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The Arrangement
Words: 8k
Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F
Warnings: Drugging, age gap, coercion, loss of innocence, dub-con, explicit sex, oral (f rec), breeding kink (inferred), HEA
Your stepfather made an ill-advised wager with Arthur Shelby and when he lost the coin toss, you were are to be given to Arthur for the night. And you will be taken tonight. Just not by Arthur...
A/N: I don't know if any of you are fans of Peaky Blinders. The DH started watching it recently and I've watched it with him. My muse grabbed me and this was the result. But I find if I keep her happy, she'll let me work on my other projects so... Let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.
You shivered in the chilly air, wearing your best dress and wrapped in your heaviest shawl, as you walked along the cobbled street, slick with rain and coal dust. You felt numb, struggling to accept the situation you found yourself in through no fault of your own.
One one side of you John Shelby walked with his usual restless energy, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. Though younger than the others, he had a sharpness in his eyes, a tension in his jaw that betrayed the weight of the world he’s been forced to carry. His hair was slightly disheveled, his cap pulled low over his forehead, casting a shadow that makes him look harder than his years. The dim gas light flickered across his face, highlighting a faint bruise on his cheekbone—evidence of a recent scrap, though nothing too serious by Shelby standards.
On the other side, Liam Murphy, one of the Peaky Blinders’ trusted men, walked along. Taller and broader than John, he carried himself with the calm confidence of someone who knows he can handle whatever comes next. His dark eyes scan the area as they reach the destination, ever-watchful. His fingers tapping idly against the handle of the revolver holstered beneath his coat. Dressed in the same razor-brimmed flat cap and three-piece suit as the rest of the gang, Liam looked every bit the part of a man who’s bled for the Shelbys and would do so again without hesitation. The faint trace of whiskey lingers on his breath, but his movements are steady, his focus razor-sharp.
Around them, the air hums with unspoken tension. John’s energy crackles like a struck match, eager, impatient. His gaze landed on you and he cracked a smile. "Look at you. You look like a fuckin' lamb going to slaughter."
Yes, were scared to death. But you lifted your chin, holding his gaze. "Wouldn't you?"
Both of them burst into laughter at that as they stopped in front of the apartment, the agreed meeting place.
"Yes," John said. "Can't say I'd want to fuck Arthur either."
The reminder of why you were here was too pointed, too impersonal. You glanced around Small Heath, the neighborhood the Shelbys dominated here in Birmingham. It was a rough area, a working-class district, thick with the grime of industry and the weight of hardship. The narrow, soot-stained brick houses huddled together as if bracing against the cold, damp air rolling in from the factories. The sharp scent of iron and smoke from nearby foundries clung to the wind like an ever-present warning.
Gas lamps cast flickering pools of light, their glow struggling against the heavy smog that lingered in the alleyways. The sounds of the city never truly died—somewhere in the distance, a train whistle howls through the night, blending with the rattle of carts, the distant shouts of drunken men spilling from the back doors of a pub, and the occasional bark of a stray dog scavenging for scraps.
When the door opened, your heart lurched in your chest to see Arthur Shelby standing there in the dim light, a shadow of the man he once was—wild-eyed, disheveled, and teetering on the edge of something dangerous. His waistcoat is unbuttoned, his once-crisp white shirt now rumpled and stained with whiskey and the sweat of a man who's been drinking too long and thinking too hard. His tie hangs loose around his neck, the knot twisted and undone, as if he tried and failed to make himself presentable before giving up entirely.
His hair, usually slicked back with care, is in disarray, tufts sticking up where he’s raked his fingers through it in frustration. His face is a map of old scars and fresh exhaustion, his beard uneven, the shadow of stubble catching the flickering light. His knuckles are raw, split from a recent fight—maybe a brawl at The Garrison, maybe something worse.
His eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, burned with the remnants of rage and sorrow, that familiar fire barely held at bay. His breath reeks of whiskey and smoke, and when he exhales, it’s slow, heavy, as if the weight of the world presses down on his chest. When he sees you, his eyes light up in surprise as if his mind just pushed the memory of why you're there through the haze of his enebriation.
"Come in," he said after studying you for a moment.
What else could you do?
Dropping your head, trying to keep your desperation and fury at bay, you walked quickly by him and into the apartment.
When John and Liam tried to push their way in, Arthur smashed a fist into LIam's face. The crunching sound made you think Arthur broke his nose. "What the fuck?" Liam yelled. "Aren't we supposed to be witnesses?"
The question sent a spike of fear through your heart.
"The hell you are!" Arthur raged at them. "Now get out before I knock some teeth out, you fuckin' bastard."
With that, he slammed the door hard and locked it for good measure.
Inside the small apartment, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood, old tobacco, and the faint traces of stew long gone cold. The walls were thin, covered in peeling wallpaper that was once floral but now curls at the edges, stained by years of cigarette smoke and candlelight. The floorboards creaked under the weight of every movement, betraying any attempt at stealth. Outside, heavy boots scuff against the cobblestones, stopping and starting, keeping you on edge.
The only light inside came from a low-burning candle near the window, its feeble glow barely touching the dark corners of the room. A single iron-framed bed sits against one wall, its mattress lumpy and worn. A wooden table stands near the hearth, cluttered with an empty bottle, a playing card bent at the edges, and a knife someone left behind—perhaps a warning, perhaps a promise.
The Peaky Blinders owned these streets, and yet, danger lurks in the shadows, even for them. Every knock at the door could be salvation—or the end. This is where you were born.
You stood in the small space and waited. You had no intention to make this easy for anyone. Particularly when it wasn't fair at all how you came to be here.
Arthur swayed slightly, adjusting his stance, his grip tightening on the half-empty bottle he lifted from the small table by the window. At least the curtains there were closed. There’s an eerie stillness in him, the kind that only comes before a storm. He wiped a hand down his face, inhaling sharply, trying to steady himself, but the chaos inside him is still bubbling, waiting for the right moment to spill over.
"Look," Arthur said, "I'm truly sorry for this situation. It's nothing personal towards you, you know. It was your father and the coin toss. He--"
"Stepfather," you corrected him. Your father had been a decent man who didn't make it back from the war. Your mother had married Sean O'Grady out of necessity, to keep you and your younger brother fed. Your stepfather was as bad as your father had apparently been good.
"Whatever," Arthur said. "He lost the coin toss and the coin is sacred to us. He promised me a turn with you if he lost."
Something like shame flashed in his eyes as he looked you over. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking. You were inexperienced with men. Your brother had started working at the factory at a young age but you stayed home and helped with the garden, with the sewing. Your mother took in work as a seamstress here and there and that's how the Shelbys came into your life to begin with. Arthur started it, coming by to have a couple of shirts repaired, stains removed. He'd been intimidating enough but he wasn't the one who scared you the most.
Tommy Shelby.
His name alone carried weight, pressing down on your chest like an iron shackle. He was the kind of man stories are whispered about in dark corners, the kind of man who steps into a room and bends the air around him. He never needed to raise his voice to command obedience, nor did he need to lift a hand to make someone afraid. His power was in the silence, in the way his glacier-blue eyes stripped a person down to their bones, exposing every weakness, every lie, every desperate plea before it ever leaves their lips.
You'd seen men stronger than you shrink beneath his gaze, their bravado crumbling under the quiet calculation that lurks behind those cold, unreadable eyes. There was no excess in his movements, no wasted gestures. He was precise, measured, a man who played chess while everyone else is swinging fists. And yet, beneath the tailored suit and composed expression, there lurked something even more dangerous—something hollow, something broken, something that made him unpredictable.
He didn't look like a man who enjoyed violence. That would make him easier to understand. No, Tommy Shelby wore it like a necessary burden, a tool in his arsenal, wielding it with the same detached efficiency as he did his words. That detachment terrified you the most. Because men who enjoy hurting others can be manipulated, can be fed their own hunger until they slip. But a man like Tommy—one who kills without joy, without hesitation, without remorse—he was a different kind of monster entirely.
Arthur drank straight from the bottle, the amber liquid splashing inside it. His eyes never left you and now you were shaking. You knew your stepfather wanted you married off and gone from his house, but he felt like this was the way to do it? Or was this punishment because you hadn't made that happen?
"What are you waiting for?" he asked, slurring his words. "Come over here."
"And do what?" you had to ask. "I don't know... how..."
His eyebrows shot up at that. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"
You shook your head. Waves of shame and anger rushed through you to be in this situation. You were untried and terrified. He was drunk and seemed at a loss as to how to handle this situation. After a moment, he set the bottle back on the table and marched towards you, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you in place for his kiss. Just like that.
Instinct had you fighting him. His kiss was sloppy and wet, the liquor on his breath heavy, making you feel a little sick. He was easily twice your size and it was nothing for him to drag you in the direction of the bed. When your back met the mattress, you closed your eyes in acquiescence. You just wanted it over with so you could go back home, soiled goods thanks to your stepfather's poor judgment. But you'd live to fight another day. At least you hoped you would.
Arthur's weight dropped onto you on the bed, but after a moment, you realized he wasn't moving. When he snored by your ear, it was all you could do not to burst into tears. Did this mean you'd have to wait for him to sober up? Would this torment be rescheduled? You didn't think you could take that.
You didn't know what to do. Carefully, you managed to roll him off you and onto his side. He didn't wake or even move as you managed to get off the bed. Hope had your heart swelling in your chest. Could you make it out of this apartment then? You could claim that the deed was done and he passed out after. You could declare it done, right?
Rushing to the window, you moved the curtain just enough to see the street and it didn't look like anyone was outside the door now. Could you make it out? If you moved fast enough?
With your heart flying in your chest, you unlocked the door and pulled it open, dashing out onto the street and sending up every prayer that you'd ever said that you could just make it home.
You collided with someone hard. You were shaking as his hands came up to steady you, keep you from falling. An apology was on your tonque as you glanced up to see who blocked you.
It was him.
Tommy Shelby was the one who had you, his figure a sharp silhouette against the darkness. A beat after he released you, a match flares to life, momentarily illuminating the angular planes of his face—the high cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the cigarette resting between his fingers. The glow flickers out as he exhales, smoke curling around him like a specter, and in that brief moment, his icy blue eyes locked onto yours.
He doesn’t look surprised.
No anger. No raised voice. Just that cold, assessing gaze—as if he had already predicted this, as if he knew you would run before even you did. A slow inhale. A subtle shift of his stance. The barest tilt of his head, like a wolf considering a cornered rabbit.
You expect fury, maybe even threats, but what terrifies you most is the patience in his expression. Calculated. Absolute. Unshaken.
“Going somewhere?” His voice is soft, measured, all the more dangerous for its calmness.
You want to run, but your legs refuse to move. The street around you is empty, swallowed in shadow, but you know—he's never truly alone. Somewhere, in the darkened alleys, his men are watching. Waiting.
Tommy takes one step forward, slow and deliberate.
“You should know,” he murmured, flicking his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his polished boot, “I don’t like having to come after people.” The weight of his words coiled around you, squeezing the air from your lungs. What happened now?
Hooking your thumb in the direction of the apartment, and it was trembling, you said, "He's d-done."
That cool gaze moved over you, up and down, and his gaze returned to yours. "Not with you. Arthur loves the ladies but I've never seen him move that fast."
You hadn't thought of that.
"Did he pass out?" he asked quietly.
Tears stung the backs of your eyes and you nodded. It wouldn't do any good to lie to him. "What happens now?" you asked, cringing under that cold gaze.
"There's still an arrangement," Tommy reminded you. "And it has to be honored."
You glanced back over your shoulder at the door wondering what he meant by that. Would you wait for Arthur to wake up? Come back another day when he was sober?
Rough fingers at your chin had you flinching away from the unfamiliar touch, be he relented, turning your face back to him. When your attention was returned to him, he grabbed your upper arm and started walking, almost dragging you up the street at first. What was he going to do? Where was he taking you?
Men were walking not too far behind you now, his men. They stayed behind the two of you until Tommy abruptly turned a corner, heading up a short flight of steps. Leading you into another apartment.
The new apartment was different—cleaner, quieter, colder. A stark contrast to the cramped, smoke-choked rooms you just fled from. The walls are smooth, freshly painted in an off-white shade that seems almost too pristine for a place in Small Heath. There’s no peeling wallpaper, no damp smell clinging to the wooden floorboards. Instead, there’s the faint scent of tobacco and whiskey, mingling with the lingering traces of fresh linen and polish—evidence that someone actually cares for this space.
The furniture is sparse but elegant in a way that doesn’t fit the rough streets outside. A solid oak table sits near the window, a glass decanter of amber liquid resting on top, two crystal tumblers beside it. A plush armchair, its deep leather cracked at the seams, faces the fireplace where faint embers glow, casting flickering shadows against the walls. A bottle of Scotch, half-empty, stands on the mantel as if waiting for its owner’s return.
Against one wall, a proper bed. Not a cot, not a lumpy mattress stuffed into the corner, but a well-made bed with crisp white sheets and a thick wool blanket folded at the foot. A luxury in this part of Birmingham. A reminder that this isn’t a prison, not exactly. But it’s still his space. His territory. And now, you're trapped inside it.
The gas lamps flickered, their glow reflecting off the dark glass of the window. Outside, Small Heath moved on—voices drifting through the night, a horse’s hooves clattering in the distance, the faint murmur of a pub emptying out. But in here, the world feels still, heavy with unspoken rules and the weight of Tommy Shelby’s presence.
His men have left by now, their boots retreating down the hallway, leaving you alone with him. The door clicks shut.
A moment of silence.
“You’ll be more comfortable here,” he says, his voice as controlled as ever, but there’s no mistaking the finality in his words. This isn’t a courtesy. It’s an arrangement.
You didn't understand why you were here. Was he going to keep an eye on you until his brother slept it off? Or would he expect you to stay here until the deed could be done?
With practiced ease, he hung up his cap and shrugged out his dusty black coat, hanging it up. Then, the soft sound of a match striking as Tommy lights another cigarette, his gaze unreadable as he exhales a slow stream of smoke. Grabbing the Scotch and tumblers from his mantel, he moving to the table at the window, filling the crystal glasses and motioning you over. "Have one," he said.
He wanted you to drink? You'd never drank spirits in your life. You must have stared at the glass like a snake about to bite you.
Tommy took a drag from his cigarette. "Since my brother is unable to do the honors," he said, "we'll finish the arrangement here and now. Drink it. It will make it easier."
Panic threatened to overtake you. What? Arthur Shelby passed out drunk so now you were expected to fuck Tommy Shelby?
Not doing as he said seemed terrifying, so you reached for the tumbler meant for you with a shaking hand. Bringing it to your lips for a sip, you almost coughed. The drink was smooth but potent. It burned like fire all the way down to your stomach.
"Sit down," he said, using his foot to push one of the two chairs at the table back for you. You did as he wanted, taking another drink of whiskey. You felt the weight of those ice-blue eyes on you as you stiffly took a seat. "You ever been with a man?"
The man could just talk about something so personal like it was nothing more than business. It was a lot more than that to you. It took a moment for you to work up the courage to meet his gaze now, but you made yourself do it. You may have been trapped in this situation but you had to remember that you personally had done nothing wrong.
“No,” was all you said. “Never drank either. Until now.”
Tommy tilted his head slightly, still studying you, the faint glow of his cigarette illuminating the sharp angles of his face. “Your stepfather isn’t a smart man.”
“Or a kind one,” you murmured, the words bitter on your tongue.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, effortless yet edged with something unreadable. “That why he offered you up?” His voice was calm, almost casual, but his gaze never wavered. “Strict with you, was he? That why you haven’t got any experience?”
You shook your head, fingers tightening around the tumbler in your hands. “No. He just wants me gone.”
Tommy hummed in answer. The room feels smaller with him in it. The air is thick with the smoky bite of liquor and tobacco, the soft glow of the gas lamp casting shadows across his sharp features. Tommy took the chair across from you, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, the other resting on his thigh, fingers curled loosely around a half-filled tumbler. He hasn’t spoken for a couple of moments, and yet his silence is as oppressive as a threat.
He studies you, slow and deliberate, his ice-blue gaze dragging over you like a weight you can’t shake off. Not leering. Not curious. Calculating. Like he’s unraveling you in his mind, peeling back the layers of fear, of defiance, of whatever fragile armor you've built to protect yourself. He sees through you. And he enjoys it.
The cigarette smolders between his fingers, the red ember glowing each time he takes a slow, unhurried drag. He exhales through his nose, the smoke curling like ghostly fingers in the space between them, thick, intimate, suffocating. He’s not trying to scare you. He doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough—a man who doesn’t need to raise his voice or lift a hand to remind the world of what he is capable of.
And yet… he is devastating.
The angles of his face, chiseled and unyielding, should make him look harsh, unappealing, but they don’t. His dark lashes, too long for a man, cast shadows over his cheekbones as he watches you, the corner of his mouth curling around the cigarette in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but is. The controlled power in the way he moves, the effortless confidence—it draws you in even as you will yourself to stay afraid.
He lifts his glass, taking a slow sip of Scotch, the tendons in his forearm flexing beneath the crisp sleeve of his shirt. When he sets it down, the clink of crystal against wood echoes too loud in the quiet.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low, even, dangerous.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, tapping ash from his cigarette, “and I’ll start thinking you’ve forgotten why you’re here.”
It’s a warning. It’s a challenge.
And God help you, it’s both terrifying and intoxicating. You take another sip of from your glass, welcoming the burn and the warmth. You'd been unable to really eat today given what was going to happen. Your entire life would change after tonight. The alcohol went straight to your head, taking the edge off of your fear. Not enough but it was better than nothing.
"If the... arrangement is settled, here and now, then I'm done?" you had to ask. "Arthur..."
Tommy takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a ribbon of smoke that curls lazily between you. His blue eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and unreadable, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to look away. He lifts his glass, takes a sip, then sets it down with an almost deliberate slowness.
Then, in that same calm, cutting voice, he asks, “Would you prefer Arthur?”
The question lands like a blow.
Your fingers tightened around the tumbler, the burn of alcohol lingering in your throat, but you can’t find your voice. Prefer Arthur? Tommy says it so easily, like the answer doesn’t matter to him either way, like it’s nothing more than an idle curiosity. But the way he watches you now—eyes half-lidded, cigarette balanced between his fingers—you know it’s not.
Your pulse quickens. Arthur is rougher. Louder. More reckless. But Tommy… Tommy is something else entirely. Colder. Calculating. Inevitable.
You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No.”
Tommy doesn’t react, not right away. He just studies you for another long, unbearable moment before flicking the ash from his cigarette and smashing out in a small tray. “Good.”
You don’t ask why. Something tells you you don’t want to know.
Your heart pounds as he drains his tumbler in one slow pull, then rises from the chair with a grace that feels almost too controlled. His movements are smooth, deliberate—never hurried, never uncertain. Without a word, he reaches for your glass. Carefully, but firmly, he takes it from your hands and sets it on the table, the sharp clink of crystal against wood echoing in the silence. Then, he offers his hand.
Your pulse spikes. A silent command. A choice that isn’t really a choice. Despite the tension tightening in your chest, you take it. His fingers closed around yours—not rough, not gentle, just steady. Certain. He pulls you effortlessly to your feet, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin, grounding you even as your nerves coil tighter.
It’s only a few steps to the bed, but the space between felt heavily, charged. Tommy sits at the edge, his grip still firm around your hand. Then, he glances up at you, those piercing blue eyes pinning you in place. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words, the weight of the moment pressing down on your skin. And still—he doesn't let go.
Tommy’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand, almost absentmindedly, as he studied you with that same quiet intensity that makes your breath catch. His gaze flickers over your face, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail—the way your lips part slightly, the way your pulse jumped at your throat.
Then, in that smooth, low voice that sends a shiver down your spine, he murmurs, “Pretty thing, aren’t you?”
It isn’t a question. It’s an observation. A fact. A verdict.
Your stomach tightens. There’s no warmth in his tone, no flirtation, just a simple acknowledgment, spoken like he’s already decided exactly what to do with you. Like he owns the moment, owns the space, owns you. His fingers tighten, just for a beat, before his grip loosens again. Waiting. Watching. Expecting. And for the first time, you realize—it’s not just fear that’s making your heart race.
You weren’t prepared for the way his other hand slips behind your neck, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to send a shiver down your spine. No hesitation. No uncertainty. He pulls you toward him with quiet intent, as if he’s already decided how this will go—as if there was never a question.
The only time a man had ever kissed you was Arthur’s sloppy, whiskey-soaked attempt in the other apartment. But this—this is something else entirely.
There’s no drunken sway, no careless fumbling. Tommy moves with purpose, with the same measured control he applies to everything he does. And that’s what makes it dangerous. When his lips touched yours, it was a whisper of a kiss at first. There was no overpowering smell of spirits, just the faint scent of tobacco, of him. As his lips moved against yours, firmer and seeking, you tried to mimic him, afraid not to do something. You must have done something right. He increased the pressure at the back of your neck to pull you closer, and your hands landed on his shoulders, crisp linen covering tight muscle under your palms, to keep your balance. When he deepened the kiss, you let him, and the slide of his tongue against yours gave him a deep taste of you. His deep moan surprised you, and you felt that subtle sound all through your body as he continued to kiss you breathless.
It was easy for him to pull you onto the bed and roll you under him, breathless as you were. When his mouth claimed yours again, his kiss was more demanding, and his hands were everywhere. Tommy managed to pull the shawl free of you without breaking the kiss, his hands then sliding down to work the worn leather Mary Janes you wore off your feet, tossing them off the side of the bed. One hand grabbed your ankle before sliding up your leg, up to cover the globe of your ass and panic had you jerking in his hold.
Tommy pulled back to look you in the eye, his face flushed in his excitement and quiet intent. There was a wildness in his eyes—untamed, dangerous, something raw and unchecked. You doubted many had ever seen it, and for good reason. It wasn’t meant to be witnessed. His gaze searched yours, piercing, relentless, and you trembled in his arms, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of it.
"I'm going to have you," he said breathlessly, his weight pinning your body to the bed. Grinding himself into your tummy, the hard, heated length of him was unmistakable, even with both of you clothed. His eyes darkened in sheer determination and his hold on you tightened. "You understand?"
You nodded quickly. "I'm sorry," you whispered.
Sliding his hand roughly up your body, he smoothed his hand over you cheek, his gaze never leaving you. Tommy kept watching you as that hand moved back down to pluck at the buttons of your blouse and his nimble fingers made quick work of it. Impatiently, his hands pulled the garment free of your skirt before undoing the buttons of your camisole beneath. You couldn't stop trembling as he undid the last barrier and peeled it back to reveal your upper body to him.
