Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The round after Chance had figured out that they were quite possibly a were-plushie, they worked extra hard to protect their team. He took extra risky shots at the killer, (who happened to be Mafioso, one of Chance’s worst enemies) from around corners, worked to distract from vulnerable teammates, and even helped Elliot with first aid for a bit. He didn’t miss a single shot. Lady Luck was on his side tonight. It pleased him greatly to see the anguish and rage on Mafioso’s face as soon as the round ended and everyone was teleported back to camp.

Chance didn’t waste any time hopping into bed after a nightcap and quickly saying goodnight to his teammates. They were ready for the praise and snuggles he would get tonight after a good performance. God, did they yearn to be cozied up to Twotime, pet gently and kissed sweetly.

But as sleep took him slowly, a sense of unease washed over him. He did not feel safe in that moment.

Jolting awake, Chance found himself atop a tall shelf. A shelf that was not in the survivor’s common area. The view that the plush gambler was met with was nothing short of chilling. An office furnished with mahogany and elegant velvet chairs, glass double-doors leading out to a courtyard, and Tuscan style doors supposedly leading out to the hallway. It was gloomy and dark; brooding, one might call it. Far too refined to be part of the log cabins in the survivors camp. There was only one person in the world that he could connect to such an office, and the thought of that person coming in to see him like this terrified poor Chance.

As if on cue, Chance heard heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway, hard, expensive soles clicking against the hardwood floors. Muttered Italian got louder and angrier as the footsteps grew closer. Chance felt himself tense up out of habit, then forced himself to fall limp and keep his breath steady. The large mahogany doors leading to the office were slammed open, the tails of a black trenchcoat flapped and billowed like a flag as a towering figure stormed into the room, snarling like a wolf. The doors were promptly slammed shut with excessive force, echoing like a gunshot around the empty office. The figure stood with their palms against the doors, breathing heavily and suppressing the urge to damage any more of their own personal property.

Their gaze was cast upon the shelf that Chance sat on, and a chill of pure terror ran through Chance as he saw the figure’s face. Don Michael Sonnelino, mafioso and head of the Sonnelino family, a man Chance owed a heap of debt to, and a killer trapped within The Realm of the Forsaken, purely focused upon making Chance’s existence here a living hell.

Chance felt like running, reaching into his coat for his flintlock and shooting at the don in a desperate attempt to thwart him, but right now? He was either going to have to sit there and take whatever punishment was coming his way or risk getting torn apart like a leaf in a hurricane. They sat still as a statue, swallowing a lump in their throat as the mafioso paced up to him.

A leather glove was wrapped around Chance’s throat, squeezing tightly as he was brought to Sonnelino’s chest. His cologne was overpowering, tainted with sweat and cigar smoke, faintly metallic scented with the blood of Chance’s recently slaughtered teammates. A toy squeak emitted from Chance as his neck was crushed, a proper whimper threatening to escape his lips. Shutting his eyes tightly, Chance trembled as the mobster traced his clawed fingers over the plushie’s head.

“There’s only so long you can run from me, Chance,” Don Sonnelino spat, gripping Chance’s stuffing filled head. “I hope you feel every bit of pain I’m ‘bout to inflict on this thing.”

Chance felt all the wind get knocked from his lungs as he was thrust to the floor with the force and speed of a baseball. A heel swiftly met with the back of his head, grinding his face into the ground and causing the gambler to bite back screams at the anticipation of breaking bones. Nothing broke, of course, as plushies don’t have any bones, but the pain was comparable. No human was built to feel the pressure of their head being squished until the inside of the front half and the back half touched. No human was meant to feel their thoughts turn to senseless sludge as their brain was mashed.

“You fucking like that, you little freak? You like getting stomped out like a goddamn cigarette? Fucking fag?” Mafioso growled, lifting Chance’s head but keeping the rest of his body pinned to the floor with his foot. The gambler could feel the stitches on his neck straining to keep his head attached. He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it out alive or in one piece that night.

Chance had certainly felt limbs being ripped off before dying and respawning in the common area of the survivor camp, and he had certainly experienced decapitation on a few occasions, but this was certainly a different can of worms entirely. He would be alive for every agonizing second that he was torn apart, and there was no hope of a reprieve in the form of a brief death.

The gambler whined, squeezing his eyes shut. They couldn’t help but make noise when his whole body was being squeezed of all its breath. It was a mistake, really! Chance hadn’t meant to let any sounds of pain slip! Don Sonnelino stopped dead in his torture of the plush toy, hesitantly lifting his foot and nudging it lightly. Chance dared not make a sound or movement.

After a minute or two, the mafioso chuckled to himself and knelt down to pick up the toy version of his debtor, gripping Chance firmly around his arms and torso. Chance was held to Sonnelino’s face, catching the glint of his eyes just under the shadow of his wide brimmed fedora. He seemed amused at what he had thought he had heard.

“Not so tough now are ya’, Chancey boy?” The mob boss rumbled, squeezing Chance like a stress ball, stuffing threatening to burst the marksman’s seams. “If only I could catch you at this size, I’d have you squealing like the rat you are. Squeeze your eyes right out of your goddamn skull.~”

Don Sonnelino seemed to delight in the images he conjured, grinning sadistically and showing off his unnaturally sharp teeth. Chance was on the verge of pissing themselves, if they had a bladder. They feared no other killer as much as they feared Mafioso. He was brutal, as ruthless and sadistic and dangerous as a medieval warlord. Chance had seen what could happen to anyone who crossed him and dared hesitate before being caught. That’s why Chance could never afford a moment to be caught. Sonnelino was right; Chance couldn’t run forever, especially not now when the Don was frustrated and aching to let his anger out on a seemingly inanimate object.

As soon as Don Sonnelino grabbed Chance’s face and began to squeeze, blocking all air from entering the poor plushie’s lungs and causing agonizing pressure to build until Chance swore they could feel their brains oozing out of their ears and blood vessels bursting in their eyes, the plush was helpless against his own instincts to survive.

The plush toy thrashed in Mafioso’s hands, lifting digitless paws to ‘claw’ at the large man’s callous fingers, letting out a muffled scream into the Don’s palm, kicking with all his might. It was a helpless, bloodcurdling, stomach churning scream of a man that felt he was on the brink of death. Not a sound anyone would expect to come from a toy.

Don Sonnelino promptly chucked the toy at a wall, cussing loudly in Italian. Chance cried out pathetically as the wind was knocked from his lungs once again, pain radiating through his entire body as he bounced off the wall. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, and he curled into a ball, groaning in pain. He may not have bones to break, nor organs to rupture, nor blood to lose, but that made all the pain just that much worse.

The plush shielded their face as they were quickly grabbed by the collar of their coat and lifted like a cat. He felt the world sway as he was rushed across the room, and he nearly vomited on the spot as he was dangled precariously over the open fireplace, flames licking at the bottoms of his feet and heat roaring in his ears.

“Tell me what the fuck you are or I’ll drop you in the fire,” The Don snarled, holding Chance as far away from himself as possible.

Chance had never seen Sonnelino this obviously afraid. Of course, his anger at his fear was all the more reason to answer quickly, as it was quite obvious that the Don wasn’t bluffing. He never was one to bluff.

“Mickey, c’mon!! We can talk this out! Just put me down! N-Not in the fire! Please please please please!! I’ll shut up, I’ll be a good toy, I don’t wanna’ die! I can’t getcha’ your money if I die here, please!”

Chance clung to the mafioso’s hand, lifting his feet to his body as Don Sonnelino’s grip faltered for a moment. Sonnelino didn’t say a single word as the gears turned in his head, his rabbit-like nose twitching in mild agitation. His long, black ears laid flat against his head as he stared at Chance clinging to his arm like a frightened animal.

As the plush version of Chance looked up to Don Sonnelino, embroidered grimace trembling much in the way the real Chance’s lips would quiver whenever he was caught during a round. The mafioso slowly backed away from the fireplace, still holding the sentient plushie at an arm’s length. Chance was carefully lifted to eye level and studied inscrutably, ice gray eyes searching over his felt sunglasses.

“Answer my fucking question. If I don’t like yer’ answer, you’re gonna’ be incinerated,” Sonnelino threatened, his voice steady. What truly gave away his fear was his pinprick pupils, darting frantically over the toy in his hand, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not this was real.

Chance gulped, swinging in the mafioso’s hand.

“I-It’s me. Chance? I-I-I really don’t know how I got here, I don’t want to be here. Please, Don, you’ve gotta’ believe me. Just lemme’ go, I’ll be outta’ your hair, I won’t come back ever again! Last you’ll hear from me! Hey, I’ll even stay out of your way during rounds when you’re the killer! Just don’t put me in the fire, Mr. Sonnelino.”

The don considered Chance’s words for a moment before relaxing his broad shoulders, a wicked grin creeping across his lips.

Chance did not like this reaction. It foretold a bad fate for him.

“Oh Chance,” Sonnelino crooned, pulling Chance closer to his face and tilting his head in condescension. “It’s just my luck that you ended up in my hands this evening, powerless to defend yourself or escape. Do you really think I’d let you go that easy? When a golden opportunity has fallen right into my lap?”

Chance grinned sheepishly and shrugged, lifting his paws.

“Maybe? If I were real nice about it?” Chance squeaked.

Don Sonnelino let out a humorless chuckle, tossing Chance in the air slightly before wrapping his hand tightly around their middle, pinning their little plush arms to their body. The mob boss had been reminded of his inherent power over Chance, which was just reinforced by the situation he had been dropped into. It was one hell of a coincidence, but it was a welcome surprise.

“You really are as stupid as you look,” Sonnelino remarked, heading for the door leading into the hallway. “I’m gonna’ make sure that every minute you spend here is a living hell. Even if you’re here to spy on us in your disarming little disguise, I’m sure my boys wouldn’t let your cuddly lil’ face get in the way of driving a certain point home.”

The plushie swallowed hard. ‘My boys’, referring to the Sonnelino Mafia’s strongest soldiers, sent ice into Chance’s very soul. Four of Don Sonnelino’s most ruthless, brutal, loyal, persistent men, all of which were dedicated to making sure Chance wouldn’t get away from their boss during rounds. Four men that Chance had been face to face with far too many times and four men that he knew would take great delight in torturing him that night.

“A-And what point would that be?” Chance dared to ask, shrinking into himself as the mafioso strode down the dark, imposing halls of his mansion, heading for his soldier’s parlor. The gambler was quite lucky that the whole Sonnelino mafia was not forsaken with the don, and only 4 in a chain of command were admitted.

A pair of double doors were wide open to the hallway, smoke and laughter and jazz music emanating from the room. As the mob boss entered the room, two gentlemen sitting on the couch, one by the pool table and another at the bar looked up to greet their boss, but all merriment stopped as they locked eyes with the thing their boss was holding.

“Uhhh, boss?” A man on the couch, wearing a chauffeur's cap and vest asked. “Is that a uhh… doll?”

Don Sonnelino grinned, gripping Chance harder before tossing him onto the coffee table. Everyone gathered around to look at the strange creature that was thrown to them like a piece of steak to a pack of hungry wolves. Chance scooted back as far as he could from the towering onlookers, gripping his blazer like a safety blanket.

“Shit,” One of the mafia men breathed. This was the caporegime, captain of the team. “Is it alive?”

Vincent poked Chance hesitantly with his billiards cue, as if trying to discern if a piece of roadkill was still breathing, and if he should put it out of its misery. Chance pushed the cue away and slid backwards, gazing frightfully up at the caporegime.

“As far as you four are concerned, it’s Chance,” Sonnelino growled, lighting a cigar for himself as he circled the table. “I want it taken care of. I want him to remember tonight, but leave him alive. Am I clear, gentlemen?”

A murmur of understanding passed around the room before the mafioso turned to leave the room, coat tails billowing. Before the doors shut, Don Sonnelino turned his head, exhaling a ring of smoke, and smiled at his men.

“I expect a thorough job done. Do as you see fit. G’night, boys.”

A collective “Night, boss” was exchanged, and the doors to the parlor were shut. The room was silent for a moment as the mafia men assessed the sentient plush toy that had been flung their way.

Chance was surrounded by the group of men, blocking out most light from the ornate lamps decorating the room. He scooted as close to the middle as he could get, and curled up on himself, peeking between his arms at the mafia men grinned down at him.

“Well well well,~” a snide, gaunt man in white said. “Looks like we’ve got a special little guest visiting us tonight.~”

This man was Don Sonnelino’s consigliere, only a rank under him. His name was Beaux Neige. Chance recognized Neige immediately, his tall white top hat and nasal voice had become an omen for the gambler. Any time he saw the consigliere coldly brandishing his sword in the distance, whispering with his boss and cackling high and nasally, like a crow, Chance knew he only had a few minutes to get the hell out of there. Beaux never allowed himself to be seen by targets until he had nailed down their location and was about to strike. Chance hated how arrogant he looked, all fancy-schmancy and nonchalant before unleashing a previously unseen fury and unhinged madness upon Chance as he darted around alleyways.
Beaux extended a silk gloved hand and tilted Chance’s chin upwards with one finger, sneering a grin in amusement at the toy in front of him.

“Did somebody lose their dolly?” the consigliere taunted, pouting his lip slightly and tilting his head in mock sympathy. He laughed, the other goons joining in his jeers as Chance shivered. Not just from fear, but something else. Something that he could not let these men see from him.

“Awh, poor thing,” the man in the leather vest and chauffeur’s cap cooed, getting right in Chance’s face, pinching his cheek. He reeked of whiskey and black coffee, and his teeth were yellowing. “He can’t even fight back, he’s so itty-bitty! Look at his sweet little hat and coat, all fancied up for a tea party.~”

This man was the lowest ranking man in the Sonnelino mafia, merely an associate, a contract killer that would help the mafia in exchange for pay and security. Anthony Esposito, though low ranking, was as ruthless as the made-men, taking great joy in getting to kill as messily as he could manage, then making it look like an accident. He wasn’t as clean as the others, but that’s what differentiated him from the men that had spent almost their entire lives and careers in the mafia. Chance was lucky to escape him the first few times before he had been Forsaken, but now that he was in an endless loop of life and death, Chance might have become Tony’s newest favorite target.

“Don’t take it so harshly, shortstack,” A Russian accent rumbled from behind Chance, snatching his fedora off his plush head. Chance grabbed his head too late, whirling around to look up at who was messing with him now. “‘Itty-bitty’ is good when it comes to toys. Means they’re easier to break.~”

The Russian henchman was the largest and strongest of the group, bulging biceps exposed by his rolled up sleeves, littered in scars and thick hair, and a fur ushkana sitting on his head. It was hard to see the white rabbit ears poking out the top of it, but they twitched and swiveled, trying to pick up any noises of discomfort from his new toy. This was Aleksandr ‘Sasha’ Volkov. He was one of Don Sonnelino’s favorite pet soldiers. Not just admired for his brute strength, but his obedience and dedication to the job. Too many times now had Chance gotten his teeth knocked out by Sasha. Too many times now had Chance flinched at the merest suggestion of a Russian accent.

“Oh, don’t break it, Sasha,” a fat, bald man in sunglasses chided. “I want a turn with him before we gotta’ send him home.~”

This was the caporegime of one of Don Sonnelino’s teams, leading soldiers on missions, Vincent Sfumato. From what Chance remembered about the guy, he was a cop that was corrupted by the Sonnelino mafia. After retiring early, he used his skills from his previous job to train and recruit soldiers. He had a hot temper and an even hotter left-hook. He took any and every opportunity to be on the field, taking out targets and subduing them with his useful ‘crowd control’ tactics, ie; his baton and his fists. Chance had thought he could outrun the old man when they first met. They severely underestimated Vincent. They came out of the experience clinging to life by a thread, bloody and battered and bruised. 6 broken ribs, internal hemorrhaging in his intestines and lungs, a concussion, and broken blood vessels in the eyes. Chance was sure there was more damage, but he couldn’t quite remember the long list of ailments the nurse had read to him on his hospital bed. Too high from the morphine.

Consigliere Beaux, Caporegime Vincent, Soldier Sasha, and Contractee Tony. Four of the men Chance had been ruthlessly harangued and beaten by these last few months in limbo. And now they had more than an hour to catch him and torture him, no time limits, no constraints, and no boss to tell them to back down. And Chance wasn’t full sized, so he couldn’t run or fight back or shoot at them. The mafia had the clear advantage here, besides being on home turf. They really could do anything they wanted to him, and the thought frankly aroused him.

“What are we gonna’ do to ‘im, Cap? We got any protocols for what to do with fluffy little teddy bears?” Tony asked, looking hopefully to Vincent, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Vincent chuckled darkly and lifted Chance into his arms, cradling him like a baby doll. Chance kicked and squirmed, trying to scoot as far away from Vincent’s face as possible, but the caporegime held tight, his rough, massive hands keeping Chance pinned in the crook of his arm against his chest. God, his hands were about just as big as Chance’s whole body, massive and warm and heavy. Chance was gently bounced and made kissy noises at, a humiliated burn coming across their cheeks.

“I’ll tell ya’ what we’re gonna’ do with our new toy,” Vince cooed, baby talking down at Chance. “We’re gonna’ play with him.~”

“Ah,” Sasha sighed, a grin splitting his chapped lips. “I’ve been working far too long to remember what it is to play. I’ve been needing a break.~”

Sasha reached out for Chance’s face before scratching him gently behind where his ears aught to be, underneath his fabric headphones. It was too soft, too gentle and sweet of an action for it to be coming from a mobster. Chance’s breath picked up as warm waves washed over their body, warming his loins and instinctively making his thighs squeeze together. They unconsciously leaned into Sasha’s hand before jolting back and grimacing at what he had just felt. Everyone had certainly noticed his reaction.

“Awwwh, cute lil’ fella likes being pet!”

“You like that, boy? You like being a good puppy for us?”

“You want a belly-rub, Fido? Huh? Does the puppy wanna’ belly rub?”

“Dawww, c’mon boy, speak!”

Chance covered his mouth with a paw and whimpered, tilting his head back as Beaux began to gently scratch his chin. Their knees trembled slightly as the consigliere began wrapping his slender hand around his throat and squeezing lightly.

“I said ‘speak,’ mutt,” Beaux growled, squeezing tighter and lifting Chance from Vincent’s arms, holding him above his head and sneering up at him.

Chance swallowed hard, holding Beaux’s hand and trying to pry his fingers off of him to no avail. Beaux’s hand wrapped fully around Chance’s neck, choking the gambler and not allowing any more air into his lungs. A strangled dog-toy sound came from his throat as he kicked and coughed and gasped for air.

“C’mon, Chancey boy, play along,” Beaux said through gritted teeth, grinning like a madman. “What does the doggy say?”

Chance’s loins throbbed as he was choked out and compared to a dog, biting his lower lip as his vision swam and darkened at the edges. All he could manage to form with his struggling throat and trembling lips was one choked word;

“W-w-Woof….”

Chance’s was dropped to the floor with a dull thud. His lungs suddenly flooded with fresh oxygen, and his squeaker released the squeak it had been holding onto. He coughed and rubbed his neck with his paws, gasping for air as he kneeled on his hands and knees in the middle of the mafia parlor. Chance momentarily slipped a paw between their legs and tried to soothe their aching phantom cock, they didn’t care if they embarrassed themselves.

A leather boot was quickly scooped underneath Chance’s body, forcing him to flip onto his back. The sole of said boot pinned him in place
by the pelvis, a giant leering down at him as he squirmed.

“Oh fellas?” Tony, the owner of the leather boots, sang, pressing his sole gently into Chance’s crotch. “I think we all saw that, didn’t we?”

