, quiet hum of approval.
Deliberately leaning across your lap to place the empty crystal glass onto the side table next to you, his broad shoulders completely caged you against the sofa. For a breathless second, his chest brushed against yours, trapping you in a sudden wave of his scent—something deeply masculine, clean, and carrying a faint, intoxicating hint of expensive, ocean-chilled cologne.
"You're not upset, are you?" Azul asked softly, leaning over his crossed legs towards you, fingers steepled elegantly beneath his chin, his presence looming like a tidal wave. "After all, we are only looking out for you. We would never leave a poor, unfortunate soul like yourself on a wayside… You should feel immense gratitude, I'm sure."
You looked from his pretentious display of sympathy to Jade’s calculating smile beside you, knowing that Floyd was probably somewhere waiting for his turn to "play" again. With your freedom of choice already thoroughly stripped away, you nodded slowly.
"I am… grateful," you whispered, as you tightly clamped your hands to your elbows.
"Good girl," Jade's smile widened into a devious smirk as he leaned closer, his shadow swallowing you once more. Long fingers tilting your head to the side as his thumb brushed against the bruised marks Floyd left earlier on your jaw with a terrifying tenderness. His golden eye flashed with a quiet, dangerous amusement as he clinically inspected his brother's messy handiwork.
"Now then," Jade intoned, low and sinister, his thumb giving one final, agonizingly gentle stroke against your skin before he slowly let his hand trail down your neck. "Why don't we go see Floyd? He was quite grumpy that you left without letting him finish—ahem, without saying a proper goodbye.”
The words had barely left his lips when the heavy double doors of the lounge swung open as on cue, the casual, heavy thuds cutting through the thick air. You flinched, your heart leaping in your throat as the tall, lanky silhouette slouched into the room.
The tall man looked utterly spent, drifting toward the bar counter with a lazy, midnight indolence that contrasted sharply with the violent predator he had been hours before. He reached for a glass, pouring himself a drink with slow, practiced nonchalance. The collar of his lavender shirt was casually unbuttoned, hanging loosely off his frame with a messy, effortless sort of charm. Fresh, desperate nail marks slashed across his forearms; faint, rust-colored spatters lay dried against his jawline and the cuffs of his sleeves.
Adjusting his glasses Azul glanced at the slouched eel over the frames of his spectacles. "Floyd. I trust you took care of the—"
"Yeah, yeah, sure did. Don't worry 'bout it, 'Zul," Floyd cut him off with a careless wave of his hand, his voice still carrying heavy breathlessness. He downed the liquid in one fluid swallow. You watched in fear as he wiped his mouth, smearing a faint trace of blood against his lips before his tongue sweeps out absently to lick it off.
He set the glass down with a quiet clink as he poured another one. A slow, lazy grin spread across his face as his heterochromia eyes locked onto you. For a moment he just leered at you behind the rim of his glass, making your heart skip a beat—though you could already feel Jade’s concoction doing its job, quietly forcing your pulse to calm down.
“Hmm~ Look who's back,” Floyd drawled from across the room in a gravelly purr that dripped with dark amusement, his eyes scanning your form with lazy delight. “All quiet and behavin’... Were ya waiting for me? Missed me that much?~”
As he stepped away from the counter, Floyd waltzed over—his long strides agonizingly slow—before slumping heavily onto the cushions right on your empty side, the heavy scent of sea air and liquor invading your space. Instantly, your entire body stiffened, an instinctual panic screaming at you to flee—but there was nowhere to go as Jade’s grip on your thigh anchored you firmly into place.
Floyd threw his arm nonchalantly across the back of the sofa behind you, his massive frame eclipsing yours as he propped his ankle over his opposite knee in his signature, careless slouch. On your other side, Jade's presence was just as heavy; his sharp, intimidating gaze above you leaving you pinned between the two like a caught little butterfly.
Satisfied with the arrangement, Azul simply hummed, dipping his quill back into the inkwell. The dry scratching of his pen resumed, a steady sound that offered no salvation to you.
"Eee-h? Did the nurse wrap ya up like a little present just for us~?” Floyd mocked, his sharp teeth clicking against the rim of his glass as he took another slow sip.
“It certainly seems so, doesn't it?" Jade chimed in, his voice smooth beside your ear. His fingers shifted slightly on your thigh, the fabric of your dress bunching slightly beneath his palm. "Though, I must say... this sort of attire suits you much better than the official uniform. It makes you look far more... accommodating."
Floyd let out a lazy snicker in agreement at his brother's words, his eyes tracking the way the tight material clung to your tiny frame.
For several agonizing minutes, the only sounds in the lounge were the scratch of Azul's nib and the quiet, downtempo jazz as the shadows of two massive eels pinned you to the cushions.
Finally, Azul stood up, gathering his papers into a neat stack. He tapped the edges against the mahogany table, a cold finality ringing through the room as the modified terms of your existing contract were officially filed away. He adjusted his fedora, casting a cool, entirely indifferent glance over the sofa where you sat completely frozen.