His gaze was sharp, moving over your breasts with growing impatience, hunger. With a delicacy you wouldn't have believed him capable of, his fingers traced over your collar bone, over the tiny gold cross pendant of your necklace. He trailed a finger over your skin, across to one breast, using that digit to tease your nipple to a tight peak with a gentle circular touch. When his heated gaze returned to yours, his filled his hand with your breast, squeezing firmly but not enough to hurt. Tommy began kissing you again, heated and greedy now, with his hand teasing your breast before sliding down your body and beneath your skirt. As if he knew you were about to start fighting him again, he broke the kiss to cover your breast, teasing it with his lips and tongue as his hand slid under your skirt, into your underwear. Sensation overwhelmed you, need battling fear, and your hands clutched in the bedding beneath you as his fingers teased your private flesh, the light pressure drawing sensations from your body that you'd never experienced.
"You can touch me," he muttered around your nipple. It felt like a command. Your hands shook as they slid up to him, instinctively moving to his head. The glossy black locks of his short hair slid between your fingers as he continued to tease you relentlessly, burning you down with his mouth and hands.
Chills and pulses of unexpected pleasure had you writhing feverishly beneath him as his tongue smoothed over your aching nipple and his fingers danced in the wet folds between your legs. Your breath sucked in when he touched your pearl, and he lifted his head to savor your reaction. Whatever he was doing with his fingers, all you knew was that it would soon drive you insane, continued but he didn't give you the speed or pressure you wanted. The touch was fleeting, maddening. Your fingers clutched in his hair as he continued to delicately torture you, your legs clamped around his hand because you couldn't help it in your need. And it didn't slow his efforts at all.
When his touch stopped, you whined, an unfamiliar sound to you. In a frenzy of movement, Tommy unzipped your skirt and roughly yanked it off along with your underwear, your stockings. He wasn't satisfied until you were stripped bare beneath him, all of you trembling under the intensity of his stare. As he sat there next to you, taking every inch of you in, his fingers went to work with haste, undoing his tie, stripping off his waistcoat. His fingers flew at undoing the buttons of his own shirt which he pulled free of his trousers but didn't remove it.
Tommy shifted down the bed and moved to throw one of your legs over his shoulder so fast, you didn't have time to react. And by the time you did, he'd buried his face between your thighs. The flames of humiliation only burned you for a few seconds. The man's mouth covered your sex, his tongue a wicked torment that was unfamiliar and almost too much to bear. One of his hands worked to keep your folds open, your curls out of his way, as he kissed your pussy as he had your mouth. The other slid up over your tummy with pressure, holding you in place for his wicked torment.
You accepted it but your entire body was shaking, shivering and it was impossible to stay still. Your back arched and you would have been horrified to realize that you were pushing yourself towards him, towards his mouth, wanting more, if you hadn't been so lost in the storm of sensation. What he was doing didn't make the fever better, it made it worse. It felt like fire running through your veins with raw need pooling low in your belly. When he slid a finger back to your pearl as he continued to work you with his mouth, you gasped. When his movements sped up, when his tongued traced your opening, you screamed long and loud. A wave of pure pleasure swept over you and he didn't stop what he was doing the entire time, dragging it out until you violently shook beneath him, crying and moaning as your body shivered and eased.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he moved up the bed toward you, his hands working the fine leather belt at the front of his trousers. He wore nothing beneath and the sight of his cock, angry red and larger than you expected, filled your vision as you watched him take himself in hand, working himself as his gaze roamed over you. Tommy shifted, one of his knees pushing yours apart. You let him, watching him drape himself over you. There was something obscene about the way he stripped you naked but was still mostly clothed himself.
He surprised you by stopping then, a hand smoothing over your hair and face with care. You sensed he was holding back, respecting your inexperience. You knew it meant nothing to him but he realized it meant something for you, and your heart squeezed in your chest at the gesture.
"It's going to hurt," he said, whispering against your lips. "Not for long. Hang onto me."
You did what he said, but slid your hands beneath his shirt, running your hands over the muscular plane his damp back. Your fingers found scars, a lot of them, but it gave you a distraction from the way he lined himself up with your entrance, the smooth head of him pressing into you insistently. It felt better to bring your legs up, your knees hovering around his hips. You held your breath as the pressure built, and the intrusion of him pushed further into your body. When he met that fleshy barrier inside you that proved your claim, Tommy surged through it, and the pain was searing. It took your breath away, had tears stinging your eyes as he completely filled you. Your tender walls quivered around him, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar length of him.
With the pad of his thumb, he caught a tear, brushing it away with a touch that was almost too careful for a man like him. Then, without a word, he lowered his head, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was soft, deliberate—unexpectedly tender. No force. No urgency. Just a slow, measured touch, as if, for once, Tommy Shelby was in no hurry to take what he wanted. He held still inside you, allowing you to adjust. Lost in the dizzying mix of pain and pleasure from his kisses, you found yourself clinging to the unexpected gentleness in his touch. A contradiction. A quiet mercy. Something you never would have expected from a man like him.
But the arrangement wasn’t over. Not yet. Not until he decided it was. Not until he was finished.
Slowly, he started moving inside you and it stung like fire as he thrust in and out of you. You knew you were wincing, but you'd be damned if you'd complain now. You wanted to be brave, feeling like you'd earn his respect if you were. And as he pushed in and out of you, the pain lessened and dulled, easing to be replaced with more of the sensation from before. The good ones. Before long your thighs were clamped around his hips as he plunged into you again and again. Hot, reckless kisses dropped over your face and breasts as he fucked you. Your arms and legs were wrapped around him but it was more than that. You weren't just lying there and thinking of England as you'd been advised by your mother and aunts. You were riding waves of unexpected pleasure, soaring to those heights again. Your hands became claws at his back, your nails carving into his skin. Your tighs tightened around his hips as you moved with him, wanting more, craving more.
His lips blazed a path to the sensitive skin of your throat, peppering your skin with kisses and swipes of his tongue as he rode you harder. The drive of him inside of you, his hands on your breasts, fingers teasing your pearl, drove you mad. You started begging him, pleading for release from the intense experience he was drowning you in.
"Please," you chanted.
He pushed you higher with your heart racing in your chest until he sent you flying again, crying and screaming as the man literally destroyed you.
Tommy drove on above you and you knew he was now chasing his own end and you still held him. But it also occured to you in that moment that there was no birth control being used here, no condom or anything. You tried to steady your breathing, pushing down the rising panic. Surely, a man like Tommy Shelby wouldn’t want a bastard running around—wouldn’t leave something like that to chance. Tommy was many things—ruthless, dangerous, unreadable. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had more honor than that.
As his movements sped up, his thrusts just shy of painful, you tensed, hoping he was going to pull out of you when his time came so there'd be no worry about a baby. Above you his eyes were closed, his mouth slack. The beauty of him in that moment made you pause as he came. When you jerked beneath him, his hands collared your wrists and pushed them into the bed by your head. Holding you there, he pumped himself into you growling as he did, thrust after thrust, and truthfully, you didn't have it in you to try and stop him. As if you even could.
Maybe it wouldn't take. You tried to shove that worry to the back of your mind, not even wanting to think about that right now.
He'd collapsed onto you, but his weight wasn't too much as his breathing rushed with yours. Running your fingers through his hair, you tried to stay calm. Your mind couldn't help jumping ahead. Now that the deed was done, you'd be sent back home. Everyone in Small Heath knew you'd been won in an ill-advised bet. Would other men consider you an easy mark? You couldn't count on your stepfather to protect you.
Tommy pulled himself free from you and it stung. He stretched out next to you on the bed, his finger tracing the curve of your breast. He watched you in that way he does—too sharp, too knowing. His gaze settled on you, unreadable yet unrelenting. Then, in that low, measured voice, he asks, “What are you thinking so hard about?”
It’s not just a question. It’s a test. A challenge. Like he can already see the storm rising behind your eyes, the panic tightening in your chest as you grapple with the future he’s tangled you in.
You open your mouth, then close it. Because what do you even say to him? But he doesn’t look away. He waits. And somehow, that’s even worse. At the end of the day, only the arrangement mattered. His family’s honor was intact, the deal upheld—that was all that concerned him. Whatever you felt, whatever came next for you, wouldn’t change a thing. Tommy wasn’t the kind of man to concern himself with your plight. You knew that. It was better not to mention it at all.
So instead, you took the coward’s way out.
“Can I go home now?” The words left your lips, but somehow, they didn’t sound like a plea. More like a quiet resignation. A question you already knew the answer to.
Was that reluctance you saw in his face? Just for a flicker of a moment—something unreadable, something hesitant beneath the mask of indifference.
Tommy considers your question, his expression giving nothing away. But he studies you, weighing something. You can’t tell what. And that’s the most unsettling part.
With a deep sigh, he finally says, "You can."
As you start to sit up, you watch him search through your clothing on the bed, finding your simple underwear. You watch in stunned silenced as he carefully takes them and dips them between your legs, staining the white garment with your blood. When you instinctively reach for them—alarmed by the sight of your own blood, mortified by what he’s just done—Tommy’s eyes snap to yours, sharp and unyielding. Before you can touch them, he moves them out of reach, his grip firm, his expression leaving no room for argument.
“I’m keeping these.” The finality in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. Like a claim. Like a promise.
Why?
You were shaking as you watched him dress, dressing yourself as quickly as you could with shaking limbs. It was over now, right? Was your underwear stained with your blood proof that the arrangement was met? You were bleeding and he was keeping your undergarment. It was distressing. He must have noticed. Without a word, he stepped to a cabinet drawer and pulled out a clean, white towel, tossing it onto your lap.
"Clean yourself up," he said, already pulling on his coat and adjusting his cap with practiced ease. Then, just as effortlessly, "I'll be back to take you home."
And with that, he was gone.
You sat there, staring at the door he’d just disappeared through, the towel limp in your hands.
Tommy Shelby was taking you home.
A short, breathless laugh escaped before you could stop it. That would scare the shit out of your stepfather. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss you.
Or maybe—it wouldn’t matter at all. You didn't know what the future held for you or what impact this night would have on it.
***
Tommy’s grip tightened on the wheel, his jaw set in that familiar, unreadable line. The road stretched dark and empty ahead of him, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. He didn’t glance her way—didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of her presence beside him, could hear the way she shifted slightly in her seat, the tension rolling off her in waves.
This was necessary. That’s what he told himself. A loose end tied up, an arrangement upheld.
When he pulled up to Watery Lane, the headlights cut through the mist curling over the cobbled drive, illuminating the towering structure of Arrow House. The place had never really felt like home, but it served its purpose—just like everything in his world.
He killed the engine and stepped out first, running as he rounded the car and opened the door for her. She hesitated, just for a moment, then followed without a word. He could almost see the question in her mind. Why am I here?
Because he wanted her here. He wanted her. Tonight merely sealed her fate.
Inside, the house was dimly lit, the scent of wood smoke and aged whiskey lingering in the air. Tommy didn’t break stride, already pulling off his gloves as he spotted Polly standing at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, dark eyes sharp as they flicked between him and her.
“Take her up,” he said simply, voice low and clipped. “My room. Find her something to sleep in.”
Polly didn’t move right away. Instead, she gave him a look—one of those looks. The kind that didn’t need words, the kind only Polly could give.
It was half question, half judgment. What’s this, then?
Tommy exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before muttering, “Not now, Pol.”
With a slow shake of her head, she turned to his girl, her expression softening slightly as she gestured for her to follow.
Tommy watched for a second longer, then turned on his heel, heading straight for the whiskey decanter. He'd knock back a couple then he'd join her in sleep.
***
The house was quiet early the next morning, but Polly was already up.
Tommy found her in the sitting room, a cigarette between her fingers, an untouched cup of tea going cold on the table beside her. The morning light filtered weakly through the windows, casting a dull glow over the room. She didn’t look at him right away, just took a slow drag, exhaling through her nose before finally speaking. “That the girl Arthur won in a coin toss?”
Tommy poured himself a drink, even though it was too early for one. He took his time before answering. “It is.”
Polly’s gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing. “So why is she upstairs, in your room, and not with him? Or home with her family?”
Tommy didn’t answer immediately. Just swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught in it. No rush. No need to explain himself.
But Polly wasn’t stupid. Her eyes narrowed slightly, putting the pieces together faster than most ever could. She leaned back in her chair, cigarette poised between her fingers, a slow smirk curving her lips. “You wanted her.” It wasn’t a question.
Tommy took a sip of his whiskey. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. But Polly was already seeing through him, like she always did. Like she always had.
“You let Arthur think it was his idea.” Her voice was quieter now, more dangerous. “Tricked her stepfather into wagering her. Then drugged Arthur when the time came to claim her. Waited, knowing she’d panic, knowing she’d run. And who was there, ready to catch her?” She let the silence hang for a beat before answering her own question. “You.”
Tommy tilted his head, nonchalant, unreadable. He took another slow sip of whiskey before finally meeting Polly’s gaze.
She sighed, shaking her head as if tired of playing this game with him. “What are your intentions, Thomas?”
Another pause. Another flicker of something in his eyes. He could lie. He could deflect. But Polly wouldn’t believe him, and they both knew it.
So instead, he took another drag of his cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and simply said—“She’s mine.”
Polly let out a breath, long and slow, before muttering, “Jesus Christ, Tommy.”
Tommy had already made his decision.
Arthur would know soon enough. There’d be no shouting, no drunken outburst—just the facts, laid out cleanly, irrefutably. Tommy would hand over proof that the arrangement had been upheld, that the wager had been honored in the way that mattered. It would be enough to keep Arthur from questioning him, enough to silence any complaints before they started.
As for the girl’s stepfather? He would be a cautionary tale. A reminder of what happened when someone gambled with the Shelbys and lost. When a debt was called, when something was taken and then never seen again. Her sudden disappearance—her absence—would be enough to send a whisper of fear through Small Heath, a warning to any fool who might ever think to challenge them again.
And in time, when the dust settled, when the moment was right—he would marry her. Not because of obligation. Not because of the arrangement.
Because she was his.
Omg this was such a treat 🤌🏼 I absolutely loved the coin toss premise and have been quite intrigued by the concept even when it was depicted in the show. I've sometimes thought of making a story around it, but there could be no better utilization and depiction of that trope than what you have done here!
I loved reading the ups and downs reader faced during her interaction with Tommy. He almost broke down her walls but not truly...she was smart and self preserving where she needed to be.
Tommy was such a calm and gentle menace here. I often find it hard to imagine just how dark he could go and if he's a more physically aggressive man or if he is more daunting just through his aura and words...and you've captured the latter really well.
I'm deceased and blessed that you wrote for dark!Tommy 🙏🏼❤️
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IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR AGAINNNNNNN!!!! HAPPY HOLIIIII!!!!
For those who don't know, holi is the festival of colours in India (and Mauritius, Fiji, Guyana and so on), and we celebrate it by having water fights and colour fights and if you're old enough, 🍃indulging🍃 (no, i'm not lying, look it up, it's called "bhaang")
So, in that spirit, i've come up with a fun lil' challenge, along the veins of what I did in 2021, but with a slight change.
The twist? It has to be along the lines of ✨️bhaang✨️. So it could be literal intoxication (doesn't have to be bhaang per se, could be any intoxicant of your choice lmao, even sex pollen tbh), it could be symbolic (like letting go, freedom, less inhibitions), could have a humorous angle to it, or could even be a topic of discussion! The world is your oyster!
Now I write specifically for Pedro Pascal, but honestly, your muse can be anyone, I'll leave that up to you. It can be a drabble, an HC, a moodboard, a ficlet, a dialogue, illustration, a gif/gifset; honestly i'm just hyped to see what y'all come up with! (If this fails i'm going to delete this post, and let's forget this ever happened)
Deadline: 30th April, 2025 (negotiable and extendable, lmao) (also WOW in time for 4/20. Almost.)
Following tags: lexi's writing challenge, lexi's holi day 2025, holi 2025
Tagging for better reach (but honestly NOOO pressure whatsover) : @holacia3 @slimybeth69 @emerald-evans @harpers-ramblings @letsgobarbs @ghotifishwrites @wethairjoel @ranveer--singh @jolapeno @jtargaryen18 @navybrat817 @imdarkinme @ozarkthedog @beefrobeefcal @schnarfer @galaxyedging @donutloverxo @nerdieforpedro @nekoannie-chan @stargazingfangirl18 @abeyyaaar @secretelephanttattoo @strang3lov3 @dilf-docs anyone who wants to participate! I am DYINGGG to see what y'all come up with!!
♡♡♡♡◇♡♡♡♡◇♡♡♡♡◇♡♡♡♡◇♡♡♡♡
This sounds awesome, Lexi! I'll see if I can come up with something evil to fill this colourful idea (muahahahahah)
Happy Holi!!
KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE PRIZE
DARK CONTENT inho x reader
warnings — noncon, cockwarming, guns, squid game stuff
i’m begging you. if you don’t fuck with noncon and you hate it so much, then don’t fucking read this. 18+
a whole waterfall coming down your face, lip quivering, biting back your sobs. he said he’d make it even worse if you made a sound. so you decide to replace the sobs that you couldn’t let out with heavy breaths. you were about to start hyperventilating. legs tied to his, he was balls deep in you, forcing you to cockwarm him with your arms tied behind your back. god, you felt like you were gonna puke. you feel his cold gloves slide under your tracksuit jacket and onto your bare stomach, making you shiver.
“what’s got you so tense? are the games getting boring?”
you shake your head no, and he shifts under you. you know he did it on purpose, it wasn’t done to get comfortable, it was done to fuck with you. feeling his dick move in you and feeling yourself clench around him. you hated it. he laughs lightly before moving his head into your shoulder to get a better view of the games. he squeezed your arm with one of his hands, the other still wrapped around your stomach. you had to watch all these people die, you put your head down. this was sick. he was sick. he lets go of your arm and grabs your chin, lifting it to make you keep watching.
“keep your eyes up. this is nice of me, no? i could pick up this gun right now and shoot you just like them. it won’t hurt me. i still got what i want.”
he moves his hand from your chin and taps the gun on his table. you hadn’t even noticed it until he said something. he picks it up for a second, wiggling it at you tauntingly before putting it back down. he runs his hands through your hair and wraps his arms all around you, pulling your back right into his chest. you don’t know how, but somehow that made his dick go even deeper, and you quickly try to lift yourself up off of him, despite your legs being tied down to his own. he quickly grips your hips and pulls you back down before slapping you on the inside of your thigh, hard, causing you to flinch up and bounce on his dick, immediately you pause and suck the air through your teeth, more tears dribbling down, all while hearing a low dark laugh from behind you. an evil man you thought was your friend. a man you thought you could trust.
“yknow,”
he grabs a glass of whine from his table and presses it to his lips.
“you’d think you’d be happy.”
he moves the glass to sit on your thigh, a quiet way of telling you to stay still. wouldn’t wanna spill it on his nice suit after all.
“i mean, instead of running the risk of getting shot, now you just have to stay here and run the risk of not pleasing me.”
you swallow hard, your chest rising up and down quickly still as you try to keep your head up to watch these sick games, the whole time you’re looking for gihun and your group, hoping they’re okay. he moves the glass off your thigh and blindly presses the glass to your lips. you move your head away and the wine spills on you, painting the once green jacket completely red. it was the only safety net that you had that he allowed you to keep. that stupid jacket covered in blood and now wine. it was gross, but at least you weren’t completely bare. it didn’t stop him from touching you though, clearly, but it gave you some sort of comfort. he sighs before putting the glass back on the table and you tense more as he rubs his hands up your arms, scared of what was to come next.
“so? what’s going on in that head of yours?”
you take a deep breath before finally speaking to him.
“you’re a liar.”
he simply laughs and he moves once again, making you squeeze your eyes shut and you bite your lip.
“i want to go.”
“you’d rather play the games?”
you slowly nod your head and he hums before you hear something on his table move and something pressed against your back. you try to twist yourself to look behind at him, but he simply grips your arm, sending a threat your way to turn back around towards the tv and you obey.
“let’s play a game then.”
you hear the sound of a gun cocking and he presses it back to you and that’s when you knew what was pressing against your back, causing you to whimper.
“what? i thought you wanted to play.”
“i—”
he moves the gun away from your back and up to your neck and you choke on your words. you feel his hand shift before you hear the loud bang of the gun, causing you to scream, thinking that the bullet went through your head as you sob out, choking on your own tears. coughing everywhere and your chest heaving. he wraps his arm around your neck and pulls you into his back again cutting off some of your air flow and rests his other arm with the gun onto your exposed lap. you felt his cock twitch in you, but any other sensations were dulled out from the fear you were in. it had all felt almost numb.
“you still wanna play the games?”
he positioned the gun under your chin, lifting it up and you let out a choked up ‘no’. he decides to remove it and you finally stop holding your breath. he moves it in front of your face and waves it slightly before placing it back on the table beside him, but it didn’t comfort you in the slightest. your chest was stil heaving and the beads of sweat dripping down your forehead didn’t slow down in the slightest. you hear him sigh behind you before sitting up straighter and doing the slightest movements and the slowest thrusts in you. you immediately start moving your wrists in the restraints, straining to free them, throwing your head down and trying to squirm away and free your legs from his. he just holds the sides of your arms tightly, definitely bruising them under his gloved hands and he continues to grind under you, a small laugh coming from him as he feels you clench around him and he moves his gloved hand from your arm to the inside of your thigh, squeezing it before he sticks a gloved finger in you, lying right next to his dick, stretching you even more and finally a loud sob finds its way out of your throat and escapes your lips. he removes his finger and rubs a few circles on your clit, living for the feeling of you clenching around him before he moves his finger up the inside of your thigh, covering it in your slick. he wraps his arms around you again, pressing you against his chest as you continue to sniffle and let out small cries. he simply runs his hand through your hair and moves a hand to grope your boobs under your tracksuit. feeling that you’re so tense, he runs his hands up your sides and your waist, as if that was going to make you relax at all.
“i told you earlier that being here was better because all you had to do was run the risk of not pleasing me.”
he suddenly grips his fingers as tight as possible into your hips.
“so i’d suggest you start moving instead of trying to be so still unless you want me to pull the trigger next time i pick the gun back up.”
This was so damn hot 🔥
Oh wow
Pls pls make more dark non con fics on frontman. I've liked him ever since I watched his films. But there was zero work on him during that. So I'm glad squid game is giving him the hype he deserves.
He's total dark character. You should write something about him before joining games and all that.
I'm all geared up to write for my new villain daddy!
I've posted more dark fanfics about him on my Ao3 please free to check them out and indulge yourself nonnie.
Writing In-ho before he joined the games would be interesting though tricky. I'll surely think about it!
