Not for danger.

For you.

“Did you see it?” he asks, voice carefully controlled, almost hopeful. “I stopped the plane from crashing. Not a single casualty.”

You hesitate. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe the words don’t come quickly enough. Maybe you simply don’t react the way he expects.

And the change in him is immediate.

The air grows heavy, charged with something unspoken. His smile falters, just for a second, before slipping away entirely. The city lights flicker across his face as disappointment settles in, fragile and terrifying in equal measure.

Imagine the most powerful man in the world stepping closer, uncertainty creeping into his posture.

Then, slowly, he kneels.

Not out of humility.

Out of reverence.

His gloved hands hover near you, as if afraid to touch without permission. When he finally looks up, his expression is raw—eyes shining with unshed tears, desperation barely contained beneath the surface.

“Tell me I’m good,” he whispers, voice trembling with need. “Please.”

The plea hangs in the air, fragile and suffocating.

Because you know he doesn’t just want praise—he needs it. Your approval is the axis on which his entire world spins. Without it, the adoration of millions means nothing.

Imagine him resting his forehead lightly against your hand, seeking comfort like something lost and wounded, despite the unimaginable power he holds.

“I’ll do anything to deserve it,” he murmurs. “Anything you want. Just… don’t look at me like I’ve failed.”

And in that moment, it becomes terrifyingly clear:

The world may belong to Homelander.

But Homelander belongs to you.

You step into the crumbling maw of Mount Massive Asylum, your camera clutched tightly in one hand, its red recording light blinking like a frantic heartbeat in the oppressive gloom. The air hangs heavy with the stench of decay in a mold, rust, and something sharper, like old blood soaked into the walls.

You've built your empire on this: solo explorations of the world's most haunted hellholes, facing down ghosts and ghouls for the thrill of millions of views. TikTok, YouTube, Instagram and your face is everywhere, grinning through jump scares and spectral whispers.

But this place? It's different. Whispers from locals paint it as a black hole of madness, where the clinically insane were experimented on, tortured, and left to rot. Dozens died here in hundreds, maybe, and their restless spirits supposedly guard the halls.

Even cops and urban explorers have tried breaching its depths, only to flee screaming or vanish entirely, their bodies found mangled by "entities" that defy explanation. You're alone, of course. No crew, no backup.

If something goes wrong, no one's coming. But hey, that's the hook: real danger for real content. Views will skyrocket.

You flick on your camera's night vision, the grainy green glow illuminating peeling wallpaper and shattered windows as you narrate in your signature husky whisper.

" Alright, fam, we're inside Mount Massive. This bad boy's been abandoned since the '70s, but the stories? Insane. Literal insane asylum vibes and patients driven mad, experiments gone wrong, ghosts that don't just haunt, they hunt. I'm feeling that chill already. Let's see what horrors await."

Your voice echoes unnaturally down the corridor, bouncing off rusted gurneys and overturned file cabinets. You hear it then a faint shuffle, like bare feet dragging on concrete. Or maybe it's just the wind whistling through cracks.

You ignore it, pushing deeper, your sneakers crunching over broken glass. Tension coils in your gut, but you play it cool for the lens.

" Hear that? Probably nothing. Or everything. Stick around, this is gonna be epic."

The first door you push open creaks like a dying scream, and a blast of icy wind rushes out, brushing your skin like skeletal fingers. Every hair on your arms stands at attention, a primal warning screaming in your brain.

The air feels thicker here, charged with a dark aura that seeps into your bones, making you shiver uncontrollably. Goosebumps ripple across your flesh, but you shrug it off, forcing a laugh for the camera.

" Whoa, drafty here. Feels like the ghosts are giving me a welcome hug. Not creepy at all."

Deep down, you know better that this place is alive with malice. But the thought of the upload, the comments flooding in, the subscriber count exploding...it drives you forward. Fame's a drug, and you're hooked.

Deeper in, the hallway opens into a vast chamber, shadows swallowing the edges. Your flashlight beam sweeps across rows of mannequins, frozen in grotesque poses in arms outstretched, heads lolling at unnatural angles.

They're dressed in tattered patient gowns, some with fake bloodstains blooming like roses on their plastic chests.

" Okay, viewers, we've hit the mannequin graveyard. These things are straight out of a nightmare. Who sets this up? Ghosts with a flair for interior design?" You chuckle, but it's forced, laced with unease.

No weapons on you, just the camera and your wits. If something lunges, you're screwed. You pan the lens slowly, describing the eerie silence, the way the mannequins seem to watch you with empty eyes.

Then, the scene shifts. At the far end, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight piercing a cracked skylight, is what looks like a twisted wedding venue.

Altars of splintered wood, draped in frayed lace that hangs like spiderwebs. Wires dangle from the ceiling like nooses, swaying gently as if stirred by invisible breaths. In the center stands a mannequin bride, her gown yellowed and torn, veil obscuring a featureless face.

" Holy...this is next-level creepy. Looks like someone planned a wedding from hell. Wires everywhere—electrocution chic?"

You tilt your head, zooming in, and spot it. A rusted key dangling from her neck like a pendant, glinting faintly. Curiosity overrides caution.

" What's this? A key? Maybe it opens some secret door. Or a trap. Only one way to find out." You snatch it, the cold metal biting into your palm, and pocket it quickly.

Could be your ticket to deeper secrets or out of here if things go south.

That's when you feel it. Eyes on your back. You spin the camera, and in the viewfinder, a massive silhouette looms—tall, broad, inhumanly proportioned. Before you can react, a guttural scream shatters the silence.

" DARLING!" The voice is manic, laced with psychotic glee.

Eddie Gluskin, though you don't know his name yet, steps into the light, his form a nightmare of mutilated flesh and ragged suit.