“Alright, it's getting quite late, so I’ll be heading off to my quarters now. Thank you for attending this urgent meeting" Azul said smoothly, his voice flat and businesslike.
With a slow, measured stride, he crossed the dimly lit lounge, the soft click of his polished shoes agonizingly steady against the floor. He passed so close to you that the hem of his coat brushed your knees, yet he kept his eyes fixed forward, treating you like nothing more than a signed piece of collateral.
He paused at the door, his hand lingering on the brass handle as his eyes drifted back to the heavy leather sofa. "And you two… whatever you do, just—make sure not to leave any… nasty stains anywhere by the morning, understood?”
“Of course, Azul. Have a good rest,” Jade replied instantly, his voice dripping with smooth, flawless courtesy.
As the heavy doors clicked shut, Floyd let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his arm shifting on the back of the sofa, his long fingers casually tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck. He tilted his head, looking past you to his twin. "Hey, Jade-o," Floyd gave his lips a lick, a lazy, malicious glint dancing in his eyes. "Why don't ya use your little trick on her, hm? I really wanna know what Koebi-chan is thinkin’ right now under all that fake quiet."
Jade’s smile widened, a dark, elegant yet wicked compliance crossing his features. "An excellent idea, Floyd. We haven't done that in a while, have we? And I must admit… I'm incredibly curious as well."
Before you could protest, Jade's index finger lifted your chin, his mismatched eyes locking onto yours with an inescapable, hypnotic weight. The air around him turned into a humming static.
"Shock the Heart," he whispered.
A sudden, searing jolt of raw magic snapped through your chest, bypassing your defenses and tearing down every wall of restraint you had left. Your mind spun, and before you could stop yourself, defiant insults spilled past your lips—completely raw and dripping with venom.
“You're both fucking disgusting, acting like some kings when you’re just Azul's over-glorified lapdogs! You're so fucking pathetic the only way you can get off is by forcing yourselves on others—no wonder no one likes you, you fucking freaks! Yes, you can force me to stay here and do whatever but you'll never make me respect you, not one bit!”
The room went dead silent for a beat. On your right, Jade’s smile twisted into a wide unhinged grin, his golden eye flashing with a lethal, razor-sharp intensity at the "lapdog" comment. You quickly clamped your hands over your mouth in absolute terror.
Floyd let out a loud, delighted bark of laughter, his grip on your hair tightening as he yanked your head back to force you to look up at him. His face was inches from yours, his sharp teeth bared in a hungry grin.
"Ahaha…! Damn, Koebi-chan~!" Floyd jeered, his hot breath fanning over your hands. In a single, violent and effortless motion, his large hand wrapped completely around both of your wrists and wrenched them away from your face as his gaze dropped down to your trembling mouth, his eyes dark with sudden, heavy lust. "Should I put that bratty mouth to a better use? Huh, Jade-o, whaddya think? Should I show her what a ‘disgusting freak’ I am?”
"Oh, you absolutely should, Floyd," Jade's voice dripped with a flawless, mock-sorrow. "To think—after everything I've done for you... and this is how you truly view me? Calling us lapdogs... why, that makes me so utterly heartbroken. But, since you view us as such 'disgusting freaks' anyway, it would be a shame not to live up to your expectations.”
Floyd was quick to act. His grip on your hair tightened, anchoring into the strands at the back of your head with a firm, unyielding pressure that left no room for resistance. With a low, lazy chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest, he shoved your head downward into his lap. His large hand pinned your face against his crotch, his fingers tapping your cheek for a taunting beat, before he tilted your face up just enough to force you to meet his gaze—one of absolute dominance.
“Since ya didn't wait for me to finish back there, and all those, oh-so-mean things ya just said about us, you owe me big time, little shrimp… You know the drill, yeah? Don't use your teeth~”
Without giving you any time to process the threat, Floyd’s free hand dropped to his hips. A familiar sharp, metallic click of his belt buckling open echoed through the lounge, followed by the heavy slide of a zipper that made your heart violently seize. He freed himself with an agonizingly casual ease, the sheer reality of what was happening crashing down on you just as his massive hand anchored into your hair.
“Open wiiiide~” he crooned, his voice dripping with a cruel, sing-song amusement.
The air left you in a wet gasp as he took total control of your movements. There was no gentleness in his guidance; he used his strength to dictate the rhythm entirely, introducing your mouth to his length with a relentless, heavy deliberation. Your mind began to spin, the intoxicating effects of Jade’s midnight drink mixing with the sheer, paralyzing reality of Floyd’s size.
You tried to instinctively pull back as the depth of it overwhelmed your senses, but Floyd only bared his sharp teeth in a thoroughly amused grin. When your hands flew up to push against his thighs for leverage, he ruthlessly slapped them away, pinning your wrists behind your back. He didn't need your help; he wanted your absolute submission.
Your chest heaved, your airflow completely irrelevant to his pleasure as he pushed your head all the way down and then back up, forcing you to take him fully, burying his length deep against the back of your throat.
