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iwriteyanderes2023 · 8 months ago

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Yandere Socialite (Fem! Yandere x Fem! Reader)

Divider credits: @/anitalenia

Trigger warning: Violence, drama between friends, profanity usage, yandere themes, name-calling, sexual harassment, power abuse. Choking, pet play, humiliation, drugging, sexual scenes, bondage play, female on female

(8941 words)

You regretted agreeing to this.

Your friends were raving about this massive party, where all the hottest celebrities and the wealthy go to flaunt or make a fool out of themselves. Obviously, it was an exclusive event, no mere commoners could simply walk in. To enter, it's either paying an extravagant fee or be (in)famous enough. Which, you were neither.

They claimed to know how to sneak in, undetected by the burly bouncers that you would rather not be the receiving end of their anger. It made sense to have some tight security, it is taking place in someone's mansion; someone's home, after all.

You, being new in this city and desperate to make connections to you could advance your career, said yes. You stupidly said yes, put on your best clubbing outfit and makeup, and went through with your friend's plan to slip in through one of the back doors while the other distracted whoever was around to hinder the plans.

Which leads you to be lost in a seemingly unending maze of hallways, you don't know where the other girls went and you don't know where you are. There wasn't a single soul wandering around the carpeted floor and chandeliered ceilings. Elegant paintings of men and women in dignified poses seem to peer at you in disgust; a filthy commoner dressed like a tramp. You didn't belong here, and it's only a matter of time before you were thrown into jail thanks to the recorded footage from the surveillance cameras you're sure were pointed at you.

You covered your arms with your hands as you moved onward, cussing under your breath about how silly it was to wear a ridiculously tall heel. It's already giving you blisters, so you decide to take them off and walk barefoot; silently and dryly sobbing about how humiliating this feels.

You continued trundling on, periodically looking back and trying to see where the life of the party is at so you could at least witness how it's like. Perhaps make a few connections, but you think that's unlikely. Most of them are probably drunk out of their mind or high off coke to care.

Actually, what are you even doing here? You're supposed to be networking at a classy, evening soiree, not a rich boy's messy party!

Before you could sigh again, you were interrupted by the sounds of yelling in a room nearby.

"Get off me, fucker!" You heard an enraged feminine voice shout out before the sounds of crashing reached your ears. Groaning could be heard as you assume the other party was shuffling to get up.

"You fucking bitch!" Retorted a masculine voice, followed by more stumbling. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"We're over. Get the fuck out of my sight!" She yelled, but it doesn't sound like she was too hurt over it. It's more anger if anything.

"What...? Just like that?! After everything that I've done-"

"All you did was embarrass me over and over again! Like, does it kill you to take a shower? Does it kill you not to be an entitled, gross loser all the time?"

You inched closer to the door and discreetly poked your head in. You saw the back of a woman with the most gorgeous blond hair draping down to her tailbone. She's wearing a silver sequin dress that barely covers the fold of her bum.

The male, slightly drunk and injured from the shove with debris around him, was glaring at the blonde.

"Shut up, slut! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't get to live like this!" He threateningly pointed at her, but she didn't budge.

"Oh? You mean that monthly allowance of fifty bucks from you? Please, I pick up my dogs' crap with it. That's how worthless you are to me, I'm only tolerating you because I'm doing your mommy a favour." She fought back, her words enraged the man even further.

"You can forget the deal our families had! I'll make sure the Maciovelli name goes to shit, you will be living on the streets before you know it!" He yelled right in front of her face, getting up close and personal; and having his stray spit hit her. She merely wiped them away.

"Ugh, you're insufferable. Whatever, I'd like to see you try, bitch." She hissed before shoving him away again.

But this proved to be a dangerous move, as it provoked the man to lunge and swing his arm at her. Luckily though, it seems she has predicted it and dodged his attack on time.

You had to do something! And so, you looked around as the pair went on to physically fight. Though, it's more like she's doing all the defense while he does the offense. Sometimes blocking his hits with her red handbag.

There is a vase nearby, decorated with intricate, hand-painted flowers. Without thinking, you picked it up and chucked it at the man. The antiquity of that piece of art be damned, that woman is in danger and you have to do something to help her!

She visibly jolted when it flew past some strands of gold and crashed onto her assailant's head, spraying shards everywhere and making small cuts on her legs. He was thrown backward and rendered unconscious almost immediately.

The woman whipped her head back to see the source of it, staring at you with wide, baby-blue eyes. You stared back at her breathtakingly stunning face; she had thin, sharp brown eyebrows that accentuated her fox-like eyes. Long, black eyelashes framed her iris as smokey makeup made her eyes look much bigger and lively. Her lips were glossy and in a shade of pastel pink, with a dusting of sparkly glitter.

You stammered, not knowing what to do or say. You're not even supposed to be here. So you remained silent as you and her continued this staring contest, the woman's eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe.

She began walking towards you, her heels menacingly clicking against the marbled floor of that room. You felt a surge of panic course through you, so you took a few steps back.

Only to be grabbed by the shoulder by someone else behind you. Chills ran down your spine when you heard the familiar sound of a walkie-talkie beeping. "I found one of the trespassers."

You started panicking even more, speaking erratically to try and defend your case. But the security officer wouldn't hear it, instead restraining you and pulling you away from the scene. You thrashed and screamed, not wanting to get caught and end your life as soon as it started. "I need backup!" Shouted the guard into his device as he tried to wrangle you into his grip.

You shouldn't have agreed to them, look what it has gotten you into. Your life is so over, you're going to be shoved into a jail cell and forced to move back to where you came from. If only you could-

"Hey, you fatass!" You saw her red, crescent handbag whack the officer in the arm, he flinched in surprise. "Hands off my best friend! And who the fuck do you think you are, calling her a trespasser!?"

A look of surprise crosses his face. "Miss Maciovelli? She's with you?" The officer took a look at you, there wasn't an aura of money emanating from you, not like how the woman was.

You looked back at the woman, now putting her hands on her hips. An irate expression adorns her face, "Um, yeah? I just said it, are you fucking slow? Let her go right now!" She demanded, raising the volume of her voice as her patience was running thin.

He sighed and released his hold on you. The man brought his walkie-talkie up to his mouth and said that it was a false alarm and that there wasn't a need for more of them to come over. They should focus on finding the rest of the intruders, which you can guess that they were referring to your friends.

"I'm sorry, Miss Maciovelli-"

"Yeah, you better be." She spat as she hooked her arm around yours. "Insulting my girl like that- why don't you all actually do your jobs and kick the real troublemakers out? Like that pig there, taking a nap on the floor. He tried to hit me and my best friend!" The blonde pointed her ivory-white acrylic nail to her bleeding ex, who seemed to be slowly regaining consciousness.

His eyes widened as he seemed to recognize the waking man. "O-oh! That's-!"

Before he could finish his sentence, the woman dragged you away from the scene. Pushing you by the shoulders and pulling you by the hand. You looked behind you to see the security guard entering the room while frantically speaking into his walkie-talkie.

"You're new. What's your name?" You were snapped out of your frazzled trance when she spoke. Her pace was slowing into a leisurely walk when she deemed it safe enough. The blonde's arm was still linked around yours, though.

Her baby blues curiously stared at you, all that malice and rage she held earlier was gone. Replaced with friendliness with a bit of wariness.

You told her your name and stumbled over your words trying to explain your situation as fast as possible. You made sure to thank her for saving you.

"Your friends are gross for abandoning you like that." She scowled. "I hate fake bitches like them, they should like, get shot in the head or something."

