summary: Victor Gideon has full reign over your IV, and edges you via drugs.
includes: Victor Gideon/AFAB patient reader, smut, drugging, edging, breeding kink, pregnancy, abortion, probably all noncon with dubious at best, power embalance
words: 1.5k
a/n: turns out, my doc put my on antidepressants that also double as a libido enhancer…..so ofc this is my conclusion to my new altered state (felt cute, might delete later cause is it weird to have such a short work posted as a new fic?)
AO3 Link
Victor Gideon who edges you via meds.
He’s into drugging but not in the date-rape kinda way. He needs you conscious for what he is about to do to you.
Dr. Gideon alternates between two main drugs. Since you’re already on antidepressants, one has a side effect of low libido, and the other a side effect of enhancing it. Unbeknownst to you, of course, as he mixes them into your IV bags before bringing them to your room. To you? They look no different, and feel anything but.
On days he gifts you the libido enhancers, he’ll spend all night in your room ripping orgasms from your body….back……to back……to back……to back……. There is no such thing as overstimulation on those days. Your refractory period is non-existent, completely skipping overstimulation and quickly amping up for the next orgasmic crash. And coming from a man who genetically modified himself to have superhuman abilities and strength?? There is literally no biological limitation keeping either of you from stopping.
Those nights are the kind that forever raises a girl’s standards. You’ll fall asleep, putting a pin in tonight’s sex, only to continue the fantasies in your dreams. You can’t even function throughout the day without new kinky scenarios popping up in your head.
Then, once Victor has properly spoiled you into your addiction, he’ll put you on libido inhibiting meds. Your mind remains untouched, constantly craving the release he gifts you, desperate for him to get you to that high. Your body, however? Is physically unable to get there. Sensations are borderline numb, only feeling pressure rather than the usual warm and tingly feeling Victor evokes from your skin. He could overstimulate you for hooooouuuurrrrsssss, and you’re left to do nothing but sob as your body barely registers his movements. He just laughs at how numb your body gets just from a little pill. He’ll ravish your body and take what he needs, and yet, you’re somehow edged while he’s balls deep inside you.
You have him. His body, his love, his attention, all of it. Victor shows his relentless devotion to you, abusing all your sensitive sweet spots but your body can’t even muster an ounce of pleasure. You want nothing more than one of his earth-shattering orgasms. But you just. Can’t. Come.
All you’re left with is the memory of Victor’s love: daydreaming to come around his length again.
He’ll catch you grinding on your pillows or abusing toys. Usually, his ego would deteriorate at the sight. But it’s all worth it when you’re crying in frustration, begging him to play with you again. Victor knows that no matter what you do, you will never feel pleasure unless he grants it.
Dr. Gideon is an organized man, but he never keeps your meds on a consistent schedule. One week, he might feed you the libido pills every day, fucking you until you pass out each night. Another week, maybe he only gives you a libido pill on Monday, casting you aside to crave him for the rest of the week. Or even worse, he’ll go weeks with you on the libido inhibitors: leaving you leaking and desperate to come with no end in sight. No matter the circumstance, you’ll never be able to anticipate when Victor will let you cum again. Each time, you relish like it’s your last……if you aren’t too cockdrunk to think straight in the first place.
And you can’t refuse the pills, because that sends you to the psychiatric ward. Refusing doctor’s orders? They’ll force the pills down your throat regardless. So you just have to lie back and take whatever he blesses you with. And you fucking hate it. All until he’s deep inside you again, and pulling multiples out of you suddenly sways you to forgiveness.
Victor has a hard time saying no to you, though. Mostly because when you’re sobbing, every muscle contorted around his meaty cock, he wants nothing more than to watch you fall apart. On those days, when he gets really desperate, he’ll stick you with a shot of libido enhancers. The drug will seep through your veins, dragging waves of pleasure with it. He can see the tonal shift in your body, blush littering your skin in the path of the circulating drugs. All Victor can do is admire you, as your tension dissolves into pure want: muscles no longer clenched to force the feelings, but helplessly twitching because of them.
Once he reveals his emergency libido shot? You’re begging every time that he edges you. Somehow, knowing that he’s withholding your immediate relief only makes you wetter. Victor is saving you. He is accumulating your pleasure, wanting it to snowball until the next fateful day where the enhancers bless your body.
During ovulation, he’ll slip extra vitamins into your IV. You won’t even be able to tell that he gives you something extra, and just naturally feeling whole during that point in your cycle. Victor will even make a point to spend some quality time with you this week. He truly adores you, but at the end of the day, he wants to condition you to associate good feelings, health, and fertility with his presence. It’s not a common gesture to his AFAB patients, either. Victor will do whatever it takes to keep you ripe for him.
How does he track your cycle? He does have a superhuman sense of smell, but that would be too easy. Dr. Gideon requests that the nurses bring your underwear to him at the end of each day. Running samples on your discharge and tasting the discarded nutrients, he studies it all. To you, the nurses are taking your clothes to be laundered. Little did you know that they were feeding Victor’s addiction. They’ll always return to you clean, but he can’t help but smirk when remembering that through your underwear, his tongue has indirectly lavished your cunt.
Maybe one fateful month, he devises a plan. Alongside your nutrients, he’ll feed you fertility meds. Victor loves watching your breasts swell a bit, growing plump in his hands. He’ll make sure that you get a little extra food on those days. Not used to fattening foods, your weight will catch in your hips. Victor drools while holding your newly childbearing hips in his grasp. On top of it all? Your undies smell extra divine when you’re fed those meds.
He has an insane breeding kink. So once he ups your fertility during ovulation week? He can’t help but pump a baby into you. Unbeknownst to you, of course. Then, Victor will even slip abortion pills into your IV during the week you’d normally get your period. So to you? It just looks like a little extra clotting or a heavy cycle that month.
But why kill the fetus if Victor loves human evolution? He’ll experiment on your excreted embryo, sure. He only induces your abortion so he can knock you up again two weeks later. The mere seconds of conception drives him crazy. He swears he can feel your cervix dilate as his flushed tip presses against it: your womb beckoning his juices. He loves watching your body start to shift, evolving due to his seed. The thought of your body unconsciously working to accommodate and serve him is all he could ever dream of. Especially since you have no idea of his plan, your instinctual service drives him wild.
And even if your weight or mood fluctuates during the pregnancy cycles, you wouldn’t notice. You’re too busy worrying about whether or not your doctor will let you cum this week. Too busy going insane from all the edging, the last thing you worry about is abnormal menstrual cycles.
The nurses won’t dare acknowledge your special treatment, either. Although they aren’t the ones measuring doses and switching IV content, they aren’t oblivious. Everyone sees how Victor is downright obsessive over you. And he’ll admit it, too. Always claiming that some patients require special attention or unique treatment. He’s too possessive over you, anyways. If anything other doctor at Rhodes tried to step in, questioning if you really felt safe under Victor’s care? You’d assume they were fired, when really he’s burying their bodies in the backyard. You’re his. Your body, your mind, and every function beneath your flesh, all belonged solely to him. And he wasn’t afraid to claim it.
He doesn’t plan on sharing his little secret anytime soon. If anything, maybe he’ll tamper with your hormone levels to ensure that you’ll need his care continuously. If your labs come back critical, the hospital simply must keep you under their supervision. You’re forever thankful for their service, just not aware as to how much Victor is truly serving you.
Work contains; Original character, slow burn, takes place after movie, fluff, light teasing, and German words.
Word Count: 4.5k
The ferry to Nantucket island made its way through the Atlantic ocean. Hans Landa was standing alone on the deck, leaning over the rail as his gloved hands held a cigarette. Smoke trailed out of his mouth, and his face mostly seemed disinterested, but his eyes held a mild curiosity. If you were to look at him you would have no clue what was going on in that man's mind—he was unreadable.
Staring into the slowly lightening sky, he inhaled the salty air and closed his eyes. A soft breeze lightly ruffled his hair before a steady hand smoothed it back into place. In the distance, fog was slowly lifting to reveal Nantucket. Hans turned away from the beautiful sight to grab his things and prepare for docking.
As he walked through the bustling streets he was quite surprised by how many people were there. Even with the roads being so busy, wherever he walked, people moved out of the way. Hans was a man with a purpose. He was not someone who looked hurried, each step was precise and calculated. His eyes glanced around taking everything in: the smell of baked goods that wafted down the strip, the houses that had a slight bend to them due to age, and the calm, orderly feel of it all.
It only took him a few minutes to reach his desired destination—his detective office. It was tucked away between two buildings, a tailor's storefront and small coffee shop. The office itself was modest, the shingles slightly gray from weathering and the large front door with a hard-to-miss sign that read, H. Landa Investigations. “How quaint.” He thought to himself as he unlocked the door.
The floors were polished dark wood, the walls were an olive shade of green, and it was extremely clean. There was no dust nor clutter, perfect, as anything less was unacceptable to him. It did not take him long to start settling in. Even though the room was almost clinical with how clean it was kept, there were still a few mementos scattered around to show just whose office it was. The day drifted slowly by, the only indicator of time passing was the ticking of the clock. He didn't pay much attention to how slowly the world seemed to be moving, he was too caught up in moving the rest of his things inside. Everything had to be perfect, just how he liked it.
By the time 5PM hit, Hans had completely moved in. Finally, he gave himself a break, sitting down in his desk chair and letting his tense shoulders fall. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he took in his new home. But he was not a man who liked to sit around and do nothing.
“Well I must be off then, hm?”
He had only had a few minutes to relax before he swiftly got up, threw on his coat, and headed outside as though he was on a mission. The streets were less crowded and soft chatter filled the air. It was…nice.Something he wasn't accustom to.