Muffled, helpless gags were caught in your constricted airway, the intense friction forcing hot tears to spill over your lashes, tracking wet lines down your cheeks. Saliva pooled at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin as he held you there, forcing you to endure the suffocating depth of him.
“This is the smartest you've sounded all day today!” Floyd grunted, in a rough, arrogant scoff of a laugh.
Every instinct screamed for you to fight, but between the heavy weight of Floyd caging you and the cold shadow of Jade watching intently above your side, all resistance melted away.
Beneath Floyd’s merciless guidance, the panic slowly began to blur. The edges of the room faded, replaced by the overwhelming heat of him filling your mouth. Stripped of your defenses, your autonomy completely stolen, you fell into a breathless, unthinking daze—becoming nothing more than a pliant doll completely at the mercy of their whims.
From your other side, Jade just watched it all unfold. His posture remained perfectly elegant, his chin resting casually in the palm of his gloved hand as he leaned down against your back. His fingers trailed the curves of your lower body while his gaze tracked every spilling tear, every helpless gag, and the little kicks of your feet every now and then. For some time, he simply admired—fed on your degradation, his empty smile never wavering as his brother roughly possessed you.
But as your eyes started going glassy and your body limped helplessly against Floyd, the cool, clinical amusement darkened into something ravenous. Your total undoing was simply too alluring to just look at.
"My, Floyd..." Jade’s velvety voice slid into the heavy thickness of the room, dripping with heat. "You truly have trained that foul little mouth so beautifully. She is completely cooperative now."
Floyd slowed down his unyielding pace, his head snapped back, a wild, breathless grin flashing across his face as he looked at his twin. "Haah? Riiight, Jade-o~? Koebi-chan's real soft now~. She ain't even bitin’ no more." He beamed somewhat proudly.
"Well, in that case..." Jade murmured, his corporate composure finally dropping entirely as he slid his hands across your thighs and up to your waist under your dress. His towering frame leaned over you, blocking out the last remaining light in the room. "Surely you don't mind sharing? It would be a pity to let such compliance go to waste after all."
Floyd let out a dark, smug chuckle that vibrated right against your mouth. "Go right ahead, Jade-o~ Take whateeever ya want from her," he drawled lazily, as he shrugged. "She doesn't have much to offer but, ya know... 's a pretty good set of holes~”
Before your overloaded brain could even process the words, Jade's weight shifted. He didn't crowd your face; instead, his heavy, powerful hands slid up the curve of your waist, his long fingers sinking ruthlessly into your soft flesh with a terrifying, unyielding authority.
With a single, effortless hitch of his arms, he pulled your lower body upright, shifting your position until your hips were arching back off the cushions, perfectly exposing the vulnerable dip beneath your lower back.
Your eyes widened in a sudden, sharp spike of panic, a muffled cry catching violently in your throat—but Floyd instantly choked it out, his hand tightening at the back of your neck as he pushed deeper, completely filling your mouth and trapping your air once more.
You felt the agonizingly deliberate, slow glide of your undergarments as Jade leaned his weight down over your lower back, letting out a soft, amused hum at your helplessness.
The leather-clad fingers slid with a terrifying, practiced ease between your thighs, finding your most sensitive, vulnerable parts with the clinical precision of a surgeon. He didn't stroke you to prepare or pleasure you; instead, his thumb applied a strong, sudden pressure right against the hyper-sensitive bead at the swell of your core, just for the cruel curiosity of watching your entire frame violently quiver in his grip.
“My, how incredibly responsive,” Jade whispered into the shell of your ear, his voice a low, mocking purr.
He didn't release you, shifting his massive frame to anchor your legs beneath him. Simultaneously, Floyd yanked your face upward letting you finally get some air—but it was more about displaying your tear-stained, ruined features for him to admire.
“Lookin' so pretty, eh? While Jade-o works ya over,” Floyd jeered against your mouth, his hot liquor filled breath fanning your lips as his twin deliberately grinds his fingers in an intentionally cruel way against you, forcing a pained whimper from your throat and a short-lived attempt to wriggle out of their grip. Floyd let out a lazy, derisive huff through his nose, his free hand bunching your cheeks. “Such a good little dolly... takin' it all in so quietly~”
When—in fact—you weren’t able to take it all in anymore and your body went completely rigid from the prolonged ache and overstimulation of Jade's clinically precise touch he finally withdrew his hand. As he fixed his own clothes behind you, the cold air of the lounge hits your bare skin for a split second before it's replaced by a sudden, blinding force. He didn't hesitate. Bracing his weight over your lower back, he drove himself forward, claiming the tight depths beneath in one heavy, unyielding thrust.
“Mmph—!!” A shattered, ruined sob died in the back of your throat as unimaginable fullness of them both ripped through you. Every inch of your body felt occupied, stretched to its limit by the twins' coordinated assault. Floyd holding your head in a vice grip, dictating the breathless, sloppy rhythm at your mouth, while behind you, Jade established a deep, mercilessly abrasive pace that rocked your entire frame against his brother's lap.