Your mouth gape open at her extreme remarks. Is this how socialites usually talk?

You defended your friends, telling her that they didn't abandon you. They probably just lost you as everyone scrambled to hide from security.

"Yeah, you're definitely new here. They knew what they were doing. You came with five others, at least one should be hiding from security with you." She brought you into a grandiose bathroom. The blonde finally lets you go and approaches the vanity. "Those sluts used you."

Miss Maciovelli pulled a tube of lip gloss from her mini handbag and began doing touchups. You simply watched her, not knowing what to say. Well, you should have seen it coming. Big city dwellers are known to be cutthroat, and you just met them.

"Sorry babe, but that's the reality here." She smacked her lip and wiped away any imperfections with her thumb.

You scratched the back of your head. You asked her if she could show you the exit, it's been a long night and you want to go home.

"You don't wanna stay for a little?" She asked, turning to you. "You're hot, I'm sure you'll have fun. I'll get rid of those snakes for you, if that's what's holding you back."

You shook your head, feeling exhausted after everything you went through today. You asked her if she's going back to the party, wherever that may be in this mansion.

"Duh." She bobbed her head.

There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Until she decided to fish her phone out.

"Number." She extended her hand and brought her phone, numpad side to you.

You picked it up and entered your phone number. It's saved under your name, but you doubt that she will remember you after today.

"Oh, so that's how you spell it." She mumbled, looking at the contact name.

You watch her keep her device away before fixing her hair in the mirror again. She used a nail to adjust her eyelashes.

"Okay, let's go." She linked her arm around yours again, escorting you out of the bathroom.

You and she walked past numerous rooms and halls, some had excited shouts coming from them, some had salacious moaning and some had loud booming music. When you were nearing the core of the alcohol-fueled rave, the noise from massive speakers was nearly unbearable. You even had to cover your ears in order not to blow your drums out. But the woman didn't even flinch, she continued strutting along with you in tow.

You saw men and women feverishly dancing along to the beat, the surroundings were dark and illuminated by colorful strobe lights. Good thing you weren't epileptic.

"Heyy..."

You turned your head to see one of your friends. She's wasted beyond belief. "You... you made it! C'mere, I want you to meet-"

"Fuck off, whore!" Barked Miss Maciovelli, she yanked you along with her. Ignoring the expletives coming out from your friend's slurring mouth.

You asked if that was really necessary.

"Yep. They won't get the hint if you're this nice." She answered. "They'll keep trying until you're dragged down to their level. Don't ever disrespect yourself like that." She sternly warned you.

All you could do was nod meekly.

Eventually, you reached the exit. It's as grand and fancy as it was on the inside. You see a massive water fountain in the middle of a looped road. Yet, no cars could be seen but there were hoards of security milling around.

"Wait here." She left you on the marble steps as she approached a uniformed staff member. You watched them exchange some words before she marched back to you.

You thought that this was the end of your meeting with her. So you told her thanks and bid her goodbye while referring to her as Miss Maciovelli. She scrunched her nose up in disgust.

"Ew. That's so fake. Don't call me that." She crosses her arms over her chest, and you can see pale tan lines on her skin.

You asked what you should call her instead.

"Mercedes." She replied immediately. "You know, the car."

You told her that it's a beautiful name. She smiled and flipped her hair.

You told her that you better get going, it's late. Mercedes narrowed her eyes at you and grabbed your wrist.

"And how are you going to do that? It's an hour's drive from here to the city."

You said you were going to take the bus, that's how you got here in the first place. Worst come to worst, you would call a cab.

She shook her head defiantly.

"I'm driving you home, no way am I trusting those weirdos to bring you anywhere."

You told her that you would be fine and that you didn't want to be a hassle. To that, she rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, shut up." Mercedes punched your arm playfully.

A hot pink convertible then rolled up in front of the two of you. Its headlights are heart-shaped, you thought it was cute. "Miss Maciovelli?" Said the parking Valet.

"C'mon, don't be difficult." She urged you to get in through the passenger's side.

"This is your place?" She asked with a tone of incredulity. "Looks... plain."

You wouldn't call it plain. It's small but cozy. It's also all you can afford at the moment with your job, that's why you were planning to network around to get better opportunities.

"Hm." She hummed, releasing her grip on her pink, fluffy steering wheel to fix her hair.

You got out of her car and said goodbye. She didn't say a word but watched you get to the front door.

You look behind you to see her staring, so you wave bye. But she neither budged nor returned the gesture. Simply staring at you like a hawk. Feeling a bit creeped out, you went into the lobby.

Only then did she drive away. What a strange woman.

You sighed and trudged to the lift, pressing the button and resting your forehead on the cold, metallic panel. Well. There goes your only contacts in the city, they're all not good for you.

You didn't even get to know Mercedes's number, so until she texts you first, you're completely alone.

The lift opened to reveal no one. As usual. You don't think you've seen your neighbors yet, thinking they're either avoiding you, extremely busy, or extremely reclusive. Or living in an entirely different timezone.

When you reached your room, you decided to boot up your computer. While waiting for it to be functional, you did something else; preparing the things you need for a relaxing bath and boiling some water for tonight's five-star dinner: instant noodles.

You spent the night researching Mercedes, only searching her first name predictably bringing up results of the luxury car brand with the same name. But as soon as you searched for Mercedes Maciovelli, you began learning a lot about her.

She is the heiress of a very successful, multi-billion conglomerate company. Her family owns more businesses than you can count in two hands, they're also huge and famous companies. Banks, grocery stores, and even planes. It's scary how her family possesses this much power. That was such a silly thing for her ex to say, that if it wasn't for him, she would have been in poverty. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.

However, she is no stranger to paparazzi as she frequently mingles with high-profile celebrities, gets into physical altercations, and goes wild in nightclubs. She is nothing like what was expected of her as someone who grew up in "old money". She's associated with words like "bitchy", "fiesty", "trashy" and "Messy". Whereas her peers barely have any information available about them online, they stay out of trouble and act too elegant for the paparazzi and tabloids to take any interest.

The most interesting bit about Mercedes was her dating life. Your eyes bulged out of your skull, seeing the seemingly unending list of boyfriends she had over the years. It's almost like she has a new one every month, but there are never repeats. Articles, gossip pieces, and smear forums about Mercedes are just so prevalent, that you think you're getting a cramp on your finger by just scrolling your mouse.

In the end, you're sick of seeing the public bash the blonde. It gets old and you're becoming tired. Perhaps aging has already caught up to you, but you cannot stay up past 12.

You decided to shut your computer off and head to bed.

It's been a few days since that party. Your "friends" kept texting you, trying to get you to join one more of their trespassing escapades. You gave them excuses upon excuses because you're not interested in such a lifestyle.

"Aw, don't be such a lame-o," Drawled one of the girls as she shook your shoulder. "Come on, it'll be fun! You had fun!"

The other girls continued egging you on in this expensive cafe. You were already uncomfortable meeting them here, as you can barely afford the cheapest of their pastries. At least the ambiance looks amazing in photos. If only you owned a digital camera...

You let out a nervous chuckle as you tried to decline as much as you could without offending them.

"There's another one tonight! You should totally come with us, I got like, the routes and everything already!"

"Yeah, think of the cute guys that's going to be there!"

"OMG, I heard Retro Rhymes are going to be there!"

"Really!? The rapper!?"

You sighed as they chatted amongst themselves. You silently picked at your muffin with your fork, that was the cheapest thing on the menu and the price was enough to give you eight of these back home.

Eventually, they must have forgotten your existence. Because they continued talking until they left the building. Not saying a bye or sparing a glance in your direction. Leaving you to sit at your table alone and brooding.