Making his way to the nearest diner he came across a cozy looking joint. The windows were warm with dim lights shining through, it wasn't packed with people but the hum of voices could be heard from the outside. Opening the door, he was seated at a table for one right next to the large ornate window. “Just a glass of warm milk, please.” But as his eyes drift away from the waiter he sees something else he wants, “Oh, if it isn't too much to ask, may I add an apple strudel with cream, my dear?” The waiter offers a sheepish smile at the nickname before padding off to get his food. He was quite the charmer.
He smirks to himself, taking notice of how pretty the women here were. He continued to let his eyes roam around the diner, until he noticed a small, younger woman sitting alone in the corner. Her hair was in a low bun, with slightly crooked glasses sitting gently on her nose as she read. She was beautiful, but in a unique way. He lets his eyes linger for a moment but is pulled away when the waiter comes back with his food. “Thank you, mademoiselle.” He takes a slow sip before returning his gaze to the corner. Only to see the women leaving. Her steps are hasty, but confident, small shoulders pushed perfectly back as though she ment buiseness.
As he watched her leave he closely observed her outfit. It stood out much like her ambiance. Dusty rose high-waisted trousers matched with an off white cotton blouse. It was tucked in neatly with a simple black leather belt. He noticed the dark shade of lipstick carefully drawn onto her lips, a color he did not see much of. Beetle juice perhaps, a southern tradition no doubt. But this is not what piqued his interest; what really stood out to him was her sweetheart jewelry and flower shaped brooch clipped onto the left side of her blouse. It was a Gardenia—a flower he saw most often on his trips to the South.
As she slowly disappeared into the crowd he leaned back in his chair putting the peices together instantly, “Why what a sweet southern belle.” Finishing off his milk and strudel he leaves a gracious tip on the table. Heading home he thought about the brooch and what other parts of the island he could explore before work got serious.
The next morning he’s out the door at 8AM sharp. He decided to try the coffee shop two blocks down. Reading the paper he saw nothing but good comments and stellar reviews. Grabbing his new copy of ‘The Stranger’ by Albert Camus and tucking it into the hidden pocket in his coat, he was off to breakfast. On the way there, his mind was consumed with his new book. It was only recently published, which made it all the more impressive he managed to get his hands on one of the very first copies.
Arriving at his destination he took in how perfectly the building fit. He paused before opening the door, tilting his head slightly, he examined the outside in a way an artist examines his painting once finished. The building itself was old, but the fixtures looked new, he could tell someone had put in the effort to make it look nice. “Ah,” he murmured to himself, a faint smile forming on his perfectly plush lips. “How charming.”
Carefully his gloved hand hovered over the door knob, briefly tracing wood with a delicate finger and pushing open the door without paying much attention to his surroundings. He found a table by the window and took his seat. Once seated he let his eyes roam—counting how many people were in the shop and making note of what they were doing. He noticed another man in business attire reading the paper, a stressed out cashier, and… oh. It was his sweet southern belle. How splinded. Emerging from the back with a perfectly balanced tray in her hand, her small fingers skillfully holding the tray steady as she served customers.
Placing his book on the table, he couldn't help but stare as she finished making her rounds. He took in every detail, her neatly pressed apron, her black heels that softly clicked on the floor not to mention how they were red bottoms, and the signature flower shaped brooch. He noticed the change in the choice of jewelry for the day, though. “Chunky Bakelite.” His smile grew as he saw this. How he loved a woman with style. The pop of color perfectly clashed with her soft pale skin.
“Are you just gonna stare or are you gonna order, sir” He was so caught up in taking in every detail of the cafe that he hadn't realized she was now standing before him, with a small hand on her hip and the tray tucked tightly under her arm. “Terribly sorry, my dear.” he said, straightening up and brushing a fallen strand of hair out of his face. “What would a pretty gal like you recommend?” He threw on his signature charming smile, hoping to swoon her.
The already bored expression on your face quickly morphed into one of annoyance. Your brows knitted together and your jaw clinched, but quickly realizing this you put on a forced smile. "Well, I'm not tryin' to be ugly, but if I told you what I’d recommend, you probably wouldn't appreciate it.” Your southern politeness couldn't quite mask the sass in your voice. His grin didn’t falter though, “Well then, I will take a European-style, strong espresso. Paired with rich cream and…” He leaned back slightly, uncrossing his legs. He pretended to be deep in thought for a moment, a serious look on his face with a hand resting on his chin. “Two teaspoons of sugar.” He concluded smiling up at you innocently as you wrote down his order.
“That’ll be out in a jiffy.” You say peering up from the yellow notepad. You pause before walking away, taking in how pristine his clothes were, he was a man of money no doubt.But men of money were always trouble. Turning on your heels, you head back to make his order. He had missed the 7AM rush so you took your time brewing the coffee. It was quiet now, just how you liked it. Finishing the drink you pour it into a coffee cup, slowly adding the cream. The perfect European-style espresso. Grabbing two sugar cubes, you bring him his drink and strudel with cream.
He was now engrossed in his book, flipping the pages at a steady pace. You observed him for a moment, his movements fluid and controlled just like his appearance. Making your way over to him he only looked up when he heard the sound of your shoes and jewelry clicking together as you approched. A soft smile returned to his lips, watching you with a careful eye as you gently set his cup down, “And here are your two sugars, sir.”
“Please, let us skip the formalities. My name is Hans Landa, but call me Hans, mademoselle.” You pause, giving him a critical eye. “Have a good day, Mr. Landa.” You say curtly, whipping around to go take another customer's order.
You pay him no mind as you bustle around cleaning up empty tables, greeting incoming guests, and making the perfect coffees and teas. An hour goes by and you forget he was even there, until you go to sweep the floor and see him still perched by the window, reading his book with a calm expression. “Don’t you have anything else to do today, Mr. Landa?” You ask while mindlessly sweeping. He kept his focus on his book, keeping his face neutral, “You never gave me your name.” You stop and look up a bit of surprise flickering across your fetures. Tilting your head to the side you can tell he is serious... well sort of, he was hard to read. You sigh and stop sweeping for a second to lean on your broom as you answer, “My name is William, William Craver.”
Closing his book he looks over at you, smile returning ten fold. Scooting his chair back and standing to his full height he puts his book back in his pocket. He did not completely tower over you but he was taller than you, making it to where you had to tilt your head to catch his eyes. “My my, what a beautiful name for a sweet southern belle like you.” He comments, reaching out for your hand. He gently takes it into his and presses a kiss to your knuckle. No wedding ring he observed. Perfect. His hands were soft, but firm, and his nicely manicured fingernails told you how hygienic he was. A faint blush creeps up your neck, but you shake it off.
Pulling your eyes away from the door as it slowly closes, you look at his now empty seat. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you grab your rag and quickly start to clean his table. Your mind beginw to wonder as you drag the damp cloth across the tables sleek surface. He was an older man. Old enough to have a wife you thought, shaking your head. And a man that was married is one you did not want to become friendly with.
As the day wraps up and you lock up for the night you could not help but think back to how his hand grabbed yours, how warm they felt. It was almost comforting, a feeling you had not felt from a man in quite some time. No, you could not think of a nuisance like him in such a way—not to mention he was definitely married. Setting your sights on your bag you grab it and lock up, jiggling the handle before turning on your heels to head home.
It was quiet and not many people were out at this time of day. Breathing in the fresh air you made it back to your small but perfectly cozy apartment downtown. Cleaning yourself up and changing into your yellow cotton pajamas, you settle into bed. Placing your glasses on the nightstand beside you, as you drift off to sleep you think back on your day. It was a good day, no hiccups or broken dishes. But your mind starts to stray and replay the mornings events and a small smile creeps onto your face. Maybe you will get to see him tomorrow, and make that same strong espresso.
Even though you had ended the night peacefully, the morning after was hectic. It was a 7AM rush for the history books; after hurrying from the kitchen with full trays, to cleaning tables as fast as possible, you were beat after the crowd died down. Tossing the dirty rag aside lazily you sit down, slouching due to how bone tired you were. Letting out a pitiful sigh you rub your temples. The day was already turning out to be a long one, and you had five hours left to go. But you were a tough, strong willed, independent woman, so you convinced yourself to stand up and get ready to get back to work. You keep an eye on the clock while you work, you see that at exactly 8:30, Mr. Landa strolls right in to sit at the same spot as yesterday.
The same book was tucked into his coat pocket and he looked even nicer than the day prior. Did he have something to do later in the day? You thought to yourself. No matter, whatever it was it wasn't any of your business. He wore a heather gray suit that was perfectly tailored to him, sleek black boots that fit his gentlemanly persona, and a golden military pin you couldn't make out from where you stood. As you studied him, he glanced your way but you immediately avert your stare and start taking orders.
Unlucky for you, he had noticed your forced avoidance but he was a gentleman so he wouldn't say anything just yet. Walking over to him you smile. “I didn’t see you come in, what would you like this morning Mr. Landa?” The story rolls smoothly off your tongue and you widen your smile as you pull out a notepad. Your lie did not go unnoticed by him, however, but he brushed it off. “So many great choices on this fabulous menu.” He commented pretending to peruse everything your cafe offered. “Did you know the term “A cup of Joe” came from the mass production of Nescafe during the war-”
“Mr. Landa I know you’re an intelligent man, but I came ‘round here to take your order, not be educated on some nonsense.” Your bland, polite tone shifted towards impatience and he noticed right away. He also took a mental note of how each time you became irritated or annoyed your southern accent would come out.
His eyes shifted from the menu to look at you, his startling blue eyes piercing yours. You could see he was trying to suppress a smug smile. Eyes narrowing, you tap your pen on the notepad. “Ahh yes, my apologies, dear.” He said, not breaking eye contact. “I'll do my usual European-style, strong espresso paired with rich cream and two teaspoons of sugar. Add one of your amazing apple strudels with cream on the top, please.” You nod, looking away to scribble his order down as though you hadn't memorized it the second time he came in. “I'll have that right out for you.” You don’t look at him as you walk away, head high and shoulders back.