They were moving in a terrifying synchronization. You couldn't tell where Floyd ended and Jade began anymore; you were just a fragile, messy “dolly” caught in the middle of a shifting, predatory tide. The intoxicating haze of the sedative completely fractured under the sheer intensity of the friction, leaving you drowning in the heavy scent of that ocean-chilled cologne and the relentless, dual possession of the inner ridges of your body.
Just as the tension in Floyd’s thighs coiled to an unbearable peak, his long fingers tightened ruthlessly in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to force you to look up into his darkened, blown-out pupils.
“Hey... remember what the boss said ‘bout not leavin’ behind any stains? Mhm… ya better swallow every last drop, Koebi-chan,” Floyd rasped, his voice dripping with dominant malice as his pace faltered into heavy, deep jolts.
As Floyd spilled inside your already crowded mouth, the pressure was strong enough to push some of the thick fluids up into your nostrils, making you audibly choke. He exhaled a low, satisfied breath of amusement from his chest. “Better keep it aaall in… bet you're leakin’ all over that leather beneath ya anyway... like a needy little slut, aha~.”
Your mind fractured at the terrifying realization of your own physical betrayal. The cool leather sofa beneath your hips was indeed slick and wet, soaked through by your own body’s involuntary, hyper-stimulated response to the dual assault.
You were astonished—sickened by how your own traitorous flesh succumbed to their touch every single time. Surely you didn't like it. Who would be okay with this type of treatment? You loathed them. You loathed what they were doing to you. But your body no longer felt yours.
The moment Floyd began to fix himself up, before you could even catch a proper breath of air, Jade ruthlessly snapped his hand around the front of your throat. His fingers squeezed, the brutal grip hauling your upper body backward and flush against his own chest. With his other hand, Jade kept both of your wrists pinned securely behind your back, locking your arms in a vice grip that arched your chest forward. You had no strength to hold yourself up, you had no other choice but to collapse entirely into his manhandling.
Floyd rose to his feet smoothly, towering over you with a dark, heavy-lidded stare. He reached down, gripping your chin and jaw in one hand, squeezing just enough to bunch your lips together as he forced your face up.
“Ya wanna try sayin’ all those things again?”
"Look at ya," Floyd laughed, his thumb roughly smearing the stray moisture at the corner of your bruised mouth. "Suckin' me off and leakin' all over the place, and now ya look like a total ratted-out mess! Such a pathetic, dumb little thing aren't ya?” He playfully slapped your flustered cheeks, alternating between them in a mocking rhythm.
Fisting his hand into your hair he yanks your face up, his palm suddenly coming down in a final sharp, stinging slap across your flushed cheek. The loud crack echoed through the room, leaving a slight burning red mark on your skin.
He let go of you with a low chuckle, and Jade immediately took total advantage of your dazed, stinging state—an agonizingly precise invasion. He found the exact, hypersensitive nerve endings he had ravaged hours before, deliberately targeting them with an unhurried, rhythmic friction that made your entire lower body convulse.
"No—please, Jade, stop... I can't, please..." The desperate, broken begging tore from your throat, as your body was already entirely spent, incapable of enduring another wave of his clinical torture.
Jade merely pressed his face against yours from your side, pinning your wrists harder against your spine with his raw strength as he felt your internal muscles helplessly squeeze and spasm around him—the exact reaction he was hoping for.
"Now, now," he chided softly, in a smooth, terrifyingly polite manner against your ear. "You handled it so exceptionally well the first time, didn't you? Surely you can manage it again for me. Do try to hold still while I finish my experiment."
You had indeed become exactly what they wanted: a quiet, obedient set of holes to play around with.
The helpless involuntary spasming of your body finally snapped the last thread of his clinical detachment. A dark, guttural growl tore from Jade’s throat—a raw, terrifying sound you had never heard from him before. Abandoning all calculation, he shoved you down completely flat, pinning your waist and face mercilessly into the wet leather beneath. With your body uselessly trapped under the massive weight of his arms, Jade abandoned his slow rhythm entirely. He began to ram himself inside you with a frantic, unhinged ferocity, his hips slamming against yours in a merciless, primal desperation. The clinical investigator was completely gone; there was only a starving predator blind to everything but his own impending, violent release.
Reaching his peak at last Jade let out a long, shuddering grunt above you, delivering one final, deeply buried thrust as he erupted inside you, forcing your lower back down against the wet leather before slowly, agonizingly pulling himself out.
You lay limp on the cushions like a marionette with its strings cut, your chest heaving, leaving you gasping for the heavy air thinking it was finally over.
But they weren't finished with their doll.
Jade leaned over gripping your ankle to drag you across down on the floor, forcing your face right down against the slick, damp stain on the leather cushions beneath you.
"Look at the mess you've made, Koebi-chan," Floyd hummed, casually squatting down leaning his weight against his knees as he looked down at you. "Azul's gonna be real mad if he finds this... Ya gotta clean it up."
"Indeed," Jade's smooth voice slid over your shivering spine, entirely devoid of mercy. "We cannot have you ruining the Lounge's furniture. Go on, clean it up. Every last bit.”