Chance’s breath caught in his throat as he was forced to make eye contact with the contractee, heart beating a million miles a minute, cock throbbing and begging for more contact and more humiliation.

“That dirty fucking mutt,” Vince grinned, crossing his arms disapprovingly at the plushie pinned to the floor. “He’s gettin’ off on being played with, isn’t he?”

Beaux knelt down beside Chance and rested his chin on his fist, eyes roving over his soft plush body, causing his face to burn at the scrutiny.

“This isn’t unlike you, is it, Chance?” Beaux sang, more stating a fact than asking a question. “You get off on your own humiliation, dontcha’?”

The room was silent as they waited for a response. Chance had been caught. Of course he got off on humiliation. He got off on being manhandled, treated like a toy, called names, and humiliated. This whole situation sat as inherently sexual in the gambler’s mind, and there was no getting out of the inevitable. He was either going to get a different type of punishment or the mafia was going to keep playing with him until he came. The gambler’s stuffing clouded mind found itself wishing more for the latter. They swore their lust would be the death of them.

“I do,” Chance admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I get off on being humiliated….”

The room erupted in uproarious laughter around Chance. Teary eyed, slapping knees, holding each other as they tripped over their own feet, the goons seemed genuinely amused by this news. Far more amused than Chance had ever seen them before. As the laughter slowly died down, Beaux grabbed Chance by the chin and hummed.

“You wanna’ get fucked by us, pretty boy?~” Beaux whispered, breath whistling between his bleach white teeth.

Chance nodded, bucking his hips slightly against Tony’s boot, breathing heavily and struggling to keep eye contact with the mafia’s consigliere. They needed it. They needed it from these men specifically.

“Please keep humiliating me, fellas. Please.~”

Tony stepped hard onto Chance’s crotch, grinning sadistically as Chance’s head hit the floor and his back arched. A low, shaky moan was raked from his lips as his cock was crushed by the giant boot between his legs.

“Safe-word is ‘Gubby’, sweetheart~,” Tony purred as he ground his filthy, heavy boot into Chance, staining his fabric with a big, black bootprint. “Repeat it back t’me.”

“S-Safe-word is ‘Gubby’, got it,” Chance repeated back, committing the word to memory. It would be easy to remember, as the Sonnelino mafia was famous for being made up entirely of Gubby hybrids, recognizable for their rabbit ears and cottontails.

Chance was placed back on the coffee table and surrounded by the goons, poked and prodded and teased by them as he whined and eagerly leaned into their touches. Sasha petted his hair, tugging on it occasionally to get a reaction, only at the base of his ponytail, close to his scalp. Vincent groped under Chance’s little custom made blazer, feeling up the soft fluffy fabric of his ‘skin’, tracing his callous thumbs over where his nipples would have been. Chance was happy to see that they still had sensation there, despite not having any nipples sewn on. Beaux traced his fingers over the seams of Chance’s crotch and ass, dancing tantalizingly just out of reach of where they wanted to be touched. And Tony massaged and pinched Chance’s plastic bead filled ass and paws, tickling his toe-beans with the tips of his fingers. It was all almost too much for the gambler to take, so many sensations happening at once.

“What a fuckin’ pervert,” Vincent chided, squeezing Chance’s chest between his thumb and index finger. “Betcha’ you were wishing we could do this to your non-pint-sized body, eh? You wanna’ be felt up by a bunch of men, all stronger and smarter than you?”

Chance arched their back and whimpered, squeezing their thighs together as heat quickly pooled between them. They liked being handled like this, with so many men paying attention to him, degrading him for enjoying the treatment.

“He’s a pretty little faggot, no?” Sasha joined in, yanking Chance’s hair so that he was looking up at all of them. “It’s like he was made just for our pleasure.~”

“Call me that again,” Chance purred, looking up to Sasha, mouth slightly hanging open. “Please.”

The soldier grinned and slid his thumb up to Chance’s mouth, a little surprised as the plush took it into his mouth, lapping at it and sucking on it obediently.

“Pretty little faggot.~ Licking my fingers like you’re sucking cock.~ I’ll bet that’s really what you want in your mouth, eh doggy?”

Chance nodded, sucking with a little more fervor. His velvet tongue swirled around Sasha’s finger, his stuffed cheeks hollowing around the intrusion. They nearly choked as it was shoved further, touching the back of their tongue and tickling their throat. They gagged slightly, but didn’t pull away, sighing through their nose to keep their breaths even.

“Good boy~,” Beaux praised, running a hand down Chance’s neck. Sasha pressed his thumb further into Chance’s eager mouth, causing the poor plushie’s neck to bulge slightly at the intrusion. It was so goddamn big, but that’s just how Chance liked it. Fuck it really was like sucking cock. Cock that stroked his tongue and wiggled deeper inside of him, exploring his throat.

“Oh, honey~,” Beaux chuckled, squeezing Chance’s neck slightly. “I can feel Aleks’ finger bulging through your throat.~ You’ve definitely sucked cock before, haven’tcha’?”

Chance let out a muffled moan in affirmation. He had sucked cock before, and he was a fucking champ at it. It was one of his most favorite things to do in the world; swallowing around a salty, throbbing organ probing into his esophagus, blocking breaths until he was seeing stars and turning blue, drunk on the taste of sperm and ball sweat. But Aleksandr’s fingers didn’t taste like that at all. They were soft, clean, and tasted of maple syrup and butter. It was just as intoxicating though. Along with that cruel grin that the soldier kept giving him. It likely wasn’t intended to be cruel, as that was just how his face was shaped, but either way, it sent a thrill down Chance’s spine and into their loins.

Sasha slowly removed his thumb, leaving Chance chasing the digit with his tongue, groaning and panting heavily. The soldier just chuckled and ran his finger down Chance’s tongue as a parting gesture.

Tony growled, grabbing a cigar off the table and lighting it with a match. He inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a moment, eyes closed in bliss, before exhaling the rich smoke through his nose, sighing in gratification. He took another puff from the cigar and exhaled it directly in Chance’s face as he made eye contact with the plush, smoke curling around the plush laying on the coffee table. Chance coughed, fanning the smoke away from himself and squinting up at the contractor.

“Better thank me for the secondhand smoke, pal,” Tony told the doll, leaning against the table and holding the cigar in his teeth. “I should be charging you for every gram of Cuban tobacco I’m burning here. $50 a cigar, that’s more than you get paid in a week. C’mon, breathe it in, it’s not every day a tramp like you gets to be around goods this refined.”

He held the cigar between two fingers before getting eye level with Chance and blowing smoke directly into their face, laughing as the gambler scrunched his face and coughed, hacking like he had phlegm stuck in his throat. But after a moment, he breathed the air, suppressing the urge to cough. It did smell and taste nice, and had a rich, smooth texture as it entered his lungs. It wasn’t as fancy as the cigars that Don Sonnelino frequently smoked, with the chocolatey smell that seemed to be infused into them, and the fancy gold labels. It was sort of nice to get the ‘scraps’ of a nice smoke tossed in his direction without having to pay for such a treat.

“Atta’ boy~,” Tony praised, cupping Chance’s cheek and taking another drag from his cigar. He leaned in and pressed an open mouthed kiss to Chance’s embroidered lips, smoke cascading into his own mouth.

Chance pressed his face closer, breathing the rich smoke deeply and greedily, a few ribbons escaping from the corners of their lips. Tony waited until Chance had gotten a nice deep breath before pulling him closer by the waist, deepening their kiss and shoving his entire massive tongue into Chance’s eager mouth. He tasted bitter, like coffee aftertaste and tobacco smoke, but it was a kind of disgusting bitterness that aroused Chance, the kind that seeped into his mouth as an acquired taste, turning his very soul black as tar as he yearned for more of the mafia man’s saliva spreading over his tongue. Chance hardly had a moment to initiate a dance with the muscle filling his mouth and stretching his jaw before Tony pulled back, lips wet and glossy. Chance had saliva dripping down his chin, soaking into his fur, smelling of smoke and black coffee. He panted, knees nearly buckling as Tony sat back up, drawing his hands away from Chance’s back and cheek. They hadn’t even realized that Tony was holding them up when they had kissed.

The contract killer licked his teeth and lips, grinning down at Chance like the cat who got the cream, abnormally sharp teeth glistening in the ambers of his lit cigar.

“Yer a bad kisser, y’know that?” Tony remarked. “Y’Didn’t even suck on my tongue or nothin’.”

Chance couldn’t even argue. He had been told he was bad at kissing on a few occasions, but this shouldn’t have been one of those times! He was just shocked at the sudden intrusion.

“Cat gotcher’ tongue, cupcake?~” Tony teased, passing his cigar to Vincent, nodding at him to silently give permission for him to enjoy it as well. “Well, at least we’ve got a solution when we can’t getcha’ to shut the fuck up. Better watch your mouth next round.~”

Vince pulled a drag from the cigar and coolly exhaled smoke from the side of his mouth, causing a grey cloud to settle over the coffee table, making the room slightly fuzzier around the edges and surrounding Chance in a slightly eerie fog.

“What the hell are we supposed to do if we want him talking?” Vincent asked, gazing down at the plush sitting on the table, still slightly trembling and swooning from the kiss. The caporegime offered the cigar to the man directly to his right, Beaux.

“Easy,” Beaux replied, taking the cigar from Vincent’s hands and flicking ash over Chance’s fedora like snow. “We do this;”

Chance’s arm was grabbed swiftly and pinned to the table before the ember of the tip was pressed into his wrist. Burning, nerve singing pain shot up the gambler’s arm, dragging a yelp of pain from their mouth. The synthetic fabric melted and blackened underneath the lit cigar, sizzling and popping like grease. Oddly enough, the smell of burnt plastic remained undetectable, instead, the air filled with the unmistakable scent of burning flesh and human hair.

“Fuck!! Jesus, alright! Take it off! Take it off! Fuuuck!!” Chance shouted, trying to yank his arm from the consigliere’s grip, but only getting the cigar pressed further into his delicate fabric. Consigliere grinned sadistically at the agony he was inflicting.

Hot, throbbing pain continued to course through Chance’s arm even as the cigar was withdrawn. Beaux smoothed his thumb over the circular burn mark and admired his work, biting his lower lip in satisfaction. Chance bit back a whimper as the sensitive ‘flesh’ was touched, heat sparking at the ends of his nerves like the fire that had burned him was now living in his veins.

“Violà, gentlemen,” Beaux boasted, showing off Chance’s scarred plush arm to the other men. “Gets him t’ talk, and it’ll serve as a reminder to the lil’ punk who exactly is in charge.”

Chance collapsed to his knees, running a paw over his new burn scar, trembling as heat surged through his veins and directly to his loins. They hissed in pain, but the pain was pleasurable. It quickly gave way to the fuzzy, floaty feeling they would frequently get when sexually aroused. It was nice to feel such strong sensations that all other noise was drowned out, and the gambler was in their own paradise.

“What do we say to Mr. Neige when he gives you a gift, gambler?” Vince growled down at the plush, crossing his arms and lowering his sunglasses slightly.

“Th-Thank you, Mr. Neige,” Chance breathed, turning his gaze to the consigliere and offering a shaky smile. He was on the verge of tears from the sensations coursing through his body right then. It felt sooooo good, it was a genuine ‘thanks’ to the man that had bestowed such pleasure upon him. Fuck, if it hadn’t been for Beaux, he wouldn’t have even gotten the good type of torture. These men knew how to induce pain without killing someone, and that was one step away from BDSM.

“I’ll be taking notes for the next time we run into him,” Sasha said, peering down at Chance with a wistful expression. “May I? Just as practice for the real thing.”

Beaux nodded and passed the half-burnt cigar to Sasha, leaning against the couch and observing what the younger man was preparing to do. Sasha didn’t waste any time laying Chance down on the table and yanking his blazer and shirt to the side to expose his chest. The gambler grinned and leaned his head to the side, allowing Sasha room to work.

The soldier slowly lowered the cigar to where Chance’s collarbone would have been. As soon as the ember made contact with his fabric, Chance let out a moan, long and breathless and high. He tried not to squirm or thrash, biting his lip and clenching his eyes shut. It sent wave after wave of white hot pain through Chance’s body, leaving periods of dizzying pleasure in between each wave. Sasha ground the cigar into Chance’s fur, twirling it between his fingers and singeing a new blackened spot into the gray fabric.

“Ay, don’t snub it out. We’re gonna smoke the resta’ that later,” Vince warned the soldier. He got up from his spot on the couch and gently shooed Sasha out of the way, holding out an ashtray for him to place the half finished cigar in.

Sasha obeyed, pulling the cigar away from Chance’s neck and gently placing it in the ash tray, making sure that the tip was still glowing. Sasha’s grip on Chance was released, and Chance finally had room to breathe. The gambler trembled and whimpered, a dopey smile stitched across his plush face. The mafia men snickered down at him through the heavy smoke, teeth and eyes gleaming in the low light as Chance stroked his neck, breathing heavily as he tried to force his swimming vision to focus.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say he looks ready for the main event,” Beaux crooned, unbuckling his belt, white rabbit ears twitching and flicking in anticipation.

The other mobsters seemed to agree, chuckling and growling as they slipped off their dress shoes. Chance immediately sat up as the circle of men closed around the coffee table. Their stomach was doing somersaults, their heart was in their throat, they wanted to be passed around like a blunt, used like the toy they were, cum on and inside of like a cheap whore. But they lacked something crucial.

Beaux slammed a gloved hand on the coffee table, the silver flash of a pocket knife catching Chance’s eyes. Seems that the consigliere also noticed that Chance was lacking something.

“But first,” He whispered, looming over Chance, a crazed, manic grin stretched across his weathered face. “A little surgery is necessary.~”

Chance felt cold metal prod at his crotch, causing them to flinch slightly. A switchblade, which Chance recognized as Beaux’s custom made knife, with an ivory handle and silver details, a curly ‘S’ etched into the end of the handle, was poking Chance’s crotch, digging into the stitches holding it together. Chance realized immediately what the consigliere’s plans were; he was going to cut a hole into him to fuck.

“Grab his arms and legs, boys,” Beaux ordered, voice taking on a mafioso-esque quality. “Make sure he can’t get away.~”

Tony grabbed Chance by the wrists while Sasha held one of his legs and Vince held the other. Chance was spread eagle on the coffee table, exposed and ready to be dissected like a specimen. Beaux laughed breathily as he brandished his knife in one hand, looking over the soft, plush body of a man he had hunted for endless years, pupils dilating like a shark’s as his prey trembled under his gaze. It was obvious that Beaux was going to enjoy this as much as Chance was.

Slowly, the consigliere lowered the tip of his switchblade to Chance’s crotch once again, and he traced shapes into the plushie’s thighs, plucking at his taut stitches like guitar strings. Every pluck and gentle scratch sent shivers up Chance’s body, making his eyes roll and his thighs instinctively clench. Then men holding him down didn’t relent though, keeping their grips firm on all of his limbs.

Beaux was focused, his hands steady and his eyes narrowed as he very carefully pressed down on an exposed thread. All tension in Chance’s nethers snapped as the first stitch was cut. The gambler sighed in relief, feeling as if a pair of tight trousers had suddenly ripped, releasing his arousal and baring him to the 4 men toying with him. Of course, Chance had nothing down there, only stuffing, so no cock sprang forth from their stitches, their pants (which were part of their body) staying intact. Beaux carefully worked to untangle the thread from the holes through the fabric, slowly working the plush open and exposing the soft, fluffy stuffing inside of him. And when the final stitch was removed, the open rip stretching all the way down Chance’s ass, the consigliere tied a knot with the thread at the base of his new hole, ensuring he wouldn’t unravel all the way. Beaux then sank the blade of his knife into Chance’s hole and swirled it around, stirring his insides gently, the tip of the blade poking at his tummy from the inside. Chance whimpered and arched his back, gazing down at the sharp bulge in his abdomen, moaning as it scratched down the fabric as it was pulled out agonizingly slowly.

“It’s a shame you can’t bleed, Chancey boy,” Vincent purred, leaning down close to Chance’s ear and whispering sensually into it. He curled two large fingers into Chance’s stuffing filled hole and scissored them, stretching the gambler wider for him. “We coulda’ used it as lube while we passed you around. I’m sure we would have enjoyed that very much.~”

Chance squirmed and moaned as fingers filled him up from the inside, touching some place sensitive close to his stomach. He didn’t even realize he could have a prostate as a plushie, but then again, most human sensations managed to stay after his plush transformation.

“V-Vinnie—” Chance choked, looking down at the man finger fucking him, little felt glasses furrowing like eyebrows. “I’m gonna’ cum, s-slow down.”

The caporegime pulled his fingers out and chuckled, squeezing Chance’s waist with one large, calloused hand, his gold ring digging into Chance’s hip.

“Savin’ your energy for the boys, aren’tcha’? Atta’ girl, you know who you belong to.~”

Chance whimpered loudly at that comment, swearing he could feel slick sliding down his thighs.

The goons finally released their grips on Chance and slowly backed up. To the marksman’s surprise, Beaux had worked his trousers off and was now jerking his erect cock in one hand, sneering down at the plushie laid out on the table for him. It was slender and nearly 5 inches in length. It reminded Chance of Two-Time’s cock, except for the thick yellow fur around Beaux’s balls, leading up his tummy in a trail. It leaned to the left, ever so slightly, but that didn’t make it any less appealing. The tip blushed pink, every twitch eliciting a bubble of precum, which drooled down the side of his shaft before quickly being spread over it by Beaux’s hand.

“We’re going by rank, gentlemen,” Beaux panted, focusing on hardening his cock to be standing perfectly on its own. Judging by his looks, he may have been struggling to keep an erection for a prolonged time. “I get to stake my claim on this bitch first, then you can do what you like. But right now, he’s fucking mine, got it?”

“Whaaat? That means I gotta’ go last when you fellas have got your spunk all over ‘im?” Tony whined, tossing his hands up in exasperation. “C’mon, buddy, sharing is caring!”

Beaux did not take this humorously, and snarled at Tony, actually fucking snarled, like a wolf, curling his lip and ears laying flat agaisnt his head.

“Don’t you dare make a fucking complaint. I cut him open, I’ve gots first dibs. You can duke it out amongst yourselves while I relieve myself,” the consigliere growled, eyes watering as he squeezed his erection. Tony didn’t seem too phased, playfully muttering something about being ‘pent up,’ and just rolled his eyes before offering rock-paper-scissors with Sasha. “Now, if you’d excuse me.”

Beaux snatched Chance off of the table and immediately placed the tip of his weeping cock at his entrance, warm stuffing tickling against his skin and inviting him to come deeper. Chance hardly had a second to react before Beaux thrust his whole shaft deep inside of him, making his stomach bulge. The gambler screamed in pleasure and pain, never having been stretched that far before. The girth of Beaux’s cock was nearly enough to fill his whole pelvis, and the head of his cock throbbed just below Chance’s neck. It was deeper than anything had ever been in their body, and it was going to take some adjusting.

But he wasn’t given a moment to adjust before Beaux gripped Chance’s body and dragged his cock out all the way to the tip, then slammed the entire length back in all the way to the hilt. Chance felt like screaming again, but the nauseous sensation of overwhelming arousal caused his voice to fall flat halfway through, trailing off into a whimper.

“Be gentle, Beaux,” Sasha soothed, his accent softly flowing through the words. “He’s only a little doll. He’s screaming, zaichonok.”