It's not long before you're back at his table handing him his coffee and strudel. Your hands move fast adding the cream to the top of his apple strudel with practiced ease, not giving much attention to him. You throw out a small ‘enjoy’ before standing up with your tray to walk away. “Thank you, my dear.” His voice is lower than usual and you could hear the smirk without having to turn around. His shift in tone made your heart beat faster and you utter out a quick “Of course.”
For the next two weeks, the pattern continues. He comes in at 8:30 sharp and tries to make small talk, you shut it down, he orders the same coffee and strudel with cream, and then sits and reads for another hour while he sips his drink. It was routine for you now—anticipating his entry with his book and waiting while he pretends to think about ordering something new. It was always after rush hour so it gave you a small break. And maybe even something to look forward too.
Today though, was when the pattern deviated. “I see you have a new book.” you comment with genuine curiosity, walking over to him with your notepad. Although you already knew what he was going to order, you still had it out so he could get through his routine of looking at the menu, even though they both know what he’ll end up ordering. His grin took on a more Cheshire-like appearance at your notice of his new book. “How perceptive of you.”
You grinned at this before replying, "Well, I hope you did not think I was some ditz who didnt take notice of her regulars." As you never tried to start small talk, this new development pleased him greatly, and it reflected on his fetures. “Yesterday afternoon I finished reading ‘The Stranger’. Are you a reader yourself, Miss Craver?” Smiling with pride, you answer, “Why yes, I am.”
A women with an interest in lituature, it was although he hit the jackpot. “Well then perhaps you would be interested in borrowing my book, hm?” He asks, tilting his head to the side, a small piece of hair falling into his face. He quickly smoothed it back and you couldn’t help the reddening of your face at his intense stare.
Looking away you nod “Oh! Of course, I would really enjoy that.” You say, stumbling over your words—which, again, does not go unnoticed by him. He is a detective after all, and something he noticed from this interaction was how your accent came out when you were not putting on the uninterested facude.
Putting your professional facade back on once you noticed him studying you, you straighten up. “This chit chat was lovely, but I must take your order now. I assume you know what you want, Mr.Landa?” He pauses for a moment before putting his hands on his vest. “The usual, mademoiselle." With a small nod of your head you prance off to the kitchen. The blush is still evident on your face as you prepare his food to his exact liking.
Once it’s finished you loaded it up on your tray and head back over to the same spot you were at ten minutes ago. “Your strudel with cream and European-style coffee.” You smile softly, pushing your glasses back up as you examine your work. Your eyes meet his and you give a small curtsy before walking away. Except you did not get far, a soft but firm hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. “Miss Craver.” You pause a moment before slowly turning around, a fake annoyed look plastered on your face. “Don’t tell me my coffee and desserts are no longer up to standard, Mr. Landa.”
He grins at your pissy act. “My dear I assure you, your culinary skills are far past what they should be.” Your sneer falters, but only for a second, “Then what is it you want, hm? Do you know how improper it is to put your hands on a women.” You say tapping your foot on the ground irritably as you wait for him to speak. His smile morphed into a smirk, “I would like for you to sit with me, darling.” His hand slowly drops from your wrist, fingers brushing over your knuckles in a teasing manner.
Pretending to think for a second or well really just decide if you wanted to entertain this man, you inevitably sit down across from him. As you take your seat he shifts his body to face you and crosses his legs. “I have a proposition for you.” “And what would that be Mr. Landa?” you question slightly leaning forward, interest quipped.
“Come to dinner with me tonight at The Chanticleer.” Your eyes immediately widen in disbelief. The Chanticleer was the most pristine restaurant in all of Nantucket. You had to get reservations at least a week in advance! Even with your exemplary acting skills you couldn't mask your shock. He just stares at you as you try to process his dinner proposal. Turning confident women like you speechless was one of his favorite hobbies. It being an even greater feat considering he found you more intriguing than most, especilly with what he learned today.
“You want to take me to The Chanticleer?” You ask as though you had not heard him correctly the first time, a small stutter is evident as you pronounce the restaurant's name. He just simply nods, his confident grin never leaving his flawless face, “It would be my honor, mademoiselle.” You had to break eye contact and look outside the window, not being able to fathom an opportunity like this. Taking a deep breath you compose yourself, “I’ll bring my moxie.” You respond not bothering to hide your smile, confidence returning. You reach for the napkin and quickly jot down your address.
He finished his coffee and dessert before standing up and helping you out of the chair with a steady hand. “I'll swing by your place at 7PM sharp. Oh, and wear that lovely sweetheart jewelry.” He adds, pulling you closer to him then necessary. You could smell his rich cologne and it was intoxicating, making you light headed and stumble a bit.
Thankfully his hand snakes around your waist to hold you up, you could feel the muscles hidden beneath his coat and that made you falter. “Of course.” You say, stabilizing yourself and pulling back but not completely letting go of his hand. You were extremely flustered but hid it as best you could. Which lets be honest was not very good at all. He nods and shoves his book back into his coat along with the napkin that had your address scribbled onto it.
“See you at 7, Süßer.” He says pressing a soft kiss onto your knuckles, all the while he gazes intently into your eyes. As he does you take not of how he has no wedding band on his ring pingure. Score! A small smirk creeps onto your lips, you know some German, “Verabschiedung, Mr. Landa.”
“You always seem to impress me more with each minute that passes, darling.” He comments as he twirls you around before bowing his head and completely letting you go.
“Adieu.”
“Adieu.”
And with that, he walks out the door and you come back to reality and get back to work. You decide to close up at 4:30 to have as much time as possible to get ready for the date.
As Hans made his way home all he could think about was you. He had found out so much about you today and he would use all that knowledge to the best of his ability. Oh how he yearned for a women of intelligence, one just like you. Most women he came across were no where near you in the brains department nor did most understand the joy of reading, but you did. Which made you incredibly rare, you were his diomand in a sea of white saphires.
As he walked he thought back to how red your face became when he asked you on the date, you were precious. And know that he knew some ways to fluster you he was going to use them all to see what else he could pull from you. His mysterious southern belle would be a hard one to crack but he could do it. Then the thought back to how perfect your skin was. Your hands were so warm and soft, he wondered if your lips were just as soft as the rest of you. he had played his cards perfectly this morning so why not see how much further he could go. Maybe by the end of the night he would get to test his hypothesis that your delicate lips were as soft as they looked. That thought alone made him smirk.
Walking home he stopped by a flower shop to pick up flowers for you as a gift before the date. He made sure to smell each flower before his eyes landed on the perfect bouquet. It was a flower he was positive you would enjoy.
Grabbing them he wrapped them up in pretty pink paper before adding a small ribbon. Whistling as he headed into his home he placed the flowers gently on the kitchen table. He headed upstairs to shower and prepare for the increable night he had planned.
Dr. Victor Gideon... strapping you to a table... playing with you as he pleases... writing down your reactions for his notes...please...
ＩＮＣＵＢＵＳ
c/w: dso reader, kidnapping, non consensual drug use, splash of pet play?, blood play + scalpel, dd: dne (noncon touching, fingering, edging/orgasm control), implied noncon p in v at the end
w/c: 4.8k oopsie daisy
AO3 version
thinking about working at the dso as a young trainee and being sent to scout around some sketchy business in elbridge just to gather some information. however, while investigating through the abandoned building, you encountered an infected person – an aggressive one that jumped at you with their bloodied teeth. you had to get your hands dirty.
the attacker had some sort of pocket knife, dead fingers still clutching onto the blade and through a struggle it managed to cut your cheek open. thank god, soon enough you fired a few bullets at him, ultimately taking out the infected. the only sign of struggle being a trickle of warm blood dripping down your face.
however, as soon as you tried to call the headquarters, you realised there was no signal.
— shit. — you muttered to yourself, turning around on a heel to leave the building, only to bump into… something. or someone?
but before you had a chance to register the thing that was standing in front of you, it’s massive hand wrapped around your neck, within a couple seconds successfully cutting the blood flow to your brain.
the first thing that your foggy brain registered was the smell.
ugh. that very stinky medical cleaning chemicals. was it ethanol or isopropyl?
then there was a surface under your head that was soft, but not soft enough to call it a pillow. your throat was sore, but you could breathe, that was a good sign. wanting to wipe the dizziness of your eyes, to come round quicker, you commanded your limb to move. but, as soon as you tried to lift your arm, you realised you couldn’t.
thick, leather straps wrapped around both of your wrists kept you pinned to the furniture below. that sent a new wave of adrenaline into your system, forcing your head to shoot upwards.
you yanked at the bindings, only to find them not loosening up even a bit. frantically, you looked around the room – a medical room. straight line of counters and cabinets by the tiled wall, an IV rack (that gladly wasn’t hooked up to you) and a couple others machineries you couldn’t quite name. however, there were a few stickers and thin wires planted across your chest that read your vitals.
the examination table rattled, as you trashed and completely lost your composure. they (dso higher-ups) hadn’t prepared you for a kidnapping scenario in your training yet.
fuck.
fuck!
however, once the goliath of a man wearing a stiff, long coat entered the room, you froze, like a rabbit caught by the serpent.
— ah, you’re awake. excellent. — within a few strides, the mysterious man crossed through the chamber and stopped right beside your petrified form. as he stood so closely, only then his full size became apparent to you. standing easily seven feet tall, his posture casting a shadow over the room — how are you feeling? i hope i didn’t squeeze you too tight? you seem to be… rather delicate.
— who are you?
an average notepad seemed so small in his hand, as he scribbled down the data from the monitor – your saturation, heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen level.
— doctor victor gideon — he theatrically bowed in front of the table — i’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, miss… — the man paused, searching through your documents, looking for your name which he rolled off his tongue — but unfortunately the circumstances are less than… facilitating.
your jacket, along with all your belongings was hanging from the hook by the doors, too far from your reach. until then, you hadn’t realised that victor had stripped you of your shoulder holster and… well, combat shoes. he must have thoroughly searched for weapons and he was right. you’ve always kept a spare knife inside the boots.