Well. You shouldn't expect much when it comes to friendships here. Many people come to the city solely to make money and have fun, after all. Not so much finding true, lifelong connections.

You took a sip of your black coffee. Again, the cheapest thing you could get from there. You couldn't even afford sugar or milk with it.

Suddenly, a manicured hand slammed a cup onto your table, shocking you and making you accidentally spill some of your drink onto your blouse.

"You should try this, it's so good. Way better than your boring-ass black coffee, I bet." You recovered from your initial shock to crane your head up to see Mercedes staring down at you from above, her soft, golden hair falling to your face.

You greeted her, asking what she was doing here.

"I could ask the same of you, seeing that you're pretty broke. But I saw how you still hung out with those sluts even after I told you not to." She cocked an eyebrow as an unimpressed look crossed her face.

Today, she wears a simple, lacey crop top and a pair of low waisted jeans. You got to know that she had her belly button pierced.

You sighed once more, burying your face in your hands. You told her you don't have a choice, it's a cold world out here and you need someone to fulfill that human need for socialization. Now that you have calmed down, you decided to take a better look at the drink she gave you.

It's a tall, plastic cup with a dome cover. It's an ice-blended, creamy mocha with chocolate syrup drizzled on the sides of the cup. It has a healthy dollop of whipped cream on top and a thick straw is sticking out of its opening.

"Um, hello? You have me." She moved away from you and took a seat next to you, she ordered the same thing. Mercedes shook it around before taking a sip. "You don't need them anymore, I'll be showing you the ropes."

You thought about it for a while. There is definitely a non zero chance that she will play you like a fiddle, but it's much better to have someone high up there in the hierarchy. Even though she isn't necessarily a mature businesswoman yet, you would still have a better chance to brush shoulders with relevant people. Not... Partygoers.

So then, you agreed. Picking up your cup and taking your first sip.

It was tooth-rotting. It was good, but you knew if it wasn't for sugar, this cup would not even be filled to half. The sheer sweetness of the treat made you grimace and pucker.

"What? Don't like it?" She asked, looking bored.

You said it was nice, but a bit too sweet.

"That's the point. I like it sweet." She took another sip from her drink. "Keeps me full for hours."

You... Don't think that's how it works. Isn't it usually the opposite effect? Whatever.

For the next few hours, you and her chat about almost everything and anything. Ranging from each other's histories, to each other's interests, to oddly philosophical questions and personal views on things. There were quite a few differences between you and Mercedes- obviously so, as she was raised by the uber rich and you were raised by... Your guardians, but you liked how she kept her mind open and was non-judgemental about you.

It was refreshing, really. Someone you could somewhat be real with, unlike your previous set of friends where you had to put on the most guarded mask in order not to feel like a pathetic lowlife around them.

You were curious about her dating habits, but you think it's rude to ask about it this early on in the friendship. Plus, it never came up, so you decided to save that question for another day. You bet if she's willing to open up, it will take more than just a few hours.

It's getting late, you should leave.

So you stood up, secretly in disbelief at how you finished the entire thing of diabetes. You told Mercedes that you have work tomorrow and you're going to need to leave soon.

She frowned. "Boo. Boring."

You said that you have to be "boring", you don't have her type of money.

"And it's literally just six in the evening. It's not like it's six in the morning or something." She huffed.

You said you have been in this cafe for seven hours.

"They don't close til 10."

Still, you have to get back home. You're tired.

She stuck her tongue out at you.

"Fine. But I'm driving you home."

You said there isn't a need for her to do that, you could take the bus.

"Let's go, you need your beauty sleep." She ignored you and grabbed you by the arm, pulling you along with her so quickly that you struggled to keep up.

Weeks would go by and you would meet Mercedes every Sunday in a different cafe of her choosing. And these meetings would increase in frequency each week, to a point where you were eating all three meals with her daily. She would always foot the bill and refused to let you pay for anything, talking about how you're so poor, that you're probably fighting rats for the scraps at the bottom of the dumpster. It's an absolute win for you; no cooking involved and you haven't eaten instant noodles for months now.

The five girls you originally started off with seem to lose interest in you, they never texted or called you again. And when you did bump into any of them, they would pretend not to know you.

It's extremely obvious that they're avoiding you for some reason, maybe it's because they've seen you buddying up with Mercedes: one of their sworn enemies and one of the most feared figures in this city.

It's... Surprisingly sad. Knowing that the friendship was doomed from the beginning didn't change the feeling of isolation and hurt in you. But at least you gained something that resembled a friend.

Mercedes would gradually increase the frequency of her texts and calls, hitting you up whenever she's bored out of her mind.

"Stop working letz go shopping"

"U r SO going blind in ur 30s"

"nerd :-P"

"im boreddddddddddddd"

"go clubbing with moiiii"

"letzzz goooo"

"stop ignoring me :-("

These were just some of the few text messages you would frequently receive, blowing up your phone even when you're in a meeting. You would usually need to turn it off entirely to keep yourself quiet.

But yes, you would go shopping with her. Mercedes seem to have a kick out of spoiling you with clothes, jewelry and other things you can only dream to buy.

You didn't like trying on clothes, because Mercedes would barge into your changing room however and whenever she liked.

"What's the big deal? We're both girls." That was what Mercedes would say when she slips into the cubicle, while you're mid-change without any warning. Of course, you would react negatively to that, especially since you don't know her that well.

In the end, though, you would just give up and let her come in. It's not like you could stop her and she isn't doing anything too weird... Aside from her vaguely longing stares at your partially or completely unclothed body. She would almost be in a trance, staring unblinkingly for long periods of time until you snap your fingers in front of her face. She just claims that you're just too hot for anyone to handle.

Mercedes would contact you via your phone, asking if you would want to go clubbing with her, or if you would want to be her plus one to an event. And each time, you would say no. And each time, she would whine about how lame you are but never pushed too far.

A temporary boyfriend would take your place, only for her to break up with them the next day and appear in another tabloid for some scandalous fighting or dating. When you asked her about it, she would get moody and irritable. She would rant about her feelings and problems with the world at large, finding the dating pool now repulsive and general standards insanely low.

"Ugh! Can you believe that he said that to me?"

You would have to nod, it would end her ranting faster. It's always the same phrase over and over again, with slight variation.

"I wish men were just like you, I would find it so fucking easy to commit to a guy. But they're not, so I rather shit my hands and clap. Oh my god, he was so pathetic and gross."

You could recite her words at this point, you got it the first time that she wishes she could date a male version of you. Mercedes didn't have to repeat that every single time you and her met up.

For her sake and yours, you pray hard that she finds what she's looking for. You don't know how much more of her repetitive complaints you can take.

All your other attempts to network and make connections fail. As soon as any of them knew you were Mercedes's "bestie", they would either run for the hills or become actively hostile toward you. She has made a lot of enemies and you don't think she has any girlfriends... Only orbiters or those who tried to get her approval but secretly hated her guts. Or die-hard fans who don't see her as a human, but as an object, whether for better or for worse.

She kept them around, just because she could benefit from them. Mercedes would bring them along to some of your many shopping sprees with her just so they could carry heaps of heavy bags for the two of you. While you and her get to enjoy the day, completely unburdened.

It unsettled you how she treated them like lowly servants, or even more degradingly so, like dogs. And not like one of her spoiled Pomeranians, but mutts that are bred to work and live off scraps of attention. You could be having a spa day at the city's finest specialist, sipping on complimentary champagne, and having your hair done with products that you cannot even pronounce; Mercedes would make her lackeys wait outside. Yet, they appear happy about this treatment from her. Eagerly following Mercedes and by extension, you, wherever you go.