Chance didn’t recognize the Russian word Sasha punctuated his sentence with, but whatever it meant, it caused Beaux’s grip to relax a little, and his sexually frustrated shaking to lessen. A word Chance had never heard from the consigliere escaped his trembling lips;

“S-Sorry.”

Whether it was directed at him or at Sasha, Chance didn’t care. He just bucked his hips and groaned, spreading his legs wide for the man desecrating his insides.

“Just keep fucking me, dammit,” Chance breathed. “You’ve been teasing me all night, I just need a little relief. Please, Beaux…”

“I don’t take orders from sluts,” Beaux hissed, holding his knife to Chance’s neck. 

The consigliere thrust his hips upward into the fleshlight sized man in his hands, biting back groans as his cock leaked obscene amounts of sticky precum into Chance’s stuffing. His balls met with Chance’s ass, slapping slightly as he shallowly and in a very restrained manner fucked Chance’s hole. Chance just stayed in place, allowing whatever to happen, fearing that Beaux would cut his head off if he dared move. He was crazy enough to.

Beaux slowly sped up, grunting loudly, and gasping, now bunny-humping Chance, hunching over him. Chance just let his limbs hang limp as he was pounded into, mouth hanging open as he felt the warm oozing tip of Beaux’s cock prod into his head, rearranging the stuffing and making his vision spin. The blade of the knife dug into his neck ever so slightly as he leaned forward. It felt so damn good, he was on the precipice of an orgasm, teetering just on the edge.

But as Beaux thrust deeper and harder, crying out at every thrust, Chance realized he may not get the opportunity to cum if Beaux came first. But as soon as the final thrust was planted, and hot white spurts of cum shot forth into Chance’s hole, filling him up like a cream donut, warm cum leaking out around the massive intrusion inside of him, all thoughts in the gambler’s mind came to a screeching halt. Chance sighed in bliss as Beaux gripped his middle, choking on a desperate moan.

The consigliere stood with Chance around his cock, panting like he had run a hundred miles, and shaking like he hardly had the energy to hold himself up. Chance just chuckled, gazing up at Beaux’s reddened face and sleepy eyes, before the older man used his top hat to block his face from Chance’s view, mumbling in shame before pulling out and sheathing his blade. Cum leaked from Chance’s plush hole, spilling down his legs in creamy globs before he was offered to Vincent, the caporegime.

“Hey, Beaux, take a load off, babes,” Vincent urged, patting the spot beside him on the couch. “Easy, easy. Just breathe. Ain’t nothin’ gonna’ stop you from takin’ a breather.”

Beaux just grumbled and flopped onto the couch, still hiding his face with his hat, cock softening between his legs. Chance didn’t see what else was going on as he turned his head to prepare to be fucked again, but be felt Vincent and Beaux lean into each other momentarily before parting. The capo then carefully slipped off his pants and boxers, exposing his cock to the cool air, groaning in relief.

It was a little shorter than Beaux’s at 5 inches, but it was girthier, his dick was uncut, and his fur was dark and thick and curly. His entire stomach was covered in dark hair, and as Vince unbuttoned his vest and shirt, it was revealed that his chest was also a carpet of beautiful, thick hair. Chance would have never imagined that such treasures awaited him under that specific mafia man’s uniform.

“You’re staring, puppy-dog,” Vincent purred, stroking his cock and peeling back his foreskin, revealing his swollen glans. “You like whatcha’ see?”

“I— I think I do,” Chance answered slowly, the realization dawning on him that he found all of Don Sonnelino’s men sexually attractive. “Fuck, man. I think I really like what I see.”

Vince picked Chance up, both hands wrapped around his waist and aligned him with his twitching cock. He lowered his sunglasses and looked Chance in the eye before continuing, deep black eyes glimmering soulfully.

“Does the puppy want his treat?~” Vince teased, reaching a hand under Chance’s shirt and caressing him.

“Yes! I want my treat!! Please!”

“Then beg for it, you dirty fucking mutt.”

Chance didn’t even wait to process what was said to him as he bucked his hips and whined, throwing his head back in frustration.

“Put it in, you bastard! I’m not gonna’ fuckin’ beg!”

“Guess you don’t need that bad then,” Vince shrugged, pulling his cock away from the toy’s entrance. “Poor pup. I was lookin’ forward to breeding you.”

Chance wrapped his legs around Vincent’s cock, whining in desperation as he tried to coax the man back into position. He turned his gaze up to the capo’s eyes, placing his paws together in prayer to the god currently playing with his fate for the night.

“Fine! Geez! Please fuck me, Vinnie? Pretty please?”

“You’re gonna’ have to do better than that, princess,” Vincent growled, squeezing Chance’s middle, his neglected, aching cock twitching in equal desperation. Vincent clearly had a lot of restraint, and would not be giving in to his lust until he got exactly what he wanted.

“Almighty Builderman!! Fuck me, Sfumato! Fill me with your cum! I need it sooo bad! C’mon, please, can’tcha’ see I’m desperate for a good dicking? Fuck, I’ll do anything for you, just put your cock inside of my plush hole and use me.”

Chance was coming undone, arching his back and kicking his bead filled legs against the cock as tall as he was, breathing heavily and gritting his teeth. This sight thoroughly moved the caporegime, and he stroked Chance’s cheek with the back of his hand, before gently pressing his tip into the doll’s stuffing.

“There’s a good girl,” He whispered, tip sliding into Chance’s cum soaked hole. “Here’s your treat, puppy-dog, just like daddy promised.~”

Chance groaned in appreciation, voice shaking as their stomach bulged from the intrusion pushing plush stuffing against his internal walls. They nearly cried as Vincent slid further, the thickest part of his cock stretching the hole where Chance was cut open so perfectly. The tied off stitches strained and creaked slightly, but soon slackened slightly as the caporegime bottomed out. Chance sighed in relief, eyes fluttering shut. His entire torso was filled with cock, stitches straining around the stuffing, entire body throbbing in time with the massive cock inside of him.

Chance was so perfectly full, trembling and breathing heavily as their body grew accustomed to the penetration. The sensations were almost too much, their mind was growing empty, a white vignette forming at the recesses of their vision… Fuck, they were going to cum. Seems like the careful treatment was enough to finish off Chance’s previously building orgasm.

Clenching his thighs, Chance squeezed around the cock inside of him, nearly choking on his own tongue as he felt it slide deeper, sliding against his prostate and milking an orgasm from his unseen and nonexistent cock. Chance gripped his fedora with his paws and moaned like his very soul was being torn from his body, stiffening like a board and shaking like a leaf, breath momentarily paused as waves of white hot pleasure surged through his entire plush form.

“Heh. I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re cumming,” Vincent chuckled, his belly shaking Chance and intensifying his orgasm slightly. “You’re gonna’ get spoiled tonight, pup.~”

Before Chance could even recover from his earth-shattering orgasm, his waist was grabbed and he was fucked at a brutal pace, used like nothing more than a fleshlight. The gambler yelped in surprise, but didn’t resist, as the waves of pleasure crashing over them blurred together and burned hotter than ever before. The fire fizzled out just as fast as it had begun, now leaving a painful ache where the sensations once were. Much like the cigar burns he was given, Chance delighted in the dull pain where a bright, hot, sizzling sensation overwhelmed his system, now enjoying a different type of painful pleasure.

“Vinnie….~” Chance sobbed tearlessly, stomach lurching as he was dragged up and down the veiny shaft occupying his wet, fluffy hole. Precum from Vincent’s cock was regurgitated through the plushie’s mouth, making Chance cough and sputter, drooling the sticky liquid off his cum soaked, velvet tongue.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the capo cursed, balls slapping against his captive’s plush ass. “You’re spittin’ up my jizz. Fuck, how does it taste, puppy? You like tastin’ my cock all the way through you?”

Chance couldn’t even speak, mind completely empty other than singing praises to the man currently rocking his entire world. He just moaned an ‘uh-huh’ in response before licking his lips of the precum dribbling from his lips. Vince tasted slightly salty with a distinctive umami that only cock had. The musk of sex began to fill his head, suffocating all other thoughts of anything else out of the gambler’s mind.

Vincent’s movement became sloppier, his balls clenching and jumping against Chance’s ass, a telltale sign of his rapidly approaching orgasm. The caporegime growled and gripped Chance’s body tightly in his large hands, rings digging into the fabric roughly.

“C-Cumming—,” Vince snarled through gritted teeth, warning Chance of what was to come. He huffed and gripped Chance’s arms, pulling him down onto his cock as deep as he could manage.

The plushie just threw his head back and chanted “Yes!! Yeeeesss!! Yessssss…” as hot, thick ropes of cum were pumped into his hole, filling every fiber of his stuffing, some of the substance splurting from his mouth. Fuck, he could feel his mouth and throat being filled with so much cum he was nearly drowning in it. Chance swallowed as much as he could before he couldn’t take it any more, coughing a bit up and sputtering. Soon, the flow of cum came to a stop, and the caporegime slid his softening cock out of Chance’s hole, glazed in Beaux’s and his own semen, a few pieces of stuffing stuck to Vincent’s cock as he pulled out. Chance whimpered at the sudden loss of fullness, but was quickly caught off guard as thick fingers began to press sticky, cum soaked stuffing back into his gaping hole.

“Hey Sasha,” Vince called over his shoulder to the man waiting patiently on the other end of the couch. “You and Tony finally hash out who’s going next?”

Sasha grinned ear to ear, his ears twitching playfully.

“I won 5 of 6 rounds of rock-paper-scissors,” Sasha beamed, already excitedly pulling off his boxers. “I won the first round, and he insisted on a rematch. I won that one too.”

Tony grumbled and rolled his eyes from his chair, crossing his legs impatiently.

“You fellas are makin’ it hard to contain myself. Your fucking noises are just—- Guuhh… And Chance is just so—- s’not fair that I gotta’ be last,” Anthony complained, face growing red as he watched Sasha gently pick up Chance as he recuperated from his orgasm.

Sasha’s cock was the very best one of all, thick and long, exactly 7 inches, with balls brimming with cum, tight and round, clean shaven and very soft looking. Chance didn’t believe it would fit inside of him, and if it could, it would go all the way through him.

“You’re such a big fuckin’ baby,” Beaux snarked, finally uncovering his face with his hat after recuperating from his tremendous climax. “If it’s that big of an issue, you can jack-off.”

Chance was barely paying attention as Sasha traced his fingertips over his embroidered lips, cock throbbing right in front of the gambler’s face. Sasha was whispering sweet nothings, too low to properly hear over the bickering in the background. Sasha made no moves, observing Chance carefully as he eyed up his cock like a skyscraper.

“Is it too much for you, little doll?” Sasha teased, reclining on the couch so that Chance could get a proper view of him, feet resting across Vincent’s lap and feet resting on Beaux’s. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his impressive pecs and abs, and slight winter pooch he had acquired. He raised an eyebrow and smirked down at the plush gambler currently straddling his thigh.

“It’s not ‘too much’!” Chance exclaimed, scooting closer and positioning himself so that straddled Sasha’s cock, back facing the soldier. “P-Probably would rip me in half if I tried to suck on it but uhhh—- my ass has been stretched enough, I think…”

Chance gasped softly and was picked up and set on Sasha’s tip. Fuck, it was way thicker than Vincent’s or Beaux’s. Nearly as thick as a Bloxxy Cola can. It was intimidating. But Chance would never back down from a challenge. Especially not when he had come so far, and was still desperately horny.

“You are sure you want this, gambler?” Sasha asked, genuine concern lacing his voice. “I can use my fingers or my tongue, there’s no shame if you can’t take it.”

Though the concern touched Chance’s heart, despite how many times he had gotten his jaw and teeth broken by this guy, Chance shook his head and bounced his hips slightly, trying to get the cock to penetrate him fully.

“I’ll be damned if I don’t get you to cum in me too, big guy,” Chance growled. “If you break me then what-the-fuck-ever, I just can’t pass up a cock this perfect.”

The other mafia men whistled and guffawed at Chance’s response, chuckling as Sasha blushed and laid his ears back.

“Awh, ya’ hear that, Sash? He thinks your cock is perfect.~”

“Sweet Telamon, did we break him? He’s never begged for us before, besides for his life.”

“Break him, Sasha! Bring him down a notch! I wanna see cum spewing out of his nose and mouth with how deep you fuck ‘em!”

Chance felt his heart skip a beat as Sasha thrust into his hole, squelching lewdly. It left a massive bulge in his chest, churning his stomach and pressing hard against his prostate. He wasn’t even all the way in and Chance was on the verge of vomiting from how damn erotic this was.

Sasha grunted and pressed deeper, the tip of his cock making it’s way up Chance’s neck, much further than Beaux’s cock had reached. Chance cried out as he felt his vision double and head spin, full body tingles rushing from the base of his scalp outwards. Even then, Sasha pressed deeper, the tip of his cock now reaching into the stuffing where his brain should have been. Chance could hardly control his body as he went limp in Sasha’s hand, twitching and letting out dizzy, wavering moans. They felt like their whole world was spinning, and momentarily, the gambler forgot where he was and which body he was in. They were stretched so wide, full to bursting, and penetrated so deeply that their brains were getting scrambled.

As Sasha pulled out Chance hiccuped slightly, vision swimming and head spinning. He couldn’t fucking think. He didn’t know what the fuck to focus on, but visual stimulus was far too much to even process. The soldier thrust his cock back into Chance and groaned, inhaling sharply as he was squeezed by soft plush stuffing, drenched in the cum of his coworkers. The thought of being covered in the semen of his superiors only drove the soldier to fuck the plush toy deeper and harder. Perhaps to the point that much later, Chance realized that maybe the 4 men were more than just coworkers.

Chance was dazed and morning like an over-exaggerated manner, tongue hanging from his mouth as he felt Sasha’s dick travel up his throat and block his breathing momentarily. Cum mixed with Sasha’s precum dribbled down his lips onto the couch. The flavors of the three of them combined to make a testosterone laden cocktail that drove Chance wild, having his body crave the sweet cream of his captors like it was nicotine.

The constant pressure on his prostate, the smell of humid sex and cigar smoke all around him, the grip of Sasha’s muscular hand around his middle, and the taste of cum rising up his throat and dripping off his fabric tongue all tugged Chance up to his third climax of the night, sending the man into a hypnotic state as the world around him faded away, only pleasure taking up his mind and vessel, no room for anything else. As Chance was blinded by his own ecstasy, he screamed as he came, fireworks bursting behind his felt sunglasses.

Sasha gripped him hard, thrusting as deep as he possibly could reach. Chance heaved, choking on something large prodding up the back of his throat. He tried to close his mouth as the cum burst from the soldiers blushing tip like a dam, but there was just too much to swallow. Instead, cum started to spurt from where his nose would have been, and in surprise, Chance opened his mouth to let the rest flow out. They were sick to the stomach from pure arousal, allowing the last few surges of thick, gooey cum to spill from his lips, falling almost completely limp as they realized that they had been holding their body stiff nearly the whole time.

Sasha pulled out of Chance’s body, followed immediately by the doll coughing and gasping for air, letting out shaky sobs and gripping the hand around him. It was nearly too much. Chance was exhausted, full of and covered in cum, shaking like he was never going to be able to walk again. But through it all, Chance laughed. Between laughs and sobs, Chance laughed in glee, hugging onto the hand wrapped around him.

“Oh, blyat,” Sasha cursed, stroking Chance’s back soothingly. “That was too much for you, I think. I’ve got you, little gambler, please don’t cry.”

Chance chuckled softly and nuzzled into Sasha’s hand, still trying to catch his breath.

“That was the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had,” Chance beamed, closing his eyes as the rest of the mafia hummed in amusement at his state.

“Holy fuck,” Beaux said in alarm, leaning over Sasha’s shoulder to look down at the soaked plushie in his hands. “Boys, look at his hole. The slut’s gaping.”

Chance opened his eyes blearily as the other men came to inspect him, and immediately felt his face grow hot as a slim finger gently pulled aside his ‘lips’ to get a good look inside of his gaping plush-cunt. Chance could feel his walls sticking together from the multiple loads that had been pumped inside of him, spilling out of him and onto Sasha’s lap.

Chance made eye contact with Anthony, catching a bewildered and very aroused smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. His eyes roved over Chance’s body nervously, wetting his lips and gulping as he felt his mouth go dry. Maybe, after all, Tony didn’t mind going last when his coworkers had gotten their spunk all over the plush. Chance grinned up at the contractor and lifted his legs.

“I’ve got room for one more, y’know,~” The gambler offered.

But Tony shook his head, grinning darkly at the doll offering themselves to him.

“I think you’re far too eager to be filled with cock, cumrag,” Tony purred, unbuckling his belt, kicking off his boots carelessly, then peeling off his tight leather pants. “I’ve got a better idea on how to handle ya’.~”

Chance was set down on the coffee table to watch as Tony stripped, and as soon as his boxers came off, Chance felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight in front of him. The biggest clit he had ever seen, 2 perfect inches, sat surrounded in a thick bush of black hair, reaching up Anthony’s stomach and thighs. Chance wanted nothing more than to suck on Tony’s cock, (finally a cock he could swallow,) to taste this man and make his collection of mafia orgasms complete. Tony sat down on the carpet and spread his legs for the company, a snarled grin plastered on his face as he tipped his hat to the man whose eyes refused to leave his. The gambler was mesmerized.

“Now, you can just lay there and take it like a bitch from the others,” the contractor growled, eyes narrowing at Chance. “But for me? You’re gonna’ get in my cunt and I’m going to make you work for my cum. Got it, Chancey boy?”

The other goons whooped and cheered, applauding for their friend as the last act of the night. There was a reason they saved Tony, their most sadistic, bossy dom for last. Even they didn’t know what Tony had planned for Chance. They knew this was going to be a grand finale.

“Did you fucking hear me, faggot?” Tony snapped at the plush frozen in amazement in front of him. “Get off the goddamn table and come fuck me.~”

Anthony licked his teeth and huffed, eyes gleaming like embers as Chance jumped off of the coffee table and stumbled up to Tony’s spread legs, excitement barely contained. He wasted no time at all, shoving his face into Tony’s bush and huffing his musk, pawing gently at his T-cock. Tony growled in satisfaction, scooting Chance closer with his foot.

“C’mon gambler, put your mouth to good use,” He rumbled, just above a whisper. “I wanna see you choking on my cock, baby. I know what a hungry pup you are.~”

Chance hardly had to think. Tony’s voice was so commanding, so persuasive it was hard not to obey any orders given to him. The plush doll carefully wrapped his lips around Tony’s T-cock and lapped at the glans. It filled his mouth, but not too much, and it sat heavy on his tongue, hot and wet and throbbing. Obediently, Chance began to suck, hollowing their cheeks just as they had done with Sasha’s finger earlier. Tony hummed, exhaling from his nose as he reached down to hold the back of Chance’s head.

Chance lapped eagerly at the tip of Tony’s cock, sliding his tongue under his foreskin as he circled over it. Wetting his lips with the leftover cum from the others, Chance pulled his head back, running his lips up Tony’s short shaft. The contract killer groaned loudly to encourage the plush between his legs. Indeed, Chance was encouraged and slurped lewdly around the cock filling his mouth, bobbing his head at a slow and steady pace.

“Fuck, Atta’ boy, Chance,” Tony praised, cock twitching under Chance’s velvet tongue. “Go on, getcher’ paw in there, whore. I’m gonna need internal stimulation if you’re gonna get me to cum.”

Chance had been toying with the idea in his head, but he wasn’t sure if Tony would like penetration. This was the confirmation he needed to slowly slide his whole arm inside of the contractor's warm, wet vagina. He searched instinctively for his G-spot, and he knew he had hit the jackpot when Anthony groaned, posture slackening ever so slightly.