Glad that the Lee Byung-hun fever is upon us 🙌🏽
crazy how people are NOW starting to simp over the front man. That man has been sexy since the first season
anyways I need him and his bother to emp
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Oh Baby (Prequel)
Pairing: Hwang In-ho (Frontman) X Fem!Reader
Summary: You make a desperate attempt to escape the games and end up right in the lion's den OR the backstory to my piece Oh Baby
Warnings: THIS ONE IS DARK OKAY? Non-con, dubcon, blackmail, fear, rough blowjobs, rough sex, fuck or die, forced orgasm, gentle to rough dom, Stockholm syndromish, power play, and other dark things. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI
Gunshots blared in the background. The pink-suited soldiers’ footsteps thundered behind you as you frantically knocked on every wall and door looking for an escape. You marred the blood of the few soldiers you had overtaken in your desperation to leave the game on each surface you touched.
Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest with the pace and pressure it was pounding in. Your mind could not articulate any thought properly, all it could do was push your legs to move and run since escape was all you could think about. There was no going back. You had to make it out of this place before it found a way to kill you.
Tears dribbled down your cheeks. The snot collecting in your nose laboured your ability to breathe, forcing you to pant aloud with your open mouth. Your feet numbed with each jolting step. You looked and turned everywhere but could not find an exit.
The fact that the soldiers had not caught up to you yet gave you some hope and motivation to keep going. However, their threat loomed in the background. Death was closer than it had been in the games, but you could not have just sat back and given in to your fate. You knew the moment that you looked at the umbrella shape on your dalgona candy that you were done for and you had to find another way to make it out of here alive. Seeing them shoot those who failed to carve out the shape perfectly filled with the determination to take the crazy step of snatching the gun out of the hands of the soldier near you.
You had no clue how you had managed to do it. You were no fighter. The fact that the exit door was near you was pure luck. The firearm had helped you come as far as you had, the bullets lasted enough to help you dodge several of the soldiers. You were not sure how many you had fatally shot and you did not want to think about it either.
Now you were sobbing and wandering around, lost in the labyrinth of bright pink, yellow and blue corridors, and stairs…desperate to find a way out.
With no plan in mind, you climbed higher and higher where the steps took you. Finally, on one of the floors, you spotted a door that was dark and different from the others. You pined your hopes on it meaning something fruitful to your escape attempt.
You stood at the opposite end of the hallway and took deep breaths, calculating if opening this door would mean life or death. The voices of the soldiers lurked close by. It would not take long for them to figure out where you were. You had to take another risk to find out what your fate was.
You groaned at the pain of your situation and then sprinted to the door. You lurched at it with your whole body, determined to open it by force. To your surprise, the door wasn't locked and you fell right through it. You stumbled forward and dropped on a cold dark grey coloured floor.
Your eyes remained stuck on the ground as you collected your breath. Your gaze was fixated on the yellowish hues that reflected from the dark polished stone. This room was different from the rest of the building. It did not reek of death and sweat. Rather the air was quite clean. The floor and the walls were pristine. Stylish yellow lights hung from the ceiling. This room oozed luxury that was out of reach of all the players in the game.
The crisp knock of bootheels on the floor caught your breath. Your head trembled as you raised it to find a tall, suited-up man approaching you in slow and measured steps. Your eyes widened as they travelled up from his long legs, over the expanse of the rich grey coat that he wore and finally stopped on the most wicked, yet handsome-looking face.
He was a man with a cold and sharp face, dark eyes, and a hint of a smirk. He did not have to tell you that he was important and in charge, his demeanour, and the way he looked at you was enough. The blaring light glowing behind him from the screen that played out the death game only accentuated the devilishness of this man. You had run right into the lion’s den.
You quickly slapped your palms together in prayer in front of him.
“Sir, sir – please let me go, please please I beg you!” You rambled out, sounding as pathetic and desperate as you could.
The corners of his lips stretched wider. He studied your figure with great amusement as he stepped closer. You must look like a great mess to him with your soiled and bloodied uniform, your frazzled hair, your wet cheeks, and your shivering body. You could tell he enjoyed his view. This was probably why he conducted these games…to watch people suffer and now your fate was in his hands. There was no chance you could fight a man like him.
“Please, please,” you repeated like a chant.
“There are only two ways out, my dear,” his voice was deep and soft, yet somehow menacing, “either you win the game or you vote to be let out.”
“I voted! I voted! They did not listen! I want to leave, please…just let me go. I won't do anything…”
The man continued to move closer to you and revel in your tears. You didn't even have the energy to back off from him. Something in your mind told you that he was the man to be near, to be in the good books of somehow, if you could win his favour maybe then you could survive. He was the mastermind and he could write the fate of the people here as he wanted. The soldiers only knew how to kill and would have no mercy.
You only had to find a way to break him and open him up.
The loud steps of the soldiers flooded the room and the rattle of their guns sent shivers down your spine. The soldiers were here. You heard them tell each other that you had been found.
“Apologies, Frontman sir, for this miss. We will take her off your hands. This will not happen again,” a soldier spoke in a modulated voice.
The desperation to live got a hold of your entire body, making it fling itself at the Frontman. With all that you had, you wrapped yourself around his leg as tight as you could and pressed your cheek against his thigh.
“Sir, please…don't do this to me. I will do anything, I promise,” you said.
The soldiers cursed and ordered you to move away from their boss but you did not obey. You knew only he could save you.
“It's alright,” the Frontman said to his soldiers, “I'll take care of her.”
“Are you sure, sir? We can have her out of here within a minute,” the soldier said.
“I'm sure,” he asserted.
The soldiers sighed and then started vacating the room. A confusing flush of relief washed over you. Things were not over yet, but the guns and the soldier’s intent on killing you were gone. You had managed to tip the scales a little in your favour…maybe there was hope.
“Thank you, thank you, sir. You're so good, you're so generous,” you slobbered out the string of grateful praises, staining his soft cotton trousers with your spit and tears.
“Up on your feet, little girl…and don't thank me yet,” he ordered.
The nickname pinched your ears, your mind raced with several thoughts examining the possibility of what would happen to you next. To let you live, what costs would this man have you pay?
Your limbs felt heavy as you untangled yourself from his leg and pushed yourself up to your feet. Even at your full height, you only came close to his shoulders. You strained your neck to look up at him. He had no problem with looking down at you.
It took a great effort to force yourself to match his eyes. There was something truly wicked brewing inside them. The so-called Frontman was presumably the one running this show and if he was, you could only imagine what little horrors he could have hiding in his hands.
“If you cannot win the voting round and if you cannot win the game, then the only way out is death,” he said.
“Why? Why are you doing this? I don't want to die,” you broke into sobs.
“What do you have to live for? What will you go back to? The debt collectors will never let you live. The bank will find a way to put you in prison, the loan sharks will beat you to death if not worse…how is the real world better than this?”
You sniffled, speechless at his words. Your eyes lowered in shame. You did not have anything to counter him with. You knew that the life that waited outside was horrible as well. But you could find ways to hide and run.
“All these tears,” the Frontman brought up a hand to your cheeks and collected the wetness on each of them with his fingertips. “Only to live like a rat?”
He put his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up to force you to look at him again.
“Hmm?” he demanded.
Your lips quivered and your eyes blurred as a fresh film of tears sprouted in them.
“I will – I will find a way,” you answered.
The Frontman raised his brows before dropping his head and breaking into a laugh. The mocking in his voice tainted your soul. Humiliation burned in your cheeks.
“You're so hopeful, huh?” he asked.
You gave him a blank stare.
“Even in this situation, you're hopeful…do you have any brains at all?” he tapped your temple with his fingers to emphasize the insult.
“No, if you had any, you wouldn't have ended in this position in the first place.”
The cold disdain in his voice set an ire in your blood. You knew you made bad decisions but it wasn't like you had as much control over your life and circumstances as people like him did. You slapped his hand off your face.
“You don't know how it is…you don't know the kind of life I've lived,” you argued, the pain of each word hitting your throat and heart.
Even as you attempted to make your case in front of this man, you knew that your life had no meaning and value to him. You were a worthless pawn to be played with for his amusement. You had never felt as little as you did before him.
The laugh lines faded from his face and his expression became hard again.
“I like your spirit. I cannot deny that you've put in your all to fight for yourself. You must feel like a bear caught in a trap, ready to claw off its leg to be free right?”
He left the question hanging in the air for you as he turned around and matched towards the sofa kept before the large screen. He bent down and picked up a crystal glass that had a dark golden-brown liquid in it. You contemplated his words and almost visualised yourself in the bear’s position, only you did not know if you had the courage to saw off your leg for your own freedom.
The man leaned back on the couch and enjoyed his drink while you struggled to predict what would happen next.
“Well, what is your plan?” he asked between sips.
“I can just leave…I won't tell anything to anyone,” you proposed.
He chuckled at your response and emptied the last few drops from the glass.
“Oh silly,” he put the glass on the side table and returned to his half-leaned position against the sofa, “why can't you understand? There are only three ways out of here - winning the game, winning the voting round or death.”
Sweat spread across your palms as you clenched and unclenched your fingers. There had to be some other way. You could not return to the game. You fully believed you would die in the next round if they did not kill you for rebelling before it.
“Please – tell me what to do – I can't go back. I cannot play the game,” you pleaded.
“You tell me…how far are you willing to go to survive,” he said.
His voice dropped a few octaves and penetrated your soul. His eyes that had been on your face so far dropped down to your breasts, then lower to your abdomen, down to your legs then back again step by step. It was as if he could see through the clothes at what was hidden underneath and there was nowhere you could hide. You had never felt so vulnerable and defeated in your life.
A whimper left your throat as you began to understand what he was hinting at. Of course, you were a woman and to men like him, there was only one thing you could give.
You covered your torso and chest with shivering arms and took a step back. Your skin burned under his violating stare but there was nowhere to run to. The weight of this cost sat heavily on your chest. Outside there had been plenty of chances to trade your body for some good cash, but you never had given in. You did not have it in yourself to surrender what little sense of autonomy you had. Maybe you were a coward for it, but those shreds of dignity were important to you.
In here, standing in front of the man who dealt out death, that dignity held little meaning. Having looked at countless dead bodies and stared into their lifeless eyes made this trade seem less abhorrent than it usually did. If letting him use your body could get you out of this hellhole, then it wouldn't be that bad an exchange and you could put this all behind once you were free.
Your fingers trembled as they reached for the zipper of the tracksuit. It took great effort for you to pull it down. Your mind and heart were at battle. His eyes pierced through you, fixating themselves on the zipper as you unveiled the white shirt underneath bit by bit. The shadow of lust entirely overtook his expression.
It was too much; his gaze was too intense and his intentions were too hidden. You did not know what he was capable of putting you through. You stopped with the zipper paused in between the curves of your breasts.
“What would you have me do?” you asked.
The Frontman sighed at your question. His knuckles tightened on the edge of the sofa and his jaw became taut. He was growing impatient with your antics.
“First, you complete what you've started,” he said.
You bit your cheek. There was no fast and easy way around this. You were a fool to think there would be.
With much hesitance, you resumed your task of undoing the tracksuit jacket. You opened the rest of the zipper in one go, not wanting to experience the anguish of undoing it for a longer time. You dropped it on the floor and then placed your hands on your waist, in the middle of the hems of your shirt and pants.
You considered what would be less shameful, to reveal to him your almost naked chest or your legs with just the white panties covering your modesty. It all had to go at the end, still, you did not want to appear wanton and give it all away at once.
You decided to step out of your pants first and found that it wasn't a great help as soon you were left with the task of removing your shirt. With your legs clasped together, you carefully pulled the shirt over your head.
You heard a muffled groan come from him and lifted your eyes a little to find his hand massaging his crotch. This was getting real. He was getting aroused. You were about to pleasure this man like a whore. You despised the position that you were in.
With all garments off your body, you now stood before him in just the white panties and a white bra. You did your best to cover yourself with your arms, but you knew that it was not as effective. The cold air of the room prickled your skin, adding to your shivers. You dared yourself to look up at his face again to see what your next course of action should be.
“Come here,” he ordered.
You stood frozen on your spot for a few seconds before registering his command. Your shoes dragged on the floor as you walked towards him. He all but devoured your body with his eyes alone. You stopped a good few steps before him, not wanting to be any closer than you needed to be.
His warm hands clasped around your waist and pulled you close to him. You gasped at the gnawing sensation of his fingers dragging up your sides. His hot breath wafted off your face, letting you know just how excited he was and just how much danger you were in.
His fingers traced the skin on your back till they found the clasp of the bra. Your breath stilled and you looked at him in alarm. He was about to take the last shreds of modesty from you and there was nothing that you could do.
Ever so gently, he unhooked the bra. His hands nudged on your arms for give as he circled them around your rib cage. His nails skimmed the lower parts of your breasts as he peeled the bra off your chest. Your muscles kept you locked in place, allowing you to feel every tiny touch of his that sent sparks of fear and to your dismay, thrill through your veins. He maintained eye contact through it all. Your breaths became shaky as his knuckles brushed over your hardened nipples. His assault was slow and torturous. He savoured every twitch of muscle on your face and every shift in breath that left your lungs.
You allowed him to pull the shoulder straps off your arms, quickly pulling them over your breasts as he discarded the bra. He arched a brow at your futile attempt to cover yourself from him. He did not ask for permission. He grabbed each of your arms and forced them aside. The jerk made you stumble forward, making your breasts bounce free between you and him.
He quickly cupped each of them with his large hands. He kneaded them till the choked whines left your throat.
“This is an easy price to pay, isn't it?” he asked.
You did not respond. Sure, you were not dying nor were you in a lot of pain, but you could not say it was easy.
“But you never thought to do it before,” he added.
How did he know that? How could he say for sure that you never did this before? How much did these people dig out about you? What was this place? Only he knew the answers to these questions.
“Good…I like my toys untouched,” he said.
He lifted one hand to your face and brushed his thumb over your swelling lip.
“Let's get started, shall we?”
With that, he put his hands on your shoulders and firmly pushed you down to your knees. Bile rose in your throat as the reality of what he wanted from you dawned upon you.
You crossed your arms over your chest again as you settled on your knees. The man stood straight and parted the folds of his coat to reveal the bulge in his trousers. You gulped, your blood became hot in your cheeks.
You did not dare look up at his face while he undid his trousers and pulled out his erect cock. It was hard, more than a handful, and surely more than a mouthful from what you could tell.
“I'm sure you're not stupid enough to not know what follows,” he said.
You were not stupid you were just reluctant to lose yourself. You did not want to know what you'd become once you took his cock in your mouth and discovered how far you were willing to go just to survive.
Seeing the time that you were taking, the Frontman put his hand on the back of your head and nudged you forward till the tip of his cock was dangling millimetres away from your lips. It's angry and throbbing head grazed your plush skin. You steadied yourself by putting your hands on his knees and slowly darted your tongue out of your mouth.
You gave him a careful lick, running your wet tongue over the slit on his cock’s head and waited for his reaction. Besides a slight twitch of a muscle in his neck, he did not react much. He was going to be hard to please.
Just do this and you will live, you told yourself and gathered the will to run your tongue around his shaft with more fervour. As familiarity grew, you pushed yourself further. You grabbed the base of his cock with your hand and wrapped your lips around his first inch, finally earning a vocal reaction from him in return.
His fingers tightened in your hair the more you took him in. You put all that you knew into use, rolling your tongue with expertise, sucking in your cheeks, and taking him as far as you could which was a little more than half of his cock, the rest you let your hand deal with.
“Oh, good girl, such a good girl,” he finally verbalised his pleasure.
The praise somehow ticked off something in your brain and urged you to go harder. The room was filled with the obscene wet squelches of you slobbering over his cock and his raging grunts. This was positively humiliating but you reminded yourself that you had no choice, that this man held your life in the palm of his hands. You were desperate to make him cum and set yourself free.
“Oh, you're so good at this. I wonder why you didn't think of doing this before?” he pondered as his fingers massaged your scalp.
“But who am I to complain? I get to own you now,” he groaned.
Own. The word set off an alarm inside your brain. You quickly pulled yourself off him and fell on your calves. You stared up at him in horror, panting for breath as you questioned his statement.
The pleasure turned into a frown on his face.
“I - I get to leave after this, right?”
“Oh, baby,” he sighed.
He pulled your head from the roots of your hair and forced you back towards his cock.
“Now is not the time to question,” he said and infiltrated your mouth again.
You whimpered and squirmed to no avail. He had taken all control and was readily filling himself as far down as he wanted to go with no thought to the choking sounds produced by you.
“Surely, you must not be so naive to think that a blowjob would get you out of here,” he said, rutting into your mouth without mercy.
You clung to his trousers and patted his thighs to push him away. But you did not dare to take a violent step of protest. He had become so rough at so little; you could only imagine what worse he could do if he saw you being more disobedient.
“It's unfair to everyone…to all the players here fighting for their lives…here you think that making me come one time with your mouth will get you out of here. Stupid little girl, so stubborn, so entitled…”
Your jaw ached and the back of your throat became sore as he ravaged you relentlessly. Spit drooled down your chin and dribbled down your neck. You had no choice but to suffice from the laboured breaths that you managed to take through your nose whenever it was not crashing on his pelvis. This was what you were afraid of…him taking control and making you a doll.
“You'll have to do more than this to get freedom…so much more,” he rambled on in a hoarse voice as he chased his pleasure.
Between your struggle to keep up with his thrusts and registering how trapped you were with him; you could only scratch his trousers and whimper around his cock. If nothing, the vibration brought him close to his end.
His movements became erratic and his cock twitched in your mouth as he came closer to his orgasm. He filled himself to the hilt of your throat and shot out his cum. You coughed around him and scrambled for escape but he kept you in place till he was done emptying himself in your mouth.
The moment his grip loosened you pulled yourself back. You fell to the ground coughing and retching, spewing out the bits of white hot cum that you had not already swallowed.
The Frontman tucked himself back into his trousers and watched you struggle to catch your breath without care. You were a mess of sweat, tears, spit, and cum. You craved a hot shower to wash away what had just happened to you.
And despite doing all this, there was no freedom in sight.
“The games will go on for another week or so, let's see if you're able to win your freedom by then,” he announced.
He casually returned to sit on his sofa and poured himself a drink while you glared at him in anger and fear. He clicked a remote and the dalgona candy game started playing on the screen. You tore your eyes away from it but could not prevent the horror-filled screams from entering your ears.
“Go to your right…you'll find a shower and some clothes and a bed. Rest till I find you again,” he said.
You ground your teeth and held in your cries. There was more to come.
***
It was the fifth day - around forty to fifty players were still alive. More games were left to eliminate the bad from the good.
Your head hung off the edge of his bed and your arms clung to it for dear life. You contained your pain and pleasure-filled moans as In-Ho ravished you with the same vigour with which he had fucked you in the last three rounds. He had revealed his name on the second day of your stay with him itself, though it held little value to you. To you, he was ‘sir’ or ‘master.’ He was much older than you, you could never take his name anyway. But your age and position did not deter him from using your body to his heart's content.
His hand on your throat was a gentle reminder of how your life was in his control. So was his weight on top of you, the fullness inside and the burning stretch of your sore walls. It was embarrassing to know that you had cum the first three times he had fucked you and the days before, but you would not cum this time. You were too sore and swollen to enjoy it anymore.
“How – how much more?” you asked not sure if you were asking for how much longer would he go on or how much longer did he intend to keep you.
In-Ho chuckled above you.
“Look at you…praying for them to die quicker just so you can live,” he taunted.
That was not what you had meant exactly…but you could not deny it either. You did not wish for their deaths. You only wished that the games would end sooner and so would your torment, it was unfortunate that their deaths were a part of it.
“Would you like to return to the game now? There are fewer people, so you stand a higher chance of winning. You can go if you dislike this so much,” he said.
The horror must have been apparent on your face because he was grinning at your reaction. The thought of being in the game with players and the soldiers all ready to end your life filled you with terror that was much beyond what you experienced with him. Apart from the times he was twisting you to his whims, you got to enjoy great comforts in his private quarters. You had the best and finest food come to you daily - three times a day, you had a hot shower available to you throughout the day, you had fresh clothes to wear each day and you had a comfortable luxurious bed to sleep in. Your life had never been as good even outside of the games. If you put aside the fact that In-ho hounded all these spaces for you and dictated what you could or could not do, you could say that you were having a much more stress-free time here than in the games.
And apart from wanting his desires fulfilled, In-ho wasn't a cruel man otherwise. He was surprisingly not a sadist who liked to torment you for every little thing. He let you eat what and when you wanted and sleep as much as you wanted if he had no use for you and let you be if he was busy with his work which was quite a lot sometimes. Sure, you were sore and somewhat bruised most of the time but it never hurt. This was not an extremely bad position to be in but you were too ashamed to admit it.
“Oh, poor thing,” he cooed and pinched your cheek with his fingers. “Don’t worry, I'm not putting you back in the game. You fit perfectly well here, under me, doing everything that I ask you to.”
He accentuated his words with harsh thrusts. With each of them his pelvis ground into your sensitive swollen clit, forcing your walls to clench around him. He groaned in approval in return. You kept your eyes glued to the ceiling, avoiding the shame that he made you face in the earlier rounds by looking him in the eye. It was all too weird to allow him to invade your personal space like this. His stating out loud his need to keep you with himself was worse, it always made your heart throb in fear that he would never let you go and you would never see the light of the day.
If you had known while accepting the offer of this game from the treacherous salesman that you would be walking into a death trap and would only survive by becoming his boss’s sex slave, you would have found other pathetic ways to make a living. But you had managed to trap yourself in a deeper web than the game itself.
His grip tightened on your throat, and the pressure on your airway returned you to the reality he did not want you slipping away from. He pulled your head up and brought his down to smash his lips into yours, determined to consume you in every way that he could. You could tell that he was close to finishing by the hurried motions of his hips and you actively forced yourself to not tip over yourself, it was embarrassing and your body could not take any more of it.
It was not an easy task with him hitting all the tender spots inside you and grinding himself just right over your clit. He was insanely torturous, especially when he knew you were holding back on him. Having had enough of your mouth, he switched to kissing and nipping at your neck as he chased his end. He bent lower on you, the angle allowing him to go deeper than you could handle.
Every spot that he touched fanned the flame in your core and you knew that he was aware of it. He wanted to see you come undone for him again even when you did not want it. You arched your back as your walls contracted around him. The pleasure bubbled over to the surface and simmered off in a string of moans. Your hips bucked on their own will, wanting you to ride out these excruciating and raw waves of your orgasm.