— where…
but before you could ask, the man interrupted with a raise of his hand – different rings covered his thick digits, a weird pattern scattered across the skin of his palms, throat and head. on top of it he wore some kind of visor, completely covering his eyes. at this point, you had no doubts he was a mutant of sorts.
“convinient”, you thought. eyes are the mirror of the soul. if he even had one, you wondered.
— please, allow me to change your dressing. it’s completely soaked through.
the self-proclaimed doctor didn’t even wait for your approval. the portable chair rolled underneath him as he sat down. victor pulled a drawer closer, picking up several different instruments and placing them on top. goosebumps covered your skin, a pile of fear stuck shallowly in your throat, threatening to cause a vomit. from where you sat, with a tilted upright backrest, you couldn’t see what your captor was doing.
his fingers suddenly appeared in your vision and swiftly removed the dirty gauze from your cheekbone. you hissed, feeling the dried up scab being removed alongside the dressing.
— mind explaining what the dso agent was doing in elbridge?
— well, are you responsible for that B.O.W. that attacked me? — you raised your brow slightly, trying to connect the insight you already had to whatever was going on here.
even while sitting, the strange doctor’s head was at the same level as yours. you still couldn’t read anything from his face beside that eerie smile that bared his uneven teeth. victor tutted his head, definitely scanning your features with that thing over his head.
the silence that filled the room became uncomfortable. you pulled your legs toward your chest as much as the position allowed you too. in his generosity, the host didn’t bother strapping them down.
victor straightened up in his seat, his large posture leaning forward.
— what? was it your doing?
— nosy, aren’t we? — doctor mocked his guest, slowly placing his right hand over your bound forearm. at the rather cold touch of his, you wanted to scramble as far away as you could, but simply couldn’t. he continued the rubbing motion along your arm. — trying to act all tough, but i can hear your accelerated heartbeat, sweetheart.
then, slowly the man stood up from his seat, leaning over your smaller form and getting closer to your face. his massive, ringed palm caught your jaw and dug into the soft flesh there, making it impossible for you to turn away.
— what do you know of rhodes hill?
— of w-what?
victor barely scrunched his nose as you answered. wait, was he… smelling you? out of the bloom, his face almost came into contact with yours, but it was the forked tongue that ran across your cheek.
warm and wet muscle with split ends prodded at the exposed cut and you squealed – the disgust and shock being the primary responses. he licked off the fresh blood that gathered within the wound. only then, doctor gideon retracted to his stool and let go of your face like nothing even happened.
you could swear he mumbled to himself “delicious”.
— does raccoon city disease make you recall things better?
— n-no, i… hold on. what’s going on? what does the raccoon city accident have to do with it?
the doctor wiped what was left of blood and plasma (and his spit) from your cheek by gently patting your skin with antiseptic. before he turned back to you, the man sighed disappointed.
— oh, poor thing. you know nothing, do you? well then, i fear we have to resort to a different kind of treatment.
victor stood up from his seat, holding something in his hand that barely poked out through his sizable fingers. without hesitation, his skilled hands wrapped underneath the waistband of your trousers and only then you began to trash again and to try to kick him. his knuckles dug into the flesh of your abdomen as he quickly opened up the front.
— what are you… don’t!
the next second the material of your trousers was ripped off your body, exposing your bare legs to his sight.
— don’t fucking touch me!
you kicked like a fawn, your words of protest falling onto his deaf ears. your breath became shakier, your logical thinking clouded by sheer panic and all the possibilities he might hurt you – cut into pieces, experiment on, kill you or worse. still had to figure out if that behemoth was that kind of man that would have it in him to rape you.
what the fuck was going on?
ignoring your little tantrum, victor with ease seized both of your legs under your knees and tucked them to his side. he squeezed them so hard, you heard a pop.
— didn’t want to maim such a beautiful creature, but you gave me no choice.
the blade of a surgical scalpel flashed between his fingers.
— w-wait, wait. i’m telling the t-truth!
doctor pressed the instrument into the skin of your left thigh, right below the groin and the hem of your underwear. he sliced a straight, even line that quickly overfilled with fresh blood. you kept down the painful cries as he parted your skin another and another time.
three cuts.
he cut slowly, which made it even worse than quick, sharp pain. your thigh felt like it was burning up, trickles of blood slowly falling onto the sides of your leg.
you released the breath you were holding in for so long as he granted you a moment of break.
— it's fascinating really — victor maneuvers the scalpel within his palm in a way that frees his thumb. with it, he strokes the fresh wounds he inflicted, smearing the blood around — how women bear the pain so much better than men.
as his thumb swiped over the cut, you tensed for a moment, the numbing pain sharpening your senses. victor brought up the bloodied finger to his scarred lips and sucked it dry. something dropped in the pitt of your stomach and your legs twitched in his hold.
— so sweet and… addictive — his forked tongue swirled around the digit, making sure he didn’t waste a single drop — i must have a better taste of you later.
he grabbed a hold of your jaw again with the hand wielding the scalpel. it was dangerously close to your pretty face. you furrowed brows in irritation as the strange visors kept twirling and buzzing.
— i have to admit, you are a sight for sore eyes. tell me, are you afraid of me?
— go to hell!
you spat out and without too much thinking you took advantage of his hold loosening just a tiny bit on your legs. one of them managed to slip out of his grasp and with all the strength left, you kicked at him, hard. victor staggered two steps backwards, the blade of an instrument abiding your face by just a scratch. he didn’t entirely lose his hold of you though.
what you just did only angered the mysterious man as he groaned displeased.
— we need to do something about that attitude of yours. it’s unacceptable.
he moved swiftly back to your side. you kept kicking and pulling on the leather cuffs, cursing at him to let you go. when a syringe came into the field of view, your blood ran cold. god knows what he had in there – a virus, a drug, a psychedelic? you didn’t want to find out.
— n-no, no, nonono, please.
victor released your legs and focused on searching for a vein within your arm. due to his professional experience, he quickly found one and led in the needle with a sharp pinch. he pressed down, injecting whatever was inside into your bloodstream.
only then he placed down the used scalpel and syringe back to the drawer’s top.
— wh-what was that?
— something to make you more… cooperative. can’t have a patient posing a threat to the staff. especially to me — he snorted more to himself than you, boosting his own ego — do you even have a clue what we are conducting here?
you didn’t know when, but at some point you started shaking. despite your rather calm and tough demeanor, demanded by the field of work, this situation scared you. he scared you. for the probably first time in your life, you felt so powerless.
— doctor gideon, r-right? please, t-this is a misunderstanding.
— oh, now you’re being pleasant? after behaving so… impudent. don’t worry, dear, i will fix you. doctor gideon will make you feel better.
— i don’t… need… fixing.
formulating a sentence became more difficult with each passing second as your tongue started feeling like cotton. fuck, what did he do to you?
your head began to spin, similarly when you had a little too much to drink. the back of your skull found the backrest of the examination table and it felt better, for a short moment. trying to remember the training program, you concentrated on breathing.
deep breathes.
breathing always helps.
except it didn't.
the cloaked behemoth took out the notepad again and continued scribbling down your reactions and the parameters from the monitor. like you were some sort of his test subject.
victor stood above you, observing closely each reaction of your body to the drug. as another minute passed a sudden heat flooded your body, slowly accelerating and causing discomfort. every texture that was in contact with your skin became coarse and itchy. you squirmed over the table, trying to find a more comfortable position (as much as your cuffs allowed you to).
were you running a fever?
he placed the back of his gigantic hand to your forehead. you prepared yourself to twitch in pain and discomfort, but oddly found his touch… acceptable. his skin, despite the scales-like scarring, was nice to the touch, the rather cold temperature of his body bringing a soothing experience amidst the sufferings.
— what’s… happening.. to me?
— your temperature is rising, which was expected. i see your body is conforming to the treatment rather well.
victor moved to the place where he was holding your legs before. you didn’t exactly want him there, so close to your exposed legs and well, what was between them. but while trying really hard to squirm or move your legs away from his reach, you found it almost impossible.
— let’s see if you calmed down a little, shall we?
your legs, they felt so tired and heavy. victor took them into the air again and found no resistance on your side, beside the confusion in your eyes and that mewl of discomfort that escaped your lips.
— good. now, where were we?
you don’t know when, but he had that damn blade again in his sadistic hands. without any warning, he continued his creative work over your thighs, planting a couple more scattered cuts. this time you couldn’t keep the noises to yourself, you choked on a sob as he sliced the skin again and again. his face twisted in a sinister smile and you couldn’t bear it any longer.
the sensations changed. the awareness of his meaty fingers petting your ankle, the trickles of blood falling below you – everything became too much for your system to bear. it wasn't the type of pain you could withstand. it felt… weird, it pooled low in your stomach and made you irritated. no, it itched and tingled. and you couldn’t do anything about it.
your nerves were on fire, the need for someone to just hold you blinding your logical thinking. thought process has become foggy, all the learned procedures and techniques – gone from the head of yours.
a prey fighting for its breath as the predator drives its claws deep into its flesh. it felt almost primal, all you wanted for this sensation to end.
you rubbed your thighs together, trying to make it go away.
— pleasemakeitstop. — you babbled out almost soundlessly, shaking head to the sides frantically. that was enough to catch the doctor’s attention.
— what was that?
— make it… stop. — you repeated a little bit louder this time as tears began rolling down your cheeks on their own. a sound closer to a desperate moan came through your throat, and the doctor instantly found himself at your side again.
— it hurts, doesn’t it? — to which you nodded again. — where exactly?
victor continued to torment you, his dominant hand back at the side of your face. however, when you did not grant him an answear, his limb slid lower, covering all of your throat. the weight of the hand lingering there, a threat. a reminder of his cruelty.