“There we go, puppy! You’re learning,” Tony praised, thighs tensing as his G-spot was massaged by Chance’s skilled, plush paws. “Fuck put the other arm in, it’s like a single finger in there.”

Chance obediently slipped his other arm inside of the slickened lips of Tony’s pussy, still bobbing his head around the T-cock in his mouth. Tony hummed, his voice wavering slightly as he gripped Chance’s messy hair, his other hand digging into the carpet. His large rabbit ears laid back against his head, and his fluffy rabbit tail wagged quickly underneath him, dusting against Chance’s legs. Chance spread his arms slightly, testing the elasticity of the hole he was penetrating. Fuck, it was so soft and wet and warm. It felt so nice to run his arms through.

That’s when Chance got a wicked idea. An idea that simply couldn’t be ignored.

Chance carefully balanced on one leg as he slipped his foot into Tony’s hole along with his arms, taking his mouth away from his cock with a lewd, wet ‘pop.’ They slipped their entire leg into the trembling cavity, walls clenching hard around three of his limbs like a hug.

“Fuck, a leg?!” Tony exclaimed, now grabbing his chest where his heart was beating out of his ribs. “S-Slow down now, ya’ don’t haffta’ rush things! Fuuuuuck, he’s gonna’ start fisting me with his body.~”

Tony was cut off as Chance inserted his other leg, acclimating to the warmth and wetness, groaning and chuckling at the erotic ridiculousness of it all. It was so cozy, so plush, even compared to himself. Chance wasn’t given a moment’s further thought as his head was grabbed and his waist was swallowed up by Tony’s cunt.

“Th-There, you little punk,” Tony growled between panting, his voice wavering. “If you don’t wanna get eaten alive, you’ll get outta there and let me lead this encounter. Capiche?”

Chance realized he had the upper hand now, a shit-eating grin splitting his face as he wiggled his body further inside of Tony, his shoulders getting engulfed in moist, warm flesh, and his feet hitting Tony’s cervix. Chance felt Tony’s hand release his hair and fly to his side, clawing at the carpet as he bit back a helpless moan. Chance was swallowed by Tony’s pussy up to the neck, and he was now facing the audience of mafia men currently jerking their cocks as they watched Tony get penetrated by his body.

“You enjoying the show, gents?” Chance asked cockily, curling an elbow against Tony’s G-spot, earning a squeeze around his body.

“Very much~,” Sasha replied, speeding up his fist’s speed around his cock. “You’ve actually found something Tony enjoys very much.~ I didn’t expect to see him so close to cumming this soon.”

Chance grinned and gyrated his body, getting the softest, high pitched whimper from Tony. If he was going to make Tony cum, he would need to be all the way inside of him. Very slowly and carefully, Chance pulled himself further into Tony’s sopping wet caverns, spreading Tony’s lips wide around his head. The contract killer spread his legs wide and arched his back, slapping a hand over his mouth as Chance slithered deeper inside of him, filling him up enough to give his already big belly a slight bulge.

“Fucking hell!” Tony gasped, bucking his hips in an attempt to thwart the man slipping deeper into him. “He’s— fuck his huge fucking head is slipping in…. Fellas, I-I dunno’ how much longer I’m gonna’ last.”

This earned a few chuckles and ‘woo!’s of approval, mafia men still sitting idly by and masturbating. Chance took one last deep breath of air and with one final tug, his head slipped inside of Tony’s tight cunt, knocking off his fedora in the process. Tony squeezed hard around his body, thighs squeezing shut to assure that Chance had been fully swallowed up.

Tony whimpered and kicked his legs, pursing his lip as he clawed up the carpet in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Reaching down between his legs, he began to jerk his T-cock, clenching and hugging around the plush that had wiggled his way inside of him.

It smelled heavenly inside of Anthony’s cunt. Humid and heavy with testosterone, a distinct bitter twinge of cigarettes practically infused into his juices. Shaking and groaning in pleasure, Chance lapped at precisely the spot he knew Tony’s G-spot was in, pressing his face into it greedily. Outside, Tony melted, a low groan finally being pulled from his reluctant lips.

“H-He’s so fuckin’ deeeeep~,” Tony keened, his pussy squeezing Chance deeper. “Oh, fuck me.~”

The gambler felt Tony tugging on his cock, jostling Chance slightly and squeezing his slick body in a gentle embrace. His feet slid around by Tony’s cervix, the tips of his paws slipping against the knot of flesh. Yet another wicked idea occurred to Chance, one that had only occurred to him in fantasies.

Tony gently rubbed his distended stomach in circles, a dopey smile stretched across his rosy cheeks. His hat was slightly askew and his curly hair was starting to come undone from his ponytail. He was sweating profusely and whimpering as he rubbed his cock in circles as the rest of the mafia got up from their spots on the couch to observe their coworker getting off.

“Does it feel good, baby boy?” Vince asked, lifting Tony’s head into his lap and wiping sweat from his brow.

“So goddamn good, Vinnie,” Tony whined, leaning into Vincent’s hands, closing his eyes in bliss as he jerked himself off faster. “He’s squirmin’ around, playin’ with my cervix…”

“Yeah? Geez, you look close, hon,” Beaux said as he laid down next to Tony on the carpet, placing his hand on Tony’s stomach, pressing down on Chance, who was still inside of him.

Tony just whimpered and nodded fervently, biting his lip as he concentrated on trying to cum.

Sasha laid down between Tony’s legs and nosed the tip of his cock, massaging his friend’s thighs.

“He’s stuck in there, isn’t he?” Sasha asked, tangling his fingers in Tony’s pubes and laying his cheek against one of his thighs.

Tony scrunched up his nose and sneered down at the soldier, undignified that he had even asked such a question.

“He’s not stuck,” Anthony growled, rolling his eyes. “Watch, he’s gonna slide right out.”

The contractor bore down and pushed using his pelvic muscles, but Chance stayed put, actually widening his arms and legs to make himself harder to push out. Anthony grunted and gave up, rubbing his stomach and grimacing before bearing down again, this time straining and whimpering, gritting his teeth hard. But Chance still stayed put, now squirming around to taunt the man he was inside. Tony arched his back and whined loudly before gripping Beaux’s hand.

“F-Fuck, he might actually be stuck,” Tony said, panic rising in his voice. “He might just— S-Sweet Mother of Doombringer, he’s going deeper!~”

Tony threw Beaux and Sasha off of himself as he flipped onto his stomach, ass in the air and face buried in Vincent’s lap, sobbing helplessly as he felt his cervix get penetrated and slowly worked open. His eyes rolled back in his head as the lump in his tummy migrated higher, now sitting exactly where a baby-bump would sit. Fluid squirt from Tony’s urethra, spraying over Sasha and the carpet of the parlor, sprinkling like fresh morning dew. He was legitimately crying, tears rolling down his cheeks and into his beard as he squirted piss all over the Sonnelino leisure room, body shaking and twitching as an orgasm hit him with the speed and might of a freight train.

“H-He-He’s in my f-fucking w-w-womb,” Tony managed to choke out as he wrapped his arms around Vince’s waist, gasping for air as sobs wracked his body.

Meanwhile, Chance curled up into the fetal position and closed his eyes, sighing in bliss. Tony’s womb was so warm, so cozy and moist. He was lucky to fit here perfectly. He swore he’d like to sit here forever, take a nap, maybe squirm his way out of Tony’s pussy whenever he needed a good fuck. But realistically, he couldn’t live inside of a contract killer like a twisted little parasite. As nice as it was to be warm and safe away from killers like Don Sonnelino, he had responsibilities outside of being a horny plushie.

As a final act of self gratification, Chance began to squeeze the leftover cum from the other three men that had used him, and left gooey globs of it inside of Tony’s aching uterus. Of course, there was risk of pregnancy, but the idea simply delighted Chance. Watching Tony waddle around during killer rounds, gravid and swollen with a litter of baby bunnies from his own teammates. The image of that sadistic maniac heavily pregnant and unable to chase after him was delicious. Rubbing his crotch with a paw, Chance squeezed out as much cum as he could manage, whimpering as an orgasm slowly built up.

On the outside world, Tony was trying his best to collect himself and breathe as his belly jostled, full of a certain plushie. Sasha rubbed his back and shoulders, before gently cupping Tony’s belly, pressing against the gambler currently masturbating inside of him.

“I-I can feel ‘im squirmin’ around in there,” Tony whimpered, arching his back and burying his face into Vincent’s lap. “Please, fuck, help me get him out. Little fucker is enjoying himself too much.”

“Just breathe, Tony,” Beaux reassured, reaching under his friend’s body and milking his cock from base to tip. “This’ll be easier than gettin’ a lost toy outta’ ya’, because Chance can work with us to wiggle his way out. He just needs some encouragement.”

Tony melted into Vincent’s lap and spread his thighs, Vince’s nails gently scratching at his scalp under his leather hat. His cock was getting milked with precision and skill, and his womb was filled to the brim with a soggy, smug little gambler, currently gambling with his life. If he was going to get Chance back out, he was going to have to induce a faux labor, forcing his uterus to contract and squeeze the little bastard out of him.

Chance, of course, could sense that this was the plan. So shrugging his shoulders, he pressed a paw outside of Tony’s cervix and began to slither his way out of the man’s birth canal.

Tony collapsed onto the floor as soon as he felt his cervix stretching out again, and he pressed his belly hard to try and speed along the process of Chance’s emergence. As his G-spot was squeezed against by the plushie’s round head, Tony gave a mighty push, and felt a plush arm breach his pussy.

“Fuckfuckfuck, grab his arms, pull the little freak out before he changes his mind!” Tony bawled, arching his back and jerking his cock as Sasha grabbed onto the soaking wet plushie and began to gently pull him out.

As Chance’s head popped out of the contractor’s entrance and gasped for breath, Tony came for a second time, clawing at the carpet and shaking uncontrollably, slick dripping down his hairy thighs. Sasha pulled Chance out the rest of the way, Anthony’s pussy making lewd squelching noises as the plushie once inside of it was removed. Tony’s cunt was gaping and impossibly wet, clenching around the air, cum spilling from the yawning cave and dribbling down his bush and the tip of his cock.

Chance had the biggest, most shit-eating grin stretched across his face as he admired his work, positively soaked in Tony’s slick, slimy and wet and stinking of sex. Sasha didn’t seem to mind, swiping a finger up one of Chance’s cheeks and licking it clean of Tony’s juices, savoring it as it slid over his tongue and down his throat.

“Lucky little bastard tastes just like you, Tony,” Sasha purred, hugging Chance close to his bare chest, sticking to his light chest hair.

“P-Please shut the fuck up,” Tony grumbled, still ass up on the carpet, breathing heavily.

That’s when clapping echoed through the room, slow and slightly muted by leather gloves. A figure previously sitting at the furthest corner of the bar stood up, clapping slowly and grinning at the group of men. Chance felt his heart stop at the sight of the figure.

Don Sonnelino himself. He had never left the room.

“Did we give ya’ a good show, boss?” Beaux asked earnestly, picking up his slacks off the couch and slipping back into them. Seems this wasn’t a surprise to the mafia men in the slightest. Being taller and more observant than Chance, they had obviously known that the don had been there the whole time.

“Best show I’ve seen from you boys~,” the mafioso crooned, striding up to Sasha and making eye contact with the sopping wet rat that was plushie Chance, ripped open, filled with cum, covered in slick, and decorated with burns.

Chance scooted back in the soldier’s arms, breath picking up as he looked where he thought Sonnelino’s eyes ought to be under the shadow of his wide brimmed hat. He couldn’t read his expression beyond ‘cruel’ and that frightened him. That normally meant that the mafioso was thinking long and hard, planning something.

“Clean him up,” Sonnelino simply ordered, not bothering to address the plush. “Get yourselves together, then sew him back up. After that, draw our guest a bath.”

“Permission for a recess to care for subordinates, err, boss?” Beaux asked nervously, ears laying back bashfully as he looked over at his sweaty caporegime, slick covered soldier, and quivering contractor all still recovering from the night.

“Granted,” Don Sonnelino said, bowing his head slightly. “You hand me Chance and I’ll handle his aftercare. I’ll leave you four to your privacy for the rest of the evening. Report to me first thing in the morning, Neige, understand?”

Beaux bowed his head back in gratitude, holding his arms behind his back. “Yessir. Thank you, sir.”

Sonnelino held a hand out for Chance to be handed to him, but Chance shook his head vehemently up at Sasha, leaning back as far as he possibly could.

“Nope! Not doing it! Much rather stay with you guys!” Chance exclaimed, trying his best to grin winsomely at the soldier cradling him against his breast. “C’mon, Sasha! Would you really leave me with a psycho like him? After all the fun we had together?”

Sasha rolled his eyes and handed Chance over to Don Sonnelino, with much struggle, as the gambler clung to Sasha’s arm and whined.

“Boss’ orders, little gambler,” Sasha rumbled light-heartedly, smiling reassuringly at Chance and licking his fingers clean. “He will take care of you, no problem. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have done so already. No?”

Chance trembled in the mafioso’s leather gloved hands, avoiding his claws. He had no energy to run, no will in him to fight as fiercely as he normally did when in Don Sonnelino’s hands, but Sasha was right. If Sonnelino had wanted to hurt or kill him, he would have done so by now.

Before turning to leave, the don leaned close to Chance’s ear and growled;

“What the fuck do you say to the men who treated you tonight?”

Chance immediately straightened his posture and called out to the affectionately nicknamed ‘mafialings,’ eyebrows furrowed in nervous tension.

“Thank you fellas for the gangbang,” Chance said, tensing as Don Sonnelino squeezed his shoulder. “It was— uhh… fuck, it was perfect, guys. You four really didn’t need to go out of your way to indulge me like that.”

The four of the mafia men looked between each other, a little shocked, but eventually smiled warmly at the soft plush version of their worst enemy, a debtor that they had been dedicated to taking out for the longest time, a man they had sneered down at a little over an hour ago. They were genuine, fond, warm smiles. Expressions that Chance had never seen on them before. It was unsettling, but in a heartfelt kind of way.

“Y’know, we’ve been wanting to do that to ya’ for a long time,” Vincent admitted, hoisting himself up off the floor and buttoning his shirt. “Just as a fantasy, we wouldn’t have ever acted on it. But… boy did we think about it sometimes.”

“Shit,” Tony exclaimed, rolling himself over and leaning on his elbows. “Thank the boss for the idea of it all, if you’re thanking folks now. He’s the one who gave us the go ahead to ask you as soon as you started getting randy. I think he knows your kinks better than you do.”

Chance glanced up at the mafioso, but Don Sonnelino didn’t react.

“You were really good for us, Chancey,” Beaux said, helping hoist Tony off the ground and guide him to the couch. “I think I speak for everyone when I say that we really enjoyed tonight. I— I was seriously worried that you wouldn’t feel the same for us as you feel for the boss, and that things would get out of hand. I’m glad I was wrong.”

What the fuck did that mean?

Chance slowly turned to look up at Don Sonnelino once again, mouth agape at what the consigliere had just implied. Again, Michael Sonnelino didn’t react.

“We’d like to do it again, if you’d like,” Sasha offered, pulling his own slacks on and looking between his comrades as they all nodded with him. “But when you are human? If that’s at all possible?”

“I like the idea of that,” Chance admitted, smirking to himself. “We’ll stay in touch, yeah? Plan a little?”

The mafia gave sounds of agreement, nodding in approval at the suggestion. Seems everything was set.

“Well,” Chance awkwardly concluded. “G’night fellas!”

There was a chorus of ‘G’night Chance’ and ‘G’night boss’ before Don Sonnelino turned to leave with a plush replica of Chance in his arms, coat billowing behind him. As soon as the doors to the parlor closed, Chance was silent, their mind buzzing with questions for the man carrying him to his quarters. But he stayed silent, afraid of pissing Sonnelino off just as he had narrowly escaped torture, and was now back in the hands of his arch-enemy.

“You don’t have to stay quiet, Chance,” the don rumbled, turning down a hall leading to a grand staircase. “You’re always runnin’ your mouth. There’s no need to pretend like tonight wasn’t a lot for you.”

Chance sighed, letting out a breath he had been holding. Some sort of prey instinct. “Why are you acting like this, Don? You’re being damn creepy. And not the normal creepy.”

Don Sonnelino stayed quiet as he held onto the handrail of the stairs and slowly made his way up, grunting with effort occasionally.

“There’s something I’ve been wantin’ to tell you, gambler, but I’ve been too proud to do it,” Sonnelino alluded cryptically. He didn’t dare look down at Chance.

“And that is?” Chance pressed.

“I’m gettin’ there, you impatient little shit. Let me talk,” Sonnelino growled, shutting Chance up immediately. He paused at the top of the stairs and breathed deeply before continuing, making his way down another hallway.

“I fucking hate your guts, Chance. Don’t even think I couldn’t hate you, not for a second. But every time I see you, every time I snap your neck, every time you shoot me and slip away into the night, my heart ignites, a passion I have long lacked courses through my body. You drive me insane. There is chemistry between us.”

Chance couldn’t deny it. He was terrified of the mafioso, but the risk of getting killed was worth the reward of taunting his tormentor. They liked gambling with their life like that, especially when both outcomes were considered a reward to them. Whenever they were caught by Don Sonnelino during a round, the physical reaction was instant. Several times Chance popped a boner just as the don slammed him against a wall and snarled threats at him, a wolfish triumph gleaming in his eyes.

“Yeah,” the mafioso continued, chuckling and shaking his head, his black rabbit ears shaking. “I’ve noticed you get excited when I finally get my paws around your filthy little neck. I’ve yearned to put you in your place for so long. So I’d like to propose a deal with you, Chancey boy.”

“Go on, I’m all ears,” Chance urged as the pair arrived at the mafioso’s bedroom.

Don Sonnelino waited until they were inside and the door was closed before he lifted Chance to be eyelevel with him. For once, a shadow wasn’t covering his eyes. They were severe and gray, almost glowing in the moonlight.

“I know that you are the real Chance, and I know you will abide by the terms of this agreement,” Sonnelino began. “In exchange for debt forgiveness of the Sonnelino family, I would like to continue our little dance for as long as possible, with sex at any time to relieve our tensions, instead of running around like goddamn animals. You get the attention you crave, and I receive the sexual stimulation I’ve been long deprived of. We can settle our disputes diplomatically.”

Chance was flabbergasted, jaw dropping for a second time that night. He shook his head to clear his mind, before cocking an eyebrow at the mafioso.

“And my debt is just forgiven? No strings attached?”

Michael Sonnelino grinned cruelly and laughed, standing back to his full, impressive height.

“Oh no, there will be strings attached, don’t you worry. You’re not perfectly safe from my blade nor my men. I can kill you at any time I please. Every round you escape alive, I forgive $100 of debt. And every load of cum you milk from me doubles the forgiveness of that round. Say you make me cum once, and survive until the timer’s up; I forgive $200 of your debt. Make me cum twice? $400. Three times? $800. It’s up to you on how much you’d like to risk your life to get in my pants.”

“And what’s the catch? This sounds too easy.”

“Ah, clever boy.~ You always know there’s a catch. My boys will be out lookin’ for ya’ every round, and if they catch you, they get their way with you and send you on your way withoutcha’ cummin’, and I add $500 to your debt.”

Chance thought for a moment, tapping a paw on his chin.

“You got an estimate of how much I owe?”

“$500,000 dollars, down to the cent.”