" After so many years, my wife returns! I won't let you slip away again, my precious bride!" His words drip with delusion, a twisted romance that sends ice through your veins.

Panic surges. You bolt, feet pounding the floor as his shadow lurches after you.

" You filthy whore! Come back to your husband!" He bellows, degrading slurs echoing like thunder.

Great, a psycho proposing mid-chase. But terror drowns it. You duck into a side room, slamming the door and wedging a chair under the knob. Heart hammering, you huddle in a corner behind overturned beds, camera still rolling on your lap.

Shivers rack your body, teeth chattering as you whisper to the lens, " This...this is real. Not a ghost. A maniac. If you're watching, send help."

Outside, his voice booms, mocking. " Hiding, darling? How quaint. But I'll find you. Every corner of this hell is mine. We'll marry, start a family—oh, the children we'll make!"

The words twist like knives, heavy with implication, that sexual undercurrent making your skin crawl. You cover your mouth to stifle a sob, breaths shallow and ragged. Footsteps thunder closer in heavy, deliberate, like a predator savoring the hunt.

" I can smell your fear, sweet thing. Your perfume...intoxicating." His laugh is a wet, rattling thing.

" If I were you, I'd come out now. Unless you want me rough. I'll drag you out, pin you down, make you mine the hard way."

You swallow hard, praying to whatever gods listen in this forsaken place. Sweat beads on your forehead, mixing with the chill.

The door rattles in once, twice. Silence.

Then, a massive hand shoots from the shadows, grabbing your collar and yanking you up like a ragdoll. You scream, eyes widening at his face: half-decayed, wounds festering with pus, skin stretched taut over bones. Blue eyes gleam with feral hunger, devouring you whole.

" Found you, darling." He cackles maniacally.

" Told you I would."

" Please, let me go." You beg, voice breaking.

He just laughs, mocking your pleas as his gloved hand brushes your cheek in intimate, possessive, sending revulsion and unwanted sparks of tension through you. You jerk away, but he grabs your chin hard, fingers digging in like vices.

" Struggle all you want. We're getting married. I'll fill that untouched womb of yours with my seed, make you swell with my heir. You'll be perfect, darling. Mine forever."

Begging turns to thrashing, but he's too strong. A cloth clamps over your nose—chloroform, the acrid scent burning your lungs.

You shove at it, clawing his arm, but weakness floods your limbs. Dizziness spins the room, vision blurring as his face looms closer, triumphant.

" Sleep now, my love. When you wake, it'll be our wedding night."

Your world fades to black, body going limp. Eddie catches you effortlessly, slinging your unconscious form over his shoulder like a trophy, your limbs dangling.

Something blinks on the floor—your camera. He stomps it flat, the crunch of plastic and glass music to his ears. Laughter bubbles from his throat as he strides away, deeper into the asylum's bowels.

What he'll do to you in the dark, you can only hope you'll wake at all, still breathing, still whole.

But in this place, hope is just another ghost.

…

You jolt awake with a gasp, your head throbbing like it's been split open with a rusty axe. The room swims into focus in an unfamiliar room, dimly lit by a flickering bulb swinging from a chain overhead, casting grotesque shadows that dance like mocking demons.

The stench hits you next: a nauseating cocktail of rotting flesh, coppery blood, and stale piss that makes your stomach churn. You grunt, fighting the urge to vomit, as your eyes adjust to the horror sprawled across the floor.

Dead bodies are dozens of them, mangled and decayed, limbs twisted at impossible angles, faces frozen in eternal screams. Blood paints the walls in abstract splatters, pooling in sticky puddles that reflect the weak light like black mirrors. Some corpses look fresh, others skeletal, as if this chamber has been a slaughterhouse for years.

Well, at least you're not one of them...yet. But the thought sours as panic sets in.

You try to move, to scramble away from this nightmare, but your wrists and ankles are bound tight with thick leather straps, bolted to the cold metal frame of what feels like an old operating table.

The restraints bite into your skin as you wiggle desperately, muscles straining, but it's no use and you're immobilized, spread-eagled like a sacrificial offering. Horror spikes through you as you realize the full extent: you're completely naked, clothes stripped away while you were out cold.

Your legs are splayed wide, thighs parted obscenely, exposing your most intimate parts to the chill air. A flush of humiliation burns your cheeks—if anyone walks in, they'll see everything, your folds on full display like some twisted exhibit.

You scream for help, raw and desperate, " Somebody! Please, get me out of here!"

But the words echo back mockingly in the empty asylum, swallowed by the thick walls. You know it's futile—no one's coming. This cursed place devours screams like appetizers.

Your breath hitches, catching in your throat like a barbed hook, when the door creaks open. Heavy footsteps thud closer, and there he is, the same hulking monster who chased you through the halls.

Eddie Gluskin towers over you, his massive frame blocking out the light, his half-decayed face twisted into a grin that's equal parts madness and lust. Those piercing blue eyes rake over your bound form, drinking you in like a starving man at a feast.

His gloved hand, rough leather stained with god-knows-what brushes against your inner thigh, sending an unwanted jolt through your body.

You jerk away instinctively, but the straps hold you fast, turning the movement into a pathetic twitch. He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through the room like thunder.

" Oh, darling, you're awake. Good. You can't escape now and no more running from your devoted husband. I won't let my bride ghost me again, not after I've waited so long." His voice is a psychotic purr, laced with that dark, delusional romance that makes your skin crawl.

He kneels between your spread legs, his face inches from your exposed core, and you see his eyes widen in manic delight. " Wait...you're really a woman? Oh, fate is kind today."