Before you could even draw a breath to protest, Floyd’s massive hand entangled ruthlessly into the hair at the crown of your head. With a sadistic grin, he dragged your face downward, pinning your cheek flat against the cold leather right into the center of the slick, damp stain.
"C'mon lick it off," Floyd commanded as his knuckles ground into your scalp, physically guiding your head in a slow, humiliating back-and-forth motion across the cushion. "Wipe it up real good for us, yeah?"
Left with no choice, you were doomed to submit. Tears blurred your vision as you parted your swollen, ruined lips against the leather, your tongue dragging over your own slick, betrayed moisture as Floyd’s unyielding grip dictated every degrading stroke. Jade leaned over from above pulling his leather gloves taut over his knuckles, his golden eye tracking the absolute, broken compliance of their little doll in a heavy, satisfied silence.
"Mmh... there we go, yeah, that's better." Floyd finally and abruptly let go of your hair as he got up, stretching his massive frame toward the ceiling with a loud, lazy yawn. "Aaaaah fuck—handlin’ all that shit made me starvin’. Jade-o, let's go raid the kitchen before lockin’ up."
"A splendid idea," Jade murmured smoothly. Without a single trace of the heavy, ravenous beast that had just consumed him, his elegant, polite demeanor snapped back into place like a mask. He casually adjusted his tie as he looked down at your collapsed form. "You may dismiss yourself when you are able to walk, Koebi-chan. Do ensure you are back in your room before morning preparation begins."
They didn't bother to offer you a hand. They didn't even give you a second glance. The two towering predators turned on their heels, their heavy footsteps echoing across the floorboards as they walked out of the lounge, leaving you—their ruined toy—behind, soaked in the heavy, inescapable scent of liquor and ocean-chilled cologne.
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The Point of no return—The Feeding Grounds (Part 1.)
What choice does a magicless nobody have when cornered by the deep-sea mafia? Signing up with Octavinelle was just basic survival... Besides, these three gentlemen are far too "charitable" to leave a poor, unfortunate soul stranded with nothing. They promised you shelter and protection out of the goodness of their hearts, totally not because they saw a vulnerable little thing just "begging" to be used.
Warnings:
(AU! 18+ All characters //TW: R*pe/Non-Con, Extreme Dub-Con, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Breathplay/Choking, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Public/Semi-public Sex, Degradation, Predator/Prey Dynamics, Monster Characteristics, Body/Mind Alteration, Manipulation/Gaslight, Rough Sex, Fear Play, Marking, Dark Obsession, The Dove Is Dead: Do Not Eat.)
To you, Mostro Lounge always felt suffocating. And it wasn't just the enchanted underwater atmosphere or the endless clinking of expensive glassware; it was the way the air always felt so… charged, like the static before a storm.
You had been working the late shift, weaving through the tables of wealthy students, but you could always feel a pair of eyes tracking your every movement. It wasn't a secret who they belonged to. FLOYD LEECH was slumped in a booth in the far corner, his long legs stretched out into the walkway, tripping up anyone he deemed "boring."
He hadn't said a word to you all night. He didn't have to. Every time you passed him, he’d let out a low, humming sound—a vibration you felt in your bones more than you heard with your ears. It was his way of tagging you—or rather; his prey.
"Koebi-chan is working so hard today," he finally drawled as you tried to squeeze past him with a tray of empty glasses. He didn't move his legs. Instead, he reached out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you closer until you stumbled. His skin was unnervingly cool. "But ya look all worn out. Is Azul overworking you again~? Your little heart’s goin’ so fast… thump, thump-thump…” He feigned concern that you didn't buy.
"I have orders to finish, Floyd," you asserted, with a quiet but stern voice, looking away, desperate to avoid those mismatched eyes that saw way too much.
"Orders~?” His brows arched, “C'mon, Azul doesn't care. He's got his nose in a ledger. Aha~” he laughed, a jagged, unpredictable sound. "And I’m bored, Shrimpy. And when I’m bored, I start gettin’ all... itchy."
He squeezed your wrist—just a fraction too hard. It wasn't a bruise yet, but a promise of one. You winced, the tray of glasses rattling slightly in your other hand, but his grip was like an iron shackle. He leaned in closer, his two-toned eyes blown wide as he watched the way your breath hitched in your throat.
“I start wonderin' just how much a little thing like you can take… before ya truly break apart,” he purred, his thumb tracing the racing pulse at your wrist.
He seemed to savor the way you trembled under his touch and the way your eyes darted around in fear. A dark, satisfied grin spread across his face. “Heh, don't look so scared... I’m just lookin' out for ya. Ain't I a nice guy?” His voice was teasing, devoid of any sincerity. “I think you should take your break earlier.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling in a way that might have deceived you, if not for the obvious pair of teeth that could easily tear you to pieces.
Unable to take your eyes from the glint of that deceitful smile you swallowed hard, afraid to say the wrong thing—but then again, was there ever a right thing with this madman?