Chance thought again, bouncing a leg as he bit his tongue in deep contemplation.

“There’s no time limit if I accept this deal?”

“Nope. But of course, we could continue as we always have, and you pay off your debt through every death suffered at my hands. Though, I’m sure that idea isn’t as tantalizing to you.”

Chance still thought, humming and furrowing his brows deeper, bouncing his leg faster.

“C’mon, gambling man, the risk is worth the reward. You can’t resist the riches promised to you by this deal, I can see it in your eyes. It’s just down to one question now; Are ya’ feelin’ lucky?~”

Chance couldn’t take it any longer. They extended a paw and grinned up at Mafioso, a final decision finally making itself clear.

“I haven’t felt luckier, Don Sonnelino,” Chance replied confidently. “And it looks like the odds are in my favor. You’ve got yourself a deal.~”

Don Sonnelino took Chance’s paw into his large hand and shook it, grinning large and sinister, the brim of his hat shading his eyes. The handshake was firm, and shook Chance’s entire plush body. Something in the air changed as if the fabric of reality had been rewoven.

This was something Chance felt he could win and enjoy. He’d show the don who exactly he had just bet with, once again. They never cheated, but they always won in the end.

This was going to be fun.

Chapter Text

It had been weeks since Chance had last seen Don Sonnelino. He had gotten plenty of nights to spend alone with Two Time, though they were still in denial about the whole were-plush situation. Intimacy was scarce, as was the thrill of a good hunt. Chance was an adrenaline junkie, and even one night without his favorite killers was practically torture. He still had to pretend like he was nothing but a toy when in plushie form, and it hurt to have all these praises given to him, yet never meant for his ears. And it hurt to have his own praises left unsaid. 

 All Chance could think about was the agreement he and the mafioso had come to. It was all they needed to get a good thrill in, perhaps get that old man to jizz his pants for him. They yearned for control. And more than anything, they yearned for an orgasm brought on by the pressure of a tight, warm hole squeezing around their cock. 

 Sonnelino would just have to learn to give up control for a little bit if this agreement was going to work. Chance was more than positive he could manage to get Maf to fold, if he pressed the right buttons and said all the right things. After the throttling in Don Sonnelino’s office, plus all the ‘torture’ from the rest of the mafia, he was sure he was going to get revenge on him the next time he saw them. Perhaps, even the mafialings, if he happened to get one of them alone. 

 That night happened to be the night. As a killer round started, introducing Don Sonnelino as the killer, Chance could hardly contain their excitement. The other survivors were happy to see that Chance was taking the initiative to find the killer first as they watched them pull out their flintlock and dash away. 

 The moon was full and shone like a spotlight down onto the grass, sparkling with dewdrops. Chance crept on cat’s feet, light and silent, keeping himself to the darker shadows and listening carefully for that rumbling, Italian accent. As they stalked to a remote corner of the map, behind a large Victorian house, long abandoned and creaking in the wind. Just on the back porch, Chance could hear Don Sonnelino whispering orders to his caporegime and his soldier, Vincent and Sasha. The pair saluted to their boss and headed down the porch stairs to search for nearby survivors. Chance kept his head low and held his breath, watching as the goons circled the house in the opposite direction. 

 The don pulled out a lighter and a cigar, holding it in his teeth as he lit it, shielding the flame from the wind. It’s as if Sonnelino was just waiting for Chance to come and get him. The gambler pulled his lucky gold coin from his left pocket, and flicked it in the air, preparing to load his gun with the ammunition he would doubtlessly win. 

 Ching.

 Don Sonnelino’s black rabbit ears swiveled to follow the sound, pupils dilating to slits as he turned to look at what had made the noise. A cruel grin stretched across the mafia leader’s weathered face, exhaling cigar smoke from his teeth like a dragon. 

Oops. Chance had fucked it up. Again.

 Not waiting a second to see what he had won from his gambling, Chance muttered a desperate prayer as he aimed his gun at the man and fired a shot. Thunder ripped through the air as a silver bullet buried itself in Don Sonnelino’s shoulder. The man fell slightly against the railing of the porch, clutching his shoulder and roaring in pain, teeth clenched. Chance was one lucky bastard. If he had taken a moment to check if a bullet had been placed in his revolver, he would have been dead.

 Instead of celebrating, Chance hurdled over the porch railing, grabbing the mafioso’s head as he headed for the ground with the strength and skill of a proper WWE wrestler. Chance then wrapped his legs around the sides of the older man’s waist, pinning him in place as he grinned triumphantly, eyes glinting gold behind his sunglasses. 

 “How do you like that old man? Not so nice being thrown around, is it?” Chance sang, idly flipping his coin as he waited for the mafioso to collect his bearings. 

 Even if he managed to throw Chance off, he knew that the look on his face right now would be worth the trouble. Eyes wide and nostrils flaring, the mafioso growled up at the gambler, a fire of pure rage roaring in his chest, only fed by the pain of being shot and DDT-ed.

 Bucking his hips powerfully, Chance was thrown off. As Chance scrambled to his feet, they felt the collar of their blazer yanked, and they were thrown into the wall, knocking the wind out of them and making their vision swim. Chance hardly even had a second before a leather glove slammed into his neck, crushing his windpipe. The marksman clawed at the glove and squirmed, whining pitifully as his neck was slowly squeezed, cutting off his blood supply to his head. 

 “I’m gonna snap your goddamn spine, rat,” The mafioso growled in Chance’s face, mustache quivering and eye twitching. “Ooh, buddy boy, you’re in for a world of pain tonight.”

 Chance tried to swallow, the edges of his vision darkening. Fuck he adored when Michael would get angry and his voice would growl like that. He restrained himself from touching the front of his tightening slacks, as he knew that if he came he would only owe Maf more money. Instead, he just grinned, or grimaced, and whimpered high in the back of his throat. This was exactly where he wanted to be, looking up at this gorgeous older man caging him against the wall with his massive body, anticipating the delicious burn of pain to grace his frazzled nerves. 

 Chance got exactly what they wished for, the back of a leather glove biting into their skin and leaving a burning mark across their cheek. Chance’s glasses fell to their feet from the force of the blow, revealing their golden eyes, which were beginning to tear up. Don Sonnelino’s grip lessened slightly, allowing the gambler to gasp a deep breath into their aching lungs. The shadow cast by the don’s fedora covered his eyes, making it impossible to read his expression, other than that snarling grin. 

 “Mickey, please,” Chance pleaded, reaching up to claw at the hand around his now bruised neck. “C’mon, we have a deal now, remember? You can’t just kill me!” 

 Don Sonnelino leaned closer to Chance and chuckled lowly into his nemesis’s ear, his beard tickling against his cheek. 

 “Who said that this isn’t part of the fun? I can tell you’re enjoying it, dollface, don’t even try to act like you’re scared of more.~” 

 The taller man’s knee pressed into the tent forming in Chance’s pants, earning a moan from the quivering gambler. Sonnelino growled in satisfaction against Chance’s skin, pressing his chapped lips against their neck. Wrapping their arms around the mafioso’s broad shoulders, and tangling their fingers in his fur collar, Chance keened and bucked their hips against the knee between their thighs. A rough tongue licked a stripe up the marksman’s neck, before latching onto a point directly over his jugular, sucking and nipping. At the sensitive skin. 

 Of course, this was extremely dangerous, and if done by anyone who couldn’t just respawn, good-as-new, this would cause blood vessels and capillaries to burst from the pressure, possibly even the jugular. 

 ‘But what a hot way to die, right?’ Chance thought, resting the back of his head against the decaying wooden panels of the manor behind him. ‘Oh to die to Don Sonnelino, breaking a major carotid artery with just his lips.’ 

 Before long, the don parted from Chance’s neck, leaving a small purple bruise upon his pale skin, then dove in to mark the gambler some more, where his neck met his collarbone. Chance squirmed, stroking the fur collar on Michael’s expensive coat, trying to ground himself as blood rushed from his head to his hardening cock. 

 The gambler slowly worked his hands into Sonnelino’s slick, salt and pepper hair, knocking his hat askew. Gosh, it was soft. Even when coated in mousse and gel, right at the roots was as soft and fluffy as a bunny. Especially close to his ears, which stood up straight as soon as Chance started to lightly scratch behind them at their base. Don Sonnelino inhaled sharply as he bit into Chance’s shoulder, clenching his jaw tightly.

 Chance winced as his head was knocked against the side of the house, a large hand flying up to Chance’s face, forcing him to look into Don Sonnelino’s severe, stormy eyes. In the darkness, they reflected red, which befit his current mood. Jaw clenched, lip curled, nostrils flaring, Chance had never seen him this pissed off. The gambler hardly had a moment to process before Sonnelino socked Chance upside the jaw with a mighty crack, pain reverberating through every bone in his body.

 “Don’t you ever touch my ears again. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Never. Touch ‘em again and our deal is off. Am I absolutely clear?”

 Chance could taste blood. They had bitten their tongue when they were punched. Pain still throbbed and fizzled inside the gambler’s veins, settling deep into his lower mandible like a fungus. Fuck, that was going to leave a tremendous bruise. He just held his jaw and whined, nodding slowly at the man practically breathing flames in his face. 

  “Crystal clear. Mr. Sonnelino. Sir,” They added for safe measure. 

  “It hasn’t even been five minutes into the round and I’m already sick of you,” Sonnelino scowled between his teeth. “And finally, I can do something about it.”

The don’s gaze roved over Chance’s body hungrily, a sadistic smirk tugging at his lips. He held tightly to Chance’s lapels before shoving his mouth onto his debtor’s once more. But this time, he bit fiercely into their bottom lip, drawing blood immediately. Chance yelped as hot electricity shot through them, but did not pull away, simply melting and quivering as Sonnelino’s sharp teeth sank into his flesh. The taste of blood blossomed between the two, pumping red and hot over Don Sonnelino’s tongue, being savored and swallowed like the finest wine. 

 Chance loved the taste of his own blood more than anything in the world. It meant that the pain he was feeling in the moment would leave lasting damage for him to look at and touch in the future. But that wasn’t true here… Not when it was inevitable that he would respawn back in his cabin, good as new. It felt unfair that he couldn’t just heal what he wanted and keep the rest. Oh how he wished he could have kept the cigar burns he was given that first night with Don Sonnelino’s men! And did he ever wish that he could keep the bite left on his lip, and the hickeys decorating his neck. 

 The pair parted from the kiss, teeth glistening with blood tinted saliva, bubbling and dripping with the iron rich liquid. Chance was dazed, grinning like he had no idea what planet he was on, and Don Sonnelino just grinned back, licking his teeth and staring down his nose condescendingly. 

 “You’re a sucker for pain, aren’tcha’, babes?~” The mafioso purred, running his thumb over the sizable nick in the gambler’s lower lip, claw catching on the open wound. “Even when you’re having the stuffing knocked outta’ yer empty head, you’re gettin’ off on it. I could do anything to you and you’d thank me for indulging this dirty little secret of yours.~”

 Chance just groaned, still dizzy and reeling in the dull, throbbing pain coursing through his face. They just nodded and giggled, golden eyes slightly crossing as he made eye contact with his enemy’s silver ones. The don’s pupils dilated at the sight, like a predator spotting prey. He was thoroughly enjoying humiliating and beating his debtor. 

 “Why, I could even do— This—,” Sonnelino mused as he spun Chance around, slamming his face and chest against the splintering sideboards of the decrepit old house. “And you’d just take it, like a good toy.~”

 The movement surprised Chance, and he winced as the side of his face (which had been punched,) hit the wall, yet he grinned from ear to ear at the rough-housing. Chance arched their back and whimpered as their hair was tugged, cock throbbing and in desperate need of attention. 

 “C’mon,” Chance cajoled, teasing his captor. “Put me in my place, Don. Hurt me.~”

 The don didn’t need any more encouragement, grabbing Chance’s necktie and tugging on it like a leash. Chance gagged, nearly choking as the satin constricted around his neck. It felt too damn good to be real. 

“I’ll tell you what, puppy,” Sonnelino offered, breath tickling against Chance’s neck. “Let’s make a wager; if you think you can handle my cock without cumming before me, I’ll let you bust a nut, free of charge.~” 

 “Bet,” Chance choked, wiggling his hips enticingly. “Your cock probably doesn’t even get hard anymore without viagra. And I’ll bet it’s small too.”

 The gambler squealed as a hand wrapped around his testicles in a vice and twisted. His cock throbbed even harder than before as his balls were tugged and squeezed in the mafioso’s large hand, agonizing pain running up his spine. 

 “Watch your mouth, fag,” Don Sonnelino growled. “Remember who the stronger of the two of us is. I could just rip your dick clean off and we could call it a night as I watch ya’ bleed out.”

 The threat made Chance whimper. As enticing of an idea as that was to them, they would much rather take Don Sonnelino up on his little wager. The prize was too grand to pass up for momentary pleasure. They knew how irresistible their holes were, and not even the most violent of mob bosses could resist plunging into and breeding his ass. 

 “Pull your pants down, gambler. Lemme’ see what I’m workin’ with here,” Don Sonnelino commanded, sliding his hands up Chance’s waist, his leather gloves leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

 Chance obeyed, shuddering under the mafia leader’s touch. Carefully unbuckling his belt and tucking his thumbs into his waistband, the gambler slowly pulled his pants down. His erection sprang up, already leaking and twitching. Smooth, gray, and framed by a short silver bush, and standing at 5 and a half inches, it was begging for Don Sonnelino to touch it. The don carefully wrapped a leather gloved hand around his debtor’s prick, weighing it and testing its sensitivity. Chance arched his back and mewled, but the mafioso squeezed his cock threateningly, warning him to stay still. 

 “Heh, really you had the gall to cockshame me when yours is this small and wimpy?” Don Sonnelino demeaned, smearing a bead of precum over the tip of his cock. “Poor little fella’. Feeling like you need to compensate by putting down men you feel threatened by?You should feel threatened with a dick that size, Chancey boy.~”

 Chance felt his face grow hot and tingly with embarrassment as the mafioso mocked him and caressed his cock like a delicate piece of china, leather fingertips and claws dancing over bulging veins. He felt so humiliated being teased for his size, and he knew he was going to have a difficult time holding back an orgasm while underneath this man, even with nothing in him yet. 

 Hearing Sonnelino’s belt jingle and the fabric of his slacks rustle, Chance looked over his shoulder to watch the don pull his pants down, but his hair was roughly tugged back, forcing the gambler to stay looking straight ahead as he braced himself against the eastern wall of the abandoned house. 

“Did I say you could turn around, boy?” The mafia boss reprimanded, tugging on Chance’s ponytail a second time to punctuate his point. “Eyes forward. You haven’t earned the privilege to look me in the eye.” 

 Chance whimpered and nodded, keeping his gaze averted as Sonnelino untucked his cock from his pants, shuffling around a great deal as he did. The pop of a plastic cap being flicked open reached Chance’s ears, and they shivered as cool, gooey lubricant was poured onto their asshole, dripping down their balls. The sound of the mafioso behind them lubing up his cock with slick, sticky sounds made Chance’s heart skip a beat as he pictured the mob boss staring down at his ass, hungrily licking his teeth as he jerked his massive cock. 

 Chance’s breath hitched as he felt the blunt tip of Sonnelino’s cock prod at his puckered hole, then the shaft slide between his cheeks, heavy balls meeting with his taint. Fuck, he was huge. Must have been 8 inches at least. 

 “D-Don,” Chance stammered, knees knocking together. “You’re not gonna’ just fuck me without prep, are ya’? Th-That’s way too big.” 

 The don growled out an amused chuckle, squeezing Chance’s hips. 

 “I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do, gambler,” Sonnelino purred. “You’re lucky I decided to even use lube.” 

 Chance felt his stomach lurch and his heart rate intensify as Sonnelino aligned the head of his cock with his hole once again, preparing to thrust into him and tear his ass around its thick hilt. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he would bleed. Chance whimpered in fear, cock throbbing from the adrenaline. 

 “Maf, wait—” Chance squeaked, but he couldn’t even get the full sentence out before the tight ring of muscle guarding his anus was stretched open wide around the mafioso’s cock. Chance screamed, bloodcurdling and agonized as he felt fissures rip open in his asshole, leaving a glasslike pain coursing through his entire lower half. His legs nearly gave out, but Don Sonnelino held him up by the hips, cock keeping him in place like a hook. Chance breathed heavily and tried his best not to break down into a fit of screams and sobs. It hurt so bad, yet it was the very best pain he could have ever asked for. He had dreamt of literally being split open like this, yet even his dreams could never cover the expanse of sensations he was experiencing within that moment. 

 They felt their stomach tighten as Don Sonnelino hummed in satisfaction, adjusting to the tightness around his girth, enjoying the scream he had elicited from his nemesis. 

 “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that sound, Chance,” Sonnelino rumbled, resting his chin on Chance’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, your hole will adjust to my cock the next few times I fuck you. Then your insides will be perfectly molded to fit me, like you were made to be my cocksleeve.~” 

 Chance whined, laying their forehead against the sideboards of the wall they were pinned against. They felt so full, comparable to how they had been filled with cock as a plushie. Yet the pain of this encounter was just the spice they needed to make it all worthwhile. 

 The don bucked his hips slightly before slowly pulling out, groaning softly into Chance’s ear as suction squeezed his shaft tighter. Chance whined high in the back of his throat and arched his back, clenching his fists into balls as pain seared up his nerves. Before he could adjust and maybe assess the damage done to his hole, Don Sonnelino shoved his cock back in, deeper than before, causing Chance to scream once more, before a large leather glove was slapped over his mouth. 

 “Shut the fuck up,” Sonnelino hissed into Chance’s ear, petting his hair in false comfort. “Do you wanna’ get us caught? Knowing yer’ little friends, one of ‘em could come running up here to play hero while I’m fucking you raw. Do you want ‘em to see what a bitch you are, willingly getting fucked by a killer like this?”

 Chance just shook his head, even though the idea tickled his fancy very much. The image of Two Time was conjured in his mind. Dashing up to them, holding their dagger defensively, then halting dead in their tracks as they saw Don Sonnelino violating their beloved marksman. Then slowly reaching into their pants and watching Chance get bred, creepily standing in a dark corner and breathing heavily like some sort of perverted paralysis demon. The mere suggestion that anyone could see how their teammate was crumbling made Chance’s heart race, adrenaline clouding his already lust addled mind. 

 “Now, Imma’ take my hand off of yer’ mouth, and you’re gonna’ learn how to keep your voice down and hold your orgasm until I’m done fuckin’ ya’. You got it?” 

 Chance nodded fervently, whimpering and shutting their eyes tightly as tears rolled down his cheeks. It felt so goddamn good, forcing his anus to hold such a massive intrusion despite being so narrow and tight. Slowly the mafioso removed his hand from Chance’s mouth and lowered it to his throat. Chance beamed at the implication of such an action. 

 “If you make a single sound above a whimper, I’m choking it out of you,” the don threatened, squeezing the sides of his debtor’s neck to make a point. “If a single person comes up here tonight because of you, I’m slicing them open and stringing them up by their entrails, all while you’re still on my cock. I know you’d go soft at that. Anyone would.” 

 For once, that actually sounded like a threat. Not something that would even remotely turn either of them on. So Chance just nodded again and swallowed hard, feeling his Adam’s apple bob against the mafia leader’s leather gloved hand.

 Don Sonnelino thrust his cock back into Chance’s ass, now starting to keep a pace. The gambler just keened and threw their head back, pain still crackling like electricity, but slowly giving way to pleasure as their prostate was pressed against and massaged by the intrusion against it. A massive, dopey grin stretched across their tear stained cheeks, more tears flowing down them and dripping into their patchy goatee, sticking like raindrops on a windowsill. 