— everywhere!
full of impatience, you tensed again on that cursed table, or rather chair? it was upright so it would be more logical to call it a chair. it didn't matter, you had to focus!
your sore eyes squeezed another set of tears and by that time you must have looked miserable. all on mercy of a sadistic goliath.
— shhh, you have to tell me where, so i can give you the remedy. — doctor gideon stroked back your hair from your face, carefully analysing each twitch of your muscles. but the certain movement below your waist caught his attention. eureka. — ah, i see.
he continued touching you like a beloved pet (well, maybe you were his favourite patient from now on?), scanning your pulse point through the lenses.
— the relaxant i gave you, commonly has a very specific side effect. which presents itself in the form of raised temperature, vulnerability to the touch, accelerated heartbeat and the excessive production of slickness.
— wh-what? — you looked at him, teary eyed, head almost empty.
— an aphrodisiac, dear. and there is only one remedy for that i fear.
— please… it hurts.
your head felt like it was floating, one moment completely separate from your body, then the other, as he brushed over your inflamed skin, you painfully crashed back into reality. the mewls that kept seeping from your reddened, plump lips, tested his self-restriction. if it wasn’t for something far more important than his desires of flesh (probably the only human trait left in him), victor would devour you on the spot.
— hush, sweet girl — he whispered above your face, his palm retracting from the strands of your hair. — i will grant you release, but you need to earn it.
victor didn’t leave you neglected for too long, his hand sneaking under the hem of your shirt. his fingertips gently brushing over the skin of your stomach, lingering touch not satisfying you enough. your back arched off the table, chasing the soothing touch of the doctor's hands.
the man smirked, a set of golden, uneven teeth coming to the view. he had you dancing to his will like a puppet.
he splayed his palm flat across your tummy, covering almost all of it. still, the size difference between doctor gideon and an average man was something your drugged mind couldn’t quite comprehend. he could have easily broken you like a twig, if he only wished to. and yet, you were slowly unravelling before your captor.
— well, that just keeps getting in the way. — he notices, pulling on the tactical shirt’s material.
through a hazy state, you only return to the surface of existence, when the chilly air of the operating room hits your upper torso. a sharp inhale to stimulate the brain and you try to rise for a sitting position. just like a demonic possession. perhaps, he was the demon that decided to haunt you.
a realisation.
you were almost completely naked.
a strong hand forced you to lay back again and only when his gentle touch returned to the sternum area, you calmed down a little.
victor’s touch slid up the ribcage that shivered under his expert hand. when all of it covered the curve of your left breast, your exhale blended with a soft moan of slight release of tension. at first, he just squeezed the tender globe, feeling its softness and warmth, but soon his attention shifted to the perked nipples.
— does this feel better? — doctor gideon asked softly, playing with and massaging your breasts, switching from one to another. dumbfounded, you nodded, fighting the heavy eyelids that threatened to close.
following the unexpectedly pleasant assault on your breasts, victor’s touch was completely gone from your body. he retreated. somewhere.
and you were still there, bound to the medical table, limp, half-aware of the situation and in astonishing, odd pain that bloomed stronger between your legs with each passing minute.
— it should probably hurt by now. well, does it?
— i-i… will i die? — you swallowed with great difficulty, finding his figure to stand right beside you. or should i say, above you.
— no! don’t be foolish — he mocked your question. he had everything under control, so it was more than obvious what will happen next. — no one has ever died because they were aroused. but the feeling you experience won’t stop growing until your nervous system is granted a release.
his torment continued as he dragged the fingertips from your knee up to the apex of your thigh, sparkling almost electrical shockwaves through your nervous system.
— by now you should know what i want to hear.
— i swear… i know nothing about you. i-i mean we! — you quickly corrected yourself. stupid, you should have remembered this was all about him getting caught by the dso. it wasn’t personal. right? — we know nothing about… this. or racoon city disease. please! make it stop!
— hm, still not convincing enough.
— i-i w-was sent… to elbridge… to in-investigate fen-ntanyl… distr-distribution. i-i… i can’t, hah~! please!
you wept and the erection inside of his leather pants became apparent, as the outline of his… generous member swelled up. your hands, so delicate and small in comparison to his, clutched to the side of the table and the sight itself could drive victor to his destruction. a lovely subject falling apart right in front of him, begging for his mercy.
— good girl.
victor’s voice was low and composed. it shouldn’t but it brought you some eerie and misunderstood comfort. his words, like a venom, spread through your head, calming your hysterical self down.
you were truly responsive to his ministrations. a marionette.
a slave.
— they betrayed you, you know — his palm lay flat against your thigh, that was closer to where he stood. fingers fondling the flesh there like he was preparing to tear a piece of meat off your leg. — the dso. sending such an inexperienced agent straight into my arms, like a meal to devour? who am i to deny such a gift?
then, his perverse touch slid between the plush of your legs and you gasped.
— now, open up for inspection.
swallowing all the pride that was left, your teary eyes with wet eyelashes searched for his gaze and… parted your legs to grant him better access. still, the heavy metal visor covered the upper portion of his face. long strands of greying hair coming from beneath it, neatly slicked back, settling over his shoulders.
the humongous doctor seemed pleased as you decided to cooperate. his knuckles brushed over your still clothed slit, sending a new wave of sensations to your spine. victor found your cotton panties to be completely soaked through by this point. his middle finger teased your cunt as he leaned closer to your face.
— is it for me?
he teased, carefully watching as your cheeks grew flustered. with each heavy breath in, your breast rises and falls along with the shaky ribcage. victor grabbed the two sides of your underwear, so thin between his fingers, and tore it apart. your wet core was left entirely exposed to his doings.
— does this feel nice? — two of his fat fingers parted your sensitive folds, only to expose your swollen, needy clit. he began with sliding motion, slowly bringing it up and down to your weeping hole. — use your words, darling girl. or are you too far gone?
— y-yes!
victor continued rubbing your folds and what was between them, but at some point he did find your aching, throbbing clit. with his thumb, the doctor teased the sensitive nub, pulling a song of soft moans from your lips.
— and how about that?
you twitched and your lying leg jumped up a little as he continued caressing all the right places. the tingling feeling was coming to the apogeum. with a little bit more tenderness and care, you will come apart, stars already creeping in the corners of the visions.
— go-good… hah~!.
but then, he completely removed his hand from between your thighs. the glorious sensation fading slowly away. your eyes shot open, looking at him questioning. the gathered saliva on your tongue threatened to spill and drool down your chin. swallowing you mewled disappointed. the eating through itchiness returned.
— you didn’t think it would be that easy? — victor laughed, admiring how desperate he had you. he watched you struggle for another moment or so, before clearing his throat. — let’s try again.
he probably had to calm himself, because if you had continued whimpering and trembling so beautifully to his doing, he could have cummed inside of his trousers.
such a waste of a material.
victor gideon was a patient man. he would have all the time in the world to play with his newest pet.
this time, the doctor gathered your slick with a scooping movement, sliding between your folds. without further hesitation, he sank his middle finger into your tight cunt. the sheer feeling of fulness, brought back the pleasurable tingling in your limbs, especially deep down in your tummy.
because victor was no ordinary man, his digits were roughly twice bigger than an average man. one of his thick fingers buried deep within your warm, slick hole was able to send shock waves through the spines and straight into your brain.
which happened to be clouded by the strong arousal and growing difficulty with breathing. the only thought on your mind, if it meant to end the suffering, was cumming.
as long as a part of you (the drugged and terrified one) longed for the sweet release and for your tormentor to continue the assault between your legs, there was another side of the same coin. crippling shame was present from the beginning of your “interrogation”. you hated yourself for falling apart so easily and voluntarily leaning into gideon’s touch.
well, you would have done it yourself, only if your hands weren’t restricted.
the feeling of catastrophical failure, not only as an agent, but also a person, loomed in the back of your mind. what has become of you? what would be left after he’s done with you?
— don’t hold yourself back — victor’s stern voice brought you back from the depths of your consciousness — or i’ll cease your treatment.
new tears brimmed in the corners of your giddy eyes as you dared to look at him, before your world crumbled.
the doctor slipped another finger between your tight walls, adding to the stretch balancing on the edge of being either painful and delightful. his unoccupied hand stroked your head again, like an owner would reward its obedient hound.
— yessss — he hissed through the golden teeth, his excitement revealed — i can feel it. you’re so close.
victor kept pumping his fingers in and out, the cold rings decorating digits, pushing against your entrance, adding to the stimulation. it didn’t take much longer before you reached the sweetest peak – white, blinding pleasure ran through your veins, causing the muscles to spasm and bend. you shrieked there, before him, as your cunt gushed its slick over his hand. it was warm and sticky, dirtying the apex of your thighs.
— such a vision. pretty thing. — doctor gideon admired the sight in front of him, a trembling trinket, coming undone because of his doing.
you panted heavily, trying to come to your senses, but either it was post orgasmic bliss or the drug the doctor injected was still working. exhaustion took over your body as you slumped in the seat, without further will to struggle.
victor brought the fingers, he used to violate you with, to his mouth again and slurped all your juices off them. only then you dared to look at him, brain barely registering what was going on.
and there he was – the behemoth took a stand between your spread legs, now placed in the retractable stirrups. where that even came from?
the man rubbed your tired thighs in soothing motions, keeping them open and welcoming. his trousers already undone, the metal of the belt clinging as he moved even closer. only then you put the puzzle pieces together and your eyes opened up wide.
— don’t worry, dear. doctor gideon is gonna take such good care of his pet. you’ll never have to worry again.
older!leon who can sometimes be mean and loves to make his girlfriend fuck herself using him whenever she gets a little bratty or slightly inconveniences him. he secretly just likes the excuse of watching how wrecked and warn out you get from using his cock. he refuses to even put a hand on your body and help you at all, the most touch he’ll offer is a spank, maybe a small tug on your hair, and he’s always watching you so intently, so ferally - lids heavy and cheeks flushed as his own pleasure grows, but he holds it in as best he can so to not cut your punishment short. even when your movements begin to grow sloppy, your hips not moving the way you so desperately need them too, he offers no help. perhaps a small “good girl”, “keep going” or “you did this to yourself”, but nothing more. especially when you start to beg, needing him to take over and just fuck you, he doesn’t. he needs to teach you a lesson and by gods, he will.