He followed soon after. He somehow managed to hold it in till he saw you finish. In another life, he would have been a great lover to have. Seconds later, he busted inside you, the condom being your only protector against his seed. He collapsed on top of you as his hips lazily moved through his orgasm. His naked muscled chest crushed your breasts underneath them.
He consumed you in every sense this way. His cock became limp inside you, his hot breath rang in your ears and the heat of his body engulfed your being. He stayed that way for a few minutes, wanting to imprint himself on your soul so you would never forget what it was like to invite him so deep within your body.
His sweat rubbed off on your skin, mixed with your own as he finally peeled himself off your body. His face was glowing with the aftermath of your coupling while yours was distorted in shame and anxiety. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you to the centre of the bed as he climbed off it. For a good few seconds, you were grappled by the tension that he wanted to go for another round again. You could only hope that you would blackout this time.
To your relief, you saw him donning his black velvet night robe after discarding the used condom in the bin. He went outside of the bedroom without a word. You closed your legs and fetched the golden-brown silk robe he had given to you from the corner of the bed and covered yourself with it. You shrivelled up at the end of the bed, hugging your knees to your chest as you waited for him to return and tell you that you were done for the day. The clink of glasses coming through the other side of the room told you that he was pouring himself a drink. He enjoyed that after every session with you.
He returned to the room with two glasses in hand. One with the dark liquor and one with clear water. He surprisingly had not pushed alcohol on you after learning that you did not have an affinity for it. You did not like the idea of losing your inhibitions around him. He stretched over his end of the bed and offered you the glass.
You took it without thanks and sipped on the water quietly. The cool liquid soothed your parched throat and breathed life into your fatigued body. In-ho wordlessly started at you as he had his drink. It creeped you out beyond your wits having his eyes bore into you, but you could not protest it.
You handed the glass back to him once you were done and peeped out a small ‘thank you’ this time.
“I’m sleeping,” you said without looking at him.
You wanted to test and see if he would challenge your audacity to try and state your will without asking for his permission or if he would let such small transgressions slide.
“Of course, doll. You’ve had a long night,” he agreed.
It somewhat irked you more how he did not embody being the villain in every act of his. He was somehow human and decent at times as opposed to being harsh and selfish the other times. Perhaps, every little non-unkind action of his held more value to you than it should. You did not have it in you to unravel that when every muscle in your body was aching for relief.
“I’ll join you in some time,” he said.
You nodded at him and watched him leave the room. He turned off the lights from outside so you could sleep. You watched the moonlight spill from the glass doors beside you with a bitter heart. They led you to a balcony that offered a gorgeous view of the island forests and the sea beyond them, but they did not offer any hope of freedom. The place was littered with soldiers, guards and cameras that monitored your every move. One misstep and you would be dead in a second.
You slid down the bed and pulled the warm covers up to your neck, trying to relish the short time of being unexposed and having your body to yourself. You would surely find him wrapped around you by morning, with his hands lurking in places they should not and his semi-hard cock poking your belly or back.
There were several days left for the game to end and you were almost certain that In-ho was dragging it out to prolong your pain. However, there was no guarantee that you would be making it out free or alive from this place. He only dangled hope in front of you but never promised anything. If you were good enough, maybe then he would consider letting you go. Only you had no way of telling if you were being good enough apart from seeing the pleasure that he achieved from your body. But you knew that it was very much possible that the day the games ended he would tell you that you did not do well enough and would have to be killed.
You prayed to any god who would hear your plea to help you get out of here. You did not know how to fight your way out of this. You did not have any ideas and any energy that you had was being withered, more like fucked out of you each day as your body adjusted to this captivity and routine more and more.
You feared becoming his complacent doll. He could discard you any second that he wanted. Many women across the world and within the game would be more than willing to be his toy in exchange for the freedom, life, and luxury he could provide. As much as it hurt to be in the position that you were in, you were coming to see the advantages of having this as a more permanent arrangement. You feared that you would find yourself begging for it if when the game ended, he did not find your services satisfying enough to let you live. You would want more time to prove yourself to him and soon you would know nothing else but to live for him.
If only you were not a coward who was too afraid of death or the games you could have found a more dignified way out of this place.
Blink Twice
Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader
Summary: After pushing your body to the brink, it's finally giving out. You're rewarded for all your dazzling work ethic with a “nice” dinner. As ‘nice’ as ‘nice’ gets with him…
Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Coercion, Murder, Abuse, Male Manipulation, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Handcuffs, Exhibitionism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Fingering, Somnophilia, Period Sex, Bodily Fluids.
A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume
"H-How do you keep breaking into my apartment?" If it weren't for the fact that you were currently being fingered awake, you might have found it in yourself to sound more angry.
But you weren't awake, and he had taken advantage of your unconscious state just enough to bend down over your sleeping frame, and slip his hands between your legs.
You had promised yourself a quick power nap on the couch, anything that might lessen the pain that had been steadily blooming in your left arm. That nap had stolen you throughout most of the day until, here he hovers over you- the man who is undoubtedly the culprit for all this bodily pain you're in- with his fingers inside you.
“There you are, sleepy head,” His face is so close, you can see the smile wrinkling his face. His smile is bright and kind but his fingers aren't. They're stretching your cunt out, wrenching a moan from deep within you as you stare down at your hips moving off the couch.
“Fuck…” Your voice cracks as he scissors his index and middle finger inside you, still on a mission to split you apart. You drown in the scent of his cologne and his perfectly new suit- a black one today.
You throw your head back, feeling the pressure mount as you grind down against his fingers all while he watches with immense satisfaction.
“Can't- just-” you gasp when your wetness seeps out of you and onto the couch. “Can't-Do-This-” For all those moments you forget that you're nursing a sore arm. As you grind down against his ruthless fingers.
You forget that he might have seriously injured you this time.
“I couldn't help myself,” he whispers hoarsely, forcing an orgasm out of you before placing a kiss on your forehead. “You look breathtaking when you're unconscious.”
As the orgasm passes, you try to wake yourself up and become more aware of your surroundings.
Your body is shaking once he's done with you. Your cunt aches and reality sets back in. “Get out of my house.”
He straightens his tie before standing to his full height again, “You say that like I don't own the place,"
He's smiling stiffly as he stands before you, clutching that bloody briefcase, having come to collect you for another round of games...
Something inside your worn-out soul breaks at the sight of him so unfathomably fazed. You were experiencing another round of those 'realization moments'.
You have actually gone and sold yourself to a sadist.
Especially now that he's gone and done it again. After vehemently expressing that he 'please be a little more gentle with you', he insisted on pushing your body to the brink of its abilities. Toying with you and punishing you and releasing all the workings of those sick, sick, sick games on you, and for what?
It hits you more often than not these days.
A paid apartment? Paid university fees?
You try to keep your sleepy eyes unkind as you glare up at him but even you blanch at how much of a necessary force he's made himself in your life.
"And how often are you going to remind me that all my resources are tied to you?" You rise from lying supine, waiting for the world to stop spinning before you start stretching. None of your limbs protest as much as yours left shoulder that practically howls in pain. He watches you with robotic intrigue.
"I thought I should make good on that promise to take you out.”
"Take me out?" He notes the way your good shoulders tenses and smiles.
"I already said I've got no plans to kill you. You're the most fun I've had in years and years." He says "I want you to go to dinner with me."
"You wanna take your abuse victim out to dinner... looking like this?" you try to lift your arm but it protests, sending a sharp pain through your entire left side.
"I think you look rather beautiful."
"You would think this is what beauty looks like."
A tense silence falls.
"You're angry." He tilts his head, "And in pain."
You scoff venomously then, "Whomever might the culprit be?" You ask sarcastically before picking yourself up from the couch. You're cradling your arm, dragging your worn body across the floor to the adjoining kitchen.
"My fucking arm still hurts." You nearly cry as you squeeze the words out. Shooting a teary-eyed glare at your sadist from the kitchen.
"Tonight is your celebration dinner and it's way overdue." He busies himself by folding up the quilt that had been draped along your sleeping frame, "All my virtues rest on giving credit where credit is due, and you my dear..." the gaze he arrests you in is warm, and penetrative, like you were being reminded that he owns your body and soul, "-have done stellar work for me."
It's said in a wave of reverence you didn't really expect.
"Let me take you out,"
Sure he was sociopathic, and deranged, and everything you should most definitely be seeking refuge from, but the sentiment in his voice is genuine. As if, after 40 years on this earth, with the violent tendencies he had undoubtedly been born with, here is someone that's actually helping him. That's what you're doing, you're helping him. But it comes at a steep, steep price.
"You have virtues?" You ask sarcastically, causing the once intense moment to scatter and lighten.
"And your humor would be missed if I killed you. Where else would I find someone with such a stellar sense of humor and almost no sense of self preservation?" He asks aloud, as he walks towards the counter that separates you both. "You should've asked for help the first day you met me-"
"You offered to pay my shit if I played your games, who would walk away from that?”
"You should've." He smiles. "But I'm glad you didn't." His smile reaches those dead, almond eyes, "And tonight we have a celebration dinner."
"I can't go out," you say, turning your back on him to drink water.
His voice is dark when he says, "Can't or won't?"
"Can't." You slam your cup down against the sink, earning a thick wave of silence. You were never angry with him before. Never. "I think you broke something." You say, turning slowly, still cradling your arm like a baby.
There's a jarring amount of care in his voice as he rounds the counter to walk closer towards you. He examines your arm with deceptively soft eyes as he softly says, "I really did a number on you, didn't I?"
You look up at him with blank eyes, "Try not to get off thinking about it," you snip back. Sarcasm was your only weapon.
"I couldn't help myself," He rests his large hand on your arm, "you know that right?
"Y-Yes," your resolve falters and you're back to being his submissive. "I don't blame you."
"In fact." He nods along with you, conditioning you to accept his view of the events as he says, "Our session this past week had been nothing short of magical."
You're not quite sure if that was a reliable portrayal of the events but your weak mind is already fitting the memories to be so.
Somehow, you're thinking of the events with less anger: how he had snapped real, silver handcuffs on your wrists, resting them behind your back while you were being fucked from behind. It had been blissful until he pulled too hard on the left and you screamed and you blacked out.
Now here he stands before you, drenched in the afternoon sunlight, wearing a brand new black suit, smelling of fine cologne, telling you it was magical.
He came when you broke your arm.
"Alright, I'll come with you," he decides with finality, prompting you to snap out of your daze.
"No, I can go myself!" You move around him to gather your things.
"Unless you've magically obtained the ability to communicate in Korean then I suggest I come with you." He watches you race across your tiny apartment, gathering your things.
"There are English speaking doctors I'll be f-uck." As you were searching for your phone between the couch, you angered the arm, causing another wave of pain to blossom.
"I'm taking you." He stands by the doorway, "Let's go."
Your nostrils flare as the real reason for your discomfort rears its head. "B-but what if..."
You let the words die on your lips. Choosing instead to look at him, hoping your eyes relay the severity of the implications that might arise from a simple trip to the hospital. All those questions.
"Don't tell me you're worried about me." He says, still smiling.
"Worry?" You snort as you make your way to the front door where your sneakers sit, "If you go to jail who's gonna make me cum?"
He clutches at the space where a heart ought to be and says, "And here I was thinking you were falling in love with an old man like me."
"You can't love anything," you shoot back coldly.
"I can't," he confirms, "but you can."
You move away from the conversation like It's growing teeth.
"Let's just go," you mumble quietly, heading out the door, not looking back and knowing he'd follow.
𓂃
The hospital is bombarded by the smell of antiseptic and busy bodies in white coats whizzing all around you. It's dizzying actually being here as the severity if it all comes hammering down on you. You didn't like being around so many people at the best of times- even attending university everyday was met with its fair share of anxiety. Almost on instinct, you curl a little closer into his side, letting your right hand slither over his wrist. Surprisingly, he lets you.
"What should I say?" It only strikes you now that you probably should have rehearsed some script since 'I'd like to seek medical attention because I'm meeting with a homicidal sadist weekly who pays my bills and my body is finally giving out,' probably wouldn't be a good way to go.
The confidence in his stride leaves you brimming with nervousness. Your less than orthodox dynamic has already made a few passers by stare but here, inside the hospital, you feel like the only two humans to exist.
"I'll do the talking," he reassures and something inside you sighs. This is what made him such a necessary force for you. He handled way more than you ever could. He moved through the world, headstrong and in charge. He was everything you weren't.
"Good day-" he says to the nurse manning the front desk, "I'd like to get my wife treated for a possible fracture or broken bone-"
Wife.
It rings through your ears.
Meanwhile, kind eyes- genuine, human eyes- look at you from across the desk. You realize then how little contact you've had with anyone normal. Anyone real.
"Poor thing," the nurse murmurs and your heart tugs at the kindness drenched in her voice.
"Alright, Sir, it's just-" the nurse gestures towards the rest of the waiting room, "We're just busier than we usually are for a weekday so you might have to wait a while-"
"You have medical aid?" You enquire softly, letting your side bump against him. "Who the hell are you?"
He stares down the small woman as he reveals a glistening card from his wallet. She quickly looks at you before she tentatively takes the card and types away at her computer.
Somehow, up until this point you had fooled yourself into believing you were on the road to autonomy, that going to university and being a woman in her 20s away from home meant you were finally obtaining sweet sweet independence but in actuality... you were just a little girl, deluding herself into thinking the city might be kind to her. It's swallowing you whole. And you're being left to watch.
It made you aware of how completely vulnerable you had really been. You could barely afford rent, let alone something as luxurious as medical aid. For all your time in this city you tried not to get hurt because medical bills would eat you alive and here he was, whipping a card out.
"Right this way-" The little nurse moves from behind the counter, and almost immediately, you hear a distinct uproar in the waiting room behind you. "I think doctor Park will see you, but we'll first head over for X-Ray and-"
"Hey!" The sound startles you, causing your shoulders to tense as you grip on your Salesman's forearm, making sure he's still there, "We've been here for 4 hours," You meet the haggard glassy eyes of a middle aged man. He's scowling at you as if you've committed a grave murder right before him.
"I'm sorry, Sir." The nurse begins, her voice filled with concern, "This hospital is legally obligated to help out those with medical aid first-"
Shoes click against the cold floors. A shadow descends as your Salesman steps forward as if protecting you from the man's vehemence. Time stands still in the moments he makes his venomous proposition. A proposition so vile it nearly had you vomiting here all over the hospital floors.
"My wife needs a new heart-" he begins, gesturing to a woman- a ghost seated in the chairs behind him. Her skin is practically translucent as she stares off into space. "Who knows how much time we're wasting while we're being forced to wait here-"
"Are you up for a game of rock, paper, scissors by any chance?" Your salesman asks, causing your heart to sink. The man examines him as if he's grown a second head.
"If you win a single round against me, I will pay for your wife's medical treatment. New heart." At the peroration of his incredibly insensitive and evil proposition, your Salesman smiles.
"One round." He says, before his eyes snap to the woman pulling at her husband's arm.
"She doesn't look too well," The Salesman pouts and you walk up towards him, limbs shaking as you whisper-yell in his ear, feeling all your nerves being shot out of you.
"Jesus, you're fucking disgusting."
"Birds of a feather-" he whispers back, before refocusing his attention onto the man.
Meanwhile the nurse tries to pull you away but you're rooted to the floors. This whole ordeal makes you realize that you've never actually seen him interact with normal people. It makes you wonder where he goes when he's not with you. You'd almost believed that he's a fragment of your delusions, something your lonely brain cooked up to make you believe someone in this city cared about you. But he's real. And he has a life outside the two of you.
"Don't you wanna help your wife?" He continues to tempt the man, "Look at mine-" the Salesman said, gesturing to you. "She's a little battered and bruised but she's alive. You're not dying any time soon, right honey?"
You rip your eyes away from him just as your nurse returns. She places a warm arm on your forearm and in the midst of the game, she places a card in your hand. "Let's go for your x-rays,"
While they play their game, you look down at the piece of paper.
Blink twice if the man you're with is the one who assaulted you.
Call it female intuition.
You have no idea what could've led to the fact that he was the one but the nurse is watching you with a heavy gaze and bated breath. You almost drown in the concern she holds for you, a mere stranger.
In another life, you might've had a friend like her. She's relatively young, budding with youthfulness, actually. You imagine she has a boyfriend. An actual one. One who holds her bag while she's shopping. One who kisses her. These kinds of people develop empathy. The ‘fixed people’. You can tell she knows love.
“I-”
“Rock, paper, scissors-”
You blink once before looking away and the nurse sighs in relief.
"Better luck next time." You watch with bated breath as the man draws a rock to the Salesman's paper.
𓂃
An oblique fracture, they called it. The thing that's been plaguing your left arm for a week has finally been given its name. You're walking out of the doctor's office feeling light and remarkably relieved to leave this place and all its people. He walks confidently beside you, having sat through the whole ordeal. He had been there as they fashioned the pink cast over your arm and he walks beside you now, like your own personal well-dressed shadow.
On your way out, you pass by the receptionist's desk, she smiles over at you but glares at the Salesman. Just as you're about to make it out, you hear her voice.
“You said she's your wife,” the woman speaks up, causing you both to stop. “I don't see a ring.”
Cold, white, fear runs down your spine and your hand that was in his, squeezes as silence envelops you both.
“Good Day,” is all he says with an amicable smile before pulling you along.
Silence enveloped you on your taxi ride over to the Japanese restaurant comfortably situated in the Gangnam district. He had been remarkably quiet in the taxi driver over and he is remarkably quiet now as you're being led to a booth in the restaurant. It's adequately filled with its patrons. Families and couples like perhaps you two were. You wonder if he has these thoughts…
“She did make a good point,” you mumble as you take a seat in the booth, watching silently as he slips in beside you. “If you're going to be telling people I'm your wife and they don't see a ring…”
He sets his briefcase in the booth beside you both, sighing softly as he mumbles, “People don't usually marry their toys, do they?”
Before you're able to respond, a waiter walks up to your booth, having his pen and notepad at attention as he asks for your order. You watch your Salesman expertly lay down your order, everything from yakitori, to miso soup to onigiri. It's mesmerizing watching him order for you and you suspect it had the same effect on you. His hands on your thigh squeezes slightly, while you silently let him order. In a moment the waiter vanishes.
“You're so old,” you say suddenly, trying to make up for the silence and the nervousness raging through your heart. This is the first time you're out with him in a public setting and its setting you alight with worry. “I'm sure you remember when Korea was under Japanese occupation,”
“Keep making your little jokes,” he says, sipping on his complimentary water as he allows his back to rest against the seat, “And I might not be so forgiving…”
His hand rests his hand on your thigh, it's the only thing you're able to focus on. How his fingers cover so much space. The sheer size of it. The sheer size of him. You feel so completely small beside him, you almost don't realize that he's begun talking again.
“My father fought in the war when he was ‘round about your age,” that brings you clean out of your thoughts. Your eyes snap up to meet his but he's staring aimlessly ahead, as if reminiscing on something beautiful.
“Jesus I-” you swallow thickly, “That was a bloody war,”
He nods, momentarily removing his hand from your thigh to undo the buttons of his blazer.
“More than 3 million dead.” He says taking another sip.
“Right.” You nod, heart hammering when he places his hand back on your thigh. “2 million soldiers and 1 million civilians,” he places the glass back down on the table and he shakes his head slightly, twirling his index.
“Swap the numbers around.”
“Right…” you clear your throat, keeping your gaze locked on your lap, “That's... heartbreaking. I'm sorry.”
He turns his head, finally regarding you under the dimness of the hanging light fixtures. He tilts his head to the side in that way he does when he's particularly intrigued by you. “You are sorry, aren't you?”
You nod.
“But I have no idea why, you're not a Japanese fascist from the 40s.”
“No, but I have empathy.”
“Curious.” He replies back, before letting silence fall.
“Spread your legs,” he says so suddenly it gave you whiplash. Your head snaps up to him as you begin to plead.
He couldn't do this. There had to be some sort of refractory period in which he let your body recuperate.
“I’m in pain-” you grit out through your teeth, but his large hand is already seeping to the center of your closed legs, trying to pry them apart.
“Your legs work just fine.” He whispers, letting his mouth graze your ears, “Your cunt works just fine,”
You place a hand on his forearm. “The doctor said no strenuous activities.”
“Do you listen to the doctor or do you listen to me?” He asks, staring at you deep into your frightened eyes, forcing you into that liminal space of submission. Your eyes were brimming with not only fear but embarrassment.
“Spread your legs.” He whispers,
“I'm on my period,”
Another troubling moment of contemplation falls between you both and you're left to stare deep into each other's eyes as the restaurant's cultural music makes the ambience swell. It could be romantic, this energy that's festering between you two.
Even though you know it's anything but, you allow yourself to dip into those pools of delusion.
“You were fine this morning,” He says, and you note the grogginess that's begun to veneer his voice as he looks down at you.
Young, impressionable, darling you.
“I got it before we left, that's why I asked to use the bathroom again- point is,” you tug on his arm, “We can't.”
His eyes soften and for a split second, you think you see kindness there. Your gaze falls to his lips, anticipating the words they'd form.
“Spread your legs,” he says once more, before applying the necessary force to pry them apart yourself. “Let me in, Doll.”
A small whimper escapes you as you open your legs. You let him drift his hand under your skirt. His fingers are cold to the touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he inches them towards your cunt.
The second his fingers graze over your mound you gasp slightly before sitting forward with your head bowed. Your cast is behind the table as you hide your head in your hand. He watches you with heavy eyes, “It's rude to have your elbow on the table.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, trying to muffle yourself by the palm of your hand. You feel him swipe your underwear away. You feel his fingers dip into the pool of wetness at your entrance. Wetness you knew was not arousal.
“Don't look at me like that,” you mumble, staring down at the table as his fingers rub against your slick folds.
“Like what?” He asks.
In your periphery you can see him hunched over you slightly, his eyes on you and you alone. It was tiring having his attention. And so incredibly dangerous.
“Like you wanna eat me alive.”
He bends down, letting his fingers graze over your clit as he whispers, “I do. That's all I wanna do.”
The waitress returns with your food and you mumble a quiet ‘thank you,’ While your Salesman keeps his gaze locked on you.
“Grind down on my hand,” he urges and you shake your head,
“Do it.”
“Or what?” That was probably the worst thing to say to a sadist who looks like he's brimming for you to give him a reason to hurt him.
“Fuck my hand or I'll fuck you.”
You were feeling particularly stubborn today. The injury, the nurse, the hospital, the man and his wife… you're disgusted with this man beside. It dawns on you then that you have to get away from him.
“You can't do that-” you begin to whine but his voice is like steel when he reolies, “I thought we've established that there are many things I can do and very few I can't.”
All is quiet.
“Fuck my hand or I'll fuck you, I've been dying to play in your blood.”