It didn't matter who you tried to befriend, Mercedes's opinion of them would remain constant: They're all two-faced liars who are out there to kick you when you're down. It never changed despite never even meeting them or you made them up. She's fiercely protective of you, and always assumed the worst of everyone, even her own relatives when they tried being cordial with you.

Of course, the friendship has blossomed to the point where you would have a slumber party at her multi-million mansion every Friday. You wouldn't even need to bring anything, she would have everything ready for you; clothes, toiletries, hairdryers- anything you need to survive from day to day, you would have a more luxurious version of it. She definitely has an affinity for bling, as the tops that Mercedes provides always have rhinestones decorating them.

You were living in opulence, a lifestyle that can only be seen on TV, in magazines, or in history books. It's jarring and almost dreamlike how you got to experience such things just by chance. You didn't have to work hard for it, you just need to endure a spoiled blonde's clinginess to receive all these. What a steal. You had maids and butlers that would await your every order, personal chefs to whip up something delicious in a second, and hunky pool boys to ogle at when you tan with her outside.

You just wished that Mercedes wasn't so touchy, though...

"Like, sunburn isn't cute. C'mon, don't be such a hardass, turnover." You would groan and do as you were told, laying flat on your stomach and adjusting your sunglasses. Mercedes would then squeeze a handful of white sunscreen on her palm, and begin rubbing onto your exposed back and legs.

She would always take her time running her hands over your skin, sensually massaging from the base of your neck and down to your bum. Her flesh would glide against yours, reaching all that she could touch and occasionally squeezing your cheeks down south. Whenever you complained, she would say:

"What? Not my fault you have a bubble butt. No one can resist giving a squeeze." And continues fondling you under the guise of preserving your youthful skin from the harsh sun rays. You would sigh, slumping your head down as Mercedes continued doing whatever she wanted. It's her house, her money, and her influence after all. You're just riding on it for free. And it's not like anything is going to be too weird, you and her are both girls!

"Okay, I'm done. My turn." She would hand you the bottle of sunscreen and flip herself over. It's undeniable that she has a body that even Aphrodite would be envious of, thanks to a combination of genetics, her lifestyle, and other procedures. Mercedes does put in work in her personal gym, toning her body and alluring men everywhere. Her bikini would leave very little to the imagination, but it made sense why she needed much more sunscreen.

"Make sure to get it on here too." She would purr, playfully wiggling her plump rear. This would usually prompt an eye roll from you and a giggle from her.

She's soft to the touch. And you knew that not because you would have to smear sunscreen on her, but because she would often cuddle with you. It didn't matter what you were doing, you could be stretching in her living room, and she would wrap her arms around your waist. You could be curled up on her fluffy sofa, watching a sitcom, and she would crawl up all over your space. You could be sleeping, and you would wake up to her being the big spoon. And she would have the audacity to whine about how you ruined her sleep by moving around.

But you must admit, she is comfortable to cuddle with. Especially when you rest your head on her voluptuous breasts, allowing yourself to sink into them and inhale her sweet, floral perfume. It would be heaven squared when she would rake her long, acrylic nails through your hair. Mercedes would let you twirl with her golden strands, playing with them between your fingers.

You think, maybe it's because she's just lonely and a big fan of physical touch. It must be exhausting to constantly think every single person in the world is out there to get you. But does she have to be so... gross?

"I just want it." Mercedes would whine, demanding that she wants your drink. You would ask her why, you also drank out of this straw anyway.

"I didn't like my order."

You pointed out that you ordered the same exact thing as her.

"They didn't make it right!"

You asked her what made her think they made yours right.

"They just do!"

You said it's just going to be the same thing. Why not throw hers away and order another one, seeing that she has near infinite amount of money?

She would groan in frustration and stomp her heels on the ground. "It tastes better after you drank from it, okay!? I don't know what it is about your... fucking saliva that makes something so mediocre, tastes so good. Now, gimme!" Mercedes would snatch it out of your hands and swapped it with her one.

You drank more than half of yours while Mercedes barely touched her cup. Well, more for you, you guess. At least everyone is happy.

This habit of hers would extend to utensils, you knew she would purposely drop her dessert spoon just to eat from yours. Mercedes would steal your clothes, claiming that your outfits are always cuter than hers, and she's jealous.

But she chose and bought you these clothes...?

You were so used to her antics, that one day, Mercedes gave you a new brand of gum to try. However, when it touches your tongue, you immediately grimaced as it was the most atrocious flavour ever.

"Whaatt? Are you fucking serious? That's like, my favourite flavour!" She would look at you in disbelief. And you would look at her in disbelief, because this was the first time seeing her buying this brand.

You told her that you wanted to spit it out, it's awful.

"Don't waste it!" She hit you on the arm. "Spit it in my mouth." Mercedes would part her lips wide and bring her face close to yours.

Without thinking, you expelled the partially chewed up candy into her orifice... which she gladly accepted and began chewing on it. Sucking whatever flavour that was left on, including your fluids.

"What are you talking about?" You could hear her obnoxious chews between words. "It tastes fine, you're so dramatic."

Upon realizing what you just did, you would shudder in disgust. Quickly walking away as if you're trying to run from the memory.

Soon after, Mercedes would permeate through every aspect of your life. It seems like she had a chat with her parents about offering you a job at one of their firms. A high standing one at that, too.

You obviously accepted it and resigned from your previous post. Now, THIS is what you're talking about. A prestigious job with unbelievable benefits and tasks that doesn't seem too hard for you to do. It's everything you wanted you achieve, ever since you arrived at the city.

Well, minus the fact that your bestie who got you this position would intrude your office every chance she gets and talk your ear off.

"Ughhh... this is so boring... Let's ditch this place and go somewhere fun." She would rest her head on your shoulder while shaking you by the arm.

You said you can't. You have work to do.

"Says who?"

You said your boss.

"Who's your boss?"

For the fifth time, you told her the name of your supervisor. But instead of complaining, she would storm out of your office. At first, you thought she would leave you alone, maybe she's tired of bugging you and got the hint that you're a responsible adult with adult jobs.

But, ten minutes later, she would be barrelling in with your boss in tow. She had him in a very unsavoury grip, her hands tightly clutching his sleeve.

"Tell her!" She demanded.

"Y-you're free to go. Someone else can cover for you."

Your eyes would widen, asking if this will affect your pay.

"Not at all. Don't worry, I will have this... agreement in writing. Please e-enjoy the rest of your day." He would then quickly excuse himself from the room, avoiding Mercedes's fiery glare.

You looked at her. How could she just do that?

"My Dad owns this company, duh. Anyways, less talk, more walk." She hooked her arm around yours and dragged you out of the office.

It's as if her father was paying you just to babysit his bratty, adult daughter. You barely get to do anything for the company! You don't even know what you were hired to do in the first place anymore.

It gets extremely suffocating being her best friend, you don't know anyone around except her. The staff in her mansion is always rotating, so you wouldn't see the same face twice. You barely remembered your supervisor's names, let alone any colleagues'. All your free time is robbed by Mercedes, she saturates every single second of your life. You don't remember not seeing Mercedes's pretty face on the daily, yet it's astonishing how she would get the paparazzi on her for constantly dating a new roster of boys each season and getting into catfights with other women. Where does she find the time to do that?

It's rubbing on you, now you begin to crave a boyfriend. A 'boy toy', as Mercedes would call it.