I'm really enjoying drawing Victor Gideon in a suit. We know he’s fully capable of looking professional, but it’s also my perfect excuse to finally draw those fuck-ass silk tie.
I also threw in a younger version of him from 1998, when he would have been 26. Since he idolized Spencer, I made sure his fashion sense as a young man definitely reflected that influence. Honestly kind of jarring how normal he looking back then, at least that how I envision it (then he got old and fat and gross, uh yeah that happened)
I am sick of nsfw victor gideon x reader I wanna see more silly platonic drabbles hehe if not victor gideon submissive WHAT WHO SAID THAT-
“Let Me Help You Relax, Doctor.”
Sub!Victor Gideon x Dom!Reader
p in v, dom/sub dynamics, pet names, cream pies, seduction.
One day, he had asked you to come into his office later than usual. He was obviously stressed out, and his messy handwriting was a tell-tale sign of it. The desk he sat at, usually meticulously organized, was disheveled and unkempt.
Victor was a quiet man, and you knew that; he would much rather observe than give his input.
For six months, you had been working under him and loved every second of it. Perhaps, it was because you thought it was extremely sexy how soft spoken he was. Thus, when he asked you to be his personal assistant, who were you to say no?
Being his personal assistant meant getting to be around him 24/7, an opportunity you simply could not pass up. Taking care of sickly patients and documenting all therapy sessions was a two-person job after all.
Oh, you couldn't stand to see him like this, so tousled, so overwhelmed. You only wanted to help your favorite doctor out.
You moved closer to him gently putting a hand on his shoulder, “Why don’t you sit down Doctor. I can clean up.” you purr into his ear whilst guiding him into his desk chair. He lets out a sigh but doesn't protest.
Your hands remain on his shoulders as he sinks into the large chair. You feel him gradually relax. Picking up his pen, he began scribbling down patient prescriptions again—nice and neat per usual.
As you start to softly massage his shoulders, you notice he tenses up at first. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning up, my dear?” He asks, voice low and gravely.
“I’m just helping you relax. You know I’ll get it done… I always do,” you whisper the last part in his ear. That’s when he sets his pen down, halting his writing.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to seduce me, darling,” he says with a slight edge in his voice. You just smile and keep massaging, working your thumbs into his shoulderblades. Once he is fully relaxed you run a delicate hand over his big arms, giving them a light squeeze. “Darling—“ but you cut him off by sinking down onto the floor. His face contorted into a puzzled look before realization struck him. You make your way under his desk so you're face-to-face with his crotch.
“Shhhhh… I just want to make you feel better,” you whine, moving your hands to rest on his knees. Even from this angle, you could see the flush in his cheeks. Ever so teasingly, you creep your hands up and he grabs your wrist. “Please…” you pout looking up at him and, slowly, his resolve cracks. He pushes back slightly, giving you room to work.
You perk up and fully sit on your knees before making quick work of his belt. You press your palm on his obvious bulge. A hiss falls from his parted lips and you can feel how hard he is. Biting your own lip, you undo his pants, slowly lifting his throbbing cock out of the confines of his dress pants.
He was massive, long, and thick with a nice curve. You could see the pre-cum leaking from the pink tip as it twitched. You give his cock slow pumps earning a low groan from Victor. Smirking, you press your thumb right on the head. His whole body shutters—you wanted more.
His strong hands gripped onto the chair's armrest as you teased him. “Darling p-please, stop teasing me,” he lets out alongside a small whimper. You had never heard him sound so desperate. It fueled you, making you clutch his length tighter in your soft hands. He was usually a cool, refined man, but tonight was a different story.
With zero hesitation, you engulf him into your mouth. He arches when he feels the heat of your mouth around him. He was big, filling up your throat instantly. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as you took him deeper. The salty taste of precum and sweat mixed together on your tongue.
You held yourself there. Keeping all of him in your mouth, nose pressed right up against his groin. You begin bobbing your head up and down, eliciting groans of pleasure from Victor. He gently tangles his hand in your hair. You suck harder, making him squirm, the movement making you pull away. “Be a good boy and stay still for me, hmm,” Whimpering, he nods whilst also removing his hand.
Placing your mouth back on his cock, you slurp up and down, swirling your tongue over the tip. You could tell he was close based on the loud groan that was pulled from his throat. “Darling, please…” But you had already pulled yourself off him.
Licking your lips, you undress before coming back to him. He looks up at you, sweat dripping from his brow, face red, and hair a mess. Without warning you place yourself on his lap. Positioning yourself over his throbbing cock, you lower yourself agonizingly slow. His hands tremble but you place your hands over his so he cannot grab your hips.
“Beg for it.”
His eyes widened, but no protest formed. “Please, my dear, please ride me…” He begged so sweetly; how could you say no?
“Good boy.” And with that, you finally sink down onto his cock, completely bottoming out. He tosses his head back and a low groan is ripped from his throat. Rolling your hips with a sly seductive smirk you couldn't take your eyes off his face.
How his breath was stick in his throat, how his mouth hung slightly open, the ebads of sweat that ran down his face. You loved it, starting to bounce up and down letting your own moans of pleasure fill the room.
“Good boy.” And with that, you finally sink down onto his cock, completely bottoming out. He tosses his head back and a low groan is ripped from his throat.
"Please let me touch you darling." He cried out as his tip impaired your cervix. Your head loled forward onto his shoulder and you moved your hands from his. They were on you in an instant, gripping your waist. You knew their would be bruises with how strong his large hands engulfed you.
He started pistoning his hips faster each thrust hitting all the right spots, "Fuck Victor!". He was close and so were you. Smashing your lips onto his you begin rolling your hips, chasing release. With a few more powerful thurst you both cum.
He mians in pure ecstacy. It was a sound you would soon become addicted to. You felt his cock twitch inside you as he filled you up. You felt so pull but didn't move off him, choosing to colaps into his chets. His hand softly rest on your back.
You would clean up the mess later but as of right now you just wanted to stay full of him. You kiss his chest and close your eyes. Maybe a quick power nap before you both had to start doing work again.
synopsis : when your mom marries toji fushiguro and tries to make him your dad, you decided to make him your daddy. and all that dilf obsession finally has a taste of reality.
content warning : daddy kink • stepcest • teasing • seducing • p in v • breast play • creampie • breeding • age gap • obsession • mature readers only • 18+ • mdni. art by @/youka.i
You’ve always been into older men.
like, it’s not even funny at this point. boys your age just… don’t hit the same. they talk too loud, smell like cheap cologne, and think two minutes of bean-flicking is character development.
meanwhile, when you see a guy with greying hair roll up his sleeves and suddenly your brain is buffering. you’ve scrolled enough “dilfcore” TikToks to know you’re beyond saving. you tried dating guys your age—total disasters. tried flirting with that older neighbor once? he just smiled politely, patted your head and told you to “study well.”
embarrassing doesn’t even begin to cover it.
you’d accepted it though. your life wasn’t meant to have a dilf arc. you’d just admire from afar and cry over fictional men with dad bods.
and then your mom went and got married. to him.
Toji freakin’ fushiguro.
like, what cosmic joke is this? this man looks like he could ruin a marriage just by existing and apparently, he did. six foot something of pure bad decision energy, broad shoulders, smug grin, voice that sounds like gravel in honey. he’s got that kind of presence that fills the whole room, and you can’t decide whether to scream or faint. kind of man every woman looks at once and thinks, "yeah, I’d risk it all."
and the best part? he’s now in your house. living, breathing, occasionally shirtless, miracle of a man. you’re convinced God has favorites, and it’s definitely not your mom. she doesn’t even like him that much, it’s all petty revenge after your dad’s affair. she married Toji just to get back at him. you almost respect her pettiness.
Toji, on the other hand? he’s clearly in it for the lifestyle. fancy house, expensive stuff, late mornings. you can’t even blame him. you’d marry your mom too if it meant lounging around in designer boxers.
but nothing stops your brain from short-circuiting every time he walks by. so, yeah. you’ve been trying to get closer. trying being the key word. like that time when you hovered near the kitchen doorway, pretending to need help opening a jar.
“Toji, could you—uh—open this for me?”
he looked up from his phone, sighed, and popped the lid open in one go. “there.”
and left. no smirk. no banter. nothing. you just stood there holding a jar of pickles, mentally screaming.
or when you “accidentally” dropped a pen near him while he was watching TV. you bent to grab it, slow, dramatic, perfect angle and he just turned the volume up. once, you even tried sitting next to him on the couch while your mom was out. the man got up mid-episode, muttered something about needing to fix a shelf, and disappeared for the rest of the evening.
It’s like he’s immune to you. or worse, he knows exactly what you’re doing and is choosing peace by pretending not to notice. you have fuckin' no idea what's even going on that stupidly attractive old man's head.
still, you don’t quit. never back down, never what?
so you linger when he’s in the kitchen, offer to “help” when he’s fixing something, steal glances every time he walks past in a towel. not that you’d admit that last part out loud.
your friends would never believe you anyway.
“your mom’s husband?” they’d whisper. "girl, what the hell?" you’d just shrug, sipping your iced coffee like, yeah, and what about it? they haven't seen him anyways. If they did, they would understand. right? because really—how are you supposed to live normally when your mom’s petty revenge husband looks like a walking sin?
but it ain’t working. that man hasn’t budged. not once. not at all responsive. It's hard to say if he's playing hard to get or he's just that oblivious. so naturally, you try another method, the oldest trick in the book, the one no man with functioning eyes could possibly resist.
slutty clothes.
you start with the little things. tiny shorts that should honestly be classified as underwear. tank tops that definitely weren’t made to contain. sometimes you skip the bra altogether, y’know, for “laundry reasons.” but of course, your grand plan doesn’t exactly go as intended.