You're still wrestling with either of your options, trying to outweigh the good against the bad was impossible when both choices just seemed bad. It puts you at an unfair disadvantage and you are drowning.
“W-Wait-”
“Times up.” He mumbles before removing his hand from your underwear. You're utterly horrified to find it stained in crimson.
He calls over the waiter, at least having the decency to hide his bloody hand behind your back as he politely says, “My wife is quite sick, could I be pointed to the bathroom, please?” He sounds so amicable, so deceptively kind, of course the waitress quietly urges the two of you to the bathrooms nestled at the back of the resturant.
“I'll do it-” you breath heavile as he urges you past tables, “I'll do just-”
“You picked too late," he whispers in your ear as he steers you into the female bathrooms. “Disqualified.” He says before pushing you into a sta. You could only thank your lucky stars that the stalls are empty but that is where you luck runs dry.
It's only you and your monster who's fervently unzipping his pants before locking you both in a cubicle.
“My arm hurts-” you begin but he turns you around, pushing your back against the door.
“Your cunt still works.” He repeats, “I didn't get to drive a knife into it the last time-” he whispers hoarsely as he plays drunken kisses all across your collarbone. You hate to admit how dizzying the effect of his kisses are. How they carry you off into a completely different mental state- where everything becomes morally grey. You felt like you could get off to almost anything in this state and so you don't bat an eye when he says, “I need to see your blood on my cock,”
In fact, you moan, trying to find your bearings as you slip so far into subspace. “You're not allowed to pass out on me-” he says, manically, breathing oh so heavily as he pulls his cock out over his slacks. “I'm not even using any of our favorite toys, you do not get to pass out.” He warns before slotting himself between your legs.
“W-wait- pull your pants all the way down, otherwise-” you hiccup, “I'll make a mess.”
A deep and low groan reverberates through his chest and you watch him lower his pants all the way down, revealing sculpted legs before he brings his cock to your cunt. It's wet enough to allow him to slide in smoothly, and he looks down between you, pressing down on your tummy as he watches your blood soak his cock.
“Here taste your blood,” He's prying your teeth open and you let him. Crimson floods your mouth and you moan around his fingers. There's a manic sort of edge to his laugh as he admits, “I’m not gonna last quick.” before he's kisses you deeply, grinding himself into you
“Fuck- you're filthy.” His eyes are absolutely insane as he drives his cock into you setting an unforgiving ppace. He snaps his hips against you, trying to drive his cock in further and further.
“Cum- I'm gonna cum-” He pulls back to urge, just as you hear someone walk into the bathroom. He's breathing heavily, surprisingly being mindful of your cast as he dips his hand down to your cunt. His fingers drag across the blood like it's the most fascinating thing on earth, and that has you cunt tightening around him.
A toilet flush, just as a whimper seeps through your lips. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you take his brutal fucking, watching him stab your cunt with his cock like he's daring himself to break you.
You place a hand on your mouth, muffling your violent cries as you buck your hips against him. Your own period pains that were flooding your system is beng fucked away. Your thighs and his pelvis are absolutely stained in crimson and his eyes are rolled back. Thankfully, the door opens and closes and you are alone once again.
“I love playing in your blood-” his voice cracks. Meanwhile, he's using you like a ragdoll. Through it all, you manage to ask the question plaguing your mind.
“Did he…” You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as the tip of his cock grazes your cervix, “Did your dad make it back?”
He rears his teeth, smiling in that twisted way that was far different from the smiles he gave everyone else. Only you got to see him like this. “Yes, Doll, he did.”
“W-What happened to him-oh god-” he picks up his pace grabbing your hips and pulling your cunt down on his cock.
“I killed him.” His eyes roll back into his skull and your mouth falls open. His cum floods your system and in that same moment his pelvis grazes along your clit, triggering your orgasm. You cum with tears in your eyes and it fills you with unmistakable dread.
If this man was capable of ending someone in his own bloodline, who were you in his eyes? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“Don't look so scared.” He whispers, still grunting as he emptied himself inside you, “He was useless. You- you're not useless.”
He kisses your face. Everywhere he can.
“You look like you're about to have a panic attack. Compose yourself.”
You breathe in thickly.
In and out.
In and out.
Damn this was crazy hot. You depicted his unhinged side so well I'm deceased
Oh Baby
Pairing: Hwang Inho/Frontman x Fem!Reader
Summary: All you've known is that you exist for his pleasure, but you didn't know there'd come a day when he'd want more from you
Warnings: noncon/dubcon, breeding kink, dom-sub relationship, power imbalance, sort of master/slave play, bareback, creampie, crying, tension, slight fear play, gentle dom Inho, confused reader, Stockholm syndrome, etc. 18+ only, Minors DNI
A/n: Eeee I cannot get over In-ho having a pregnancy kink so here we are.
He could play his role as a gamer during the day and indulge his unhealthy obsession with the players and the games, but during the night he craved you. The respite you had gotten from In-Ho participating in this year's games was short-lived. You had been dragged out of the comfort of his private quarters and forced into the disgusting common bathroom made for the players.
The cold blue tiled walls were not unfamiliar. You had walked these floors before. After buying your freedom from the games, you had no will whatsoever to step foot anywhere near the torture chambers ever again in your life. It was only In-ho’s demands and your life debt to him that forced you to return to the hell forsaken island again and again.
You waited at the entrance, wearing a sheer baby pink mini dress and high heels. Your slutty outfit had made you stick out like a sore thumb amongst the thoroughly covered pink-suited and black-masked guards. You were clearly misplaced, wandering in areas where only the gamers should be without any contact with the other world. But none of them had said a word about it. The command of their master was all that mattered.
The bathroom was cleaner than your expectations, but you remained close to the entrance. You were not a fan of this location. At least in his quarters, you had the privilege of having his soft mattress and linens cushioning your back as he ravaged you. You'd have preferred if he came to his private room to fuck you instead of calling you here. But you had no space to question him. If you did, you probably wouldn't even be on this fucked up island in the first place.
Your spine straightened up as the bathroom door opened with a start. You pushed yourself off the cold tiled wall to greet your master.
He entered in a rush and quickly closed the door behind him. His appearance was starkly different from the one that you were used to seeing. His hair was dishevelled, and unkempt, unlike his usual slicked back hairstyle. He wore the cheap ugly green jumpsuits given to all the players and his face looked washed off. At a glance, he did not hold the biting and stern coldness that he usually did in his crisp Frontman attire. He almost looked like an endearing regular old man who was going through tough things in his life.
But you knew better than to fall for the act. Memories attached to him were enough to not underestimate the man that he was.
“Apologies for this location but –” he paused as his eyes landed on you.
They rolled up and down your body, not unusual but the lack of satisfaction in them had you slightly unsettled. Did you not wear the right outfit?
“Is something wrong?” You asked.
In-Ho’s fists clenched at his side. He released an exasperated sigh in response. Something was wrong and you'd get the brunt of it soon enough.
“I wish you'd have worn something more decent,” he commented.
His statement pinched your chest. The meaning of decency evaded you. There was no room for it in your relationship with him. He allowed you to have no dignity. This outfit was bought by his choice and you could only assume that he would like to see it on your body. How were you to know that he wanted you to be less provocative when that is what he had trained you to be?
“I'm sorry, sir,” you apologised, knowing that there was no room for you to argue with him.
If he had to, he would punish this oversight of yours or let it slide, whatever it was you had to bear it with a straight face.
“Ah, never mind. Come here,” he said.
He beckoned you over to himself with two fingers. Your heels click-clacked on the tile floor as you took careful steps towards him. He put his hands on your naked arms as soon as you got close to him.
His hold was rough and warm. He yanked you towards him till your body was flush against his. In-ho roped an arm around your waist to keep you steady and turned you both towards the wall on his left, effectively caging you between it and himself. It was far from a new position for you.
It was overwhelming nonetheless, to be at his mercy yet again. He may be dressed like an ordinary poor player who was drowning in debt, but it did not change the truth of who he was and the power he held over everyone on this island.
Your breasts rose and fell as In-ho pressed himself up against your torso. He studied your face with through-lidded, menacing eyes and sniffed the fresh flowery scent that emanated from your neck. It contrasted against the sweaty and bloody smell of him.
He lifted his left hand to cup your face. He tilted it up to make you look at him.
“Did you miss me?” He asked.
You nodded like the good girl you had learned to be.
“Are you speaking the truth?” He nudged.
You were not. You had more than enjoyed having some time to yourself. Sure, you had learned to enjoy his company as well and understood that your survival was dependent on him, but a woman can’t be blamed for enjoying her moments of freedom.
“Yes,” you answered.
In-ho smiled. It did not reach his eyes. Your heart beat faster in your chest. He was a smart man who could never get fooled by you.
His thumb wandered over to your lips and rubbed the tinted gloss around the plush skin mindlessly as he ever so slightly bucked his hips against your belly. His arousal poked your throat through the thin layers of clothes in between you two. Your muscles went stiff in response, yet a spark was born between your legs.
“I did not expect to miss you this much, truthfully,” he said in a sweet whisper.
His words were heavy. You could not tell if he meant them. A part of you wanted him to mean it, to care for you enough to actually yearn to see you even if it meant that he would have to take a break from his obsession with this wicked game. Maybe then you could tell yourself that you were more than just a whore who kept his bed warm at night.
Another part of you was scared of what having his attention would mean, there was no guarantee of safety and space of his obsession with you grew.
It was tough to read his eyes. You had never seen such intensity in the brownness of them. It was almost too much to handle the need with which he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you whole and keep you so close you would never move away.
The moment you dropped your gaze, In-ho lifted your chin and pressed his lips on yours. By default, you returned the kiss and did your best to keep up in his fight for dominance. It was strangely one of the few things you enjoyed. It made you feel closer to him and not in a filthy way.
His hands searched for the hem of your dress as sucked on your lips. You could sense his impatience by the way he roughed the fabric up your thighs and made space for himself between them.
You threw your hands around his shoulders, inviting him in as his hardness rubbed against your pelvis. Whether you wanted it or not, there was a fire set across your skin that burned alive between your legs just by his touch and his hunger. It craved more of him. Losing yourself in him numbed all worries and bad thoughts at the back of your mind.
In-ho’s hand slithered between your legs and cupped your pussy. His warmth had you bucking your hips against his palm. Ignoring your search for pleasure, he hooked his fingers in the crotch of your thong and ripped it apart. You yelped on his mouth, making him break the kiss.
“I'm sorry,” he panted, pulling himself out of the track pants.
“I don't have a lot of time,” he said.
It was true. He was risking his position and identity with the players by being outside of the common room during forbidden hours. Not that you had a say in the pace that he decided to set.
“Wait,” you told him as you sensed him nudging his bare and throbbing cock through your wet slit.
You reached for your breasts and stuck three fingers inside your bra to fish out the condom you had hidden inside it. You took out the single silver pack and waved it in front of his face.
The muscles in his face stiffened and his jaw became taut at the sight of the pack. He viewed it with a disdain you had never witnessed before. Your mind was racing. The hair on the back of your neck was prickling. His face said that he was not happy but you couldn't tell what he was unhappy with. He was never against the use of protection before.
His nostrils flared as he picked the condom pack from the extreme edge and tossed it away. Your heart sank.
“This will not be needed anymore, sweetheart,” he said.
“What?” You looked at him, dumbfounded.
In-ho took a deep breath. His gaze softened on you but that did not necessarily make you feel comfortable with what he had just done.
“I've decided,” he started.
He placed a gentle hand on your neck and caressed your skin with his thumb.
“What have you decided?” you demanded.
“I want to be a father,” he announced.
Cold sweat broke across your skin. A pit formed in your stomach that threatened to consume you. Your legs weakened and would have let up if it wasn't for him holding you up.
These were words that you never expected nor wanted to hear from him. They were too personal and unfit for the relationship that you shared with him. You were his plaything, not his lover. Or at least that was how you viewed your relationship with him.
“Come on, don't look so afraid…this could be a great chance and I'll take care of you.”
He attempted to move in for a kiss but you stopped him by putting your hands on his chest.
“What is happening, sir?”
He pursed his lips. His eyes darted questioningly between your bold hands and your afraid face.
“I'm not an irresponsible or impulsive man, darling. I have the resources to more than take care of a family and this place…seeing that girl, Jun-Hee, has made me realise that I want more in life now.”
His words hit your heart, mind, and body like stones. He was all too pleased to roll out his tale and fantasy of being a family man to you and it was true that he was well equipped to take care of as many people as he wanted. But you were far from ready. How does one go from being a man’s whore to the mother of his child? Surely, he could find another more appropriate woman for it.
Tears welled in your eyes. Your palms became sweaty on his chest. You wanted to stop and the acute awareness of your lack of power to contest his will made you want to sink into the ground.
“Sir, please – I can't,” you protested nonetheless, hoping he would have it in his softening heart to hear your pleas.
“Oh dear, what are you so afraid of? Don't want a better life than this? I'd be honoured if I were you,” he retorted bluntly.
You broke out into loud sobs at his words. He was so distant from your reality. He had no understanding or empathy for the position that you were in. Your personal desires held no regard for him.
And while he was right, that he was offering you the best life you could ever imagine for yourself, given the fact that you were a poor, debt-drowned woman who had enrolled in the games out of desperation and could only survive because he allowed you to, giving you the luxuries that you could never hope for, you did not want it. You could not bring yourself to want it at least not in the moment. It was one thing to sell your body for life and freedom, it was another thing to agree to carry his children. There were too many expectations attached to this role.
“Sir, please, can – we talk – about this later?” You pleaded in hiccups.
“If only I had the patience, love,” he replied.
He pressed a kiss on your forehead. He hooked his hands on your thighs, lifted them up and opened them around his waist.
“But I cannot wait for something I'm so sure of,” he added, his voice low and dripping with lustful passion.
There was no running in a world ruled by him so your body froze against the wall. You watched him guide his tip to your entrance as tears dribbled down your cheeks.
“And with you I know, you take your time to accept things but you do in the end, don't you?”
He subtly taunted at how he had broken your initial reservations in being his personal playtoy. His interest in you had saved you from the game of death but had taken your time to adjust to the idea of selling your body to him for money and survival. But In-ho had quickly made you realise that your lack of say in the matter was not only due to the difference in power but also because of your piss-poor financial status in the world outside. He offered more than survival, he offered comfort and luxury beyond the imagination of low-class citizens like you, only at the cost of sore nights spent in his arms. Soon you had come to see the benefit in it, but you doubted that you would come to see such a thing in becoming a mother by him.
There had to be a limit on how much of yourself you could give to him.
There was no room for child-rearing in the sick and deviant life that he was leading. Only he could not understand that.
You put your head on his shoulder and braced yourself against him as he began filling you up. That was all you could do since there was no room to reason with him. Having taken a break from his ruttings, your body took time to adjust to his size and bareness. He went in slow, letting you feel the stretch of every inch bit by bit till he reached the hilt.
You let out a muffled whine at the fullness that echoed embarrassingly across the empty bathroom. In-ho shuddered against you, his cock twitching inside the tight and warm fit of your walls. His strained breaths sounded in your right ear as he began to move out.
“Such a good girl for me, I know you are,” he said as he set up a moderate pace to fuck you with.
His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, using them as leverage as he searched for the angle that would make you sing. You bit your lip not wanting the guards to hear your unabashed and unrestrained enjoyment in such an unbecoming place.
In-ho did not object to your efforts to hold back. Instead, he went in harder and rammed his pelvis against your clit to make you come undone.
Your blurry eyes remained stuck on his chest, glued to the number 001, but you could sense his heated eyes boring into your face.
“You'd look so beautiful when you're pregnant, I can picture it now,” he groaned between his thrusts.
“I've been thinking about it for some time now,” he added.
Your cheeks became hot at the thought of it. Your desire to not be a mother so early in your life and in these circumstances was one part of the issue. You also could not imagine In-ho, the ruthless Frontman of these games, wanting and picturing such endearing and homely things with a low life like you. As terrifying as it was, it also felt too good to be true.
But here he was, fucking you in earnest with the intention of filling you up with his seed. You could only wish that this was not some sick attempt to play with your emotions and remind you of your place. Somehow the thought of him laughing at you at the end and telling you that you would never be worthy of being the mother of his child was more scary than him following through with his verbal promises to make you one.
“Sir,” you moaned out in desperation.
Your lips hung open and quivered in a silent plea - please don't play with me anymore.
“We'll find clothes more appropriate for you…you can't go around dressed like this anymore,” he said.
This was the first promise you truly liked. You knew you looked good in these dresses but you did not enjoy being wrapped like a sex toy for him and his men to ogle at. Being allowed to dress in more homely and comfy clothes was appealing. Maybe things wouldn't be that bad…
You hated that your body became warm all over. What his cock did to your cunt, his words did to your mind, effectively rewiring your will to the pleasure that he pumped into your body. When he brought you this close to the edge, he could make you say or do anything that he wanted.
“Just you wait…just you wait…” his voice fizzled out with the erratic thrusts of his cock. “Till I'm out of here.”
“Oh god,” you squealed.
You wrapped your thighs tightly around him, not wanting him to escape till he delivered you to pleasure’s door. You hung onto his shoulders for dear life.
Your thighs became weak and your walls clasped around him. Your toes curled and you bucked your hips against him as you rode out your high.
In-ho followed soon after you. He grunted in your ear and buried his lips in the shell as he shot rope after ropes of his hot seed inside you.
You whimpered at the odd sensation and the heavy meaning of having his essence pumped into you without any protection or way of backing out. This was real. This could change your life within a matter of days and there was no turning back.
Your mind was cloudy with all the conflicting thoughts racing inside it. Your body was wrought with the aftermath of the orgasm and your skin became chilly from the sweat cooling off of it.
In-ho’s heavy breaths rang alongside yours as he pulled himself out. He carefully set your legs down on the floor and made sure you stood steady on your feet.
“You be careful walking back in those heels. I don't want you to fall,” he said.
It was a particularly caring thing to hear from him. He mostly did not pay such close attention to your well-being but now that he saw you as the future mother of his child…his cold edges were melting and you could not complain about it no matter how nauseated the thought of being pregnant made you.
“Okay?” He demanded, forcing you to look at him by tilting up your chin.
“Yes, yes sir,” you said.
In-ho gave you a warm smile, one that you rarely ever saw on his face before. He had no reason to do this so far. Now the weight of his newfound expectation and happiness was on your shoulders and you did not know if you could take it.
“Good girl,” he said.
He lowered his head to press a peck on your lips. He freed your space and took a step back after helping you pull down the skirt of the dress.
“Off you go, sweetheart. Now I'll meet you when I'm done with my part here…which won't be long. So, be a patient, good girl for me, yes?”
You nodded at him. “Yes, sir,” you said.
Only you knew the storm that was brewing inside you at the anticipation of him returning with the full brunt of his expectations. You could only wish that it would be as late as it could be.
He plucked you off the wall and patted your back, nudging you towards the door of the bathroom.
“Eat well. I'll have my men checking you,” he said.
You stood paused at the threshold of the bathroom hit by his words that sounded like a good wish and a threat. His smile stretched from ear to ear when your eyes reached his face. He knew his orders could not be disputed.
You gave him a brief smile and rushed out of the bathroom. You needed to be away from him. You wanted to scratch out your skin and wash off the liquid dripping down your thigh. The guards huddled around you as you tracked your steps back to his private rooms. There was no privacy to act out your true thoughts here.
This had been the softest interaction you had ever had with In-ho and somehow the most deeply unsettling one. There were no bruises on your skin, no pain anywhere and no mark of humiliation on your soul. You were only promised kindness and comfort beyond comprehension but at a cost that you did not have it in you to pay.
Fresh tears sprouted out of your eyes just like they had on your first interaction with him. You could never have predicted that there would come a day when the pain would cease and affection would set in, but you would be crushed under the weight of unimaginable expectations…
But In-ho was the master of your body, mind, and soul…he was the master of your destiny. You were nothing without him. And you could not deny him this wish if he had it. Maybe you could try to negotiate this with him again but you were afraid that you would lose your place if you pressed down on your stance…he could always find someone else to do this job for him. There were plenty of desperately poor women around who were willing to do anything to escape their harsh worlds. And you had fought too hard and endured too much already to give up now…
You sniffled as you imagined yourself round and pregnant with In-ho’s careful arms around you making sure you were comfortable and safe. It was not a bad thought. You'd trade his rough hands for the gentle ones any time of the day.
Maybe this was the way to become more than a whore and In-ho had presented a golden opportunity to you.
You found yourself desperate to see him again. Only he could tell you if he was committed to this fantasy of his. Only his actions could assure you that better times were to come.
Until then, you could only wish that you were not another pawn in his twisted game who was being experimented with for his amusement.
Is it just me for did In-Ho have a thing for Jun-Hee in a few episodes? Like the moment he discovered she is pregnant he became caring and somewhat protective?
When they all were having milk and bread, he was the first one to offer her his milk so that her child is safe.
During the round and round game, he quickly checked up on her after the first round to see if she was alright and made jokes about how with her being pregnant they are now six people. *I was noticing the eyes, the gaze with which he was looking at her?*
Idk maybe I'm reading too much into it and he probably was mindfucking with all of them because he knew she would die at the end anyway.
But the fanfiction writer in me would like to think that In-Ho had a pregnancy kink and concealing his protective side....off to writing bad things!
squid games s2 spoilers
Netflix: okay so new idea for a season 2 of a show!!!! Gihun (a traumatized middle aged man who has witnessed the horrors of humanity first hand and is haunted by his own capacity for violence) is partaking in a thrilling investigation full of drama and gore. he is trying to find the person responsible for his imprisonment and the horrors he faced. The Front Man (which is is the evil alter ego of the serial killer responsible) goes by his normal name and befriends Gihun as a civilian by manufacturing moments that create tender situations all while witnessing how his villiany causes the other incredible amounts of mental anguish. he blames all his faults on his tragic loss of family but that doesnt really explain all of it. there are excellent queer implications because they are both trying to pull the other to their side! watch it right now!!!!! its good!!
me: so you made hannibal again?
N:... no we didnt
me: yes you did. thats them right there. you even made the hannibal one hot again
N:...oh my god
me: he even kinda looks like mads.... those cheekbones really sell it huh?
I can't with this comparison 😭😭🤣🤣
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To Use and Cherish
Pairing: James Sunderland/Female Reader
Summary: You and James have not been able to stop thinking about each other ever since you both made it out of Silent Hill. Your needs may be wrong but they are needs still.