It shouldn't be too hard, you know that you're good-looking; you have the clothes, the hair, the makeup and you can always steal from your filthy rich best friend. Your bank account is a little chubbier now thanks to Mercedes. If you just put yourself out there, you're sure boys will flock to you.

But you shouldn't tell this to Mercedes, you get the vibe that she would be jealous that you're stealing the spotlight. You aren't trying to do at all, you're just curious to know what it's like to live like Mercedes for once.

So you had to do it secretly. You would always decline her requests to join her clubbing, preferring to favor sleep over drug-fuelled parties. But recently, you would cover up your eyebags with concealer just so you could introduce yourself to the market. It goes without saying, that you're not tagging along with Mercedes, you went on your own and told not a single soul.

And it was a success! You have never received so many free drinks from men before, you even witnessed some of them fighting over you, all physical and mock-macho. It was hilarious and flattering, but the other girls would avoid you like the plague and shoot you nasty looks your way. It's much worse than you expected it to feel, you feel... rejected, alienated, and ugly. Was this how Mercedes felt? Is that why she thinks all other women are out for her blood? Well, you understand it now. And some of the boys would be really creepy towards you, it doesn't feel so good on the soul knowing the people who defended you from those weirdos are also creeps themselves. They just wanted a piece of you as if you were just a slab of meat in a cage of hungry wolves.

Though, it would be a big, fat lie to say you didn't feel free. You felt the freedom that died on the day Mercedes took you under her wing. It tasted so sweet, you wanted more and more. You were so addicted, that you took illicit substances just to keep you awake for longer, to party until the sun rises.

You were leading a double life: As Mercedes's goody-two-shoes bestie in the day, a bad girl gone wild at night. Make out with whoever you want to, drinking as much as you want and shaking yourself to the beat of the music until you drop.

You knew Mercedes was suspecting something was up, but at this point, you give no shits. This is your life, and you get to live it.

It didn't last long, though.

There was one night in particular; you remembered that they had a massive disco ball in the middle of the ceiling, reflecting every ray coming out of the projector. It was deafening, the smell of booze and sweat nauseated you but you didn't notice. The DJ was bopping his head to the rhythm and scratching records using his fingertips. The patrons were doing their own thing, some were dancing like no tomorrow, some were locking lips and some were snorting lines. It was one of those types of parties, the one where you first met Mercedes. Except this time, you successfully snuck in without your ex-friends and finally found the core of the rave.

Your hair was frazzled and you had a few wardrobe malfunctions, but why should you be bothered by that? It's not like everyone around you were dignified at all, you blend in and that's all that matters to you.

The details were fuzzy, but you remembered wondering what it was like to make out with a woman instead. Men had pretty rough lips and they smelled like crap. Why not experiment? You're here anyways, and no one is going to recognize you- whatever happens in this mansion, stays in this mansion. Plus, you already have a willing participant next to you, who has been hitting on you all night.

Later in the dark, you became bold from a mix of alcohol and whatever glowing pill you took from a giddy stranger. You pulled her aside to somewhere secluded, the two of you were clearly hot and bothered, deeply eager to explore each other's bodies. Nothing else matters in this moment, other than to satisfy each other's needs.

She pulled you in by the neck, pressing her full lips against yours. And you were correct, it was soft, fragrant, and delicious. A thousand times better than kissing stinky boys. You closed your eyes and melted into her touch, sinking deeper and deeper into the kiss. She's on top of you, straddling your hips and your hands are rubbing all over her body. The woman, who you didn't even know the name of, trailed kisses from your jaw down to your collarbones. Her slender fingers began to stray from your chin and roam downwards until it was dangerously close to the hem of your panties. You let out a muffled moan as she let her tongue taste every corner of your mouth, neither of you could speak. And neither of you wanted to, words weren't necessary.

However, your ecstasy was cut short when your lover was yanked backward. Confused, your eyes immediately shot open at the first taste of emptiness... only to witness something scaringly horrific.

"Fucking slut! How fucking dare you, how fucking dare you touch my girl!" Shrieked Mercedes as she had an iron grip on your lover's hair with one hand, and another was whaling on her non-stop. She was screaming in terror as your best friend inflicted as much damage as she could on her face. Scratches, punches, cuts, she had done it all. Mercedes pulled clumps of hair out from her victim's scalp and dodged every attempt of her to fight back. She was fast, fueled with the purest distillation of rage you have ever seen, mascara streaked down her face as she shouted until her voice was hoarse. Blood splattered onto her light-hued hair, her outfit was ruined and no doubt, a thousand dollars worth of acrylic nails were ripped from her nailbed as she threw brutal punches.

You panicked, trying to break the fight up but Mercedes was entirely immersed in anger that she didn't care that she lost her natural nails along with her false ones. She's also bleeding, scarlet painted her fingertips, knuckles, and up to her wrist as she went on tormenting your lover with more hits and pummels. At this rate, Mercedes might just kill her!

You attempted to restrain her, but she was too strong, easily overpowering you just so she could beat your lover to death. There was so much hatred simmering in her heart for this one stranger, this one woman you're sure she's never met. Why!? Why her!? Why would Mercedes attack her unprovoked!?

The fight, which was one-sided ended a few minutes later when your lover stopped moving and was covered in gruesome welts. Her eyes were swollen shut and there was blood pooling around her from her nostrils, scalp, and lips.

"You."

Growled Mercedes. She was breathing heavily and all her strands were out of place. Tears were flowing down her bloodshot eyes as she trembled.

You were speechless, you quivered in fear as you looked on. In the end, all you could mewl out was a meek "Why?"

This caused her to wail, scream, and sob. She brought her injured fingers to her head and gripped her hair, letting out all her frustrations and agony before composing herself enough to form a coherent sentence.

"Fuck you, Whore! Fuck you!" She pointed at you, her shrill voice was making your ears hurt, but you're glad she wasn't biting them off instead.

You said you didn't understand what was going on, why was she so upset.

"You were into girls all along! I-I-" She sniffled, ungracefully wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Soiling her face with her own blood.

"I'm... in love with you..." Her voice quietened as it wavers, Mercedes choked on her own tears as she confessed. "Why didn't you tell me...?" She gasped erratically as she cried. Suddenly, there was a spike in her emotions. "Why didn't you fucking tell me?!"

You took a few more steps backward as she lost control over herself again, she had to kick your already unconscious lover with her heels to calm herself down.

"I wanted you! I..." She let out one last bloodcurdling scream before lunging at you.

You tried evading her, but she was just too experienced in this. Within seconds, her hands are tightly wrapped around your neck; Choking them until blood rushes up your head. You clawed and clawed on her hands, but nothing worked. She was determined to kill you.

She gnashed her teeth as she choked the life out of you, her salty tears rolled down her cheeks, taking some concealer along with it showing that she also had severe dark bags under her eyes.

You started seeing spots, and your thinking became redundant as your brain shuts down from the lack of oxygen. Is this it? Your death? Killed by a nepotism baby with her bare hands?

You took one last look at her face, it was filled with pain and anguish.

You regretted agreeing to come to the city.

She was yearning for you, ever since she bought you that first drink. If you knew the depth of her twisted, obsessive love she harbors for you, running for the hills would have been your immediate reaction.

Mercedes cried herself to sleep almost every night, suffering from a heartache that could never heal itself as long as she knew you were straight. She knew that you would never share her feelings, because she was taught that everyone sees lesbians as freaks of nature.

She tried distracting herself with parties, boys, booze, and coke. But nothing worked, all she ever thought about was you, you, you. She loves you and wanted nothing but to be your lovely wedded wife. Oh, how she longs for a life where it's just you and her. And no one else.