Toji, the man himself, has the patience of Buddha and the awareness of a brick or it seems to be. the most you ever get from him is a furrowed brow and that annoyingly deep voice going—
“you’ll get cold walkin’ around like that.”
or
“don’t go outside dressed like that, it’s fine in the house.”
sir. be serious.
you’re trying to make him your daddy, not your dad. and yet somehow, every single thing he does only makes it worse. the way he talks, the way he moves around the house with his stupid broad back showing through that compression shirt, veins popping out when he opens a jar for your mom like it’s no big deal. the audacity.
you swear, if the universe had a sense of humor, this is it. you spend years daydreaming about dilfs, and now the real thing is just out here existing in your kitchen, using your favorite mug, scolding you about the air conditioner like he pays the bills.
It’s honestly infuriating. you’re trying to make him look at you, not act like your overprotective dad. so yeah, maybe you’ve started getting bolder.
brushing past him in the kitchen when there’s enough space not to. leaning a bit too close when you hand him something. “accidentally” losing your balance so your hand lands on his chest or arm, solid, warm, annoyingly steady. and for a while, he plays it cool. like nothing’s happening. like you’re just clumsy.
but lately, you’ve started catching little cracks, the twitch in his jaw, the way he clears his throat, how his eyes don’t quite know where to look when your tank top’s a bit too low. then it happens.
he’s in the kitchen way past midnight, fridge door open, drinking straight from the bottle. you walk in quietly, pretending to rummage through a cabinet looking around.
yeah, this is perfect, even though you're risking it all. you slide between him and the open fridge, the cold air hitting your bare thighs under that tiny sleep short. you bend a little, pretending to look inside. your ass presses firm against his crotch as you bend over, pretending to scan the bottom shelf.
that shameless man was wearing only a pair of boxers which you swear is see-through when looked at from specific angles. you feel the heat of his manhood through that piece of fabric.
you're just a girl. a girl who's obsessed with hunky older men, especially Toji fushiguro and the same man's cock is pressing up against your plump ass. a girl who's just so horny and wants to get dicked down for good.
you couldn't help but grind back slow, rolling your hips against the hardness of him. a low 'fuck" rumbles from his chest, vibrating through your spine. his hand grips on the door, but he doesn’t push you away. his hips snap forward, grinding that thick bulge right against your ass. you feel every ridge, every pulse through the thin fabric of your shorts.
“brat,” he growls, voice rough like gravel. “ya playin’ with shit you don’t understand.”
his hands clamp down hard on your hips, fingers digging in. you keep rolling your hips, slow and deliberate, feeling him get impossibly harder. his groan vibrates against your back, low and hungry. he matches your rhythm, thrusting against you coordinating with the delicious rolls of your hips.
Toji fushiguro lost it when your hands slide back, fingers digging into the waistband of your shorts before slipping under to spread your ass cheeks wide. thin cotton is all that separates you now, and you shove back hard, grinding that thick, pulsing bulge right against your slick heat.
"fuckin' desperate," he rasps, breath scalding your shoulder as his hips snap forward again. you feel the exact moment he snaps, a ragged inhale, the tremor in his grip, the low noise ripped from his throat and then his calloused palm cups your cunt firmly, fingers pressing hard against your clit through the soaked fabric. then he lifts you like you weigh nothing, one arm hooked under your thighs, the other bracing your back and slams you down onto the cold kitchen counter. bare thighs hit the marble, sharp and shocking. he steps between your legs, forcing them wider with his hips, his boxers tented obscenely.
the fridge hums in the silence. he yanks your shorts down your legs in one rough pull, the fabric tearing at the seams. cool air hits your exposed cunt, making you shiver. his thumb drags through your slick folds, spreading you open.
"look at ya," he rasps, thumb circling your clit slowly. "all leakin' from humping me like a damn bitch in heat."
his other hand fists in your hair, holding your head back. you gasp, arching off the counter. his thumb presses hard against your clit, making you jerk against the counter.
"do you even know what you're playing with, kid?" he rasps, eyes dropping to your bare cunt. "slutty little cunny... were you that desperate for a cock that you decided to hump on your stepdad?" his voice is thick, mocking, but his hips grind forward, the heat of him branding you through his boxers.
you whimper as his thumb grinds slow circles on your clit, your hips lifting off the cold counter. "mhhmm, Toji," you pant, voice thick with need. "you've been... ignoring me...."
his thumb stops circling. "fuck yes," he grunts, voice raw. "cause I ain't dumb." he leans down, his breath hot and heavy on your lips.
"think I don't see ya'? walkin' around in scraps of fabric? bendin' over just so?" his free hand slides up your inner thigh, rough calluses scraping your skin.
"why not, Toji?" you gasp, hips bucking against his stilled hand. "please... need you."
"fuckin' whore," he growls, the word thick with heat and insult. fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh. "you know that's not what you wanna call me... right?"
his eyes lock onto yours, intense and demanding. you can only nod frantically, the counter cold beneath your bare back, your cunt throbbing against his palm.
"say it," he commands, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. thumb presses down hard on your clit, a sharp, delicious pressure that makes your vision blur. "say it now, brat." his other hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back further, forcing the word out.
"d...daddy," you whimper, the word thick and needy, echoing in the quiet kitchen. a dark, satisfied smirk twists his lips.
"whatcha want from daddy, huh?" he rasps, his voice rough velvet. your hips buck uselessly against his hand.
"wanna see it..." you pant, the admission raw and shameless.
"see what, brat?" he taunts, leaning closer, his breath hot on your face.
"daddy's cock..." you gasp, "please."
"that so?" low chuckle rumbles in his chest.
In one fluid motion, he shoves his boxers down his hips. his cock springs free, thick and heavy, already leaking, the angry red head glistening under the dim kitchen light. he wraps his fist around the base, giving it a slow, deliberate pump, the veins standing out starkly. he taps the swollen head firmly against your soaked cunt, smearing pre-cum over your clit and swollen lips.
"this what you've been teasin' for, baby?" he growls, rubbing the hot, slick tip in tight circles against your aching entrance. "fuck, you're soaked."
you couldn't believe it, but it’s finally happening. all that teasing and now he’s right here, too close, too real. you’ve imagined this a hundred times, but none of those daydreams hit like this.
this is it. this is what you’ve been waiting for. and god, the sheer size of him is making your cunt throb and dumb in the head.
"sooo big... daddy..." you gasp, arching your back off the cold counter, trying to fuck yourself on that thick head. your hands scramble at his hips, nails digging into his skin.
"In me... please... inside.." your voice is a high, desperate whine, every nerve ending screaming for him to fill you, to finally give you what you've been fantasizing about for weeks. you feel stretched just from the pressure of him against your entrance. his eyes, dark and predatory, rake over your face.
"who the fuck raised you to be such a whore, kid?" he rasps, his voice thick with a mix of disbelief and raw lust. he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "shit... fuckin' wet yourself just waitin' for this, huh?"
his hips push forward slightly, the thick tip stretching your tight entrance, making you cry out.
"completely gone, aren't ya'?" he pulls back slightly, denying you that full penetration, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "come on... do it yourself... use daddy as much as you want."
your hand darts down, wrapping around the thick, hot length of him. It pulses violently in your grip, slick with your juices and his pre-cum. you pump him once, twice, the velvety skin sliding easily in your fist, before guiding him back to your entrance. you rub the swollen head firmly against your clit, grinding against it, a moan tearing from your throat as you feel the ridge catch against your sensitive nub. with a desperate gasp, you angle him down and shove his cockhead hard against your soaked opening, forcing it past the tight ring of muscle. you sink down onto the first few inches with a choked cry, the stretch burning beautifully. at the same time, his big paws come up roughly, kneading your tits through the sleep shirt, pinching your nipples hard through the fabric, making you arch and gasp.
fuckin' finally.
"move, move, daddy!" you whimper, your voice high and frantic, your hips already rocking against him, trying to take more of that impossible thickness. he just chuckles, a low, dark sound that vibrates through your core where you're stretched around him.
"Impatient little bitch," he rasps, his eyes gleaming with predatory amusement. before you can beg again, his hands clamp onto your inner thighs, fingers digging in brutally. he forces your legs closed, trapping his cock tightly between your thighs and in your dripping cunt. then, in one quick motion, he hoists your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. your hips are lifted clean off the counter, your back arching painfully. new angle makes you feel impossibly tight around him.
"fuck!" you cry out, the shift driving him impossibly deeper inside you, the thick ridge of his cockhead scraping against a spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes.
he doesn't wait. with your legs pinned over his shoulders, your cunt stretched wide around him, he starts fucking you. hard. deep.
each brutal thrust slams your ass back down onto the cold marble countertop with a sharp smack. his hips piston relentlessly, the thick shaft dragging against your walls, the swollen head pounding against your deepest spot. the wet, filthy sound of his cock plunging into your soaked cunt fills the kitchen, rhythmic and obscene.
"that's it," he grunts, his voice thick and strained, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your heaving chest. "take it. take daddy's cock, fuckin' whore."
his eyes are locked on where you're joined, watching himself disappear inside you again and again, his expression feral with lust. stretch is almost too much, the relentless pounding overwhelming. feel him everywhere, the thick heat filling you, the rough drag against your sensitive walls, the brutal grip on your thighs, the sting of your nipples where he pinched them.
"daddy!" you scream, the word ripped from you as he hits that spot again, deeper and harder than before. your vision whites out. "fuck, fuck! right there! don't stop!"
you're babbling, completely lost to the sensation, your body tightening around him. he just grunts, his rhythm never slowing, driving into you as his own release building in the tense set of his jaw, the cords straining in his neck.