His fingers, those damned gloved digits slide playfully along your slit, teasing the sensitive folds without mercy. A shiver of revulsion and unwilling heat races up your spine.

" Stop! Please, don't touch me!" You beg, voice cracking, hips bucking futilely against the restraints.

Eddie just laughs louder, hovering over you now, his broad chest pressing close enough that you feel the heat radiating from his mutilated body.

" A blessing, that's what you are. Sent straight from the heavens…or hell, doesn't matter. Your body's perfect, ripe and ready for me to plant my seed. You'll swell with my children, darling. Be the mother I've always dreamed of."

His words drip with filthy promise, sexual tension thickening the air like smoke, making it hard to breathe.

You snap back, defiance flaring despite the fear. " I'm not your fucking wife, you crazy bastard! Let me go!"

His expression darkens in an instant, that manic joy twisting into fury. His hand shoots out, gripping your neck with bruising force, fingers digging into your windpipe.

" How dare you speak to your husband like that? Disrespect me? After all I've done to find you?"

You choke, gasping for air, stars exploding behind your eyes as you beg hoarsely, " Please...let go...I can't breathe..."

He doesn't release, but his index finger traces your trembling lips, pressing gently. " Shh, darling. Quiet now. You should be grateful I found you and saved you from this wretched world. You'll be mine, cherished, filled."

" I'm not grateful, you psycho!" You rasp out, defiance laced with terror.

He chuckles darkly, grip tightening just enough to make your vision blur. Leaning in so close his fetid breath fans your face, he nips at your earlobe with sharp teeth, drawing a bead of blood.

The pain mingles with an unwelcome spark of sensation, heavy tension coiling low in your belly. " Oh, but you will be. I can't wait to marry you, make it official. Call you mine forever."

His free hand dips lower, fingers circling your clit with deliberate slowness, rubbing in tight, insistent patterns that force your back to arch off the table against your will. A traitorous moan escapes your lips, muffled by his hand.

" See? Your body's already begging for it. I can't wait to touch every inch of you, taste this sweet little cunt, claim it with my cock. Pound into you until you're dripping with my cum, breeding you like the perfect wife you are."

He pulls his hand away from your slick folds, bringing the glistening fingers to his mouth. With a deep, guttural groan, he licks them clean, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

" Fuck, you taste so sweet, darling. Like honey straight from the hive. A perfect fit for me…tight, wet, and all mine."

He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down to the swell of your breast, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

Each touch sends conflicting waves of disgust and heat crashing through you, your body betraying your mind.

Finally, he pulls back, standing to his full height with a maniacal laugh that echoes off the bloodstained walls. His eyes roam your naked body hungrily, admiring the way your chest heaves, nipples pebbled from the cold and unwanted arousal.

" Look at you, spread out like a feast. Beg all you want, darling…it only makes me harder."

You plead again, tears stinging your eyes, " Please, just let me go...I won't tell anyone..."

But he ignores you, waving a dismissive hand. " We just need an hour, my love. Then we'll be husband and wife, bound eternally. I'll prepare everything…your dress, the altar. And after...oh, after, I'll fuck you senseless, fill that pretty womb until you're carrying my heir."

With that, he turns and strides out, slamming the door behind him with a finality that shatters your last shred of hope. Alone in the carnage, you break down, sobs wracking your bound body as tears stream down your face.

This is hopeless—a living nightmare you walked into for clicks and likes. You pray silently, bargaining with any deity that might listen: just let me survive this madness, get out alive.

You swear on everything, this is the last haunted place you'll ever set foot in. No more content, no more risks. If you make it out, you're done.

But deep down, as the minutes tick by in suffocating silence, you wonder if you'll even wake up from whatever twisted "wedding" he has planned.

…

You lie there on the cold, unforgiving metal table, the leather straps digging into your raw skin like hungry teeth, your naked body still splayed out in that humiliating pose.

The room's horrors press in. The stench of death, the glassy eyes of corpses staring blankly from the blood-slicked floor, the distant drip-drip of what might be water or something thicker echoing like a mocking countdown.

" Come on, you piece of shit." You mutter through gritted teeth.

Great, tied up in a psycho's love nest, naked as the day you were born. If you get out, this'll make one hell of a story...or a therapy bill.

But escape? How? Your mind races, scenarios flashing like bad horror flicks: scream louder (pointless), wait for rescue (ha, in this godforsaken asylum?), or somehow slip free.

You wiggle your wrists harder, the leather creaking but holding fast, chafing your skin until it burns. Tears blur your vision as frustration boils over into sobs in a hot, messy, choking cries that echo back at you.

" Fuck this place." You whisper, scanning the room through watery eyes.

That's when you spot it: a glint of metal on a nearby tray, half-hidden under a bloodstained rag. A sharp scalpel, its blade wicked and gleaming like a promise.

Hope surges, mixed with terror—what if he comes back? But screw it, better to try than rot here.

Grunting with effort, you strain against the strap on your right wrist, forcing it inch by agonizing inch over your hand. The leather bites deep, drawing blood that slicks your skin, making it slippery.

" Come on...come on..." You growl, pain lancing up your arm like fire.

With a final, gut-wrenching yank, your hand pops free, knuckles scraped raw. Adrenaline floods you as you snatch the scalpel, its handle cold and reassuring in your palm. You slash at the other wrist's binding, the blade sawing through the tough leather with satisfying snaps.

Freedom—at least for your arms. Sitting up, you hack at the ankle straps next, legs trembling as they come loose. Your body aches from the strain, muscles protesting every move. You roll off the table in a clumsy tumble, hitting the bloodied floor with a wet smack that sends crimson splatters flying.