The silence that followed was heavy, pressurized by the intensity of Floyd's leering gaze. When you failed to reply, his voice dropped an octave, any playfulness vanishing from his demeanor into something intimidating and downright threatening. “Out the back door. I'll give ya five minutes. If ya make me wait, I might get real cranky. And you don't like it when I'm cranky, do ya?” He let go, almost shoved your hand away. The ghost of his grip remained on you like a mark.
You knew you couldn't go to Azul; the Housewarden would just give you that cold, logical smile and remind you of the "services" required to keep your roof over your head. You couldn't go to Jade; he’d only "help" by escorting you directly to his brother.
You made your way to the kitchen, your heart hammering against your ribs. It wasn't a choice; it was an inevitability. The pressure wasn't just coming from the millions of gallons of seawater held back by the dorm’s magical glass—it was radiating from the booth in the corner. You felt the weight of Floyd’s gaze like a physical force on your body, pushing you toward a conclusion you weren’t allowed to decline.
Involuntarily, you set the tray down on the stainless steel prep table, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with the knot of your apron. Removing it felt less like a relief of ending a shift and more like a forfeit. You hung it on its hook—a thin, white flag of surrender.
You pushed open the heavy service backdoor, stepping out of the bustling, jazz-filled lounge, and into the maintenance corridor. It was a long, “dead-end” alley of sorts, tucked away between the kitchen’s outer hull and the massive stone foundation of the dorm.
Beneath the muffled, rhythmic hum of the dorm's life-support, the thudding of your own heart felt overwhelming, echoing in your ears with a frantic, uneven beat. Only a sliver of light caught the stone walls, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse to the now distant, distorted beat of the music inside.
The air felt stagnant as you dragged your tired body deeper into the corridor. The thick scent of wet stone, brine, and the metallic tang of machinery filled your senses. As you braced yourself against the masonry wall, a violent shiver raced down your spine. The biting chill of the trenches sinking into your skin.
But you knew that wasn't really the case; the trembling wasn't because of the cold. It was something else coiling in your throat—a feeling you tried your best to ignore as you slowly sank to the floor.
You didn't try to run anymore—you knew better—but you couldn't help the way you stiffened, once the door opened again like a gunshot, making you bolt right back up.
The heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps began like a countdown—leisurely, confident, and soon, entirely too close. As if surveying his territory, a pair of heavy-lidded eyes caught the light, glowing with a dull, predatory gleam that made your blood run cold every time you made the mistake of looking into them.
"Ahh~... there ya are.” He came to a halt just inches from you, hanging his head down above you like a beast cornering his kill. “Good little shrimp. I knew you wouldn't make me come lookin' for ya.”
The door clicked shut, the sound final as a coffin lid. Floyd loomed over you. He didn't need many words for himself; it was his physicality—his towering, deceptively relaxed frame and hands tucked away in his pockets—that was enough to broadcast his absolute dominance of any space.
Without taking his eyes off you, he began to methodically roll up the sleeves of his lilac dress shirt, exposing the powerful, pale lengths of his forearms. You felt like some type of dish on a display as that unblinking leer was assessing your 'worth,' weighing exactly what kind of ‘game’ he wanted to play with you this time.
You timidly tracked the outline of his sharp, polished dress shoes with your eyes before craning your neck up to meet his gaze—unsure what to expect of the sinister man in front of you, and even more certain that he might not be a man at all.
"N’aww, Koebi-chan~..." His voice was a low, melodic crawl that made the hair on your arms stand up. He was already in your space, his heat radiating through your thin uniform. "Look at ya, shakin’ like a little bait-fish on a hook. I haven't even touched ya yet, and you’re already fallin’ apart."
He didn't wait for you to answer. His hand shot out, his long, powerful fingers clamping around your throat with a bruising strength that forced your feeble hands to clutch at his in desperation. He shoved you back against the stone, the impact knocking the very air from your lungs.
"Such a fragile and squishy little thing, aren't ya~? But if a little squeeze like this already has ya gaspin’ for air, how are ya gonna handle it when I really get hungry, hm? Better start getting used to it fast, ehe~”
As his hand hooked into the damp lace beneath your skirt, he stood tall and overpowering, looking down at you with those uneven, heterochromatic eyes—one wide and manic, the other half-lidded and dangerous. He was a hulking, unpredictable force, with movements devoid of any hesitation.
"Go ahead... scream if ya dare, Shrimpy," he whispered, his tongue darting out to taste the terror on your skin. "I love it when ya make noise. Makes me wanna see how much louder I can get ya to go~. But you're bein' such a good, quiet girl today... you remember what happens when you’re not, don't ya?”
One hand stayed locked on your jaw, his thumb forcing your mouth open while his fingers dug into your skin. The other ruthlessly probed your sensitive folds, forcing a rhythm that ignored your gasps. You had learned that moderation didn't exist in Floyd's vocabulary; he was a monster of excess who demanded total surrender. He wanted the air from your lungs, the ground beneath your feet, and the frantic rhythm of your fear.