Mercedes couldn't let you go, no way in hell. That's why she would scare off anyone who got too close to you for her liking, that's why she sent out hit after hit to eliminate the competition. Because if she can't have you, no one can.

But now...

"Sit."

You frowned, refusing to budge from your spot.

Mercedes pouted, she cupped your cheeks and stared deep into your eyes.

"Bad puppies don't get treats, you don't want to be a bad puppy, do you, baby?" She cooed in a babyish tone but with heavy condescension.

You couldn't speak, because there was a ballgag between your lips. Yet, you stayed still in defiance.

She narrowed her eyes at your disobedience.

"That's how you're gonna be, huh." Mercedes lets go of your face and sticks her hand into the pocket of her bathrobe. You heard a click, and soon you felt insane vibrations between your legs, it's coming from the vibe taped to your clit!

You let out a muffled yelp as the stimulation made you buckle to your knees, and eventually, you were on the floor, helpless as your hands were tied up behind your back. Juices leaked from your slit and onto the cold, smooth floors.

"Good girl~" She praised in a sing-song voice. Mercedes happily clapped her hands together.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you were about to be overcome by pleasure, but... the device suddenly stopped moving. Leaving you incomplete and agitated.

You whined and whimpered, wanting your rightful climax but Mercedes only smiled at your pathetic, squirming state.

"Aww, what's that? Puppy wants to cum?" You feverishly nodded, face burning from the degradation.

"Well, only good puppies get their pussy eaten. Are you a good puppy?" She rested her hands on her knees.

You nodded and let out a muffled yell.

"Roll over."

You tried your best to do that, but the frigid floor is stimulating you further.

"Play dead."

You lay still for a few seconds, your sex is still throbbing in arousal.

"Good girl, good girl!" She praised, giggling at you.

You whimpered, having tears bead from the corners of your eyes. You need that release so badly, it's starting to hurt.

"Mmm... you're so fucking hot..." She whispered as she slowly got down to the floor, slipping her hands between your inner thighs to remove the toy. Her pupils are dilating at the sight of your naked, dripping crotch. "I can't wait to eat you out. You always taste so fucking delicious." Mercedes brushed your puffy lips with her fingers.

"Open your legs."

She didn't have to tell you twice, you granted her full access.

"Good girl..." She purred before dipping her head down to drag her wet, pink muscle over your pussy.

You writhe as she tongue fucks you, lapping up everything and not letting a drop of your sweet, sweet nectar go to waste.

You would spend almost every waking second being 'trained' by Mercedes. Her treats are sex and the overstimulation of your pussy until you faint. You never knew that she was such a nymphomaniac, or maybe she just is that for you. Mercedes just couldn't get enough of your essence, so you're subjected to such treatment.

Well, at least you don't have to work anymore. You get to eat five-star meals and sleep in a mansion, and you get to binge-watch all your favorite shows guilt-free. All you had to be was Mercedes's pet and have her eat you out whenever she wants.

Her beloved Pillow Princess; was embossed in gold, on the hot pink collar around your neck.

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localplaguenurse · 3 months ago

Text

Helmet Head

Pyramid Head Capitano x GN Reader Smut (Kinktober Week 2)

We're on week 2! This one might already be my favourite because I got to experiment with more horror writing. As a result, this one is a lot longer than Arlecchino's. I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: Violence, body horror, blood, mild gore (honestly not really but might as well get my bases covered), other horror elements, dubcon (reader is into it but they’re also very scared and in a really fucked up situation), tenta-tongue.

Minors DNI

Your footsteps pound against the filthy tiles as you run almost blindly down the dark hallway. Screaming won’t do you any good, so you instead loudly gasp for the air your burning lungs are begging you for. You just need to create enough distance between the thing pursuing you that you can reload and take aim.

You stumble over and drop your flashlight in the midst of the fall. You hit the ground, and you hear a crack when your flashlight does as well. Quickly you roll over and sit up, and see the flickering of your dying flashlight.

“Fuck, fuck!” You go to reach for the light but stop at the sound of something staggering towards you from the darkness, pained croaks and garbled yelps echoing in the hospital’s hallways. You don’t know how it managed to close the distance, but you quickly snap out of your flight response when you realize this thing will be on you before you know it.

You find your revolver still affixed to your hip, and quickly jam your hand in your pants pocket to fish out the few bullets you scrounged up. The unstable stomping of the monster echoes through the decrepit hallway, barely audible over the pounding of your heart in your ears. You pop the chamber of the revolver open and in the dark and in your terror, you struggle to load the bullets in.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you mutter to yourself as you manage to load one, two bullets, but fumble and drop the third. You reach down and hurriedly try to find it. In your haste, you end up knocking the bullet away. It rolls into the flickering light of your flashlight, and then a bloodied, torn boot stomps down in the light.

You shriek, quickly closing the chamber and lifting the gun into the air. You squeeze the trigger, and you see a flash of the contorted man staggering as blood bursts from his shoulder, the deafening shot rings in your ears. You pull the trigger again, and in the flash you see blood burst from the misshapen head, and that’s when it lunges forward and pins you.

You scream and thrash, pulling the trigger over and over again, but feel none of the knockback of the gun going off. You shove the heavy body off of you and keep firing. You keep pulling the trigger until your hearing returns, and you realize the only sounds you can hear are your ragged breathing and the clicking of an empty gun. You don’t hear the monster gurgling or trying to move.

You pull yourself to your feet and stumble towards your light. You pick it up, and sigh in relief when you see it was just the lens that broke. The bulb is fine. With your light, you find the bullet you dropped in your panic. You pick it up and stick your hand in your pocket, and realize with horror that it’s empty. This is your last bullet. You have to make it last, and you have to make it count.

You point the light at the body on the ground and cringe in revulsion at the sight of it. The doctor’s uniform is stained red and brown and black, and you don’t know how much of it is blood, or if knowing that would be any real comfort. The face is the worst part, if you can even call it that. It’s misshapen, bubbled up and swollen like a blister or cyst ready to burst. There are filthy bandages wrapped around the head, but it looks like the almost blubbery skin has meshed with or even grown over the bandages in places. Matted teal curls sprout from the top of its head. In one of its gloved hands is a large knife, caked in all sorts of filth.

You don’t remember how you got here. By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here. The last thing you remember is sitting down at the bus stop after a night out with your friends. You don’t remember getting on the bus, you don’t remember the ride, and you definitely don’t remember getting off that bus in this place. You were watching cars pass you by in the bustling city and wondering if Ajax made it home safe, and then you were waking up on a completely different bench, in a completely unfamiliar town with crumbling buildings and a perpetual fog.

You’ve been here a few days now. You’ve given up on looking for help. You don’t know what happened here, but you learned very quickly that whatever “lives” in this foggy town isn’t going to be human (at least not anymore), nor is it going to be friendly.

You’ve already encountered a few of these… fleshy bubble headed doctors, but it doesn’t make looking at this one any less horrific. They’re all over the hospital, stumbling and limping down hallways until they see something human, something living, and then they give chase. The only thing that gives you any comfort is that they’re one of the few things you can actually kill. These and those weird puppet doll things you saw in an old apartment building you checked out when you first arrived. Ironically they looked the most human compared to these doctors. Most of them had already been taken care of by the time you found them, split in half, heads crushed, short black hair torn out, absolutely brutalized. You didn’t stick around long enough to meet who or what did all of that.