The impact jars your bones, forcing a cough from your lungs as you inhale the metallic tang of gore. Groaning, you push up on shaky hands and knees, the cold concrete biting into your palms like ice.

" Ugh, gross." You mutter, dark humor kicking in again—rolling in dead people's blood? New low, even for you.

Limping to your feet, you stagger around the room, naked and vulnerable, goosebumps prickling your skin from the chill and exposure. You search frantically for your clothes and rifling through piles of rags, overturning trays but nothing. They're gone, probably trophies for that maniac.

" Shit, shit, shit." You hiss, heart pounding. Gotta get out, find a door, anything.

But before you can bolt, a shadow falls over you, a massive reeking of sweat and madness. Rough hands slam you back down, your bare back hitting the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of you.

It's not your psychotic-groom-wanna-be—this one's different. A hulking variant with wild eyes and foaming mouth, shoving his grotesque face toward your neck like a vampire in heat. His breath is hot and foul, teeth grazing your skin as he growls incoherently.

" No! Get off!" You scream, fighting like hell and nails raking his arms, knees bucking up to knee him in the gut.

You push back with everything, adrenaline making you feral. He's too strong, though, pinning you down, his weight crushing as he slobbers at your throat.

Then, chaos erupts. A roar fills the room, and the attacker is yanked off you like a ragdoll.

You scramble back, shivering in horror, as Eddie, your "savior" grabs the man by the scruff, slamming his head into the floor with bone-crunching force.

Once, twice, three times. The skull cracks like an egg, blood spraying in arcs, brains mattering the concrete. The victim twitches, gurgles, then stills, another corpse added to the pile. You witness it all, frozen, breath hitching in your throat as the murder unfolds in brutal detail.

Well, at least someone's got your back...literally. But terror drowns it—Eddie just killed for you, "saved" you from one monster only to claim you for himself.

He's panting now, chest heaving like a bellows, wiping the fresh blood from his decayed face with the back of his glove, smearing it into grotesque streaks. His blue eyes—those piercing, hungry orbs are darting to you, locking on with predatory intensity.

Before you can react, he hauls you up by the arms, your feet dangling off the ground as he lifts you effortlessly to face him. He's towering, a giant of mutilated muscle and madness, his broad frame eclipsing everything else.

Up close, the sexual tension is electric, unwanted heat simmering under the fear as his gaze rakes your naked body. He grabs your chin roughly, fingers digging in, forcing your eyes to meet his.

" Stay the fuck where you are, darling." He growls, voice a low rumble laced with filthy promise.

" Don't you dare make a move to escape. You think this is bad? You haven't seen me mad yet. I'll hunt you down, drag you back, and fuck the defiance right out of that pretty little body."

Tears stream down your face as you cry out, " Please, just let me go! I don't want this!"

Begging spills from your lips, raw and desperate, but he just laughs in that maniacal, echoing cackle that sends shivers racing over your skin. With a casual shrug, he hefts you over his shoulder again, your naked form draped like a prize, ass in the air, his gloved hand clamping possessively on your thigh.

You scream, pounding his back with your fists in a weak thuds against his unyielding bulk. " Put me down, you bastard! Let me go!"

" Oh, darling, you're too stubborn for your own good." He chuckles, striding out of the room with purposeful steps, his free hand sliding up to grope your ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

" Can't wait anymore. We'll skip the wedding for now and I'll claim you right here, right now. Bend you over, spread those legs, and ram my cock so deep you'll feel it in your throat.”

“ Fill that tight cunt with my seed until you're dripping, begging for more. Show you just how mad I can get...and how good it'll feel when you submit."

His dirty talk hangs heavy, stoking the sexual tension as he carries you deeper into the asylum's bowels, your struggles futile against his iron grip.

Hope flickers dimly that maybe another chance to escape but for now, you're his, trapped in this nightmare of dark desire.

…

You bounce hard on the sagging mattress as Eddie hurls you onto the bed like discarded luggage, the impact jarring your bones and sending a puff of dust into the stale air.

The room is a decrepit mockery of a bridal suite with faded wallpaper peeling like sunburnt skin, a cracked mirror reflecting your wide-eyed terror, and the faint metallic tang of old blood mingling with the musty scent of abandonment.

Your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, every shadow in the corners seeming to pulse with unseen threats.

Eddie stands at the foot of the bed, towering like a grotesque statue, his blue eyes gleaming with manic possession as he slowly unties his ragged bow tie, letting it flutter to the floor like a shed skin.

" Please, don't do this." You beg, voice cracking with desperation, curling your naked body into a fetal position on the threadbare sheets, knees drawn up to shield your vulnerability.

Great, from content creator to captive bride in one night; if you survive, this could be your most viral video yet...minus the camera.

But he snaps, his voice a whipcrack of fury. " Shut the fuck up for once, darling!"

He yanks off his sleeves with deliberate slowness, revealing a toned, muscular torso scarred and veined like a roadmap of madness, pale skin stretched taut over rippling abs and broad shoulders that speak of unnatural strength.

" I'm doing this to make you stay. You'll never escape me and I'll bind you with more than ropes, fill you so full you'll carry my mark forever."

Tears stream down your face, hot and unrelenting, as you sob into the pillow, the fabric muffling your pleas. He prowls closer, grabbing your ankle in a vise-like grip and yanking your leg straight, forcing you onto your back.

You gasp as he hovers above you, his massive frame eclipsing the dim light, the heat from his body radiating like a furnace against your chilled skin. He pins your wrists above your head with one massive hand, his gloved fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise.

" It'll be good, darling.” He promises in a low, gravelly whisper, his decayed face inches from yours, blue eyes boring into your soul.

" I'll make you scream my name, beg for more. You'll see…this is what you were made for."