 An impressed and triumphant chuckle arose from the mafia man looming over Chance, quickening his pace and pistoning his hips into his debtor’s. 

 “Oh, that’s beautiful,” The don praised. 

 Chance had no idea what Don Sonnelino could possibly be talking about, but as he pulled out entirely, Chance felt something dribble down his thighs. There was only one thing it could be; hot, wet, and watery, sticking to his skin like mud. It had to be his own blood. He didn’t even have to look to know, the coppery smell mixing with the musk of sex as it reached his nose.

 “Oh, sweet admins, Maf, I told you it was too big….” Chance whined, legs shaking helplessly as he was held up by the hips and neck. 

“Shut up,” The don growled, squeezing Chance’s throat tightly. Seems like he wasn’t really in the mood for chatter. 

 Chance just sobbed in pleasure, a bit choked and struggling to get a full breath, grinning happily. He was having his own blood used as lube, his hole fluttering and clenching desperately around the intrusion currently ruining it. He really couldn’t have been happier, unless one placed a slots machine in front of him while he was split open. 

 “Harder!” The gambler strained, voice raspy and choked from the hand wrapped tightly around his throat. “Oh, gods, fuck me harder, don!” 

 A hand came down hard against his ass, a thunderous clap echoing around the pair, leaving a stinging red hand mark against the gambler’s pale asscheek. Yet the pace and intensity stayed the exact same. A punishment for daring to demand something like that while he was in charge. 

 “Please!” Chance begged, breath ragged and rattling as he gasped for air. “Pleasepleaseplease, I need more!”

 But Don Sonnelino did not oblige, keeping his pace and spanking Chance once more, pain doubling as his hand smacked against the previous spot. Chance’s face was beginning to turn purple as he was choked out, losing oxygen to his brain. He was getting dizzy, and it was obvious that the mob boss wasn’t going to be loosening his grip (literally and metaphorically) any time soon. 

 Chance gagged, eyes threatening to flutter shut as their vision darkened. They reached a shaky hand up to tap on Don Sonnelino’s offending grip, trying to signal that they were blacking out. Only then did Sonnelino loosen his grip slightly, but only around the sides of their neck, at the external jugular veins. His hand still stayed firmly around their windpipe though, loosening occasionally for Chance to gasp for enough breath to fill their lungs. 

 Chance tried very hard to moan as his ass was pummeled, but his moans only came out as sad honks or perhaps braying. He flushed, the sounds coming from his throat being simply mortifying. But the don didn’t seem to mind, finally obeying Chance’s request to go harder and deeper. 

 The older man leaned over Chance, his massive overcoat draping over the two of them like a tent. One arm hugged around the gambler’s middle as the other reached up to choke them, claws digging into their skin and leaving angry red scratches behind. The mafia man buried his face in Chance’s neck, his beard and fluffy sideburns tickling their sensitive skin. His breath was hot and ragged, and his groans of pleasure told the gambler that Don Sonnelino was getting closer and closer to the precipice of an orgasm. Chance just allowed their tongue to hang out and their eyes to roll back in their head, tears flowing from them endlessly. Their prostate was being milked, encouraging his cock to leak extraneous amounts of precum, dripping into a puddle underneath the pair. Seems they were both close to cumming. The race was on. 

 Chance knew exactly how to stop himself from cumming, but would it work this time? Would Don Sonnelino manage to make him break? 

 Chance realized he would have to put on a bit of a show if he was going to get the mob boss to crack first. The number one thing he had learned while playing poker with the old man was to bluff. Sonnelino was too serious to his own detriment, as he believed every action and reaction was genuine, and dealt with the issues he was presented with as if his opponents were being true. Chance was a dirty player though, and could never wipe the smirk off his face while playing his favorite game. Even Sonnelino knew to take caution of him. But the thing is, nobody could ever tell when he was hamming it up or if his reactions were genuine. That would be Sonnelino’s downfall; his confidence in himself, and his lack of awareness of Chance’s schemes.

 Chance slowly reached underneath himself and held his cock, squeezing it lightly so that no unexpected semen would potentially erupt. He arched his back and squealed in an exaggerated manner, pretending to jerk himself off as Don Sonnelino fucked him hard and deep. He heard the don’s breath hitch and he felt his pace slip as he buried his face deeper into Chance’s shoulder, biting into his flesh savagely, low groans rumbling  deep in his chest. Though this made Chance’s cock twitch, he knew he couldn’t let the sounds and sensations get to him. Not when he was so close to making Sonnelino cum. 

 Chance began his final act by stiffening his back and loosening his knees, letting out a gargled cry of pleasure, playing it up for convincability. 

 “Cumming! God, I’m so sorry, don!!” Chance squealed, his own act beginning to get to him just a little, cock throbbing desperately between his legs at the erotic noises. 

 That did the trick. Don Sonnelino sped up his pace, bunny humping Chance and growling like an animal as he bit into his debtor’s shoulder. His breathing became more frantic, heavier with lust, nearly snorting as he fucked Chance like a toy. 

 Chance believed he had won as he concluded his act with all he had, trembling and moaning like a pornstar, pretending to be exhausted as his ass was rammed into over and over again at a brutal pace. Truth be told, he was truly close to cumming now that Don Sonnelino had picked up the slack and was now fucking him like a stud in rut. But he kept his cock clenched in his fist, not daring to let a drop of semen leak from him. 

 Finally, Chance felt Don Sonnelino’s hips stutter, ramming flush with his hips with bruising force, and his breath stopped as he felt the don’s pleasure build to a crescendo. However, not a drop of cum was spilled. The don likely had fertility issues or extremely dry orgasms. Either way, it was certain what had happened. The don had taken the bait and willingly came while inside of Chance. 

 Time came to a standstill, two men panting and trembling in arousal, both beaming with pride as they thought they had finally beat their rival in this game. Chance knew he had won for real, and he was just waiting to see the look on the don’s face as he realized what he had just done. 

 Don Sonnelino loosened his grip and pulled out of Chance slowly, and the gambler whined at the loss of fullness, fissures aching like they were full of glass shards. A mixture of blood and lube spilled from Chance’s gaping hole, a great glob rolling down his trembling thighs. As soon as he felt Sonnelino back away, a laugh of triumph rising his chest, Chance whirled around, a shit eating grin plastered across his reddened and sweaty face. 

 The don’s smirk fell as he realized that there was no puddle of cum underneath his gambling debtor, and that he had been got. Chance just grinned and huffed, leaning his back against the old, creaking house behind him. 

“Looks like I’ve won, Mr. Sonnelino,” Chance chirped, voice oozing with arrogance. He gazed up at the larger man, currently going through all the stages of grief before landing on unbridled rage. “In other words; seems like I’ve earned the right to look you in the eye.~” 

 Sonnelino floundered for the proper words, wrapping his coat around himself in undignified anger, snarling like a wolf and shaking his head in disbelief. 

 “You— I felt you— You’re a goddamn cheat, Chance,” The don growled through his teeth, grabbing Chance by the lapels and pinning him against the wall, pressing their chests so close to one another that Chance swore he could feel his ribs threatening to crack. “I’m gonna’ fuckin’ murder you.”

 Chance just grinned, shrugging nonchalantly. “Nah. You’re a man of your word, aren’tcha’? You’ve gotta’ hold up your end of the deal.” 

 Don Sonnelino shoved Chance back and turned away, coat swooshing dramatically as he wrapped it around himself and sulked at his loss. Chance could hear him bitching under his breath in Italian, which only furthered his amusement. Chance limped over to the mafioso and placed a hand on his shoulder, still gloating about his victory. 

 “Hey, don’t be such a sore loser, pal,” Chance sang. “Shouldn’t bet what you can’t afford to lose.~” 

 Don Sonnelino glared at Chance, icy gray eyes piercing into his soul, warning the gambler to back up. Chance did so, not needing any further warnings. But he still smiled, glad to know that the don was planning on holding up on his end of the deal. At last, the mob boss spoke up, muttering under his breath as he covered himself with his large overcoat. 

 “What is it you want for your reward? I’m not gonna’ give you any more than what you ask for right now. Got it?” 

 Chance nodded eagerly, grinning wide and practically glowing with excitement. 

“Gotcha’! Well, I think you already know what I’m gonna’ ask,” The gambler began. “I want to fuck you as rough as you fucked me tonight. I wanna rip your ass open and tug on those pretty bunny ears. I wanna make you my bitch, Don Sonnelino.” 

 The don stayed facing away from Chance for a moment longer, ears twitching. He took a deep breath and turned around, overcoat open and revealing his still erect cock. 

 Chance could hardly react as the don lunged for him, grabbing him by the throat and pinning him to the ground. He was seeing stars from the impact, and he could hardly contain the moan of pure ecstasy that was ripped from his lips as Sonnelino thrust his cock back inside of Chance’s aching hole. 

 “You’re not getting it your way tonight, gambler,” Sonnelino growled, pounding into Chance’s ass with unbridled fury. “You won, so I’m letting you cum. But on my terms.” 

 Chance moaned helplessly, wrapping his arms around the don’s neck as he was fucked. This may not have been the reaction he was looking for, but it was a welcome surprise. It was nice to be manhandled and bossed around and have his body wrecked in a way so thorough that no other man could offer him the same treatment. Don Sonnelino was the only man Chance craved and feared equally at the same time, and Don Sonnelino was his kryptonite when it came to killer rounds. He knew all the best ways to hurt him, all the right things to say, all the most challenging and exciting plans when coming face to face with him. He truly couldn’t have asked for a better man to be out for his blood. 

 “Cry for me, bitch,” Don Sonnelino sneered, pushing Chance’s sunglasses away and making proper eye contact. Chance couldn't look away from the don’s gaze, he was hypnotized. Icy gray, almost silver, with a dark ring around the irises. Despite the shadows cast over his face, Sonnelino’s eyes were as clear and as piercing as if they were in broad daylight. They demanded attention whenever they were visible. 

 “Fuck you,” Chance rebuked, spitting a glob of saliva at the mob bosses face, landing most of it in his mouth and a bit in his eye. 

 The don roared in anger, pushing Chance’s legs up to his sides in a mating press, and pounded into the gambler’s already bruised and abused prostate. Chance sobbed as waves of soured pleasure clouded his mind and body, dull aching pain settling between his legs as blood began to dry and clot, making every thrust feel sticky and somewhat painfully slow. Tears rolled hot down their cheeks, eyes red and puffy as they held eye contact with their enraged captor, adrenaline spurring them to keep poking fun at the violent man currently probing their most vulnerable place.

 “You’re getting slow, old man,” Chance taunted, gasping and scratching at the wooden floorboards of the decrepit old porch he was being railed on. “Gimme’ your all. Make me regret taking this deal from you. Make me regret ever being born.” 

 That would do it. 

 Don Sonnelino backhanded the demanding gambler, a whiplike ‘snap!’ echoing around the pair along with the wet and sticky ‘plapplapplap’ of flesh against flesh. Chance let out an almost indignant sounding yelp as he was smacked, before that exact hand wrapped around his neglected prick and roughly jerked it.

 “Do you ever shut up?” Sonnelino snarled into Chance’s ear, not breaking his brutal pace. “Fuckin’ everlovin’ Heights, even when you’re gettin’ your ass bred you keep runnin’ yer’ trap.”

 Chance just sobbed helplessly, unable to find any words at all to articulate his thoughts. All he could think was ‘Dear Telamon, this is so much better than being killed endlessly.’ He reached under the don’s arms, under his shirt and his coat, and raked his hands down his back, making the mafioso hiss in pain. Chance’s face was slapped again, this time using the palm, and leaving a tinny buzzing noise in the gambler’s ears, making his vision swim with stars. 

 “Mi hai fatto davvero incazzare, stronzo. Sei un coglione e un puttano. Vai a farti fottere,” the don spat in Italian, every word punctuated through gritted teeth with pure, unbridled hatred. Chance understood none of it, but he understood the tone and he recognized a few choice words amidst the chaos. They just nodded in response, whimpering and hiccuping as a proper orgasm coiled within their guts, preparing to strike. 

 “M-Mickey, I’m g-gonna’—” Chance warned, but a scream was raked from his throat as the leader of the Sonnelino mafia sank his teeth into Chance’s throat, canines puncturing in a square around his Adam's apple. Blood dripped from his neck and stained the mafioso’s lips as red as sangria. Lapping at his blood greedily, the don paused occasionally to decorate Chance’s dress shirt and chest with sticky, bloody, possessive kisses. 

 As blood was sucked from their veins and down Don Sonnelino’s greedy gullet, Chance was given the final push to their climax, white hot pleasure blazing through every nerve in their body. Tensing and squeezing around the cock ramming into their ass and raking their nails down Sonnelino’s back, Chance came with a scream, gargled and bloodcurdling and desperate to give an outlet to everything they were feeling. 

 And then it stopped. Sonnelino released Chance from his mating press, unlatched from his neck, and pulled his cock out of his debtor’s ass, leaving it gaping and bloody. Chance could hardly catch his breath as the don pulled away. His nerves were still crackling with electricity, muscles twitching and aching from strain, and he was covered in sweat and blood and tears and snot and semen. Grasping the air where Don Sonnelino was before, Chance cried shakily, vision blurry with tears. 

 “Mickey, please don’t leave me like this,” Chance begged between gasps and hiccups, trying to grab for the larger man currently pulling his slacks back on. “Michael, please. Come back. I-I need you still.”

 Chance clung to the arm which was extended towards him, laying a single finger against his lips to hush him gently. 

 “I’m not going anywhere, gambler, quit yer’ whining,” the mafioso complained, laying down next to Chance on the porch and pulling him closer. “You need aftercare, you’re fallin’ apart on me.” 

 Chance just clung to Don Sonnelino’s coat, burying their face in his chest as they dried their tears, trying to regulate their heartbeat. Surprisingly, Sonnelino surprisingly hugged back, combing his claws through Chance’s messy hair and rubbing their back in comforting circles. 

 Chance just listened to the don’s heartbeat and his voice rumbling in his chest, giving words of comfort as the gambler came down from their high. 

 “You did alright, Chancey boy. Breathe, you’re just fine.” 

 Chance eventually calmed down, yet his ear remained glued to Don Sonnelino’s chest, listening to his calming heartbeat. He didn’t want to leave this spot. It was nice to be cared for, even by this homicidal maniac that was calling him horrible names not even ten minutes ago. 

 It was odd to feel so safe in that moment, with Don Sonnelino holding him like a prized possession. Chance knew the don, and this action was so unlike him. 

 “Why are you treating me so well?” Chance croaked, keeping their cheek on the mafioso’s bosom. 

 “I’m not,” Sonnelino said flatly. “I’m just givin’ you aftercare. That’s what normal people do after rough sex.” 

Chance shook their head slightly before looking up at the mob boss, eyes wet and puffy. 

 “But… You fucking hate me. Why would you care what happens to me after you have your way with me?” 

 Don Sonnelino tsk-ed and looked down at Chance distastefully, nose wrinkling. 

 “Because if I left you to bleed out and cry for the rest of the round, neither of us would be satisfied,” Sonnelino explained, gesticulating with a free hand. “Our professional relationship would deteriorate and you would become bitter towards my lack of care, despite me just having rearranged your guts.”

 “Is that all? Just our professional relationship?” Chance whispered, hands idly carding through Sonnelino’s fur collar. 

 The don tensed, fists clenching. His expression was blank and unreadable. 

 “That’s all,” Sonnelino stated. His face was dead serious as he looked down at Chance, disgust simmering behind a mask of indifference. “If I were more heartless, I would have left you here to collect yourself on your own. Don’t make me regret treating you like a human being, dirtbag. If you ever suggest what you just suggested again, you’re getting a sword through your neck after every time we do this. Do you understand me?”

 Chance nodded. There was the Don Sonnelino he recognized. For a second he was afraid the old rabbit had gone soft. 

 “Please don’t ever let me catch feelings for a piece of shit like you,” Chance grumbled, curling up against the mafia boss and burying his face in his chest. 

 “I’d sooner kill myself than have a rat-bastard like you fawning at my feet,” Sonnelino reassured. “Rest assured, I’ll always hate your guts for as long as you owe a debt to me.”

 “Promise?”

 “Why the fuck do you need me to promise you something like that? You worried that I’m gonna’ go soft on you or something?”

“A little…”

 Don Sonnelino reached down and slowly wrapped a hand around Chance’s neck, using his thumb to force the gambler to look up at him. His eyes gleamed sadistically as he grinned down at his beloathed debtor. 

 “Chance, I will always hate you. Every day I wake up wishing you were dead. Every night I go to sleep dreaming of ways in which to torture you. I will break every bone in your body, rupture every putrid organ, and it still won’t be enough to sate the blood-boiling, rage inducing hatred I feel for you. You’re the most annoying, pathetic, disgusting, low-life, scum-sucking faggot I have ever had the displeasure of crossing paths with. Look me in the eyes when you ask me if I could have feelings for you, because you’re gonna’ want to remember my answer; who could ever love you?”

 Chance liked that answer. 

 “Don’t be so damn full of yourself, cocksucker,” Chance replied. “You’ve got nothing going for you or your love-life. You’re old as shit, you fuck like a goddamn amateur, you smoke, you watch other people fuck because you can’t get it up without some weird kink involved, and you have dry orgasms.”

“It wasn’t fucking dry,” Sonnelino growled in annoyance, releasing Chance’s neck from his grip. 

 “Yeah, it was,” the gambler rebutted. “Didn’t feel a drop of cum pumped into my hole when you came. Admit it, you’ve got dick issues.”

 The don grumbled and sat up, wrapping his coat around himself tightly as Chance chuckled and reclined back on the old wooden porch. 

 “But really,” Chance began, changing his tone to something more sincere. “I had fun tonight. It was real great to get all that energy out. I’ve kinda been wanting you like this for a long time. Thanks for the good fuck, don.”

 Sonnelino stayed quiet, but nodded, thinking deeply about something. He lightly scratched his salt and pepper beard before sighing and hoisting himself off the ground with a grunt. He reached into his coat and checked his pocket watch before snapping it shut. 

“Nearly a minute til this round is over,” the don said, looking over his shoulder at the half dressed man still behind him. “Anything else you want before we part?”

 “Naaaah,” Chance said, shaking their head. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you like to rate your service tonight, sir?”

“4/10,” Sonnelino answered, not hesitating. “You’re a cheating bastard and a rude little punk.” 

 “Right back at you, asshole!” Chance spat playfully. “You’re not a man of your word and your dick is past its expiration date!” 

 The don chuckled humorlessly and tipped his hat to Chance, earning the same in return. 

 “Goodnight, gambler,” The don bid adieu. 

“Ciao, Don Sonnelino,” Chance returned, smirking up at the 6’5” figure, illuminated by moonlight like a ghost, a silver halo around his silhouette. 

 And with that, the round ended with all the survivors being teleported back to the common area, high-fiving each other for surviving an easy round with no casualties. Chance respawned fully intact, no blood, no injuries, and with all his clothes back on his body. It was like nothing had happened at all. 

 But something had happened. And Chance was trying to rationalize it all in his brain. One detail he couldn’t get past was Don Sonnelino’s orgasm. Not once had he actually seen his cock, and he didn’t feel the don throbbing or twitching inside of him. He tried to come up with proper explanations for it, but not a single one fit. Maybe he really did have dick issues.