Warnings: Smut, consensual non-consent, fantasy play, consent issues, shared trauma, past trauma, past abusive relationships, fucked up coping mechanisms, oral sex (f receiving), aftercare, fluff, jealousy, possessiveness, self-doubt, guilt, shame, commitment issues, difficult emotions, etc. 18+ Only, Minors DNI
A/n: Ah, I can't stop thinking about this stupid man.
James’ heart was beating so fast that it could have come out of his chest when the doorbell rang. He gave himself a last lookover in the small square mirror hung on the wall of the narrow hallway.
He studied his hair and ran his fingers through them so they'd frame his face perfectly. But he never saw a difference, they always fell the same. He did not know what you found good in him.
And his eyes, he wasn't able to do much about them either. Sure, they weren't as worn out and sorry-looking as they had been at Silent Hill. You had reassured him without needing that you saw some softness in them that you liked. James failed to see it.
He raised an arm and took a sniff of himself. His cologne was intact and firm. It was the same one he had been wearing when he stepped into the hellish town. That detail was very important for the night. Complete with the green military jacket and the jeans under.
He looked rugged, broken, and just as suspicious. A combination that was lethally attractive to your twisted brain.
The doorbell rang again.
“James, you there?” came your honeyed-sweet voice from beyond the door.
His chest thumped and his breaths became heavy. He shook his head, wondering if he really was going to do what you both had planned to do. He did not know if he had it in him. Your voice was dangerously luring and it brought back memories of you clinging onto him, whimpering with fear and ecstasy back in Silent Hill, the only few moments of reprieve he had had there.
“I'm coming,” he answered, knowing that he'd regret turning his back on this golden opportunity.
He hurried to the door, clenching one fist and opening it with the other. There you stood like a sin, with one hand on the doorframe and the other on your hip. You weren't wearing the same clothes as you were in Silent Hill, a detail you both agreed upon in the conversations that led up to this moment.
Instead of the shabby flannel and jeans you had been going around in on that day, you were fashioning a loose white pullover and a skin-tight black mini-skirt that highlighted the curves of your hips. Underneath were black sheer stockings. James would find out if you were wearing any panties or not. Finally, you wore black boots that made you come up to his shoulders. You looked like a woman who was inviting trouble but did not know about it.
Your hair was tied in a neat bun with a few strands falling aesthetically around your face. James' breath hitched in his throat as he ran his eyes over you again and again. You did not mind it all. You enjoyed it, having his unabashed attention and being left to wonder what all sick thoughts were conjuring up in his mind.
The red lipstick made your smile a killer and the doe eyeliner gave you a touch of innocence. The idea was to make you appear demure and scrumptious at the same time. A look that would make James want you irresistibly no matter the guilt. He took relief in knowing it wasn't he who came up with it entirely. A lot about the dark night that was about to unfold could be attributed to your devious mind as well.
“Are you going to invite me in, sir? Or are you going to change your mind?” You challenged in a teasing voice.
James swallowed and then cleared his throat. The way you switched from being an aloof woman in need of guidance to one who took charge of her sexuality never failed to leave him a little shocked.
“Of course,” he stepped aside to let you in.
He wanted a moment with your eyes off of him to hide away the embarrassment of looking like a drooling mess to you. His role was to be a hunter and he couldn't afford to look weak.
He could hear the tik-tok of your heels behind him as you walked through the hallway in search of the living room. He turned to see your gait. There was a lot more sway to it than there had been at Silent Hill. You knew what you were doing with the amped-up air of mischief and aloofness. You were poking at the darkness inside him, seducing him by walking right into his den.
“To your left,” he guided you.
You gave him a glance over your shoulder and smiled before disappearing into the room. James was already hardening in his jeans. It was shameful. He could not believe that you had the potential to be more inviting and make him lose his mind any more than you had in that town.
You had done such a great job to make this night exciting that James fell in doubt about himself. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to perform up to your standards. He didn't even put effort into his look. He knew you didn't want him to and that it was part of the play for you, but he wished he had done more.
When James entered the living room you had settled into the fading gray couch. You were sitting all prim and proper with your back straight and legs folded as if you did not want absolute damnation upon yourself. Act or not, your cluelessness was cute. James could not wait to see the naive smile turn into a frown of horror, a look he had seen multiple times during your time together, only he had never been the cause of it yet.
“It's a nice place,” you said as you scanned his room.
He could tell you were lying about that. There was nothing nice about the rotten place he had shifted into since coming back from Silent Hill. As a single man with no dating prospects and internal issues that made him utterly disinterested in anything in the material world, James had selected a small old apartment for himself to live in. It was the kind where the wood was always creaking, the wallpapers were peeling, the lights were always too dim and the furniture looked dusty even after he cleaned them. He wasn't sure if this was a trauma-related thing, but the tinge of Silent Hill in it made the place strangely familiar and comforting for him. He hoped it did the same for you, not that it would matter if it unsettled you.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Now, where are my manners?” He went towards the record player placed on the wooden shelf and put on an old romantic tune, one that was lovely yet eerie.
Then he came to the coffee table and opened the half-empty bottle of Chardonnay on it. It was only for a little shove, but you both did not need much of it.
“Looks expensive,” you commented.
James smirked at you as he poured the yellow liquid into the wine glasses.
“Only the best for the pretty lady,” he said.
You screwed your face up in an awkward smile as if the compliment had taken you aback as if you were a shy little girl who did not expect this old man to hit on her.
“Thank you,” you said as you took the glass from him.
He took his and sat on a recliner placed opposite to you. That way he could take a good like at you and measure every inch of your body that he wanted to mark.
You kept your eyes locked in his as you sipped the wine. The silence between you was thick, and heavy with lust, fear and awkwardness. Your heart was running in your chest. You had signed up with all the enthusiasm for the night’s play and you were extremely excited to finally meet the mean man he wanted to be, but you were not sure how you would react to it all.
There was no turning back was all you knew.
“So,” you cut in, placing the glass on the coffee table, “what have you been up to? How have you been?”
You had talked to him this morning itself. You both had checked in on each other to make sure you both were still into it. After making it out alive from Silent Hill, you had not talked for a month. And then something pulled you both and led you to cross paths at the coffee shop you had discussed in the town. It was no coincidence. It was deliberate. There was no healing for you, no comforting space in this normal world. Only the company of the sick man who had seen you at your most vulnerable in the most challenging places could help you. Normal people would not call it help but that did not matter.
James arched a brow at you, breaking his character a little at your question.
“I've been – sane if that matters,” he answered.
You hummed. You were well aware of how sane he had been from the slight peek into the violent desires he had shared with you in the past weeks. James was a wolf in sheep's clothing.
“What about you?”
“Same, all same,” you said.
James sighed. “You look pretty. You've got a boyfriend?”
You snapped your head at him and contained your grin. It had started. His desire was being unveiled and he was touching on your sensitive nerves.
“ A few boys I've kept on the hook, but no boyfriends – no.”
James' fists tightened and his jaw ticked in the most entertaining way. This was a detail that you had not shared with him and there was no way he could confirm it to be true unless he wanted to break character. You were not even sure if it would matter to him that you talked, flirted, dated and maybe slept with other men or not, but it was delicious to see the hint of jealousy brewing in his eyes. There was no true expectation of loyalty between you two. Even if it was for play, your aim of provoking him was accomplished if nothing.
“That's not very healthy now, is it? Not for you,” he remarked, gritting his teeth at the end.
You shrugged your shoulders and laid back on the couch.
“Difficult to make right choices when it comes to men. I can't help it,” you said, inevitably setting the tone for the night.
There had been no real discussion about how the main part of it would be played out. That would have ruined the surprise and fun. You did not know if James liked it or not, but he did not use his safeword to call it quits either.
“Young thing like you…keeps getting herself in trouble,” he taunted.
His tone riled you up. He was slowly embracing the act and shedding the veil of the good guy. He had barely taken a sip of the wine he had poured out for you, and yet he was dwindling.
Seeing the streak of uncertainty flicker in your eyes at the mention of your past mistakes made heat stir up inside him. He had to strike while the iron was hot. James swung his glass to the slide and stood up.
“We should celebrate properly,” he said.
You looked at him puzzled, wondering what he had in mind. James put his glass down on the coffee table and offered you his free hand.
“A dance?” He asked.
You arched your brows at him. A nervous smile pulled your lips.
“Are you sure?” You asked, a bit truthfully. It was a more romantic gesture than you had been expecting.
“Yes, I insist,” he pressed on.
You licked your lips as you considered his offer. In this moment, you wondered what would Mary think of him…would she be further agonized to see him paying attention to a younger lady like you? Did such things mean that James liked you a little more than he should? It was all just play, wasn't it?
You couldn't bear to burden yourself with such thoughts. You wanted to trust his animal instincts to twist this sweet thing into something sadistic. And so, you put your smaller palm in his.
James pulled you up from the couch and guided you towards the empty space in front of the record player. You surrendered yourself to apprehensive compliance as James put you before himself and slithered an arm around your waist.
Without a warning he pushed you closer to himself, making your breath come out in a loud gasp. You put your spare hand on his shoulder for support as your toes almost knocked into his. The familiar scent of his cologne filled your nostrils as you found yourself yet again engulfed by him – in his protection and at his mercy. The memories of being scared and running to him for safety flooded back to you as had intended.
“James,” you let out an uncertain whisper as he swayed your bodies around in a slow circle.
His eyes were boring into your face, taking in very twitching muscles that tried to hide your shame and excitement.
“This isn't too unfamiliar, now, is it?” He commented, mockingly reminding you how dependent and needy you had been of him in Silent Hill. You were the one willingly throwing yourself at him and welcoming his embrace at every turn. There had been no complaints then. Only a yearning for more.
“That was different –” you argued.
“It was…this is much better, isn't it?” James asked.
The hand on your waist slid down to your butt. Your heart skipped a beat. It was getting real.
He drew you in dangerously close. His hot breath ruffled through your hair and tickled your forehead. You could hear his heart hammer in his chest as well. This was all too overwhelming for both of you and just as satisfying.
James considered his actions again as he watched the doubtful expression on your face. He could not tell if there was a wanton lady hiding under the sheen of discomfort or not. Yet your lack of effort to put an end to all this was his cue to continue.
With his entire being, he wanted to lurch at you. The sight of your parted lips was dangerously inviting. He had to have a taste of the fruit he had been fantasizing about since Silent Hill.
He slowly moved his hand from your hips to your neck, planting it there firmly to hold you in place. Your eyes widened at his harsh grip. James did not give you the time to think or protest. He forcefully craned your neck upwards and took you in for a kiss.
You were warm and soft. The strawberry taste of your chapstick sweetened the moment all the more. Everything in him, all the hesitance and the doubts faded away the deeper his tongue went. Even your pretend squirming against him did not matter. He just went ahead, sucking on your lips and slithering his tongue till he could taste all of you. Your whimpers vibrated through him and went straight between his legs.
You would be lying to God if you denied how much you were enjoying yourself. You did not want to resist him, you wanted to give in and let him have all of you. He was doing so well, so much better than you had expected. The way he held you so tight and ignored your struggles almost made you believe that he actually would not let you go. All the doubts he had expressed before about this, all the concerns about your well-being seemed to be fading away as he gave in to the man he was deep inside. And you loved it.
But the game had to be played and you wanted to see just how far down you could push him. You bunched both hands into fists and punched his chest hard enough to shove him back an inch.
He huffed at the loss of your lips. Shards of guilt emerged on his face as he looked up at your face. Your eyes were riddled with flustered anger. Behind both of your acts was the deep hunger that made your chests heave and ache to reach out to the other person again.
“James – this is wrong,” you said, at a loss of breath.
James tilted his head at you, resisting the urge to point out how you were the one wrong enough to want this.
“Hey, hey,” he stalked towards you, raising his arms gingerly to grab a hold of you again.
Your timid steps back were too short to keep him away. James' approach was gentle. He came close and took your delicate face in his hands. You let him. Stray strands of your hair brushed the back of his hands.
“It's alright. Sweetheart,” James pushed out the pet name with great effort.
It wasn't that he did not want to call you that. That your sweet face did not make him want to say sweet things to you. He just wasn't sure how you'd react to it. It wasn't care that you were looking for out in the real world, not from him anymore at least.
Your eyes flickered in question across his face, but you did not express any issue with his choice of words. Instead, you allowed him to come close.
“I don't think a dinner is enough for us to celebrate…is it?”
You regarded his thought for a few seconds. It truly was not enough, you agreed with that. Dinner was never in the plan and you doubted he had made the effort to cook or even order in something. It was you who he wanted to feast on.
“No!” You slapped his hands off of yourself.
The corner of your eyes wrinkled as you looked at him in disbelief.
“I was wrong about you, James,” you announced.
Your words pinched him where they shouldn't have, searing into his deepest fears about himself and yet stoking the truths he wanted to accept for the night. With the ugly statement left in the air, you stomped around him in an attempt to leave.
James was swift to grab your arm. A half gasp left your throat as he yanked you back, spun you around and tossed you into the recliner. It all happened too fast. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Before you could even make sense of it, James was on top of you, straddling your legs, haunting you with himself as he bent down to pull the lever to open the footrest.
Fire spread across your chest. You absolutely loved the turn of events. James had chosen the perfect place for your hatemaking. And he was being just as rough as you wanted him to be if not more.
Your knees caught his thighs as you tried to scooch back into the cushions. He was strong and formidable above you. You couldn't stop him if you wanted to. You had already witnessed what he was capable of.
“You're scaring me, James,” you said, bringing your hands up to your chest.
James smirked. You were too pretty behaving like a damsel in distress who was all but a whore who didn't know anything better underneath. He ought to put you in place.
“I thought you liked that,” he argued, subtly poking at the desires you had revealed to him in the past few days.
He remembered clear as the day how he had jerked himself off with the fervour of a horny teenager when you had told him all the deviant things you liked about him. A part of him was concerned about you, knowing that this wasn't right after all that you had gone through, especially at the hands of previous lovers. That did nothing to put a stop to his arousal. He had done his best to not let his desperation seep through his late-night texts.
Your face contorted in a scowl. Perhaps, he had pulled on a sensitive nerve. There was some fun seeing you all riled up.
It got much better when you raised a hand and smacked him across his right cheek. He was taken aback by the sudden display of violence on your part. His jaw hung open and he stared at the wall as he strangely savoured the burning sensation on his skin. It somehow managed to get his blood rush faster down his abdomen. He wanted more of it, only he had to remember his place.
His eyes darkened when they returned to you. There was more fire and challenge in them.
“I'd like you to take off that sweater if you don't want me to return the favour,” James threatened.
He was lying, of course. He had no heart to slap that pretty and fragile face of yours though he was certain that you'd have enjoyed it. He couldn't bring himself to be that ruthless just yet.
He wasn't sure how seriously you took his threat, but he judged so seeing how your breath fluttered as you shrunk into the recliner. As much as you liked the thought of it, perhaps, you were afraid of how much he could hurt you if he wanted to.
He dismissed your fears by hooking his fingers under the hem of your pullover and stretching it up your torso himself. Your struggles began. He squeezed your legs between his knees and powered through the rattling of your upper body. Your efforts were no match for his.
“Stop it! Stop it!” You screamed to no avail.
Your voice became muffled and your fight became a lost cause as he rolled the sweater off your head. The cold air tickled your skin as he left you bare. He took the garment off your arms and tossed it aside with ease, leaving you to heave and huff at your defeat.
James froze at the sight of your naked flesh. His heart skipped a beat. He could not believe that the bane of his fantasies lay bare and helpless before him. All for him to take and ravish. This was what was under the shirt of the shivering woman who had clung to him during the horror-filled sleepless nights at Silent Hill.
He could not help but run a knuckle through your middle, up to the cleavage of your lacy black bra.
“Not the best attire for winters, I'd say,” he taunted.
Your jaw locked at his comment before you launched your hands at him. This time he dodged you well and managed to catch your hands in his. He pinned your wrists each above your head and leaned down till his face was inches above yours.
“I do not want to hurt you,” he warned.
You scoffed at him. “Who are you lying to, James? Are you so lost still? I should never have –”
He swallowed your words with his mouth. His grip tightened on your wrists the harder he went, taking all the breath that was left in your lungs. James’ larger body caged you underneath him. His heat consumed you. He even shrouded all the light that was around you, letting you feel how truly lost you were in the shadow maze of your making.
You could feel yourself getting wet as you rubbed your thighs against each other. This was better than your dreams, so much more than the fantasies of taking him against the dingy walls of the apartments and hospital rooms.
In here you were his and no one else's. And you were all he cared about.
Your knees accidentally brushed against his crotch as you shifted your legs. James let out a muffled groan into your mouth. You smiled against him, realising just how excited this all was making him. It was time to poke the bear more.
You waited for the moment he'd let up a little and sunk your teeth into his lips.
James winced and pulled back till he was sitting upright again. He covered his lips with his hand and inspected the wetness he had collected. There was no blood. You couldn't dare be so bold for the risk of scaring him away.
You savoured the expression of shock on his face. The general overlay of the night had been decided but the details were left undiscussed to leave an element of surprise. And you were sure that James had not expected this amount of spice from you. All he knew about you was that you were a weak broken woman who was begging a man, who might as well be a stranger, to hurt her. You were just a little more than that.
You quickly hid the grin on your face as his eyes turned to you.
“You're a naughty girl,” he said.
It was like music to your ears. You were overjoyed by your ability to make him say such words. He had been too reserved during the texts, only affirming your desires with formal words, expressing his own in the least uncouth manner he could. He was letting it all go.
“And you're a pathetic man,” you replied.
James believed you thoroughly. He hated to hear it, but he knew it. No good upstanding man agreed to assault the woman he had saved from the hellscape where he had been searching for the wife he had murdered. It hurt him to know this ugly truth. No matter how much faith you put in his hands and how much you forgave him for his wrongful actions by comparing them to your own, it did not change the fact that he truly was a monster. There was no fairness in comparing your act of self-defence to his selfish one.
You were too naive or perhaps willingly blind to see that. And he did not have it in him to show you that. He just had to accept being the worst of the evil by himself and cherish your company while it lasted.
“James,” your fingers brushed against his hand.
He was lost for too long. You were worried that this was breaking him. He snapped out of his thoughts at your voice and leered at your body, his gaze leaked with lust.
He slapped his hands around your ribs and pushed up till your breasts crushed under them.
“I'm not like him at least,” he said, his voice coming out low and hoarse.
Your eyes widened in alarm at where he was going with this. Your nipples hardened under the pressing heat of his palms, but your heartbeat stuttered. You did not know if James had it in him to be that mean.
“I'm not like this others….I'm not like David,” he said casually to your utter disbelief.
This time your hand shot out of your own free will and smacked across his face. Neither of you had mentioned anything about your dead exes while discussing each other's boundaries. The need was not felt.
You were not exactly sure what you felt about him mentioning the man you had murdered either. In your hands was a searing rage at his audacity and between your legs a flaming fire that basked in his unabashed dominance. This was where you had wanted him if you were being true to yourself.
The sweet burn returned to him. Your hand left beautiful blooming flowers of heat on his skin that sent bolts down his legs and up his brain. He was tethering at the edge of begging for more.
He did not have to. You were coming to see what had emboldened his choice of words by the way he unknowingly hissed and bucked his hips into your belly, searching for relief.
You gifted him with another slap on the same cheek and the same spot, this time with more force. His flesh blossomed a rosy shade of red. He muffled his groan, not wanting you to see just how much he had enjoyed it. But you were happy to discover that the pits of his darkness were deeper than you had previously thought.
You stopped at two, wanting to leave him aching and wanting something he could not force you to give.
James collected himself and pulled back from you. All of a sudden he hooked his hands under your knees and shoved them apart. He remained silent as he let his fingers explore your thighs.
Your pussy throbbed in anticipation, waiting for his harsh touch. There was a slight tremble in your legs that you hoped he had not noticed only to save you from looking more desperate than you already were.
“Oh,” James wondered in delight as his fingers brushed against your petals.
A grin flashed across his face when he noticed that there was only the thin flimsy layer of your stockings standing between his thick fingers and your dripping cunt. He was more than delighted by the discovery of your lack of shame. He loved that you were making it so easy for him.
“You sure you only came for the dinner?” He asked as he deftly ran his knuckles over your folds.
“Maybe I planned on meeting someone afterwards,” you reverted without hesitance.
His hand clamped down on your mound, making you wince at the pressure he was squeezing you with.
“Is that all you've been doing? Going around with different men ever since we came back?”
You failed to contain your smirk as hints of jealousy dripped from his voice and oozed out of his dark eyes. These were waters you had not tested and had honestly not expected to find either, but you were glad to dip your toes in them.
“How does it matter to you?” You snapped back. “I can fool around with any man I want. Don't be upset that you didn't cross my mind.”
James was impressed and slightly concerned. He did not particularly enjoy feeling jealousy. He did not like the idea of other men doing what he was about to do. You had never actually mentioned anything about other men to him and James failed to see why you would have even if you were. His heart sank at the thought. He had been aloof to the possibility that a vixen like you could have more than one man waiting on her arm. As much as he despised the thought of other men running their hands down your precious body, he did not feel confident to actually ask you for confirmation. He had no right to. Yet he was angry and wanted to show you your place in a way fitting for the moment.
James dug his nails into the withered material of your stockings and tore through them until you were fully exposed to him. He pushed back his knees and bent down till his head was between your thighs.
Your stomach flipped at the unexpected sight. On one occasion, James had shyly expressed the urge to taste you and eat you out, but you did not have faith in his confidence. You were proud of the work you had done to push him out of his shell.
James pillowed your soft thighs around his head and eyed your core with one single aim - to show you that he was a lover no one else could be. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to do so. Taking care of you back in Silent Hill, seeing how you needed him there and reading your feverish texts day and night afterwards had lulled him in the false comfort and pride of thinking that he was all that you wanted and needed. The thought of you wanting another man had never even crossed his mind. And now that it had, he did not like seeing his fantasy break.
He dove in with fierce determination. His mouth latched onto your sensitive nub with fury. You quivered underneath him and moaned aloud as he ran his tongue along the swelling bud. That was it, he wanted to hear you sing for him.
Putting aside his own aching need for the moment, James explored your folds with his tongue and breached your slick entrance. Your arousal covered his face as he devoured you.
Your cover chipped away with each roll of his tongue. You could only clutch on tight to the arms of the recliner and wait for James to deliver you to heaven. There was no space for pretence at that moment. You did not care that your role was to resist. Whatever wild animal you had unleashed from within James would not let you have anything of your will.
“Ah – James,” you cried as you bucked your hips against his mouth.
It was serene to his ears. His raging heartbeat calmed just a little hearing you and feeling your body surrender to him. He worked with all that he had in him to bring you closer to your undoing, using one hand to play with your needy clit as he used his tongue with expertise. It had been a long time but James was no stranger to pleasuring a lady. He was not one to leave a lady wanting and he did not intend to do so with you.