He leans down, crashing his lips against yours in a brutal kiss, claiming your mouth with possessive hunger. You purse your lips tight, resisting, but he bites down on your lower lip in a sharp, drawing a bead of blood that tastes coppery on your tongue.

The pain forces a gasp from you, and he seizes the opportunity, shoving his tongue inside, clashing with yours in a heated, invasive dance.

It's messy, dominating, his saliva mixing with yours as he explores every inch, groaning into your mouth like a beast in rut. You shouldn't feel it. The spark, the unwilling heat pooling low in your belly but damn, he's a good kisser, skilled in a way that twists your revulsion into something darker, more confusing.

Your body betrays you with a shiver, nipples hardening against the rough fabric of his shirt. He breaks the kiss with a wet smack, a string of saliva connecting your lips for a moment before snapping.

From somewhere in his pocket, maybe and he produces a silk tie, stained but strong, wrapping it around your wrists in deft loops before knotting it securely to the headboard. Your arms stretch taut above you, exposing your body fully, and fresh tears well up as you tug uselessly.

" Shh, shh, darling." He coos mockingly, brushing a gloved thumb over your cheek in a parody of tenderness, wiping away a tear only to lick it from the leather.

" No need to cry. We're just getting intimate, like husband and wife should be."

His mouth descends to your neck, hot and insistent, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sinking in to mark you is sucking hard enough to bloom purple bruises, each one a claim staked on your flesh.

You whimper, arching involuntarily, begging, " Stop, please...it hurts..."

But he ignores you, trailing lower, his gloved hands cupping your breasts, squeezing with rough possession, thumbs circling your nipples until they peak under his touch.

His tongue follows, licking a wet path down the valley between your chests, then latching onto one breast, sucking greedily while his teeth nip at the hardened bud. Pain and pleasure blur in a haze, your back arching off the bed as a traitorous moan escapes.

You hate it. You hate him. But fuck, he's good, knowing exactly how to tease, to build that unwelcome fire in your core.

Eddie groans animalistically, the sound vibrating against your skin as he switches to the other breast, biting just hard enough to make you yelp. He pulls back slightly, leaning close to your face, his breath hot and ragged.

" Look at you, darling…squirming like a needy little slut. I can smell how wet you are already. Bet that tight cunt is dripping for me, begging to be filled with my cock. I'll stretch you wide, pound you until you're raw, breed you like the whore wife you are."

His dirty words slither into your ear, filthy and degrading, making your thighs clench together instinctively, a flush of arousal betraying your horror. He notices, of course, smirking wickedly as his eyes darken with lust.

That smirk widens as he slides down your body, licking every inch of exposed skin in your ribs, your stomach, dipping into your navel with a teasing flick. Goosebumps erupt in his wake, the sexual tension coiling tighter, heavier, until you're panting despite yourself.

When he reaches your folds, you clamp your thighs shut hard, a last-ditch barrier, but he groans in annoyance, massive hands prying them apart with ease, spreading you wide and pinning your legs to the mattress.

" Don't hide from me, darling." He mocks, voice dripping with dark amusement.

" Beg all you want…it just makes my cock harder. Now, let me taste what's mine."

He buries his face between your thighs, inhaling deeply, growling like a feral animal at your scent. " Fuck, you smell divine…sweet and ready to be ruined."

His gloved fingers slide up and down your soaked folds, teasing the slick entrance, circling your clit with deliberate pressure that makes your hips buck.

He laughs in a low, triumphant rumble and watches your face contort in unwilling pleasure. " See? Your body's honest, even if you're not. Soaking for your husband already."

Slowly, agonizingly, he inserts a thick finger into your hole. The intrusion stretching you with a burn that morphs into something sinful. You whimper, walls clenching around him as he pumps in and out, his free hand pressing down on your belly to heighten the sensation, feeling every thrust from the inside.

" That's it, take it like a good girl." He laughs, adding a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you wider.

Then his mouth joins the assault. Tongue lapping at your clit, sucking greedily while his fingers thrust deeper, curling to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes.

He's relentless, eating you out like a starving man, fingers fucking you in rhythm, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.

" Taste so fucking good, darling and your pussy's gripping me like it never wants to let go. Imagine my cock in there, slamming balls-deep, flooding you with cum until you're pregnant with my brats. You'd look so pretty swollen, all mine."

His filthy words degrade you further, arousal spiking shamefully as he finds your g-spot, rubbing mercilessly until the pressure builds, coils, snaps then you come hard, gushing around his fingers, legs trembling uncontrollably as waves of unwanted ecstasy crash over you.

But he doesn't stop, lapping up every drop, fingers still thrusting through your aftershocks, overstimulating you until you're a quivering mess. " Good girl, cumming for your captor already? We're just warming up then wait till I bury my dick in you."

Well, at least the views would be insane...if anyone ever saw this.

But reality bites back as he finally pulls away, licking his lips with a satisfied grin, leaving you bound, spent, and dreading what comes next in this nightmare of twisted desire.

…

In one long, deliberate lick, Eddie drags his tongue from the depths of your cunt upward, savoring every slick fold and quiver of your overstimulated flesh, his groan vibrating against you like a predator's rumble.

He rises slowly, eyes locked on yours with that manic gleam, blue orbs burning with unhinged possession as he crawls back up your body.

Before you can catch your breath, his mouth crashes onto yours again, the kiss filthy and invasive, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was salty, tangy, a humiliating reminder of your body's betrayal.

He mutters against your lips, voice a gravelly whisper laced with dark promise, " I'll never let you go, darling. You're mine now—body, soul, everything. I'll follow you to heaven, hell, or the ends of the fucking earth. No escape, no peace without me."