You take a deep breath, and steady yourself. You’ve spent long enough in this fucking hospital. You cautiously reach down and pick up the knife the doctor is still gripping even in death, and having to touch this foul thing makes your stomach twist. Still, if you want to make it out of wherever the hell you are, you’re going to need whatever protection you can get. You doubt this knife will help you much, but it’ll better your odds.

The halls are unsettlingly quiet now on the trek back. You cautiously poke your head into open doors, seeing if there’s anything worth taking or avoiding. There’s not much as far as useful medicine or bandages go. A lot of it is either expired, or contaminated, or you’re not even really sure what the hell it is to begin with. No bullets either.

Your light begins to flicker again, before going out. Swearing, you stop to try and fix it. Fixing it, of course, being smacking against your thigh. You end up knocking the rest of the glass out as you do, but after a couple hearty hits, the light flickers and comes back to life.

You sigh, and lift your light up to look right into the malformed face of another doctor.

You do not have the opportunity to scream before the rusty pipe slams hard into your side. You cry out, toppling over on the floor. You clutch your side, and through the tears welling up in your eyes you see the shadow lift its arm back up to swing at you again. You fight through the pain and manage to crawl back enough that the pipe slams down into the cracked tile between your legs. You orient yourself and raise your flashlight. The doctor struggles to stand up straight again, but it still has a vice’s grip on the pipe. It painfully winds its arm back and steps closer to your terrified form.

You quickly feel for your revolver, having lost track of the knife when the doctor first attacked you. You whip it out and pull the trigger, assuming that at this proximity, there’s no fucking way you would miss. Dead fucking wrong you are when this thing lunges forward to swing the pipe at your head, missing your face by millimetres while your bullet misses what would have been a perfect headshot. The flash of the gun going off lights up the hallway, and for a brief second you see a spark of ricochet just behind the doctor. Panicked, you pull the trigger again and only get an empty click. As the doctor prepares for another swing, the only thing you can hear are your thoughts.

Should have saved it for myself.

You brace yourself and hope that it’s a nice, quick swing to the head, and lights out for you.

The hit never comes. You watch the doctor stop dead in its tracks and let out a horrid, garbled scream as blood bursts from its chest. Warm droplets hit your face, and you see a large protrusion jutting out from the blood soaked coat. A blade. A sword?

The blade is pulled back out, and the doctor crumples to the floor, twitching and gurgling before finally going still and silent. That’s not what your focus is on, though.

It’s humanoid, and unfathomably massive in height and build. The skin of its arms is discoloured like a days old corpse, littered with scars and almost stained with blood. They’re also huge, the veins bulging from the biceps as if to tell you this thing could very well crush your skull with one hand if it so chose to. Considering the large, almost claymore-like blade it’s dragging around, you’re not surprised. It appears to be wearing an all black butcher’s smock, and you can see the fresh blood on the leather reflecting the beam of your flashlight. Your eyes continue moving up to its face, and find nothing. It dons a helmet that obscures the entirety of its head, save for its long, inky black hair. It almost looks like a knight’s helmet, with a metal jaw piece and a small chain dangling on each side of its head. Where the visor would be, there is none. Where the face would be, there is none. It’s a void, a maw of never ending darkness, and you can feel the abyss staring down at you.

Frozen, you stare back. You don’t know what else to do. You don’t have any ammo, you don’t know where the knife is, and you doubt the pipe would do anything to this thing. Hell, it might even just kill you if it sees you move.

You feel sick to your stomach with fear as it slowly raises its free hand up to the helmet. There’s a sort of star shaped cross on the very front of the mask, and it gingerly touches one of the points. You look right at it, and see that while three out of four points are sharp, this one is missing the tip. You wonder what it’s doing, then recall the scene that just transpired. When you shot at the doctor, you were going for a headshot, and it missed and the bullet ricocheted off something. It hit the helmet and broke the little star tip.

“S-Sorry…” you mumble, and you don’t think your voice has ever sounded so small.

The monster… thing… man lets out a noise. A sort of grunt of what you think is affirmation, but you only think that because this thing isn’t trying to kill you. Its staring is not comforting at all, but the fact it’s only staring gives you enough assurance to slowly and methodically stand up. The thing lifts its (his?) head as you do so, still watching.

On your feet, you find that he still towers over you. You put your gun away and just stare back. He stands statue still, this helmet headed figure, though you can see his fingers twitch around his blade. You’re scared and torn on what your next move should be. He’s blocking your only way out of the hospital, and you hate the idea of getting closer to him to try and shimmy past, but you fear the thought of taking your eyes off of him for even a moment to backtrack and look for another way out.

… Well, he still hasn’t killed you yet. Maybe you could talk to him?

You clear your throat, and force yourself to meet where you think his gaze is. “Th… Thank you,” you tell him, voice still a little shaky with looming anxiety. “You saved me.”

His hand twitches at the sound of your voice, and you feel a shiver run up your spine. Still, he doesn’t try anything, just continues staring at you. You take a step forward to test the waters, to see if he’ll do anything. The only thing he does is turn his head slightly to keep you in his line of sight. You feel weird for thinking it, but the hulking, helmeted figure is kind of...

You take another step forward. “Can… Can I m-move past? I’m just trying to get out of here, I-I don’t wanna bother you.”

A groan echoes out of the helmet when you get closer, freezing you in place. After a moment of quiet, you take another step, and this time it sounds more like a growl.

“Okay, I-I’ll take that as a no…” You step back, mindful of the doctor’s body. “Are you unable to let me through?”

He tilts his head.

“Like… do you need something from me? Is there something I can do or get for you to let me through?”

The man straightens his posture and sort of grumbles, but you can’t make out any words. It’s hard not to shrink under his gaze as he seemingly sizes you up head to toe. It’s very nice how he’s not killing you or chasing you down the dark halls, but you’re already regretting your offer to help him. What could you do that this hulking behemoth can’t, but also, you know doing a favour for anything or anyone in this place is bound to be a traumatizing endeavor.

You jump when you hear the screech of metal scraping on the floor. You’re immediately reminded of the actual fucking danger you’re in when the beast begins to approach with heavy footsteps you can barely hear over the scraping of his blade dragging on the floor. Fear seizes you and you immediately turn to run, but you’re not given the chance to do so before a strong hand grabs your arm. You try to pull free, but his grip is unrelenting. You’re pulled towards him with more strength than you could imagine, which sends you stumbling into his chest.

You hear the clatter of his blade dropping to the floor, and his other hand grabs your other arm. You try to move, but he squeezes your arms tight, quietly telling you to knock it off. Your heart pounding, you look up at his helmet, wondering what he’s thinking and how the hell you’re going to get out of this.

“W-What do you want?” you ask.

After a moment of holding you and staring, you see something writhe in the darkness of his helmet. Confusion and fear twist in your stomach as you watch it slip out from within the helmet. It’s some sort of tendril tongue, you think, blackened and slimy. You watch as it traces along the metal jaws of the helmet before slipping back into the darkness.

What?

You have no idea what compels you to do this, but you find your eyes drifting down his body. To your shock, you see something poking out from under the smock—

OH.

Your jaw drops, face going pale yet also burning up. What the fuck. What the fuck. Is this thing asking for you to take care of that?!

You tear your eyes away from the prominent tent in his crotch and look up at him. You point at it. “Y-You want me to help with that?”

He groans deeply, his tongue flicking out for a brief moment.

You swallow, and you weigh your options. Is refusing even an option, or would he just kill you? Hell, with his strength and the size of his bulge, that alone might kill you. It’s probably something weird, too, knowing what you’ve been dealing with since arriving. That said, your other option of trying to look for another exit while there are still monsters roaming isn’t much better. You’d walk (or crawl, more likely) away from this alive, at least. Probably.