“Oh, James,” you moaned.
Abandoning your post, you ran your fingers through his hair and pulled him into yourself. Each nerve in your core sparkled alive as your orgasm came thundering down on you. Your thighs shook around him and a happy tear seeped out of the corner of your eye. You arched your back and lost yourself in a white light.
This was what you had been waiting for so long. This was the desire you had kept under covers in Silent Hill. This was what you had egged him on about since after you had returned to your previous lives and he had finally given it to you. You wanted to smother him with thankful kisses but your body felt too light for you to move.
Your eyes were drooping, drunken with pleasure and lust as he stood on his knees. If he was saying something you were not listening. You were too lost in yourself. You did not want to move. Even the sensation of the sweat cooling off your skin was too much to bear.
With your thoughts muddled, you had not noticed when James had undone his jeans and pulled himself out. Your shock back to reality came when he grabbed your legs and angled them over his shoulders. Before you could form a thought, he was buried to the hilt in your raw and sensitive core.
“My turn,” he grunted and set a lightning-fast pace to rut into you.
His restraints were withered. He wanted to lose himself. He had given you what you came for and he wanted his end of the deal to be met as well.
For all the gentleness he had shown earlier, James' ruthless fucking brought you as close as you could come to the devil inside him. That was just as far as he wanted you to come. He knew you could take this much, at least he wanted to believe it.
His assault was hard and relentless. Your body ached and asked for more at the same time. You did not want him to stop. You wanted to see the parts he had been so afraid to show you earlier.
His cock filled up parts of you even his masterful tongue was not able to and soon you were set on another ride your body was not fit to take.
You wrapped your hands around him and pulled him into an embrace. His hair was soft and damp as you ran your fingers through it and pulled him close to your chest.
The weight of him on top of you and the merciless manner in which he took you sent you spiralling down the dark stairs of your desires. In the past few months, James had become the embodiment of the man you wanted to surrender yourself to. He was perfect for it.No man could compare and you had never tried to look for one either. The way he protected you, made you feel safe with his softness yet uncertain and anxious wondering about the darkness that he did his best to hide made him the perfect object of your desires. You had no claim over him but you wanted to give him control.
Your mouth opened as the sinful word bubbled up your throat. One that you used to idealize undeserving hurtful men with before when they made you feel even an ounce of love and warmth. The word, slightly tarnished with their disregard and violence, fit the complexity of feelings James put you through.
“Daddy,” you whispered out in the faintest breath.
You had no idea how James would react to it. You had not discussed the term with him before, you were not bold enough to. Seeing his awkwardness about most of the stuff you had discussed made you think that this would be a step too far for him. But it didn't matter anymore, James was already too lost and close to getting what he wanted from you anyway.
After you turned your ways from each other none of it had to matter.
James caught onto your little whisper. He paused to your horror and lifted his head to look at you. His eyes softened on you as you became overcome with shame. True shame this time.
Your eyes stung as you turned your head to the side. Your heart was sinking in your chest and you wished for him to just get over with it and let you go.
You blinked back the tears as his fingers touched your face and turned it towards him. You dared not look into his eyes for fear of getting a glimpse of judgment, mockery or disgust in them. He did not pressure you to do so either. He just pressed a soft and reassuring kiss on your lips.
His hips started rolling again. He moved in a starkly slower and considerate manner. Both of you were at the edge anyway, your ends were not far away.
Your hips bucked against him as chased your end. Warmth rose from your belly to your chest as you lost yourself in his mouth. One last time for what it was worth. You hated how good he was to you.
He picked up his pace a little as he became desperate and impatient. He had to abandon your lips to bury his in your neck in his futile attempt to hide just how good you made him feel.
His waves of pleasure came with no words. Only grunts and pants. And they waited at the bay till your walls clenched around him and your breasts arched up to his chest.
James groaned into your clavicle as he spilt himself inside you. A permission that was given to him prior. You had taken due measures to allow him to live out this part of his fantasy as well.
James collapsed on top of you, spent out of his wits. You allowed him to catch his breath. The last moments of his warmth on you were all you had got to remember him by. You did not know if you would like to remember the wreckless night of lust and indulgence.
The odd sensation of him leaking out of you dulled the haze of ecstasy. It was always at this moment when reality and the weight of your actions hit you all at once. His presence which had been comforting just seconds ago dreadfully became suffocating. You only had yourself to blame for it.
James basked in the afterglow of the heavenly pleasure he did not think was possible to experience after Mary became sick. As much as specks of shame and regret ran around in the back of his mind, he could not deny himself getting lost in the most beautiful thing you could have given him. He thanked his luck for meeting you and for your persistence in breaking him out of his shell.
You closed your legs as soon he got out from between them. Your back was straight and your head was low. You rubbed your arm with one hand and bit your lip as you stared at your discarded pullover on the floor. This was the battered look of the nerve-wrecked woman he had seen a couple of times before in Silent Hill and a few times in your initial meetings at the coffee shop.
He hated seeing it. He hated not knowing what you were thinking, what you were afraid or ashamed of.
“Hey,” he placed a hand on your shoulder. It was cold.
“Are you alright?” He asked.
“Yeah,” you answered as you shifted your shoulder away from his hand.
“Could you just – pass me that?” You pointed at your pullover.
Rocks hit his heart. James felt horrible. He felt inhuman. He was angry at himself.
You were already thinking about being on your way back home now that you were done. This was what both of you had agreed to, that you'd both play out the dirty scene, get each other off and then be on your way and never talk about this again.
But he could see the tendrils of doubt and shame creeping into your mind. The ones that made you hate yourself for wanting the pain and returning to men like him again and again. James did not like the idea of being ‘men like them’. He did not want to be the man who discarded anyone after he had used them, let alone you.
He took off his jacket and tossed it on the couch behind him. As the thought of surprise formed on your face, he scooped you out of the recliner and took you in his arms.
You clutched onto his shoulders to save yourself from falling.
“James! What are you doing?” You asked in shock as you pressed your hand on his chest.
He gave you a brief smile. “Taking you to bed,” he answered.
He was on his way before you could protest.
“It's no hour for a lady to be out in the night,” he added.
“But you don't have to – we talked about this.”
James could hear your confusion, yet not feel the confidence to actually act out in your muscles.
“I know,” he said simply.
You pursed your lips and stared at him quietly as he took you inside his small bedroom. James could see the little frown on your face. You probably did want to be away from him. He did not want you to be alone though.
“Don't worry…I'm not about to do anything crazy. I just want you to rest,” he said as he laid you down on the bed.
“James – I –” you mumbled, unable to find the right words that would make sense of what was going through your mind.
You went quiet and rigid as he pulled your skirt down your legs, your stockings then your boots.
You let him, the surrender more uncertain than willing. James allowed you time to process it all as he went to search for some clothes from his closet. He knew you were more comfortable with the selfish and hungry man inside him and that was all that you associated even his protectiveness with. But that was not all that he wanted to be to you.
“Here,” James announced when he found an old grey shirt.
He turned around and passed it to you.
“I'll go change. You stay put,” he said, fetching himself a pair of pyjamas.
He was sweaty and tired after the night’s ordeal. He itched to be in comfy clothes. He made sure not to take a lot of time changing though. He did not want you running off on your own or be hounded by terrible fears by yourself.
James looked at himself in the mirror as he shed his clothes. The lines on his face were tense as well. There was a lot to process about what he had done. He still wasn’t completely sure if what he had agreed to do was morally right or not even if your consent was enthusiastic. And now, he was again unsure if he wanted to keep you in for the night for your own sake or his. He was a constant victim of his indulgences.
When he came out of the washroom, you were still there in his room to his relief. You were sitting on the edge of the bed with your legs curled up against you and your arms crossed over your breast. You lowered your eyes as soon as you saw his naked torso.
Blood rushed to James' cheeks. It surprised him how such a small thing could phase you after how far you had gone with him. Perhaps, you just didn’t like seeing the man under the one your fantasies had built. There was too much ugliness hidden in him.
James silently went to his closet again to find a T-shirt to put on. You remained frozen on your spot as he approached the empty side of the bed. His shirt was large and hung loosely around you, coming down to just a little high above your knees. He would have found you cute, sitting all quiet and shy under the dim lamp light if you did not look like a deer caught in headlights, unable to make sense of the fact that he was just being a gentleman and nothing else. There was no ulterior motive or hidden desire to capture you and tear you apart. Not so much in the moment at least.
James stood at the edge of the bed and stared at your shrivelled form. All the boldness you had shown in the past days was gone. The air in the room was thick with your discomfort.
“Uh, you can take the bed. I'll go take the couch outside,” he decided as much as he wanted to spend the night with you.
It was an odd suggestion since James and you had shared a bed multiple times before at Silent Hill. Only to sleep and leave a hand wandering once in a while, nothing more. That was in the past.
Not a peep came from you as James walked to the door.
“No – uh, you can stay. It's fine,” you interrupted him just as he put one step out the door.
James contained his sigh of delight. He was quick to turn on his heels. He did not argue with you, he did not want you to change your decision. He wanted to settle in the bed and sleep next to you.
He moved to stand before your end of the bed, admiring how awkward and needy you looked, very much how you often appeared in Silent Hill.
“Then make space,” he said and gestured for you to shift to the empty end.
You scooched over to the other side as James filled in the bed from his end. He pulled the covers over his legs and leaned on his below to keep his eyes on you while you settled. You began to lay down on your side with your back facing him to his dismay.
He could not have that. He snuck a hand under your waist before it touched the bed and turned you around. His actions weren’t thought of in the moment, just played out.
With his other hand, he held your shoulder and kept you steady on the soft pillows under. Your forehead wrinkled and your hand came up to his chest.
“James?” You asked, clearly puzzled by him initiating physical touch, that too in such an intimate space and manner.
This part of the night was not on the plan. But James liked it, having your pliable warm body under him with no malicious intentions running through his head. It was oddly comforting.
“No – I just wanted to check on you. Just want to know if you're alright. Are you hurt in any way?” He asked.
You paused for a few seconds at his question. It was all coming as a surprise to you as well, seeing a gentle side of him. It wasn’t that you had not seen him being caring and kind to you before, you were just not used to seeing it in this way. He had never embraced you so and you did not know how to feel about it. At least your brain was not screaming at you to run home anymore.
“Oh – uh, just a little sore I guess,” you answered truthfully.
James lowered his head and chuckled. He was just a little bit proud of that.
“Well, I hope there's no discomfort,” he said.
“No,” you replied.
The conversation could have ended there, only he could not get himself to pull away or stop looking at you. He wanted some sign, some reassurance that you were not troubled any more and that you did not regret the events of the night. He did not dare to ask you, he could only stare at your face.
James admired just how beautiful your eyes were for the first time in such quiet proximity. There were rarely such chances for peaceful intimacy at Silent Hill. They were often born out of survival and impatience.
As the silence prevailed, you began pulling away from him. He tightened his hold on you and pulled you closer.
“I'm glad,” he started, wanting to keep you occupied with his words, “I have to – I can't thank you enough for this.”
You nodded your head.
“Yeah, me too.”
The gnawing feeling in his heart refused to leave. He needed to know more, only he did not know what to ask. He looked at you with an unsettling yearning.
“So…um…what did you like the most?” You asked, acknowledging the act for the first time yourself to his delight.
His shoulders perked up and warmth returned to his face as he sensed your muscles easing up.
“Oh – I, everything really,” he answered.
He would have found it embarrassing to admit to someone else just how much he could enjoy the things he did with you. Not all of it was perfect, especially not the bitterness he had felt when you mentioned seeing other men, but otherwise, it had been glorious.
A little grin came to his face as he recalled the events of the night and the surprises he had encountered, some of which he ended up liking more than he would have thought.
“But – I guess… when you slapped me I discovered something new about myself,” James confessed with a lot of effort only to see your reaction.
The corners of your lips twitched first and your brows arched up, then you broke into a giggle. It was unlikely of him to share such a detail about himself with you, but it was worth it to see you smile.
“Oh really?” You asked amused.
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
A satisfied smile formed on your face that lightened his heart a little. He was glad to see your mood shift.
“And what about you? What did you like the most?” He inquired, eager to hear praises about himself.
“Oh, just everything. Can't pick one,” you said much to his disappointment.
He would have thought you’d commend him for the great show he had put on, the way he had leaned into your desires and how he had taken charge to blissfully pleasure you with his mouth. The doubt of there being other more competent men in your life pinched him again as he recalled what had prompted him to eat you out like that.
“Hmm…well I need an answer even if it's to a different question,” he said grimly.
“What is it?”
“Ah,” James looked away from you, “at the risk of making a fool out of myself…were there – are there other men?”
The words left his mouth faster than his sense of pride or shame could have stopped him.
You were left baffled by his cute question. Out of all the things in this world, it was somehow the least expected one. You truly believed that he was taking advantage of the moment to act out his heart’s desires, but you couldn’t say you completely misliked discovering this little insecurity of his.
“Not that it's – not that you're not allowed to have but,” he fumbled as you thought of your answer.
“Is it a problem if there are other men?” You asked.
You couldn’t imagine him being bothered by your lack of loyalty. You two had no pact of commitment nor any obligation. It was perhaps the unhealthiest relationship in the world born out of a hellscape of unbridled trauma and deviant desires.
As for yourself, the thought of having him truly care and expect more than just your body unnerved you, yet at the same time made you want to forget what little self-preservation blockades you had to accept him. It never ended well for you.
“Ah – maybe…so there are?”
Your heartbeat fluttered. Your insides tingled at his hesitant confirmation. You were damned by your weaknesses, but you couldn’t help but like that, he felt just a little bit possessive of you even if it was for fucked up reasons.
“No, but – I might have flirted with a few here and there,” you teased on to check his reaction.
“Here and there?” He sounded alarmed. “Well, I'll have to do something about that.”
It was like a switch turned off in your brain. Moments ago you were judging yourself and spiralling down a sea of shame and anger for giving into your stupid little desires and letting yet another man take advantage of you.
Yet here you were, becoming warm all over again at the thought of him wanting to punish you and take control.
“What will you do about it?” You temptingly asked.
James smiled. He had a lot of wild thoughts. But he thought it best to keep them hidden for the night. He could not degrade a precious moment like that.
“Maybe I'll tell you another time,” he said.
You did not need to say it but your disappointment showed in your dulled expression. James did not comment on it. He was aware that the dark corners of your mind were always ready to pull you in and he would never do away with the guilt of using it to his benefit. At that moment, he knew he had to stop listening to his own greedy thoughts and allow you to take in some semblance of unadulterated peace and safety.
He leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your lips. You melted right into it, but he broke it before things went another way. His and your wants sang aloud in your heavy breaths, yet neither of you acted on them.
“We should sleep,” he whispered.
“We should,” you agreed.
James was unable to move himself until you did. You turned around, pulling his hand over your torso and resting your head on his other arm as you snuggled up against him.
You had yet again propositioned him with an irresistible offer. A plain old cuddle. He settled in behind you, pulled you into his chest and unlike the previous times, he rested his head against yours. It was heavenly. For the first time in a long time, James felt so much at ease and comfort.
“Just like old times,” you said with a chuckle.
James did not agree. This was nothing like sleeping with one eye open on the dirty mattresses, battling his inner demons and doing his best to contain his lust.
“This is better,” he responded.
There was no hurry to run away anymore.
Feeding the Monster
Pairing: James Sunderland/Hooker!OFC
Summary: Belle has no idea how she found herself in Silent Hill. But she runs straight into the arms of the worst thing in the town.
Warnings: Non-con, consent issues, sex work, psychological horror, disassociation, fear play, pathetic James, sexual frustration, somnophilia, victim blaming and all things dark, not canon compliant. FOR 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI.
A/n: This pathetic murder husband has ruined my life. (I have not completed the game so please no spoilers)
The acrid taste of liquor did little to calm her nerves or help her gain any thought clarity as to how she ended up in the bar, but she continued to take little sips. The glass of whiskey was the only thing that felt certain and safe.
Belle had been hiding behind the counter of the torn-apart and deserted bar for what felt like hours but had not been able to muster the strength to step outside it. It all felt too strange.
The world outside was devoid of humans and filled with mist. And if she put her head to the door or the windows she could hear distant inhuman screeches echoing through the fog. She did not even want to begin to understand where that was coming from.
Her eyes were slightly swollen from the tears she had already shed, lamenting her predicament and mulling over the fear that she had probably been kidnapped by some dangerous people and left here to suffer. She could sense that something was terribly wrong. The air reeked of blood, fear and death.
The only good thing was that her clothes were intact. She was dressed in her usual work wear, a skin-tight red blouse that showed off her tits and a matching black skirt that hugged her round ass while inviting attention to her exposed things. Even the fish nets on her leg were not torn and the red boots were unscratched. She did not feel any signs of unwanted touch on her body.
Even if someone had picked her up while she was on the job, they probably had not taken their liberties yet or at least covered their tracks well enough for her to not notice.
Belle slid the glass aside once it was empty and rested her head on the countertop. She was exhausted from within already. The anxiety of what was out there was wearing her out.
“I need to go out,” she told herself.
And she needed to be quick about it. If she waited any longer then she'd face the risk of wandering around in the dark in this godforsaken place. Despite her profession and her adjustment to nighttime, she never preferred being outside and lurking around to see what monsters she could encounter then.
The door to the bar creaked and the sound set of human steps coming in jolted Belle into attention. She stood straight and watched the entrance with apprehension and a little bit of hope.
A tall golden-haired man approached her. He looked withered as well. Specks of dark blood dotted his green jacket and jeans. Belle’s heart rate rose when her eyes landed on the metal pipe in his hand. He was an attacker and maybe the reason she was here in the first place.
She backed off to the bottle shelf quickly, fully knowing that no exit path was near enough for her to make a run for it to escape this man. His eyes softened as they found her and his brows raised almost in delight.
“Hey,” he greeted her and reached forward in quick steps.
“Stop!” She pleaded and showed him his palm.
His expression turned grim as he read the fear on her face. He started stepping back to her relief.
“Wait, no. I’m not – I’m not here to hurt you,” he explained.
In Belle’s experience, when a man said that he would not hurt her most definitely meant that he would hurt her. However, her tension seemed to ease up when she saw him back off to the door and place his makeshift weapon there. The man raised his hands to show her that he had no intentions of attacking.
“I’m just passing through. That’s all. Just want a break,” he said, continuing to move towards the counter.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, her breaths still heavy and uncertain.
“I’m – uh,” he ran his hands through his hair in exhaustion, “I’m looking for my wife.”
“Oh, is she here?”
“I sure hope so,” he answered.
As he stood with his hands on his hips and his downcast eyes emanating the vast amount of sorrow that was hidden under them, Belle’s heart lightened with sympathy. Perhaps, he was telling the truth. He seemed ordinary enough. Maybe he was just as lost as she was.
She put aside her apprehensions and stepped forward, hoping to find a soothing and helpful interaction.
“Is she lost?” Belle asked, truly concerned about where this woman could be and what horrors she may be facing.
James raised his head at her. His shoulders broadened with confidence once he saw her open up to him.
“Sort of,” he said.
He pursed his lips and gulped. His brows were strained. Belle realised this conversation was a tough one for him and decided to give him a break.
“I see…I hope you find her,” she said as she placed her hands on the countertop again.
“Thanks,” he said, giving her a brief smile.
“May I?” he asked, pointing at the seats near the bar counter.
“Yeah,” Belle nodded.
“I’m James, by the way,” he said as he took a seat right in front of her.
He was taller than her even when he sat down, his long arms almost caged her as he spread them on the countertop. Up close, Belle noticed just how broken the man appeared. His skin was worn out and there were dark circles under his eyes as if the man had forgotten what sleep had been like for the past several days or weeks. She could see the shards of a shattered soul behind his green irises. The absence of his wife was killing him and had left him distraught. Yet, she could imagine that at his best, the man must have been very attractive and dashing. A man whose face she would not mind seeing again.
“I’m Belle,” she replied.
“That’s a pretty name,” he remarked.
The colours in his eyes changed a little, darker shades came into play. A hint of desire brewed in them as they travelled down her body, exploring her skin and curves. Belle’s hair prickled at the back of her neck but she told herself not to think much of it. She knew how she was dressed and she knew how every man’s brain worked. She was used to the stares. It did not mean that the man was dangerous, not always.
“It fits you well,” he complimented.
She could not tell if it was genuine or just a way to flatter her, but she faked a smile nonetheless.
“Thanks.”
James looked at the bottle of whiskey and the empty glass kept on the counter with a more salacious desire. One that he was in an internal fight with.
“You want some?”
“Huh?” James appeared to be in a daze that was undisturbed by her question.
“The whiskey…you want some?”
“Oh,” James pulled his hands to himself, knitting them together before him as he gained composure.
He cleared his throat and shook his head. “No – no. Would you have water by any chance?”
“Let me see.” Belle scooched down to check under the counter and then turned to scan the shelves behind her for any signs of water.
All she could see were the labelled glass bottles, some empty and some filled with different liquid poisons. But no water. Bella sighed and stood upright again.
“No, I don't think there is any. I'm sorry.”
James hummed in disappointment.
“So – uh, do you work here?”
“Me? Oh no! I know why it'd seem that way, but I don't work here. I just happened to –” Belle paused as she wondered how honest she wanted to be about her situation to a strange man, “be passing by.”
“Really?” He asked with a mix of intrigue and doubt dripping from his voice.
“Yeah,” Belle answered plainly.
“Hmm, you're not the first person I've met here. But I must warn you. This place is not safe to be by yourself in, especially if you're a woman.”
Belle nodded as she looked down at her red-painted French tips. She was aware that something twisted was going on around her and she almost wanted to ask him what he had seen outside. But something told her to not be so trusting of him. She could not tell if it was because of her general experience with men or if it was the shroud of misery that he carried with him, an aura that was telling her to stay away or she would find herself lost in the abyss of his darkness.
“I know,” she replied curtly.
“Then what are you doing here?” His tone was of surprise. “Are you also looking for someone?”
Belle was not sure. Her mind was so confused. She was looking for something for sure but she did not know what or who it was.
“Uh – yeah, sort of,” she answered, not wanting to make it apparent to him just how clueless she was.
“I see,” James folded his hands into himself and lowered his head as if lost in some thought.
But Belle could feel his eyes. They were lurking on her skin, tracing the lines down to the cleavage formed by her pushed-up breasts and then up her neck, on the thin black choker. She could see and hear his fingers tapping on the wood, just itching to reach out and touch. She willed herself to stay calm. He was just a man looking for his wife. That was all.