He pulls back, rising to his knees with a wicked grin, the tension thickening the air like fog in this decrepit room, heavy with the scent of sweat and decay.

His gloved hands fumble at his zipper, the sound obscenely loud in the silence, and he tugs down his pants just enough to free his aching shaft—thick, veined, and throbbing, the tip glistening with precum like a bead of dew on a blade.

Eddie wraps a massive hand around himself, pumping slowly at first, giving you a deliberate show, his fist sliding up and down the length as he stares at you hungrily.

" Look at you, spread out like a desperate whore, eyes on my cock like it's your salvation." He mutters, degrading words spilling from his lips in a filthy torrent.

" Bet you've been dreaming of this, huh? A real man to split you open, fill that worthless hole until you're leaking my cum. You're nothing but a breeding slut now—my personal fucktoy."

You watch, mesmerized despite the horror, as this insane man jerks himself off right there, his decayed face twisting in pleasure, blue eyes half-lidded with lust.

He spits into his palm. A thick glob that lands with a wet smack before resuming his strokes, the slick sound echoing lewdly, heightening the heavy tension as your body clenches involuntarily.

Fear drowns it as he moves closer, hovering above you again, his free hand squeezing your breast hard, kneading the soft flesh until it aches. He positions his shaft between them, pressing your tits together around his length, thrusting experimentally with a guttural moan.

" Stick out your tongue, darling." He demands, voice rough with command.

" Lick the tip like the obedient wife you are."

You shake your head frantically, lips sealed in defiance, but he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head forward with brutal force.

Before you can protest, he shoves his huge length into your mouth. The girth stretching your lips wide, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag instantly—tears springing to your eyes as you choke around him.

" That's it, take it deep, you filthy bitch." He growls, thrusting hard, hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm that leaves you breathless, saliva bubbling at the corners of your mouth.

You tug desperately at your bound wrists, the silk tie biting into your skin, but it's useless. He's too strong, fucking your face like it's just another hole to claim.

Satisfied after what feels like an eternity, he pulls out with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening tip, dangling obscenely before breaking.

He doesn't stop there, resuming his assault on your breasts, sliding his shaft between them in rough, deliberate thrusts, the friction hot and slick from your spit.

" Tongue out now, or I'll make it hurt worse." He warns, and this time, fear wins and you comply, sticking it out as his tip bumps against your mouth with each pump, forcing you to taste the salty precum, the musky flavor coating your tongue.

Humiliation burns through you, mixed with that unwanted heat, as he groans above you, lost in his delirium.

Finally, he stops, chest heaving, and reaches up to unbound your wrists—the tie slipping free with a whisper of silk.

" One wrong move, darling…" He threatens, voice low and deadly.

" And I'll fuck you so hard you won't walk for days. You'll crawl back to me, begging for mercy."

You shiver at the words, rubbing your sore wrists, the threat hanging heavy like a noose. He laughs in that maniacal cackle echoing off the walls before shifting lower, his tip brushing teasingly against your slit, sending jolts of electric tension through your core.

" No, please...stop." You beg, voice breaking.

" It'll hurt too much."

He hushes you gently, almost tenderly, gloved thumb stroking your cheek. " Shh, I'll be gentle...for a while. Just relax, let your husband in."

Slowly, agonizingly, he pushes forward, the thick head breaching your entrance, stretching you inch by inch as fresh tears spill down your cheeks.

" That's it, good girl." He encourages, praising in a twisted coo.

" Taking me so well like you were made for this cock."

Pain blooms sharp and unrelenting, but he keeps going, murmuring filth the whole time. Your arms, free now, wrap around his neck instinctively, clinging as if he were anchor and executioner in one.

" Spread those legs wider, darling." He demands,

" Let me go deep and show me how much you want it."

You obey, thighs parting further, whimpering as he sinks deeper, the fullness overwhelming until he's buried to the hilt, your walls clenching around his girth.

He stays still for a minute, letting your body adjust, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers dirty promises.

" Feel that? My cock owning you, stretching that virgin cunt. You're gonna milk me dry, beg for my seed every night."

Then, with a slow rock of his hips, he starts moving—pulling out almost completely, only to laugh darkly at the sight of blood coating his shaft.

" Ha, look at that…you're pure, darling. Not like those other whores. Untouched until me. My perfect bride."

He thrusts back in, setting a normal pace at first, each slide building friction that blurs pain into something else, your whimpers filling the room as you dig your nails into the sheets, knuckles white.

Boredom flickers in his eyes, and he grabs your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders, propping himself up for leverage before thrusting again—faster now, deeper, the angle hitting spots that make your vision blur with unwilling pleasure.

" Fuck, yes…take it, you tight little slut." He growls, pace increasing until the bed creaks in protest.

Sweat slicks your bodies, the room filled with the wet slap of skin on skin. He gets restless again, flipping you over with effortless strength then face down, ass up in the air, vulnerable and exposed.

A sharp slap lands on your cheek, the sting blooming red marks as he laughs. " Perfect ass for spanking and fucking."

Grabbing your hair like reins, he shoves back inside, thrusting faster, harder, pounding you into the mattress as you moan and cry into the sheets, the line between agony and ecstasy shattering.

He's fucking your brains out, reducing you to a trembling mess, dark humor whispering: congrats, you've gone from explorer to explored.

Not done, he pulls you up into another position then lifts your body like you weigh nothing, holding you against him in a standing ovation of madness, your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts upward. You bounce in his arms, helpless, as he teases by edging—slowing just when pressure builds, drawing it out.

" Feel that build, darling? Gonna make you wait, edge you until you're sobbing for release. You're my cumdump now…gonna fill you over and over." His dirty talk fuels the fire, then he kisses you deeply, tongues battling in a heated mess.