There’s also a little voice in the back of your head telling you you’re probably going to die in this town anyways. If you’re going to die, it’s not like this is going to make your fate that much worse. Might as well get laid before you kick the bucket.

“...” You swallow. “Just go easy on me, please?”

You shriek when the ground beneath you disappears, and you’re swung over his shoulder effortlessly. Looking behind him, you see the full glow of the exit sign, and then he starts to walk away, back in the direction you came from. The scraping of his blade on the ground is grating on your ears.

The man, Helmet Head as you’ve decided to call him, turns into what you think is an empty exam room. He lifts the blade, and with a loud clang, stabs it down into the ground. You hardly have the chance to process what’s going on before you’re more or less dropped on the floor. You try to sit up, but Helmet Head plants his hand against your chest and firmly pushes you back down. So much for going easy, you think, but can’t deny the bizarre thrill you feel. You vaguely recall making fun of Ajax for his weird and dangerous tastes, but he might have been onto something now that you’re in the weirdest and deadliest situation you think you’ve ever been in.

Wasting no time, his large gloved hands grasp your waist and digs his fingers under the waistband of your pants. You yelp when he yanks them down, and you hear the unmistakable sound of ripping denim. He tosses them aside, and goes to grab onto your underwear, but you throw your hands up in defense. “Hold it, I-I got it.”

Helmet Head watches you awkwardly pull your underwear down. He doesn’t even wait for you to toss them aside before his hands are on you again. He grabs hold of your legs and shoves them against your chest, folding you in half. You can feel his gaze focused on your sex, your heart pounding in your chest.

You watch as his tongue slips out from the darkness of his helmet. With his hands still hooked under your knees, he lowers his massive body with a groan. You can feel and hear his hot, heavy breathing echo from his helmet and fan over your chilled skin. Goosebumps raise up on your skin as you realize what he’s about to do.

You think you open your mouth to protest, to tell him to slow down, but the thought is gone the moment you feel his thick tongue slip into your hole. You gasp and jolt, whining as you feel it twist and writhe deeper inside you. Shocks of pleasure shoot up your spine at the feeling, making you moan with every movement. You scrape your nails against the tile in an effort to steady yourself.

He grunts and groans as he slowly pumps his tongue in and out of you, the debauched sounds sending heat through your whole body. The only reason you’re not writhing uncontrollably is the death grip Helmet Head has on your legs. You almost want to grab his head to pull him closer, but there’s still that somewhat logical side of your brain that tells you it’s not worth the risk of provoking him. That voice is mostly drowned out by your own cries of pleasure as his tongue sinks deeper inside you, pressing into your sweet spots with ease.

Abruptly, his tongue slithers out of you and disappears into the helmet again. You whine at the empty feeling, lamenting how good it was starting to get. The lamenting is cut short when you are unceremoniously flipped over onto your stomach. You go to sit up on your hands and knees, only to be shoved back against the floor, cheek pressed against the cold, dirty tiles.

You hear the click of buckles, the shifting of leather rubbing on leather. You hear the echoey rasping of Helmet Head, and then you feel something nudging against you. Your eyes widen. You’re actually doing this. You’re actually going to fuck this thing. You take a deep breath and attempt to relax your body as much as you can. You didn’t get a good look at his cock, only the outline of it from under his smock, but you know it’s gonna be huge.

He nudges the tip against your whole, pressing into it. You whine at the stretch, and gasp when it finally slips inside. You feel your stomach flutter and your face go pale. This is only the tip, and yet it feels so much thicker than his tongue. Still, you try to control your breathing and relax yourself.

The agonizing stretch as he slowly inches deeper and deeper inside you is absolutely maddening. You’re forever thankful that he at least listened to your request about going easy, but that only helps you so much. You’re not in pain, but the feeling is so overwhelming that it feels like with every inch that manages to sink further inside your hole, the less air you’re able to breathe.

You shudder in relief when you feel his hips finally press up against your ass. Warmth fills your body at how full you feel with him down to the hilt inside you. The little air you have in your lungs is immediately knocked out when Helmet Head begins to draw back. He slips out about halfway before he abruptly pushes back into you, making you shriek in shock and pleasure.

His pace is by no means brutally fast or hard, but he sure as shit isn’t soft and gentle with you. Every breath is knocked out of you in some vulgar moan or profane sob whenever his fat cock is thrust into your sensitive spots. You feel shame, you should feel shame. You should feel shame and disgust for letting such a creature defile you, and yet you don’t. In fact, it somehow makes the pleasure more intense, knowing how wrong this all is, knowing the danger you’re in right now.

“More,” you choke out between moans, “f-fuck me, I need it, I want it!”

You shriek when he draws back all the way only to immediately slam back down to the hilt. You feel your eyes rolling back, drool running down your chin as he repeatedly slams back into you at full force and full speed. Your chest burns as you try to breathe, but the suffocating feeling of his fat cock stretching and filling you only makes your head lighter and your body hotter.

Your whole body shakes and your teary eyed vision goes white as you feel your orgasm hit you full force. You clamp down on Helmet Head’s cock, but neither that nor your climax slows him down. He doesn’t stop, even when you start clawing at the tiles, shrieking that it’s too much, he’s too much. He doesn’t stop when his unrelenting pounding forces you into a second orgasm, or when he brings you to overstimulated tears.

It’s when you’re somewhere between your third or fourth climax, or while you’re still experiencing your third, that Helmet Head roars and slams into you so hard that he pins your hips down into the ground. His body goes rigid, his panting just as loud as yours, and you let out a pathetic little sob of relief that the pleasure has come to an end. That’s when you feel him swell inside you, and warm floods your insides and spills out at the edges. You whine and try to move away, but his weight is holding you in place against the floor, forcing you to take every drop he has to give you.

It feels like an eternity before the heavy weight of his imposing figure finally lifts. You’re so exhausted and your throat is so raw that you hardly have the strength or voice to whine when he finally pulls out. You weakly reach down between your legs, feeling his seed pour out of your stretched hole.

Despite the ringing and pounding in your ears, and the dizzying pleasure clouding your mind, you’re just cognizant enough to hear the outside world. At first, you think the sound is just the ringing of your ears, until it starts to get louder. It’s an awful, wailing noise, and it takes you a moment to realize you know what that sound is. It’s a siren, it’s the siren, the siren that goes off when everything is either about to go to shit, or it’s about to be less shit.

You heard Helmet Head groaning again, and you just barely have the strength to roll over and look. You watch as he gets to his feet, adjusting the straps on his smock. He reaches over and wraps his gloved hand around the handle of his weapon. Effortlessly, he yanks it free, and for a second you wonder if he’s going to impale you right here.

Instead, you watch as he completely turns around and heads for the door, dragging his weapon behind him. He turns in the direction of the building’s exit, and soon disappears from view. You can still hear the screeches of metal on tile echo down the hall, slowly growing quieter before disappearing altogether.

You lay back on the floor, your head flopping to the side. You find yourself peering under one of the medicine cabinets, when you notice something odd. There’s something underneath it. With little strength and aching legs, you manage to crawl over to the cabinet, You slide your hand underneath and are just barely able to reach the strange item.

You pull it out, and your eyes widen. It’s a full, albeit small, box of revolver ammunition. You feel a smile curl onto your lips, and let out an exhausted laugh. Looks like you’re not dying that soon.

Maybe you’ll live long enough to see him again.

#capitano #capitano smut #capitano x reader #minors dni #genshin smut #kinktober #tw monsterfucking #tw blood #tw horror #tw body horror

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