 Something was wrong. And Chance was bound and determined to figure it out the next time he would come across the killer.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

 The next round was maybe a week later, after Chance had spent countless nights agonizing over what the secret of Don Michael Sonnelino’s dick could possibly be. Chance found himself standing in the middle of a field, moon beaming down on him, reflecting off of glass buildings. This was an easy map, and a map Chance was sure to work his way around with ease. 

 You see, the marksman was more focused than ever, as he was getting better at hunting killers with his excitement to find Don Sonnelino, and he was becoming less distracted when keeping his teammates safe. This whole agreement (and his were-plushie nighttime activities) were making him a better player in the Specter’s game. Chance was being recognized as a better team member, and he no longer had to fear scowls of disappointment whenever he missed a shot. Because he never missed.

 The others often left Chance to his own devices during rounds, because he was frequently finagling his way out alive nearly every time. His luck was finally looking up. Tonight would be no different, he decided. Tonight, he would get the reward that he was owed, and fulfill what the contract was supposed to be centered around; making Don Sonnelino cum. 

 Wandering the map alone, Chance saw their teammates in the distance, dashing between generators and keeping to one side of the map. Chance made eye contact with another sentinel across the field, the soldier Guest 1337. A look and a nod was exchanged. There seems to have always been an unspoken agreement that Don Sonnelino was Chance’s assigned killer, and if they could hold him off from killing the others, no matter how they were doing it, they were granted the space to do whatever they needed, lest they call for backup. Not a word was spoken about this so-called rule or pact among the survivors, but each and every one had an assigned killer that had a vendetta against them specifically. If they could take care of holding the killer off alone, then the others allowed that self sacrifice. They always kept an ear out for calls for help though, just in case something went awry. Guest 1337 knew this rule better than most anyone else. And he respected it. Self sacrifice was something he admired in a person, even if it wasn’t entirely necessary to save everyone. But this way, there were always less casualties, and the soldier would always choose a path that led to less suffering for the most people. And with Chance getting better and better at hunting killers? Who was Guest to deny the marksman’s prideful claim of martyrdom, after months of struggling to escape from Don Sonnelino’s blade? He deserved this chance to be a hero. No matter how he was doing it. 

 Chance tipped their hat to the soldier and gave a confident smirk, patting the holster of his flintlock. The army vet saluted back and continued to help set up a base with the other survivors, on one of the further corners of the map, tucked behind some walls. This would give Chance all the privacy they needed to do what they planned tonight. They already had a hunch as to where Don Sonnelino was, but they couldn’t just go rushing into the building. No, they needed to be calculating, stalking, just as silent as the don and his men moved. There was no room for error or recklessness. Not tonight. Not when a special prize was on the line. 

 Chance stood by the doorway of the furthest building in the corner of the map, opposite to his teammates, listening and keeping his breath steady. There was the voice he hated to hear the most, Don Sonnelino. 

“You’re gonna’ take on the sentinels first, boys, got it? Those are the ones listening in on my location. Without their disturbance, Chance and I can have our much needed ‘private meeting.’ If anyone tries to get up here or out of their allotted safe-zone, you take care of ‘em. Got it?” The don ordered lowly, looking between each of his men. Only two were out tonight; the soldier and the contractee, Sasha and Tony. 

 The pair nodded, brandishing their weapons in their hands, eager to get out the pent up violent energy they had been storing since last round. 

 “You can count on us, boss,” Contractee Tony replied, looking up at his comrade, who was eagerly wringing a fist around his iron crowbar. “We’ll be listenin’ for the signal and only the signal if things get messy between youse guys.”

 “If all goes smoothly, you boys will be rewarded tonight,” Sonnelino crooned, his voice lowering and he tipped his employee’s chin up to look him in the eye. There was a sort of dirty promise underlying those words. But Chance thought he was just reading too much into things. 

 “We won’t let you down, boss,” Tony assured, wetting his lips and grinning nervously up at his employer. 

 “I know you won’t,” Don Sonnelino purred, getting close to Tony’s face before leaning down to whisper something in his ear.

 Chance couldn’t hear what was said, but he knew something was said. Whatever it was, it made the contract killer close his eyes and whimper softly before nodding fervently. Turning to leave the building through the opposite door to Chance, the henchman looked hopefully and sadistically to one another, already giddy with bloodlust. (Perhaps actual lust as well.) As Don Sonnelino watched his goons leave, he sighed deeply, before digging into his inner coat pocket for a cigar and his lighter. Chance ducked back behind the doorframe as the mob boss turned and walked up the stairs leading to the balcony overlooking the abandoned neighborhood, supposedly to wait for the gambler to arrive. 

 Chance grinned and slowly followed after his enemy, feet silent as he crept up the metal steps. There was no place for either of them to run other than back down or over the balcony edge, and Chance knew the don wasn’t keen upon jumping from a few stories up in the air. So he knew he could successfully corner the man to have him exactly where he wanted him.

 Rounding the corner up the stairs and into the loft, Chance caught the looming silhouette of Don Sonnelino leaning against the balcony railing, puffing on an expensive cigar and blowing smoke rings into the night air. It seems he didn’t have a clue what was lurking behind him. Poor bunny. Staring off at the makeshift survivor camp, Sonnelino tapped the ash off of his cigar, resting his chin on his fist. His men were already causing havoc and keeping the group contained on that side of the map. Every survivor seemed to be accounted for. Except for one. 

 The don felt his heart stop as he heard the cocking of a gun and felt the cold metal barrel being pressed to the back of his neck. His rabbit ears laid back in fear, but his general demeanor didn’t change. 

 “Clever,” The don complimented halfheartedly. “Real clever. You gonna’ use that on me, tough guy?”

 “Don’t fucking move, Sonnelino,” Chance hissed, voice uncharacteristically harsh and commanding. “I’ve got you just where I want you.~”

 The don chuckled and began to turn anyways, but a shot was fired, right next to his ear and past his head. The gunshot echoed across the sky like thunder, causing the don to freeze and slowly revert back to his original stance, back to his nemesis. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” Chance growled, striding closer to the taller man and pressing the still smoking tip of his gun under the mafioso’s chin, forcing him to look up. “Next move you make better be real calculated, pal. Or the next round is going straight into your skull.”

 Chance felt a tremor course through the don’s body as he pressed himself flush against him, hardening cock nuzzling against his full and voluptuous ass, fluffy black tail twitching nervously. 

 “I think I like this new persona you’ve put on, Chancey boy,” Sonnelino breathed, voice steady as to not give away his true anxiety. “What is it you want from me, gunslinger?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Chance purred, reaching up to massage Don Sonnelino’s hips, fat squishing perfectly under his slim fingers like a pillow. “I want your full and complete submission, Michael. I want you underneath me tonight.”

 The don let out a soft, and very nervous chuckle, cigar still smoking in his fingertips. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

 “O-Oh yeah? And how are you gonna do that, eh?” Sonnelino was surprisingly calm and relatively collected despite being held at gunpoint. Seems this was something he was genuinely afraid of. 

 Chance popped open the revolving bit on his flintlock, showing the older man that it was fully loaded, except for one already fired bullet. Telamon knows how he managed to get that lucky within the first few minutes of a killer round.

“Y’see that, donny?” Chance sang, spinning the revolver with his thumb before closing it once more, then shoving it back under the don’s chin, trigger finger extended and itching to close down. “Yeaaah, I know one of your weaknesses. But I’d like to find all of them tonight.~ I’m gonna’ pull back and I want you to slowly turn around to face me, got it, baby?”

 The don didn’t reply, even as Chance snatched his cigar from him and clamped it in his teeth, before blowing smoke directly into the don’s face, a shiteating grin stretching across his lips, singular golden tooth glimmering in the moonlight. He slowly pulled away from the don before backing up to block the doorway to the balcony, ensuring his ‘victim’ couldn’t escape. 

 “Turn around,” Chance ordered, inhaling the expensive smoke deeply before exhaling it out his nose. Fuck, it felt good to be in charge. 

 The don obeyed, slowly, almost begrudgingly shifting his weight to face Chance fully, hands being held up in a ‘don’t shoot’ position. His expression could best be described as defeated, yet not quite willing to accept his fate. Yet, truly, if the don wanted control back, he would take it. He could grab Chance’s firearm and chuck it from the balcony, or wrap the marksman in a bear hug to keep him from further mocking him, or simply just push past him and run downstairs, or even just say it straight to his face that he wasn’t comfortable doing this. But the pink dusting across the mob boss’ cheeks and nose told Chance everything he needed to know; Don Sonnelino was enjoying this as much as he was. 

 “Get on your knees, bunny,” Chance commanded, motioning the barrel of his gun down the don’s body. “I’m gonna’ fuck your tight, virgin throat and make you drink my cum. And you’re gonna love it.”

 Don Sonnelino made a disgusted noise, looking at Chance sideways. He stood still for a moment, taken aback by the demand, but as the marksman lifted his index finger and lightly pressed the trigger of his gun, the don sighed and begrudgingly got to his knees, grunting and straining before sitting criss-cross. 

“I said ‘knees’, jackass,” Chance corrected, pressing the barrel of his gun into the don’s forehead. 

“Cazzo,” Sonnelino spat, his face scrunching in barely restrained rage. “How fucking spry do you think I am? I’m not kneeling on my goddamn knees for you.” 

“Fine, geez,” Chance said, rolling his eyes as he unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks with one hand. “Old bastard.”

 He lowered his boxers, his cock springing free and lightly brushing against the don’s nose. Don Sonnelino grimaced, turning his face slightly from the gambler’s cock like it was the singular most disgusting thing he had ever seen. Chance smirked and slapped Michael’s face with his already leaking cock softly, spreading precum over his cheek. The don just glared up at Chance, grumbling and seething at the humiliation. 

 “I don’t imagine you’d need a tutorial, fag,” Chance teased, swiping his wet, pink tip over Sonnelino’s chapped lips. “Show me how you suck cock, baby.~”

 He grabbed Chance’s cock with a leather gloved hand and began to jerk it quickly, but Chance grabbed the don by the chin and prodded at his lips again, this time more insistently. 

“Suck. It,” Chance hissed, shoving his flintlock against Michael’s temple to remind him who exactly held the power in this situation. “Or am I gonna have to force it down your throat?” 

The don scoffed, snickering a little to himself. 

“Geez, your acting as a dom is so shitty and cheap,” Sonnelino chuckled, looking up at Chance in pity. “You sound like a Y/N love interest tryna’ act tough.~ You don’t do this often, do ya’?” 

 Chance grit their teeth and snarled. They didn't really like Sonnelino’s attitude. Grabbing the man by his rabbit ears, they thrust their cock into his open mouth, gagging the don in the middle of his laughing. The gambler sighed deeply, rolling their head back as the mafia man’s throat tightened around their cock and spasmed as he coughed. They gently rubbed the don’s soft bunny ears, holding onto them like handlebars. Looking down at the older man, Chance could see hatred burning in Don Sonnelino’s one open eye as he held back coughs, breathing heavily through his nose. There was also something else in his eyes; shameful arousal. He liked having a cock forced down his throat like he was nothing but a common whore.

 Chance grinned triumphantly and reached a hand down to scratch Don Sonnelino’s fluffy sideburns, still holding his gun and lightly pressing the cold barrel against his face. 

“Atta’ girl,~” Chance praised, feeling the don flinch and his breath stutter at the words. “See? It’s not that bad. You like the taste of my cock, sweetheart?” 

 Sonnelino growled, his throat vibrating around Chance’s prick, making the gambler hum in delight at the sensation. Chance pressed his cock deeper into the don’s mouth, sighing as the tight, warm wetness swallowed around his length. He whined and held tightly to the don’s ears as he buried his face in his crotch, nose inhaling the musk from his silver bush. 

 That’s when he felt the don’s teeth nip around his throbbing organ. Chance yelped in pain, and pulled out quickly before cocking his gun and shooting. Thank the admins that his aim was shaky, he could have potentially hit something vital. Don Sonnelino roared in pain as a bullet shot through the air and grazed his shoulder. 

 “What the fuck?! Oh, sweet almighty Builderman, that’s fucking— Ssssshit!” The don shouted, grabbing his bleeding shoulder and grinding his teeth to try and tough out the pain. “Was that really necessary?!”

 Chance whimpered at the pain radiating from the spot where Sonnelino bit into his cock, though the pain only aroused him more. He knew the don wasn’t trying to please him though, and was trying to prove a point. 

 “You bit my fucking dick!” Chance shouted back, looking down at the teethmarks left on his shaft. “If you’re gonna act like a goddamn animal you’re gonna get shot like a goddamn animal. Ooh, fuck, you spoiled fuckin’ brat! I’m gonna blow your damn head off the next time you pull a little stunt like that!”

 The don groaned through gritted teeth, hot stinging pain burning through his nerves as he held the large wound across his shoulder. Face red and eyes beginning to water, the don sneered up at Chance. 

 “I thought you liked pain, dickhead,” Sonnelino hissed as Chance seethed and panted above him. 

 “I do,” Chance admitted, before tilting Don Sonnelino’s chin up so their eyes would meet. “Just not when you’re being a spoiled brat, trying to get out of being put in your place.” 

 The don huffed, his nose and eyebrows scrunching in frustration. 

 “Now you’re gonna try again,” Chance ordered, forcing Sonnelino’s jaw open with his thumb before sliding his still throbbing cock back over his tongue. “And you’re gonna do it right or else I might just end our encounter here and call for backup. Your choice.” 

 Don Sonnelino swallowed around the intrusion, exhaling out of his nose as he scowled up at his debtor. He obeyed this time, suppressing his gag reflex as Chance’s cock slid down his throat once again. As soon as the marksman bottomed out, Sonnelino tucked his lips over his teeth so as to not allow them to ever make contact with Chance’s sensitive organ again.

 “There she is,~” Chance praised, rocking their hips experimentally. “There’s my good whore.~” 

 An unexpected sound arose from the don as Chance gripped the don’s ears again; a whimper. An aroused, defeated sounding whimper. 

 Chance began to thrust his hips, holding the don’s head steady and gripping his ears, fucking Don Sonnelino’s tight throat. Sonnelino remained somewhat compliant as Chance started their pace, but soon he reached his hands up and gripped Chance’s hips, forcing him to stop. Bobbing his head up and down and hollowing his cheeks, Don Sonnelino’s lips massaged around Chance’s slick cock, his throat hugging around his shaft like a fleshlight. Chance moaned, a hand carding through the don’s hair and knocking his hat askew. It felt so good. Chance really hadn’t expected Don Sonnelino to be so good at sucking cock, he had assumed that his throat was virgin. He really had assumed wrong. 

 “Fuck, baby,” Chance moaned, petting Don Sonnelino’s hair and bunny ears, scratching lightly behind them. “You’re so fucking good at this.” 

 The don chuckled softly and slurped lewdly around the cock down his throat, continuing to bob his head at a steady pace. He pulled away with a wet ‘pop’ and began to lick and kiss the tip of Chance’s leaking cock, smirking up at him slyly. 

 “Hey, get back to suckin’, bitch,” The gambler corrected, pulling the don’s ears so that their cock hit the back of Don Sonnelino’s throat, making him gag and flinch. 

 In order to regain their dominance, Chance hoisted a leg over Sonnelino’s shoulder and held his head tightly, fucking his mouth desperately. Every thrust made a pathetic, wet, choking sound arise from the don as he grabbed Chance’s hips, trying to slow them down. It was a futile effort. The gambler’s balls slapped against the mafia man’s chin as he drooled and slurped around the throbbing organ probing into his esophagus. Tears began to form at the corners of his eyes as his ears were pulled and twisted and as his gag reflex was forcefully ignored. 

 As Sonnelino slurped and gagged and repressed the urge to cry, Chance was creeping closer to an orgasm, moaning and hunching over Sonnelino’s head, thrusting and gyrating his hips as fast as he could manage. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck— Mickeyyyyy, oh gods. I think I’m gonna cum,” Chance warned, cock twitching and hips stuttering. 

 The don grumbled, groaning wearily as he was promised a reprieve from the abuse being inflicted to his throat. 

Without further warning, Chance shoved the don’s head deep into his crotch, pushing his cock as deep as it could go. Balls clenching and jumping, cum spewed from the tip of his slim prick, and down Don Sonnelino’s tight, wet throat. He swallowed the warm, sticky substance reluctantly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank Chance’s seed. The gambler was twitching and slack-jawed as he pumped his load down his enemy’s throat, letting out a long, low moan. 

 You couldn’t pull him out if you had a truck and some rope, he was cumming that hard. But as the flow of cum dripped to a stop, Don Sonnelino pushed Chance’s hips away, gasping for air and doubling over in a coughing fit. Chance allowed himself to be pushed away as he panted and shivered in the aftershocks of an extraordinary orgasm, and he stood staring down at the gagging and coughing mafioso, light tear tracks running down his cheeks. 

“Fucking Telamon,” the don cursed in between coughs. “You almost suffocated me, you fucking douchebag.”

 Chance smirked as they caught their breath, reaching down to scratch behind the mafia leader’s fluffy ears. 

“Too small to pleasure you yet big enough to suffocate you,” the marksman mused. “And I’m yet to actually see yours, Don.~” 

 Before Chance could say anything more, the don inserted two fingers into his mouth and whistled high and shrill. Two notes, one starting kind of low, and the second being higher. 

 He was calling over his goons.

 “Don, what the fuck?!” 

  Don Sonnelino hoisted himself off the ground and grinned triumphantly at Chance as he dusted off his trenchcoat. 

 “I warned you about the ears, Chancey boy,” The don said, shaking his head ‘sadly.’ “But you just won’t listen. And now you’re gonna pay.~”

 There was a bit of commotion down below as the soldier and the contractee came jogging across the yard, sporting a few good cuts and nicks from scrapping with the sentinels. Even in the dark, Chance could see that their weapons were spattered with blood. Blood that was doubtlessly from the survivors they had attacked. Chance quietly prayed that Two Time hadn’t gotten hurt.

 The pair of men clambered up the stairs urgently, but came to a skidding halt as they realized that their boss seemed to be fine. 

 “We heard the signal, boss,” Sasha said, eyeing Chance up and down suspiciously. “You need backup?” 

 The don swished his coattails as he walked past Chance, snatching his cigar back. 

 “You need to fuck so bad, mutt?” The mafioso asked, holding his employees by the shoulders. “I’ve done nothing but treat you civilly and this is how you repay me? I’m gonna’ let the boys teach you a little lesson about patience and self restraint.”

 The gambler pouted, sneering at the mob boss and his smug looking goons. 

“So you want us to rough ‘im up, boss?” Tony asked, cracking his knuckles and grinning sadistically at the gambler. “We doin’ the regular order or a Happy Ending Special?~” 

 “Regular order, gentlemen,” The don answered, grinning down at Tony and stepping back to sit on a power generator while puffing on his cigar in amusement. “He’s not gettin’ the satisfaction of a proper climax. Not after the shit he’s pulled tonight.”

 Anthony and Aleksandr looked to one another and dapped each other up, grinning triumphantly. Finally, a chance to beat the ever-loving hell out of Chance. The gambler tried their best to get out of the way, but Tony grabbed them by the lapels and roughly shoved them towards Sasha, who wrapped him in a bear hug to restrain his arms. 

 “Y’hear that, Chancey boy?” The contractor asked, stretching his neck and shoulders to prepare for the attack ahead. “We get to have our fun with you, without having to get through your buddies to get to ya’.”

 Tony revved up a punch, before socking Chance across the face, jaw making a sickening crack sound. It felt like a tooth had been knocked loose. Stars spinning in the gambler’s vision, Chance allowed blood to pour from his mouth as he tried to fight against the man holding him in place. 