Without breaking the kiss, he slams you back onto the bed, pinning you beneath him as he thrusts deep, relentless, groaning like a beast in heat.

" Fuck, I'm close…gonna cum inside, breed you proper."

You beg frantically, " No, please…not inside!"

But he ignores you, thrusting harder, making you whimper as he grabs your chin, forcing your gaze. " We're starting a family, you and me. You'll carry my heirs, swell with my seed."

He groans again, body tensing, then erupts—hot spurts filling you as you shatter too, cumming around him despite everything, legs trembling violently in waves of forced bliss. He collapses on top of you, still buried deep, whispering against your neck.

The weight of him pins you, the nightmare far from over, as dark thoughts swirl: escape seems impossible now, but maybe, just maybe, you'll find a way out of this hellish honeymoon.

" Gonna stay like this, make sure nothing spills. You'll be pregnant soon, darling. If not...well, I'll fuck you raw every day until you are. My eternal bride, forever."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The first thing that registers is the ache between your legs, raw and used, like you got fucked for hours. Your head pounds, mouth dry and sour with vodka and bile. You’re sprawled across Rafe’s massive bed in nothing but the torn fishnet stockings from your Harley Quinn costume, the red-and-black corset ripped open down the front. Bruises are already setting in, fingerprints on your hips, a handprint blooming across your ass, a split inside your bottom lip.

Morning light stabs through the half-drawn curtains. Downstairs, the cleanup crew is probably already dealing with the wreckage of last night’s party.

You don’t remember half of it.

Rafe is leaning against the dresser, still half in his Joker costume, the purple coat discarded, white face paint smeared across his jaw and neck like war paint, green hair wild and sweaty. His knuckles are split open again, fresh blood crusted over old scars. He’s watching you with that flat, dangerous stare he gets when the coke and rage are still simmering.

“You look like shit, baby,” he says, voice low and rough. “Told you not to go so hard.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday

Time: 9:38 PM 

You were getting ready.

He’d handed you a fresh bottle of that cheap vodka you like, the one that burns going down and makes everything soft and loud at the same time. 

“Here. So you don’t have to sneak off to the Cut and let some dirty Pogue pour you drinks all night. Stay pretty for me.”

You laughed, already buzzing from the first few sips, twirling in the mirror in your Harley shorts and pigtails. The insecurity was still there, whispering that you were just the girl Rafe kept around because you let him, but the alcohol drowned it out fast. You felt like a bad bitch, hot, reckless, untouchable. 

“You’re the Joker, I’m Harley. We’re supposed to be crazy tonight.”

He grinned that unhinged grin, smearing red lipstick on your mouth with his thumb.

 “Damn right.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time: 12:35 PM 

Tannyhill was packed. Bass thumping, Kooks in expensive costumes, a few Pogues who’d snuck in as the drinks got stronger and the door got looser. You were six shots deep and feeling invincible. The vodka made your blood hot. You climbed onto the coffee table in the living room, dancing like the music owned you, hips rolling, pigtails swinging, shorts riding up so everyone could see the curve of your ass. Some random Kook in a lame vampire costume grabbed your waist from behind, laughing, grinding back. You didn’t stop him. Why would you? You were Harley tonight. Wild. Wanted. The insecurity was gone; you were the hottest girl in the room, and everyone knew it.

Rafe’s eyes from across the room were already narrowed and dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time: 12:42 PM 

He dragged you upstairs by the wrist, grip bruising. The hallway spun. You were giggling at first.

 “Baby, it was just dancing, don’t be a fucking psycho,” until he slammed the bedroom door so hard the frame cracked.

“You think I’m stupid?” His voice was that low, shaky rage you knew too well. “Grinding on that piece of shit in front of everyone? In my fucking house? On Halloween? You trying to embarrass me?”

You were reckless, drunk, careless.

“Maybe I wanted attention since you’re always too busy doing lines in the bathroom to notice me.”

Wrong thing to say.

He laughed once, sharp and ugly, then backhanded you across the face. Not full force, but hard enough to split your lip and send you stumbling into the dresser. The sting was immediate. You tasted blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time: Unknown

The room tilts. He’s on you, shoving you face-down onto the bed, yanking your shorts down with one hand while the other fists your pigtails. “You wanna act like a slut? Fine. I’ll fuck you like one.”

He didn’t prep you, just spat on his hand and pushed in raw, one brutal thrust that made you scream into the sheets. He fucked you like he was punishing the whole island, deep, mean strokes, hand around your throat from behind, squeezing until spots danced in your vision.

“You’re here for me. You hear me? Not some party whore.”

Every thrust jolted pain and pleasure together. You came hard, crying, thighs shaking, while he kept going, calling you a drunk mess, a worthless bitch who couldn’t even handle her liquor without embarrassing him.

You blacked out somewhere in the middle, flashes of him flipping you over, forcing your legs wider, coming inside you with a groan that sounded like it hurt him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today

Time: 9:17 AM

You sit up slowly, wincing. The bruises on your thighs are dark, the ones on your throat obvious even in the low light. Your lip is swollen.

Rafe pushes off the dresser and walks over, crouching so he’s eye-level. 

“You don’t remember shit, do you?” He sounds almost amused, but his eyes are cold. “You were all over that guy. Had to drag your drunk ass upstairs before you let him fuck you in front of all my friends.”

You swallow, the sober clarity hitting like ice water. “No. I remember.”

His face changes, just a flicker. “Bullshit. You blacked out. Slurring, crying, begging like always. Don’t try to rewrite it now that you’re sobering up and feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I remember you hitting me.” Your voice is quiet but steady. The words hang there, ugly and real. “You backhanded me….and… Split my lip…Then you threw me on the bed.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens. He stands up fast, starts pacing again, boots heavy. “You always do this shit. Get wasted, act like a whore, then wake up and play victim so I feel like the bad guy.”