“I hope you don't mind me asking, but – are you a hooker?”
His question hit her like a slap. The nature of her work was not something that she wanted to discuss with a strange dishevelled man, sitting at a strange bar, lost in a strange place. She knew her appearance gave away more than she wanted to hide, but she wished he’d leave that topic alone.
Her hands came automatically around herself, giving her some warmth as an awkward smile etched on her face, one that appeared when she wanted to hide her nervousness.
“Um…yes, I guess…I am. You can say that,” she mumbled, feeling his gaze sear into her skin.
Her entire body burned at the sudden attention he fixated on her. All of a sudden a hooker was all she became. She transitioned from a person to a commodity, one to be inspected, considered, bought and used by the likes of him. Chills ran down her spine without him having to say much.
He produced another thoughtful hum as he pushed his elbows forward and leaned towards her. Belle’s feet remained planted on the ground. She did not want him to see the tension that he invoked in her just one question. She was stronger than that.
“Any chance…you’re open for business?” He pierced her with another question.
Her lips parted but no answer came. As the chilling silence prevailed in the bar, his hot breaths reached her arms and tickled her skin. His need, his hunger oozed out of his open mouth. The sweat that beaded around his lips and his brows, and the demanding darkness that grew in his eyes, all sent shivers down her body.
The way he saw her and impatiently waited for her response made her skin crawl. All she wanted to do was run out of the bar far away from him, far away from his fantasies of ravishing her for all she was worth.
Her breath came out in shivers from her mouth as she shook her head to give him some confirmation.
“No,” she whispered.
For some reason, his daunting demeanour diminished any speck of boldness inside her. He made her want to shrivel up and hide. And as long as she was in front of him, she wanted to be meek, not wanting to do anything that could provoke the monster that might be hiding underneath.
“Are you sure? I can pay and a good amount too,” he offered, dangling the promise of money in front of her like a bait to catch his fish.
Money was an important resource in her life. It was the way for survival that she fought tooth and nail for, that she sold her body for daily. But in this place, in this other world, she did not think money could save her from anything.
She shook her head again, adding half a smile to cushion the rejection.
“No, I think I’ll pass,” she said.
James sighed aloud and slapped his hands on the countertop to push himself back. He clearly was not pleased by her decision and Belle did not want to see how he would express that displeasure.
“Alright then,” he said and out of the blue, slammed a gun on the counter.
Belle's eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. She jumped back several inches. Her legs trembled due to the silent threat he had presented to her.
With his hand curled around the gun, he stood up from his seat. Her heart pounded so loud she could hear it in her ears. Alas, her unwillingness to cater to this man’s needs would mean death for her. She did not want to accept that fate just yet.
“I’d still say this place is not safe at all,” James talked as normally as he could.
He ignored all signs of trepidation and vulnerability shown by her as if her teary eyes and her shaking limbs were invisible to him. He stepped back from the counter and turned halfway towards the door while still keeping her in his view.
“I’d suggest you come with me. After I find my wife, we can get out of here together,” he said.
It bewildered her, how he mentioned his wife so casually right after demanding sex from her. He had no regard for her judgement, her moral views did not shake his. To him, he was an honest and loving man searching desperately for his lost wife. Not one who was tethering at the edge of giving into his lustful desires.
“Well?” he poked.
Belle snapped out of her amusement to shake her head at him for the third time.
“No – I – I think I will find my way around myself. Uh – but, I hope you find your wife,” she spurted out in a rush, wanting him to leave her alone as fast as he could.
James turned his head away from her. She could see him purse his lips and contain his disapproval of her refusal to accept his offer yet again.
“Thanks,” he said under his breath.
Then without a last look back, he picked up his pipe and headed out the doors of the bar. Belle released a huge breath of relief as she crashed against the bottle shelf. She ran her hands over her face and wiped out the tears that were spilling from her eyes. It was like she had just scratched past a world of pain without any damage.
Yet her heart refused to settle down. The stinging sense of danger loomed all around her. She knew something or the other was going to happen to her if she continued to stay put at the bar, whether it was James or someone else.
She had to run and find a way to the normal world somehow if she wanted to live.
***
James could only imagine what new horrors were waiting for him on the third floor of the Brookehaven hospital as the elevator doors opened in the dark hallway. Laura was giving him a run for it, and in his chase for answers, he was left beaten up and frustrated. The more he entered the labyrinth of this skewed town, the more he lost a sense of who he was.
Every haunting thing that he encountered, every monster that he had drawn blood from left a mark in his already wrangled mind. On one side, his soul searched for light, his sweet Mary, his love, the one who would save him from this rotting place and on the other, the dark webs of this town threatened to trap him forever.
He was not sure how much longer he could fight the demons. His body was wrought and it ached for a break, a release of any kind - a brief escape from the hell that this place was. It had seen that opportunity of reprieve in Belle at the bar in the town. His body had awakened at the sight of her. Her barely clad body, her soft voice and her demure eyes, all invited him to have a feast and fill up his appetite till he could not have anything anymore.
When she had rejected him, his cock had twitched in his jeans. He saw her reluctance as a challenge, a barrier for him to break. The thought of making her surrender herself to him and fulfil his every need stoked a fire in him that threatened to kill everything in its way. Her fear, just the sight and sound of it, fueled him, making him want to take her apart and remind her that nothing stood in his way.
He had forced himself out of the bar, begged himself to not give into those desires and to be a better man. There was no place he could put the guilt of unleashing hell on others. It would only consume him till his soul and body became fractured beyond repair.
All that resolve threatened to come undone as soon as he stepped into the hallway of the third floor. He heard a distinct shrill cry in the air. The sobs of a human, a woman, who was hiding somewhere in the rooms around him.
James wasn’t sure what made his legs shuffle around the rooms, his need to be a saviour or the executioner. His heart paced unbearably fast in his chest as he frantically searched for the woman. He paused on his feet as he slammed a door open to find her there.
She sat crouched on the ground, sobbing into her knees and shivering like a leaf for reasons James very well knew. In the dark of the room, his flashlight landed on her silky hair and her fleshy legs under the fishnets. His eyes travelled down her thighs and the curve of her ass that was wrapped up in the black mini skirt. He was almost glad he had not seen this much at the bar for he could not tell how much he would have controlled himself.
As the light shone upon her face, Belle was startled upright. She looked up and became aware of his presence. Instead of cowering in fear like she had at the bar, she jumped right into his arms. She hugged him tightly and sobbed on his chest.
“Oh my god, I’m so glad to see you!” she sniffled.
The monsters must have done a number on her, James could tell. But he wondered if she truly would feel glad to see him instead of them if he were to reveal the filthy desires that the mere sight of her provoked in him.
James stoically wrapped an arm around her. It was an outward attempt to comfort her, to assure her that she was safe with him and that was what James wanted to be true as well. But deep down, he savoured the way her breasts pushed up against his torso. He basked in the flowery scent that wafted from her hair and he relished the way she was so weak in his arms. He wanted to devour her.
This is all wrong. James took half a step back from her before she could notice the hardness that threatened to burst out of his jeans.
He cleared his throat and put an assuring hand on her shoulders, on her hot and bare skin. She looked up at him with her awfully cute tear-stricken face. Her eyes were rounded and her lips were pouted. The fear had turned into a need. She foolishly sought to be saved by a predator.
“Are you – are you alright?” He asked, trying to soak in the concern that he showed externally in his soul as well.
She sobbed for a few seconds before forming her answer, “No – they attacked me. I was so scared!”
Belle struggled to keep her bearings as she wiped the free flow of tears from her face. Her mascara was smudged around her eyes and the hot red lipstick stuck out the lines of her lips too. She was a true mess before him, yet no less attractive. A part of him was set ablaze by the fantasy of putting her in this state with his own actions. The amount of pleasure that he would have derived from that would have been unimaginable, but he could not. He could not be that man.
“Hush, it’s okay,” James stroked her back, “I’m here now…how did you find your way here?”
“I – I just ran…they were everywhere. They are everywhere! I did not know what to do. I didn’t know where to go – oh, James!” She crashed into him again.
James stifled his groan as her belly came flush with his bulge. If Belle noticed what she was doing to him then she did not let him know. All she cared for was the comfort that his body provided to him. She wanted to be encompassed in his warmth. It was like a sick joke playing out in front of him.
Here he was trying his best to keep to himself and her from falling prey to his lust, and there she was giving herself to him for consumption. No. She was blissfully unaware of the trouble she was inviting.
With great effort, James plucked her apart from his body. He was impressed by his restraint and his ability to put her safety above his gnawing need to eat her up. He diverted himself towards the man he wished to be, the man who could be her saviour.
He squeezed her shoulders, grounding her in the present as she sniffled.
“You’re safe now, Belle. I will keep you safe. You don’t have to worry,” James hoped more than he said.
Belle nodded with uncertainty and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Please – please, don’t leave me,” she begged.
Her plea made his jaw tick. Had she been smart enough to take his offer before, maybe the both of them could have been saved from the pits of hell. And yet, her cock twitched at the sweet melody of her helplessness. She was putting herself at his mercy. He had not even asked her.
James exhaled and clenched his fists to his sides. He had to reorient himself before he got lost in the bloody sea of his and her demise.
“Don’t worry, I’m here. I just have to look around a little so that we can find a way out of here,” he told her.
“But there are those things…those monsters around everywhere,” she warned him.
James smiled at her. She cared about his well-being or maybe she was scared to lose him and be left all alone again. It was endearing to see the softness that he so desperately wanted to shatter.
“I can take care of myself. Trust me. I made it so far,” he assured her.
Unconvinced, Belle bit her lip as she considered his prospects of surviving the monsters outside. James tore his eyes away from the provocative vision. She could not tempt him anymore.
“Please – just, come back soon,” she rasped in a hoarse voice.
“I will,” James promised against his better judgment.
He probably should never lay his eyes on her ever again if he truly wanted her to leave Silent Hill in one piece, mind and body intact. But here he was, posing as the good guy, a hero who would protect her from all evil but one.
James shook the deviant thoughts off of his shoulders and urged her towards the dirty single bed kept in the corner of the room. With one hand on her arm, he guided her forward.
“You should rest, get some sleep if you want to and I’ll come get you once I find a way,” he said as he made her sit on the stained mattress.
His view of the hills formed by her breasts became clearer as she sat and her chest heaved with anxiety. His hands itched to take each globe in his hand and squish them hard until he made her sing for him. He mustered all his strength to keep himself at bay. He could not go around ruining beautiful things. He had no right to.
“Thank you. Please, be safe out there,” she told him and rubbed his arm.
James shuddered at the distant touch. Even while being at eye level with his bulging need, the perfect position for her to service him with her mouth, she did not seem to notice his arousal. It was good for her. It was good for him. A predator only enjoyed the chase when the prey sprinted for its life.
His throat tightened, pained by his own inhibitions and faults. He willed himself away from her. It was only the wise thing to do for both of their sakes.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said and rushed out of the room before he could whiff another molecule of her delicious scent.
James banged his fists against the wall in front of him and cursed himself. He should be locked up somewhere, not be allowed to roam free with innocent people whose trust he could gain only to destroy them. He was not safe for anyone.
His desire to be different was immeasurable. It was not that he did not try to fight himself. He was tormented and disgusted by his own mind every day, every second and he hoped to be a sane, normal man with every breath he took. Something had to save him, something had to stray him away from the dark path he was on.
His hand travelled to his back and pulled out the gun he had tucked in the waistband of his jeans. There was a way to unleash his darkness in a less harmful way yet. He eyed the entrance door of the main areas of the third floor and listened for the devilish snarls of the monsters beyond it. With determination and anger coursing through his veins, he stomped towards the doors.
***
He was sick to his core. James knew it very well. He never did understand why that was.
The blood of his kills was splattered across his face and all over his clothes. The fire inside him was nowhere near quelled. His feet moved on their own accord towards the room where she was resting. He wanted to resist. He wanted to stop himself, but his body would not let him.
James convinced himself that he was only going to collect her. That he would make her happy with the news of him finding the way out from this hellish hospital and take her away to freedom and that would be it. Nothing more. Whatever sickness was stirring inside him, he would not feed it. He had that level of self-control.
I’m here to find Mary. She’s all the matters. He reminded himself as he opened the door of the room where she was in. Her faint snores were the first thing that he sensed of her as he entered the room. He made his movements quiet and careful as he put his feet in and closed the door behind him.
Her figure, resting on her side, came to his view under the torchlight. James sucked in his chest and clung to the door. His hand fidgeted with the knob as he took in her sight. Her legs lay slightly open. They offered a peek at the curves of her ass but left him deprived of what he really wanted. Her skirt had ridden up as well, exposing more of her succulent flesh to him.
She laid defenceless and vulnerable before him, right for his taking. James knocked his head lightly against the door and gulped the shame forming in his throat. She was sprawled like a test harder than all the monsters he had faced outside and one which he was the least equipped to fight.
A soft click from the doorknob caught his attention. He pulled at it to find it jammed and the door stuck. Great. He had locked himself in with the one thing he knew he shouldn’t be.
James curled his fingers around the knob and squeezed it hard, hoping the pain would make him look away from her. But the more he fought himself the more he ached in his pants. He dug his teeth in his bottom lip, punishing himself for being so weak and pathetic, while his other hand snaked around to his front. His hips bucked into the warmth of his palm.
He craved relief. His entire body yearned for it. He was afraid he would go mad if he did not slake his hunger. She was right there. The answer to all his needs was so close. It was only him in his way now.
A stifled half cry - half moan escaped his mouth as he battled with himself. He quickly numbed it with his hand to prevent her from waking. She could not catch him in such a state. Not before he was completely sure of what he wanted.
He needed her. He needed to see what she would feel like. Just a touch of her soft skin. He was plagued by the thoughts of the multiple ways he could have her. His feet again took charge, moving him near the bed as he made up his mind.
James was vibrating, watching her sleep so peacefully below him. Her scent was entering him and intoxicating him, breaking all inhibitions one by one. He unmindfully put a finger on her calf and dragged it up to her thigh. Her skin was soft and warm beneath the fishnet. She barely noticed his touch even as his hand settled on her ass.
“Oh god,” James whispered to himself as he sat next to her on the bed.
He could cop a little feel and be done with it, he told himself as he slipped his hand under her skirt and jutted it between her thighs. James groaned as the heat and moisture of her womanhood engulfed his hand. He cupped her mound through the flimsy material of her panties and pushed two fingers between her folders.
With his other hand, he helped himself. He undid his belt, and the button of his jeans and pulled his throbbing member out. He rubbed it slowly, in tandem with the subtle pokes of his fingers as they searched for her opening.
When he found it, he pushed his digits in along with the cloth of her panties. He stayed at the threshold, teasing her ever so slightly as he pleasured himself. The muscles in Bella’s face twitched but she showed no signs of waking up. Soon wetness met his fingertips. James' cock throbbed up. He choked on his breath. His hand wasn’t enough, he needed to be inside her. He needed it like his life depended on it.
All the shame and conflict that he had been feeling became secondary compared to all that he could gain from her at the moment. James found it hard, wearing the mask of the good man for too long. It was slipping away as fast as his resolve was.
“Fuck it,” James grunted through his teeth and pushed her thighs to put her on her back.
The sudden movement startled her awake. By the time she came to, he was on top of her.
“What – ?” Her drowsy eyes shot open. “James? What’s happening?”
“Belle,” he reached to take a hold of her face. “You have to understand.”
“What?” She asked again while trying to move her limbs.
Her predicament became clear to her as she found it hard to turn and lift her legs under his weight. It hit her all at once – the fact that he had her under her, his cock was rubbing on her stomach and she was trapped in here with him.
She squirmed with all her might and threw her hands on his chest.
“James, no!”
Her struggle was futile. It did little to free her from him, but it did shatter his mind. He could put an end to it all by listening to her and letting her retain her agency. But he was too far gone. Her flailing only made her stimulate his cock further and deepened his search for his end. He could not let her go without completing his mission.
“Belle, listen to me!” James shook her face and pinned her down further with his weight.
He had managed to make her a panicked mess again. “I can’t stop, I need this. Please.”
Belle stopped her writhing and stiffened in his hands. She all but sobbed as she pleaded him with her eyes. He could see a battle ignite in them. The one he had seen at the bar too. The one between the woman who wanted to fight and get him away and the other woman who wanted to preserve herself and was too scared to see how he would react to her no.
“Yeah, see…it won’t take long,” he cooed, nudging her mind to submission as he lowered himself on her.
He hooked a finger in the crotch of her panties and tugged at it till it tore. A dull shriek died in her throat, merging with her laboured breaths as she lay limp under him. James’ breathing was just as unsteady. He could not believe that this was happening and that he was giving in to his monstrous urges.
He just could not help himself. If she had put up a fight and begged to his guilty conscience, maybe some sense would have been knocked into him and he would have stopped whatever he was doing. Having her turn into the perfect little docile doll for him was in some fucked up way being registered as a sign of consent in his twisted mind. It mattered not. James was at the point of no return.
Belle did not even look at him as he opened her thighs around his pelvis and angled himself at her entrance. He did not mind that. He did not want to involve her in this any more than he needed to. It was after all only the presence of her flesh that mattered.
Her teary eyes remained glued to the ceiling, distancing herself into some other reality, as James ran his tip through her folds. Her wetness coated him in one go – yet another proof of her agreeableness. She would have fought harder if this was not what she truly wanted. All this he would use to soothe himself later when the weight of his deviancy would become unbearable.
James had little patience left for any other kind of foreplay. He could not even bother himself to prepare her to take him. He wanted this to be quick and he also wanted to see her reaction as he split her open raw on his manhood. He chose her lush lips and plump breasts to focus on as he guided himself in.
At first, he went slow, taking in the way her walls expanded around him and struggled to accommodate him. Belle ground her teeth together as the needles of pain erupted from her core. On instinct, she flinched and attempted to move away. James wrapped his hands around her hips to keep her in place.
She sobbed at the additional layer of touch and turned her face to her side. James wondered if she was reflecting on her stupidity for trusting him as he sank deeper inside her. If she was cursing herself for practically serving herself to the man she had not trusted on the first meet itself. Between them only she had the ability to save herself.
Being halfway through inside her, James was glad that she had not been any smarter. The way she gripped him and sent currents of intoxicating pleasure through his body had him whimpering like a pathetic dog out in the air. He had not even realised how good it would feel and that it was beginning to feel like it was worth trading some of his soul for.
He wanted more. He wanted all of her. As his patience ran thin, James forced the rest of himself up to his hilt in one go. Belle produced the loudest wail that she had yet. Her hands shot up immediately to his chest, feebly begging him for mercy. James quickly put a hand on her mouth, smothering her with it to make her quiet.
“Shh, we can’t have them hearing us,” he spoke in a strained voice.
After a long time, Belle dared to shift her eyes over to his face. James reluctantly matched her gaze as he began moving his hips. Her pained eyes drew him in and for a brief moment, they looked into each others’ souls.
All James could see was a broken and wounded little cat. A lost prey, biding her time in hopes that there will be escape and safety somewhere. He did not know what she was seeing, a wolf with his teeth bared and claws ready to scar or a sorry old mutt who was desperately seeking relief in anything he could find.
But all the worries, the painful thoughts of present and past seemed to melt away the more he lost himself in her. Giving into his carnal needs was blissful. The heaviness that he had been carrying all around Silent Hil faded away even if it was just for a brief moment. It was more than enough.
James closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the sensations. The wet and warm clenching of her walls around him, the creaking of the bed as he rutted into her without mercy and the muffled cries that were locked in her throat, all spoke to the most visceral parts of him.
He wasn’t going to last long and he was eager to meet his sweet end, his demise. He toppled over her body as he became weak, unable to handle his weight as his cock throbbed inside her. The waves of his incoming release soothed all the bruised corners of his mind.
He released her mouth and clung to her arms for dear life. He did not care that her pained whimpers spilt free from her lips and alerted him of how rough he was being. James buried his face into her neck, groaning into her jugular as he came undone.
A white light engulfed him, lulling him into a false sense of serenity as he filled her with his cum. James had collapsed on top of her, crushing her further with his weight as he softened inside her. She was paralysed beneath him, she did not want to move and test what new hells this man could unleash upon her.
A few seconds later, James made the effort to pull himself off of her body. The darkness of the room and this place began sinking back into his heart as the euphoric and perverted sense of escape faded away. He paused on his knees for a moment and examined the ruins he had left in his wake.
She appeared defeated and ravaged. There was no will left in her to fight him or to even close her legs. James had proved all her efforts to safeguard herself redundant.
James wetted his lips with his tongue as his eyes went lower on her body to see the real scene of destruction. Her pussy was battered and bruised. And out came a weeping stream of his cum with the reddish hue of her blood.
His breath got caught in his chest. The depths of his depravity and cruelty crashed down on him and ate away at his insides. And yet, he had to force himself to look away before his appetite was stoked again.
He got off the bed and tucked himself back in his pants. He moved to the other side of the room and stood with his back facing her.
“Uh… you should get ready,” he spoke to her from the distance, not daring to look at her broken self, “I found a way. I can take us.”
Whether she heard him or not, James did not check. He remained next to the wall with his hands on his hips and gave her the space to gather herself. It was funny and difficult the way he acted. He was irrational, wanting to be the modest gentleman after violating her in the worst way possible. As if that would bring him any closer to redemption.
The rustle behind him let him know that Belle was heeding his orders. What she thought of his odd behaviour and unpredictable shifts in his temperament was hidden with her voice was unknown.
“Uh – are you ready?” He asked.
There was no response. James hated it. He almost wanted to yell at her to not be like this. He wanted to run out of the room and puke out the contents of his stomach somewhere. He did not have it in him to face her.
Suddenly, the thought of looking into her empty eyes inspired more fear than anything had in this twisted hell. James punched the wall as he struggled with his weaknesses.
His heart hammered in his chest as he heard her drag her feet on the ground. The door clicked on his left and opened. He could not turn fast enough.
He saw her shadow leave the door and ran out after her. When he reached the hallway no one was there. He was baffled. He could hear the limping steps coming from somewhere in the hospital but he did not where it came from.
He frantically searched all the rooms. He checked the staircase and the corridors of the third floor. He could not see her. But he could feel her presence, aching and miserable as she looked for escape from the worst monster in the hospital.
James sighed and stopped in his tracks in the middle of the shadows of the floor. He wondered if it was worth it to run after her. A part of him worried that she would not survive out there by herself. And the other thought that it was for her best to not be around him anymore. He wanted to convince himself that he would become her saviour and help her navigate the town, but he could not predict what he would do if the demons came knocking at his door again.
There were no right choices left for him, only his goal to find his beloved…Mary.