"such a slut," Toji grits out, his voice ragged, strained. he bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and the wet slap of skin against skin echoes off the tiles, counterpoint to your choked gasps and his harsh breathing.
"daddy's cummin' baby. . . "
he groans as he loses control, a guttural groan tears from his chest, raw and primal. his thrusts become erratic, frantic, slamming deep as his cock pulses violently inside you. hot cum floods your cunt in thick, pulsing jets, the sensation making you cry out as your own climax crashes over you, milking him desperately. your walls clamp down hard, spasming around his length, trying to draw every last drop.
he doesn't stop. even as his cock twitches, spilling the last of his release deep inside you, his hips keep moving. slow, deliberate thrusts now, grinding his softening cock against your oversensitive walls, milking himself against your fluttering cunt. his eyes are heavy-lidded, fixed on where you're joined. his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open, forcing you to feel the wet slide of his spend mixed with yours. he leans forward slightly, his breath hot against your ear.
"filled you up good, didn't I, brat?" he rasps, his voice vibrates through your core. "came so much inside ya."
he finally pulls out. thick, pearly stream of cum follows his cock, overflowing your swollen, gaping entrance and dripping down onto the cold marble counter beneath your ass. you gasp, looking down at the mess between your trembling thighs, your cunt glistening, stretched, leaking his seed onto the stark white surface. your mouth forms a shocked little "O".
"daddy..." you breathe, your voice trembling, "there's... so much..." eyes flicker up to his face, wide with a mix of awe and disbelief.
Toji just smirks, a dark, knowing curve of his lips as he looks down at his handiwork. he wipes the slick head of his cock roughly against your inner thigh, leaving a wet streak.
"course there is," he grunts, his voice still rough but laced with a smug satisfaction. "been testin' me for weeks, haven't ya? showin' those tits, bendin' over, rubbin' that tight little ass on me..." he leans closer, his gaze intense.
"got exactly what you were beggin' for. every fuckin' drop." his thumb swipes through the mess on your thigh, then brings it to your lips, smearing the salty tang across your mouth.
"mmhm, daddy," you whimper, sucking his thumb clean instinctively, your eyes pleading. "can we... do this everyday? please... please.... please? need it."
a low chuckle escapes him. "you'll fuckin' break if I keep poundin' this little cunt everyday, brat," he says, his eyes roaming over your flushed, spent body. "already look used up."
you arch your back slightly, pushing your tits out. "Please," you beg, your voice thick with need, "can't stop thinking about you... love you so much."
he just stares at you for a long moment, that smirk still playing on his lips. without warning, he leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss. not gentle. It's deep, sloppy, wet, all tongue and teeth and hunger, stealing your breath and leaving your head spinning. he pulls back, leaving your lips swollen and slick.
"what the hell am I gonna do with ya'..." he mutters, shaking his head, a strange mix of affection and amusement in his eyes. he tucks his softening cock back into his boxers with a rough tug, the fabric straining.
"clean this mess up," he orders, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. "and get your ass to bed. before your mama wakes up and catches her little girl lookin' like a well-used fuckdoll."
a/n : honourable mention to the queen @madamechrissy who let me use the title 🥺🙏
Hi friend! I was wondering if you could write about Pomni and the reader having a picnic together and finding out they have mutual feelings for each other?
We found love in a hopeless place <3
Pomni x Gn! Reader
FLUFFY X READER SFW
Waking up in the circus was certainly an experience, to say the least. Sure, the bright colors and silly characters were supposed to be comforting, but taking a look around, not being able to remember your own name was quite the opposite. Your brain went into overdrive attempting to recall anything at all, but it was futile.
“Where am I? Who am I?” you call out frantically whilst frantically clutching your face. Anxiety settles deep within you, and you begin to hyperventilate uncontrollably when a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder.
“Hey, it's gonna be okay,” a small female jester says softly. She had brown hair and mismatched red and blue eyes that matched her outfit. “My name’s Pomni,” she spoke in the same, gentle tone with a smile that radiated comfort. After all, she knew exactly how you felt.
————————————————————————————————————————
Over the next few weeks, you slowly started to adjust to the wacky world and Caine's adventures. Of course, this did not make his so-called adventures any less stressful. On one particular occasion, Caine had the bright idea to go on what he referred to as a “Spooky Adventure”.
“W-wait guys I'm scared of the dark!” was your feeble attempt at protest that went unheard as you and the rest of the group were teleported to an almost comically creepy mansion.
“Well, s###!” Zooble says walking off from the group alongside Gangle. Jax was nowhere to be found so you, Pomni, Kinger, and Ragatha head in as a group.
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad… right?” Ragatha tries to lighten the mood and reassure everyone, but naturally fails.
You can only sigh and look at Pomni with a resigned, “Well…” Pomni, though, merely smiles at you and takes your hand.
“Let's go.” You look away, feeling the blush creep up your neck as you walk into the mansion side by side.
————————————————————————————————————————
Walking into the mansion, fear already settling in, you felt the cool air and an involuntary shiver ran down your spine. A fleeting thought that this was all so cliche flitted through your mind, but was replaced by the deep-seated desire to just return back to the circus. At least there, it was all lit up. Maybe if you closed your eyes it would end sooner? It’d still be dark then, though… No one said much while walking further into the mansion. Finally, after a few uncomfortable minutes, Kinger stops abruptly and you bump into him.
“Oh, sorry…” you start, but your voice trails off as you look up. In front of you lay two imposing, rod-iron doors.
“What do we do now?” Pomni asks, releasing your hand to step forward. You frown at the loss of contact, but recover quickly.
“I say we split up. Kinger and I will take the left door while you and Pomni take the right,” Ragatha suggested, gesturing to you. In the end, you all unanimously agree and head off into the separate doors. Upon opening the door though, you and Pomni are sucked into complete darkness.
“Oh God, it's so dark,” you yelp, immediately grabbing Pomni’s arm. And although you couldn't see it, a slight blush fell onto Pomni’s cheeks, a soft, rosy color that mirrored yours. “Y-yeah but we'll be ok,” she reassured you despite being a bit flustered by how close you were.
Continuing down the hall was nothing short of a nightmare. The journey felt like it would never cease, but thankfully along the way, you had uncovered a small candle for light. Though it was dim and made little difference, at least it was something. “Why couldn't we just go back to candy land? That was my favorite adventure. There were no ghosts, and all the NPC’s were nice,” you complained, still wrapped around Pomni’s arm.
She smiled, shifting her gaze to look at your face best she could given the light, “That one was my favorite too. Though, Jax was really annoying that day.” You both laugh a bit at that, but it dies down as quick as it came. Silence takes over once more, until Pomni interrupts it. “I… I just wanted to say,” there's a pause in her voice and she looks away, “I'm glad I got partnered up with you.”
In return to her confession, you offer the sweetest smile you could muster. You had always liked Pomni; she was your first friend in this digital prison. However, the problem lied in that you liked her more than a friend. Quickly, you nod and try to deflect the flusteredness you feel, “Yeah me too!” You see her radiant smile and your heart beats a bit faster.
————————————————————————————————————————
Finally, the two of you come up to a singular door. Taking initiative, you open the door when a strong gust of wind blows through and the candle is knocked from Pomni’s hand. You look at each other before walking in. The lack of the light causes panic to stir in you again, but you try your best at a brave face, if not just for Pomni’s sake. The door slams shut behind you, causing you to jump a bit. Pomni takes your hand again and squeezes it reassuringly. This time around, you both had minimal issues making it through the various rooms and eventually made your way to the staircase. The floor boards creaked, and suddenly broke.
Instinctively, you grabbed Pomni so she wouldn't fall, pulling her close. You were face to face, both a blushing, stuttering mess.“T-Thank you” she responds quickly, adjusting her jester hat. Your hand scratches the back of your neck awkwardly. “Of course, d-don't mention it…”.
“What was that?” you ask weakly, reacting to a sudden, harsh noise. “I… have no clue,” she says whilst looking around. After taking a second to compose yourselves, you both venture on into yet another room. Quickly, you both regret that choice though because the door shuts itself and a hideous creature emerges from under the bed. Pomni’s screams echo off the walls in tandem with your own as you two try to make a run for it, busting the door down and running down the stairs. Finding a different room to hide in, Pomni quickly locks the door, blocking the creature from you, if only temporarily.
“What do we do? What do we do!?” you whisper, though panic has taken over you. Pomni turns around to face you. “Uhh, it's ok. We’re ok,” she said but it seemed her words were more to convince herself rather than you. Pomni’s face fell into a state of anguish you had not often seen from her, if ever before. Tears welled in her eyes as her breathing quickened. You reached out cautiously to try and calm her, but she shoves your hand away.
“No! I’m fine,” she grits out, voice shaky. “Pomni, talk to me—” you started, but was interrupted.“I don’t…” she breathes out and slumps against the door as her sobs come in full force.The sound of her so devastated begins to weigh on you. You feel tears prick your eyes, and it is hard to be strong in that moment, even for her. Her own panic overwhelms you, bringing out a panic of your own, and you sink to the floor beside her. She latches herself onto you and muffles her sobs into your shoulder.
When she sobbed, you were frozen in place, unable to focus on anything but the pounding of your heart, now pounding for more reasons than just the fear you felt. “Pomni?” you began weakly, a hand coming up to rest on her back, “... Thank you,” you hear her slightly mumbled reply and she lifts her face to yours.
While the sight was sad, you also saw how beautiful she looked in that moment. In a bold, rash move, you cupped her face. She flinched at first, then slowly melted into the contact.Both of you at once blurt out your confessions at the same time:
“I like you more than a friend!” Pomni blinks up at you and is first to speak with, “Wait, what did you say?”“I said… I liked you?”“I said that too.”“Oh.”
A contemplative silence washes over the two of you, the creature long forgotten. This time, you break the tension.
“Soo… you want to find our way out of here and—”
Pomni interrupts you with a slightly wistful and enthusiastic, “Yes.”
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