“I’m not playing.” You slide off the bed, legs shaky, and stand in front of him. “I remember the sting. I remember tasting blood. I remember you saying I “earned it”.”

He stops pacing. Turns slow. His eyes are dark, dangerous. “Even if I did, you fucking deserved it. Grinding on some guy? In my house? You wanted me to snap. You always push until I do.”

The room feels smaller. Your chest tightens, the insecurity roaring back now that the vodka’s gone. “So you admit it?”

He steps closer, towering. “What do you want me to say? You always do this.”

Tears burn your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.

 “You handed me the bottle. All night. You kept pouring. Then you get mad at me for drinking it?”

You ask, not understanding his logic.

He laughs, bitter.

 “Oh, now it’s my fault? You’re the one who doesn't know how to stop. You’re the one who turns into a sloppy mess every time you touch that shit. I give you what you ask for, and you throw it back in my face.”

You shake your head, voice cracking. 

“I remember everything this time, Rafe. You hit me. You fucked me while I was crying. And you’re standing here lying about it.”

His hand shoots out, grabs your jaw, not hard enough to bruise more, but hard enough to make you freeze.

 “Watch your mouth. You don’t get to throw that in my face after you embarrassed me in front of everyone.”

You stare up at him, tears finally spilling. 

“Then why do you keep getting bottles if you hate it so much?”

Rafe’s lip curls, that familiar sneer twisting his mouth.

 “Because you beg for them, baby. Every single time. You whine, you cry, you say you need it to feel anything. I’m just giving you what you asked for. Don’t act like I’m forcing the shit down your throat.”

The words hit different this time, sharper, because they’re true enough to sting. You do ask. You do beg when the sober quiet gets too loud. You wrench your face out of his grip anyway, stumbling back until your ass bumps the dresser. Your voice comes out smaller than you want. 

“I remember you hitting me. I remember the blood. I remember you saying I earned it.”

Rafe takes one slow step forward. His voice drops, calm in the way that makes your stomach drop.

 “Even if that happened, and I’m not saying it did, you think yelling about it changes anything? You think screaming ‘he hit me’ makes you the victim here? You were grinding on some random dick in the middle of my living room, dressed like a slut, while everyone watched. You wanted a reaction. You got one.”

You shake your head, tears dripping onto your collarbone. 

“You're fucking lying, you thought I blacked out.”

“I think you were fucked up. Which you were.” He shrugs, casual, cruel. “Close enough.”

The room feels too small. You glance at the door, freedom maybe, or at least air that doesn’t smell like him and last night’s sex and violence. Your legs move before your brain catches up. You take a half-step toward the hallway.

His arm shoots out, slams flat against the doorframe, blocking you. The impact rattles the whole frame. 

“What are you doing?”

You freeze, heart hammering. “I just need air.”

“No.” His other hand catches your elbow, not hard enough to bruise fresh, but firm enough to remind you he can.

“You’re not leaving this room until you calm the fuck down. You go out there looking like this, bruised, crying, mascara everywhere, and what? You gonna run to Sarah? Tell her big bad Rafe hit you? Like she’ll believe you? Or maybe you’ll stumble down to the Cut, find some Pogue to cry to. They’ll fuck you once, maybe twice, then leave you passed out in a ditch when the high wears off. You think they’ll stay? You think anyone else is gonna put up with your alcoholic ass the way I do?”

Your breath hitches. The threat isn’t even veiled. It’s the one thing that always works: the fear of being cut off. Not just from him, but from the bottles he keeps stocked in the cabinet under the sink, the ones he replaces without you ever having to ask. You can’t afford your own habit. Not really. Not without selling shit, stealing shit, or worse. And the thought of waking up tomorrow with nothing, no buzz, no buffer, just the screaming quiet and the mirror showing every flaw, makes your knees weak.

“I can’t…” The words come out choked. “I can’t do sober right now.”

Rafe’s grip on your elbow loosens, but he doesn’t let go. His voice goes softer, almost coaxing, the switch he flips when he knows he’s winning.

 “Then stop acting like you want to leave. You know what happens when you try to run. You end up right back here anyway. Crying. Begging. Promising you’ll be better.”

He turns you slowly, backs you up until your spine hits the door. His body cages you in, one hand braced above your head, the other sliding up to cup your jaw, gentle now, thumb brushing the split in your lip like he’s sorry.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re gonna stay right here, sober up, take a shower, and when you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, you’re gonna come downstairs and act like my girl. Because that’s what you are. I'm the only one who gets to touch you, fuck you, hurt you, fix you. Nobody else wants the mess.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, hot and silent. You hate how the words settle in your chest like truth. How part of you believes them. How the alternative, empty bottles, empty bed, empty everything, feels worse than the bruises.

“I hate you sometimes,” you whisper.

He leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Yeah. But you love me more.”

He doesn’t move away. Just stands there, breathing you in, waiting for the fight to bleed out of you like it always does.

And it does.

Your hands come up slowly, trembling, and fist in his shirt. Not pushing this time. Holding. Clinging. Because even after the slap, the lies, the way he twists every truth until it points back at you, he’s still here.

Still feeding the addiction he pretends to hate.

Still, the only thing standing between you and nothing.

He exhales against your hair, almost a laugh. “There she is.”

You close your eyes. Let him pull you away from the door. Let him guide you back toward the bed. Let the silence swallow the rest of the fight.

Because leaving would mean facing the mirror alone.

And you’re not ready for that.

Not today.