"Now answer me, shrimpy," he hissed into your ear, his voice a hoarse, ragged rasp. "You actually like it when I’m like this, don't ya? I can smell it, ya know… how your body’s lookin' for mine. You’re just like me, a little monster that craves a bigger one to fill ya up to the brim. Don't lie to me. Tell me how much ya love it…"
A wave of nausea surged through your chest. You tried to shake your head, to choke out a denial, but with his hand still vice-gripped around your jaw, all that emerged was a pathetic, broken whimper.
When you didn't—couldn't—answer, he spun you around with a brutal, effortless strength and slammed you face-down onto a heavy, bolted-down industrial storage unit. The edge of the cold metal bit cruelly into your hips, and the impact forced a sharp, pained gasp from your lungs as your chest was pinned flat against the hard surface. He loomed over your back, a hulking shadow that blotted out the dim light of the corridor.
"If you're so desperate to be used up, you can't even find the words to thank me… It's okay, Shrimpy~ I can do the talkin' for the both of us.”
His movements were violent and jagged. He didn't ask; he took. You felt his heavy weight crushing you into the surface as he hiked your skirt up, the fabric bunching crudely around your waist. He used his thigh to wedge your legs wide, the sheer pressure of his body leaving you breathless. You tried to claw at the smooth metal frantically. You tried to plead, but your attempt died in your throat—a panicked, broken sound that only seemed to fuel his dark amusement.
He leaned down, face inches from yours, breath hot against your skin. “Aww, where are ya tryna go?” He mocked in a chuckle as he felt you try to pull away from him. “Seriously, where did ya learn to be such a nasty little liar from, eh shrimpy?”
He withdrew his hand from beneath your skirt, his bony fingers glistening in the dim light, as he held them up to your face. “See that? You're so soaked I could swim in ya… you're practically drippin' for me. You were squeezin' my fingers so tight back there, too~...”
He roughly dug his fingers back inside you, digging into your sore walls with a possessive rhythm that ignored your whimpers and the way you tried to squirm away from him.
"Aha~... see? Your voice is shakin' just like your little legs. You just stay nice and quiet and squeeze for me, okay~?" His smirk widened into pure sadistic glee. You heard the harsh metallic snick of his belt being unbuckled—a sound that felt like a death knell in the muffled silence of the corridor.
You should scream. You should thrash around until your nails tore against the metal and your heels kicked uselessly at his shins. But the memory of the last time you tried to fight back kept you pinned in place.
There was no "no" with Floyd—it was a mere invitation to be even more ‘creative’ with your pain. He gave you the illusion of space, the phantom hope of a gap to slip through, but it was just a shark letting his tiny fish dive a few inches deeper before swallowing it whole.
It was easier, safer, to be his "good little shrimpy." Because when you were good, he might eventually let you breathe. When you were bad... he’d make sure you forgot how to.
Without a shred of warning, he replaced the invasive prodding of his fingers with the full, punishing weight of himself. He drove into you with a brutal force, slamming his hips against yours—uninvited and utterly dominant.
You let out a choked cry, but his hand was already there, clamping over your mouth to silence the sound. His other hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck arched painfully. He wanted to watch the way your makeup smeared under the heat of your tears—collecting your misery like a trophy.
"Ah, look at that face... So cute~. Don't you dare look away from me" His voice swayed, slowly losing all its playful lilt as something disturbing began to set in. His face inches from yours, eyes now dancing with utter animalistic mischief.
Abrasive, rhythmic pain replaced your senses as your caged body was rocked back-and-forth against the unyielding metal. A now devastatingly familiar, sandpapery sensation stinging deep in your core.
Through your teary eyes, you could barely make it out, but it wasn't your imagination: Floyd's jaw began to distend, unhinging slightly, a little more than a human’s ever should, as his impossibly long tongue slithered out his razor-sharp maw.
"F-Floyd... please... stop… please…" you cried out through the agonising rawness. But the plea was just a broken thread, a pathetic attempt to claw back any shred of agency.
The wet, slimy muscle swiped upward from your chin, dragging over your lips and across your cheeks, leaving a trail of thick saliva. It wasn't a “kiss”; it was a claim. Cold against your feverish skin, a visceral mark of his total obsession. An invasion that had your breath hitching in a way that felt dangerously like another sob.
He always took a sadistic kind of pride in the way your face was smudged by tears, convinced that your distress was just another form of gratitude. After all, you were his favorite plaything, and his undivided attention was a gift you were obligated to accept.
The tip of his tongue flicked against the corner of your eye, savoring the salt of your tears with a slow, deliberate lap. A low, primal growl rumbled deep in his chest—a vibration you felt more than you heard.
"Come to think of it, you cried like this last time too," he would say, his voice a haunting echo in your mind. “Tears of happiness, yeah? Ahaha~”
In the distance a faint groan of a door opening, followed by footsteps, echoed from the far end of the maintenance corridor—a reminder of the "normal" world that you no longer felt part of. You braced yourself, trapped between the shame of being seen like this and the exhausted hope that someone would come to your rescue.
As the seemingly hesitant, unsuspecting clacks slowly approached from around the corner, Floyd’s eyes widened with a manic flash. He didn't pull away. Instead, his grasp on your jaw and hair intensified as he forced his tongue deep through your forcefully opened mouth, invading your oral cavity and throat so completely it choked back any possible screams.
His movements became faster and more erratic—a frantic, starving scramble for his own release. You wanted to snap your teeth shut, to bite through the intrusive muscle and taste his blood in a sick, twisted way, but it was useless.
In a final, desperate act of defiance, you clawed at his arms—digging your nails into his pale flesh until you drew streams of blood—but his grip remained overpowering, tightening even harder around you.
A strange, heavy haze began to cloud your mind—a creeping numbness spreading from your throat making your limbs slowly turn to lead as you struggled to find air through your stuffed breathing canals. Dark spots overblotting your vision—your strength fading out with each ruthless thrust. You weren't just losing the fight; you were drowning away entirely. And ironically, Floyd was the only thing keeping you afloat in his arms while you sank.
"U-um, Floyd-senpai? Azul-sama was asking for the inventory—"
The Octavinelle first-year stopped dead. In the dim, flickering light, the scene was a nightmare: the school’s most volatile predator hunched over a limp, half-dressed girl, his tongue still deep in her throat.
Floyd turned his head slowly towards the stunned ‘intruder’ before he reeled his tongue back with a wet, deliberate slowness, leaving behind a thick string of saliva. Bridging the gap between you like a spider's silk before it finally snapped.
His face contorted into an expression of pure, murderous rage, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—smearing the blood from his arms across his jaw—red evidence of your struggle. He didn't care about being caught; he cared about being interrupted.
“You..." Floyd’s voice didn't just drop; it was a guttural growl. "I was havin' a real good time, and ya have the audacity to come in here makin' all that fucking noise? What, ya wanna be part of the fun too, little guppy? Huh?!”
To your immense relief, his focus snapped towards the petrified student as he finally retracted from you, the sudden absence of his intrusive presence leaving you feeling like a hollow husk.
You slumped against the metal container struggling to draw air into your lungs as thick silver strings oozed uncontrollably from your mouth and nose, trailing down your chin to drip onto the cold surface. Floyd's hand shoved against your back with a careless, bruising force as if you were now a mere obstacle in his way, tossed aside like a damp toy that he was done playing with.
Your weak body tumbled like a ragdoll from the metal surface down onto the harsh floor with a dull thump, as he began to straighten his rumpled clothes and pluck his belt back into place with dismissive bone-chilling casualness.
He looked down at the smear of moisture on his knuckles—a cocktail of your combined sweat, spit and blood. Like a predator after a successful hunt he licked it off in a single, slow swipe before stepping over your legs. Frenzied and bloodthirsty, he didn't even glance back at you; he just spat on the floor near you—a final nail to the coffin—before lunging towards the paralysed witness.
The sound of Floyd slamming him into the opposite wall—the sickening thud of bone against stone and the student's dreadful, truncated cry—gave you the split-second window you needed. Disoriented, chest heaving, you forced your weight on one elbow to set off for your escape. Dragging your body on the unforgiving, cold floor felt like a second violation against you.
You with your uniform were a ruined mess, and on your tongue lingered the heavy, mixed taste of salt, metal, and Floyd's poisonous venom. It was intoxicatingly sweet. You couldn't ignore the disturbing craving; the urge to swallow it all. Your stomach churned from disgust. You needed to get out. The primal urge to survive took over every fiber of your being.
The excruciating pain of the hard stone scraping your bare knees signaled that the paralyzing effect was finally wearing off, replaced by a stinging clarity—as the adrenaline peaked you scrambled to your trembling feet. Clutching your skirt, you hurried past Floyd and his new victim of his violent whims.
Through the deafening pounding in your own ears you could hear the wet, heavy thumps of Floyd "teaching a lesson"—the sound of someone being bludgeoned until their ribs broke—and the terrified, wet gurgles of a beholder begging for mercy.
"Hurry, hurry, my little shrimpy! Run along! I’ll come find ya once I’m done here… ! Aha haha~!"
As Floyd's maniacal laughter echoed through the halls, you picked up your pace. You didn't dare to look back as you burst through the back doors and into the Hall of Mirrors. Ignoring the burning in your lungs with the pressurized air and the remnants of the damned, cloying venom you didn't stop running. With vision of a fractured blur and head that felt like it was submerged in an ocean of cotton, you made your way through the chilly night until you reached the sterile, quiet sanctuary of the school nurse's office, praying to the Sevens that you wouldn't bump into anyone—lest they see the ruin he left behind.
A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who took the plunge into Part 1. Seeing this finally leave my drafts is long overdue. A very special thank you to a certain someone who helped unleash the monster and gave me the push to just go for it—you know exactly who you are, love. 🌹🦈
As a new author, I’m always looking for constructive criticism and it is highly encouraged! Let me know your thoughts or if you have any feedback in the comments or my ask box.
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