 “Hush,” Sasha soothed, rubbing the back of his hand over one of Chance’s cheeks. “The less you fight, the sooner it will be over. Just let us do our jobs, pretty boy.” 

 Chance tried to yank his arms out of the soldier’s grip, but he tightened his hands around the gambler’s wrists, shaking his head and chuckling at his pathetic efforts to get free. Before Chance could brace himself, a fist came flying up to crack him under the jaw in an uppercut, making the captured marksman bite his tongue roughly, hot blood quickly filling his mouth. His entire head throbbed, nerves getting pinched and squeezed in electrifying pain, the purest form one could feel it in. 

 Chance’s vision blacked out and he felt his body go limp, but that’s all he could remember up until that point. No sensations, no pain, only vague sense that there was something going on beyond the dark void he was floating in. Muffled laughter, dulled throbbing pain, cold, wet blood running down his face. 

 At last, pain began to become stronger, forcing the gambler to open his eyes blearily. His chin was being held up, his cheek lightly smacked as he came to. Someone yellow? Too blurry to really tell who. 

 “Oh, hell yeah!” A familiar New York accent buzzed in his already buzzing skull. “A total Knockout! Fucker never stood a chance!” 

 Chance groaned as blood rushed to their nethers, realizing that they had indeed been knocked unconscious by Tony’s well trained fists. It was so hot to think that these men had so easily overpowered him, used so much force that it made his brain shut off for a few moments. Chance silently wondered what sort of damage they could do to his brain permanently if given the opportunity to do so. Thank Telamon that he was fully healed and all injuries were reset after every killer round. Didn’t mean that the memory of the injuries would be erased. Perfect memories to think of on late lonely nights, when Chance was feeling frisky and hot under the collar.

 Tony smacked Chance once more, this time freeing him from his stupor. Chance blinked dumbly and gazed up at the contract killer over his crooked sunglasses with large, frightened eyes. 

 “You’re one fragile sonnova’ bitch, y’know that?” Tony mocked, cupping Chance’s swelling cheek in a leather gloved hand. “You’re bleedin’ everywhere, doll.~” 

 Chance looked down, and indeed, blood was pouring like a waterfall from their mouth, down their chin, down the front of their dress shirt, and over onto the ground in a puddle of crimson. Chance grinned, going weak in the knees at the view of their own blood pooling underneath them. Who knew that something so beautiful was underneath their monochromatic, grey skin like a geode?

 “Break his nose, Tony,” Sasha urged, pushing Chance forward with his chest. “There’s not enough blood running down his pretty face. Make him a little less pretty for the boss.~” 

 Chance’s feet scrambled against the metal balcony as Tony prepared another punch, a sadistic glee gleaming in the man’s eyes. 

 Crack!

 Chance screamed in agony, arching his back as blood spurt forth from his once perfect Grecian nose. The bone snapped right at the bridge of his nose, causing it to bend sideways at an odd angle. It hurt like a motherfucker, but gods, was the breaking of a bone always exciting and arousing. Licking their lips and rolling their head to the side, Chance grinned sheepishly up at his attacker, breathing heavily between his teeth. 

 “Ooh, I think I messed up a lil’ on that one! Can I try again on that one, boss?” Tony said, pretending to wince at Chance’s state. 

 From inside the building, opposite of where Chance, Tony, and Sasha stood, sitting cross legged on top of a power generator, calmly smoking a cigar and blowing smoke rings into the cool night air, Don Sonnelino’s sharp teeth gleamed from the shadows in a cruel grin. 

 “You know how to break a nose, Tony,” The don rumbled, tapping ash off of his cigar. “I’ll letcha’ give it another whirl, do it right.”

 Chance whined and hyperventilated as Tony grabbed his chin to tilt his head up, and prepared an underhanded punch. 

 Crunch!

 A cracking of already fractured bones reverberated through the gambler’s skull, crunching like a potato chip as the bone shattered in several places as it pressed against the place where it attached to his skull. Chance could feel splinters of the bone poking into his sinuses like needles, it made his eyes water. 

 “Atta’ boy, Tony,” Don Sonnelino praised from the shadows, standing up from his spot and wrapping his trenchcoat around himself. There was movement from underneath the coat, and Chance immediately knew that the don was touching himself, getting off on his torture. It aroused him to know that their sadomasochistic pleasure was mutual. “Now give him what’s for.”

 Tony beamed at the praise, before looking to Sasha to cary on with their choreographed plan. On cue, Sasha slipped his fingers into Chance’s mouth, spreading his lips so that his teeth were exposed. 

 “Oh, Anthony,” Sasha crooned, turning Chance’s head slightly. “I’ll give you five bucks if you can knock out the gold tooth on the first try.” 

 Tony growled, grinning wide at the thought of knocking Chance’s prized golden tooth out of his skull. 

 “Hey, faggot,” Tony asked, getting real close to Chance’s face and tapping on his single golden canine with a black painted nail. “This an implant or a grill?” 

 Chance tried his best to talk around the fingers in his mouth. 

 “‘S a crown,” Chance said, eyes darting around frantically as he bared his teeth. His heart beat frantically in his chest, begging Tony to just do it already. He craved the pain. 

 Tony let out a booming laugh of triumph, before rubbing his hands together. 

 “I’ll knock that thing out for free, Sash!” Tony said, taking a step back to prepare for yet another blow to Chance’s battered face. “Keep yer’ fingers outta’ the way, babes, I’m gonna’ bash this fucker’s skull in.” 

Chance shut his eyes tightly as Tony’s fist came flying at his face once again, colliding painfully with his upper jaw. So much pain radiated through his face that his eyes momentarily shot open unconsciously, twitching and rolling back as bone and permanent dental glue cracked like cement in an earthquake. 

 Reaching into the gambler’s mouth, Tony lightly wiggled Chance’s gold tooth, before it quickly fell into his open palm. Chance sobbed as nerves were exposed to the cold night air, gushing blood like a faucet. 

 “What a beaut!” The contract killer praised, lifting the bloody tooth in the moonlight and inspecting it. “Feels like real gold, boss! Y’think we could use this to pay off his debt?” 

 The don shook his head, hand still moving underneath his trenchcoat as he breathed heavily, only his eyes and silhouette visible from the shadows. 

 “It disappears every time he respawns,” Sonnelino rumbled, posture curling for just a moment as pleasure coursed up his spine at the sight of his nemesis bloody and battered. “It’s useless here.” 

 Tony shrugged his shoulders and tucked the tooth into his pocket, supposing maybe this would be the one time he could keep a trophy. 

 Sasha released Chance from his grip, causing the gambler to fall to his knees with a pathetic yelp, collapsing in the puddle of his own blood. Tears ran down his cheeks, mixing with blood and making his sinuses burn like they were full of horseradish. He sobbed and quivered, elbows also threatening to give out at coppery blood filled every one of his senses. 

 “Awwh, sweetheart,” Tony cooed, crouching down to Chance’s height and gently tilting his head up to look him in the eye. “Already crying like a baby after only a lil’ face trauma? We haven’t even started.~”

 Chance gasped for breath, eyes welling with overstimulated tears. It had never felt so goddamn painful before. Their cock was throbbing in their slacks, untouched by their tormentors thus far, and every nerve in their face was burning to the point of numbness, and blood continued to pour despite most of it traveling downstairs to fill their erection. They felt beyond dizzy and disoriented, stuck in an almost dreamlike state. 

 Trying to rise to his feet proved difficult as he stumbled, vision blocked by black spots, and he slipped in his own blood before falling on his side, thankfully blocking the oncoming floor with his arms. Chance moaned helplessly as all the breath was knocked from his lungs. 

 The three mafia men roared with malignant laughter at Chance’s less than graceful fall. 

 “Poor fag’s dizzy from the blood loss,” Tony observed, still chuckling and wiping a tear from his eye. “He doesn’t know where the hell he is or which way is up.~”

 Chance yelped as the collar of their blazer was grabbed by a large, powerful hand, lifting them like a cat by the scruff. Chance didn’t exactly see which direction he had been picked up in, nor could he detect where he was in relation to him, but he threw a few angry punches and kicks before falling limp and allowing himself to be carried wherever. 

 “Easy, little fellow,” the rumbling Russian accent of Sasha soothed. Chance whined as he realized he was pinned against a wall. “Is the pain too much? We can move on if you’re too hurt.” 

 Chance nodded his head, head bobbing limply like a stuffed animal’s (ironic, isn’t it?). The pain in his face was far too much, though he desired more in a different spot. Preferably his cock. 

  “Boss?” Sasha asked hesitantly, looking over his shoulder at the man jacking off in the shadows. “Should we finish him off? Or is this a Buckwheat night?”

 Chance felt a chill trill up his spine at those words. He had only heard those words a few unfortunate times. For those who are unfamiliar with the term ‘buckwheat’ in the mafia context, it meant that the mafia was to carry out a hit in the most slow and painful and humiliating way possible, to send a message to rival gangs. Chance had escaped the Sonnelino mafia many times before, all before having the displeasure of being killed that way, but he had heard many tales of men getting held up in alleyways for their transgressions towards Don Sonnelino, having a gun shoved inside of them and slowly bleeding out from the open wound. 

 As horrific as it was for those other people, Chance often daydreamt about such a scenario, especially since he could respawn now. 

 “Put the wretch outta’ his misery,” The don ordered, still masturbating quickly, the sound of wet flesh slapping against his hand filling the air. “On his left hip there’s a holster. It’s loaded. You know what to do, boys.”

 Sasha nodded before pressing a rough kiss to Chance’s mouth, tongue flicking against the empty spot where their tooth used to be, making the gambler flinch and whine in pain. As they parted from the loveless kiss, bloody saliva still connected them, smeared over the soldier’s mouth like lipstick. Chance licked his teeth and simpered at the buff man holding him, lashes fluttering lustfully. 

 They were quickly moved to the ground and pinned down, and Tony reached for Chance’s flintlock, drawing it out of its holster. The contractor shuddered, a manic grin splitting his face as his eyes scanned over the ornate silver gun and polished wooden handle. 

 “Pull his pants down,” Tony ordered, despite being the lowest ranking ‘member’ of the mafia. “I wanna’ be the one to do this.~” 

 Aleksandr obeyed and roughly tugged Chance’s pants down to his knees so his ass was bared in the cool night air, asshole puckering and blowing kisses to the men surrounding him. 

 “Prove yourself to me, Tony,” Don Sonnelino almost begged, watching the show go down. “Sodomize his pretty little hole, teach him a goddamn lesson to not mess with the Sonnelino’s.”

 Tony nodded, hands trembling as he spread Chance’s cheeks apart and spit on his asshole, sitting on his legs as Sasha sat by his head, keeping his arms restrained. Chance didn’t struggle, groaning sweetly as his ass was prepared to take his own gun. Face pressed against the cold metal of the balcony, a massive clothed bulge nudging against his head, Chance could not have asked for a better night. 

 He gasped and tensed as the cold barrel met with his hole, penetrating inside of him immediately. Chance squirmed and fought to free his hands, hoping to brace himself against Sasha’s lap, but it was clear that he would be given no such luxuries tonight. He would be shown no mercy, no tenderness, no empathy. As the barrel of the flintlock brushed against their prostate, Chance bucked their hips, swallowing the gun further inside of themselves. 

 “Heh, easy, baby,~” Tony crooned, patting Chance’s lower back. “You like gettin’ fucked by your own gun, cowboy?”

 Chance moaned long and high as Tony began to thrust, massaging their prostate in the most pleasing way. It was humiliating to be caught in such a position and given an ironic punishment for their transgressions. 

 “I love it, guys!~” Chance shouted, spreading his legs further apart. His neglected cock swung between his legs, begging to be touched by the brutal mafia men. “Gods, I’ve dreamed of this happening to me for so long…”

“You’ll be singin’ a different tune when he pulls the trigger, limp-dick,” The don chimed in from his spot in the shadows, still working his cock underneath his massive coat, hiding his body from his men and from his nemesis. 

 Tony laughed and continued to fuck Chance, kissing his balls and his thighs in the most sincere mockery of love. The gambler just whimpered and tried to hide his face in his shoulder, shame burning his entire being. He shouldn’t enjoy this, it was specifically set up so he wouldn’t enjoy it, yet his physical and emotional masochism made it so erotically charged and delightful that it hardly took on a serious or life threatening tone. 

 Chance’s breath caught in his throat as the cool wooden handle of this gun met with his taint, trigger guard digging into his sensitive flesh. He was getting alarmingly close to an orgasm, toes curling and eyes crossing. 

 “He’s going to cum, boss,” Tony said, anxiety tainting his tone. “Just gimme’ the order and I’ll pull the trigger…” 

 The don growled deep in his chest, focusing his efforts on getting off, clenching his eyes shut and burying his face in his fluffy fur collar. He was also on the precipice of his own climax, and it was clear that he was going to cum before Chance. Arching his back and shuddering violently, a deep groan being drawn from his dry throat, the don stood still, only trembling with pleasure as his orgasm enveloped his entire body. 

 “N-Now,” Don Sonnelino breathed through clenched teeth. 

 Anthony obeyed and pulled the trigger. 

 Chance couldn’t remember much after that point beyond screaming in pain and delight at the warm heat exploding in his abdomen, cum spurting forth from his cock. He remembers the agony nestled between two lower vertebrae, causing his legs to go limp underneath him. He remembers the feeling of blood pouring from his anus and guts in the worst stomach ache he had ever felt. 

 Now laying on the couch in the survivor’s cabin and twitching, pants sticky with half an orgasm as they came down from their high, Chance grabbed for a pillow and held it over their face as they screamed once again. 

 The other survivors soon appeared in the cabin, unaware of what had happened. The marksman laid with their face buried in the pillow they had grabbed, breathing heavily and moaning softly. A hand tapped them on the knee, quickly grabbing their attention and making Chance bolt upright. 

 “What?” They asked, eyes darting to the person who had dared disturb their ebbing orgasm. 

 It was Guest 1337, slightly taken aback and cocking an eyebrow at the marksman. 

 “I just wanted to congratulate you,” Guest said, taking a step back. “I know you died at the end of the round, but everyone else survived. I heard your final shot fired before you died. You sure gave those bastards a good fight, huh?” 

 Chance’s face went blank, but he nodded slowly. Of course Guest didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes. If he ever found out, Chance knew he was going to be interrogated, ridiculed, and shunned for his depraved conduct.

 “Y-Yeah,” Chance half-truthed. “I gave ‘em all I was worth for you guys.” 

 Guest smiled softly, genuinely. He sat down on the couch next to Chance and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

 “You’ve gotten good at this, Chance,” The veteran complimented his teammate. “Whatever it is you’re doing differently, I’d like to know what it is. You don’t have to do this alone, you know. You have a whole team to back you up for a reason.” 

 Chance laughed awkwardly and rubbed their neck. They would not like any other survivors to witness his shenanigans with the mafia. Gods, that would be humiliating, and not in the fun way. 

 “Please,” Chance said quickly. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’m takin’ responsibility for what’s my fault. He only kills you guys to get to me, so why not just give him what he wants?” 

 “Chance,” Guest 1337 insisted lowly, looking Chance in the eyes. “That’s very noble, but you’re a valuable asset to the team. More importantly, our friend. I don’t want you running away every time to do admins-know-what like a lamb to the slaughter.” 

 Chance swallowed but kept a smile on their face, patting Guest’s knee. 

 “Hey, don’t worry. I have a strategy,” Chance reassured. “I’ve escaped a few times before, I was just dealt a bad hand this round. Don’t get caught up in my drama, m’kay? Just focus on protecting the other guys, I can protect myself.” 

 Guest opened his mouth to refute, but he truly didn’t have the words, nor the will to argue with a man so intent upon sacrificing himself. 

 “Only if you’re sure,” Guest said, defeated. “But don’t feel obligated to. The other sentinels and I worry for you, y’know?” 

 Chance nodded dismissively, rolling his eyes. 

 “Okay okay, geez. Lay off, dad,” Chance teased, shoving his coworker playfully. “I’ve gotcha covered, m’kay? I promise, I’ll come to you if I need help. Just lemme do my thing for now.” 

 Guest sighed and patted Chance on the back firmly before standing up. 

 “Take care of yourself, Chance,” Guest said, voice slightly sorrowful. “I don’t want you getting burnt out from trying to keep us all safe. You’re a human being too.” 

 Chance nodded, smiling reassuringly up at his friend again. 

 Little did any one of the survivors know how wrong they were to assume he was entirely human or was turned on by being treated as anything but human. 

Chapter Text

After a night of punishment, and nearly getting caught, Chance decided to turn in for the night early. The other survivors assumed the marksman was still upset after his decisive loss, and was fixing to cry himself to sleep. A few of the other sentinels gave him pitiful, guilty glances as he walked out the front door, to his own cabin. They really couldn’t be further from the truth with their assumptions; Chance was relieved that Don Sonnelino had put him back in his place.

He was afraid of the don becoming soft for him. He didn’t want to change a thing about the don. Not his rage, nor his violent tendencies, nor his attitude towards them, nor the way they interacted during sexual encounters. Though ideally, Chance would like someone to be soft and lovey-dovey with, to have a beautiful body to worship, Don Sonnelino was not that sort of man. Not by a long shot.

If anything, Two Time was the perfect, most ideal lover. Someone who cared, someone he’d consider a friend, someone who feared hurting him, someone who listened, and was slow and understanding. Geez, what would Two Time think if they ever found out Chance was getting dicked down by Don Sonnelino, the complete opposite of the ex-cultist? Would it break their heart?? Would they stop caring so deeply for Chance, knowing what his depraved kinks are now? Would they be jealous and try to force them apart before all the debt was paid off?

As they walked on a pine needle laden trail through the woods, Chance’s mind would not stop racing. Before the were-plush debacle, Chance always struggled with soothing their racing thoughts before bed. It had caused hours of insomnia before. But now that physical activity and exhaustion were common before bed now, it was somewhat easier for Chance to get to sleep without medication. They knew that as soon as their head hit that pillow tonight, they would pass out. And with sleep would come solace; the tender, loving embrace of a plush body, somewhere else in the world and not buried deep in Chance’s sleeping unconscious. No nightmares, and plenty of bodily rest. It was perfect.

As expected, Chance face-planted onto his bed before taking his clothes off and getting into pajamas, even before taking his shoes off. He just laid his head down on his pillow and rested his eyes for a moment.

‘I’ll get up in a minute,’ the gambler thought. ‘I’m just gonna rest my legs first. And my eyes. And my back. Just a minute more…’

And before they knew it, they were drifting into a dreamless sleep. So warm, so safe, so comfortable. They were awoken by low voices talking to one another, a small group of 4 or 5, quietly chuckling and clinking glasses, the crackling of a fire and the sound of rainfall on the windowpane in the background.

“You did good, Anthony,” one voice said, warm and affectionate. “All without question. You’re a sole asset to the family, you know.”

A nervous chuckle echoed slightly as a glass was lifted to their mouth.

“Really, thank you, boss,” replied a New York accent with distinct non-rhoticity and elongated, nasal vowels. “I’m just doing my job though. I dunno if it deserves a celebration.”

“Geez, shut up, Tony,” another man chimed in, a bit more high and nasally, grating on Chance’s nerves in a familiar way. “You deserve it, babe. You’re movin’ up in life, climbin’ the ladder. If the boss says you deserve to celebrate, by gods, you deserve to celebrate.”

“A toast,” A third man chimed in, deep, gravelly, and Bostonian. “To Anthony Giovanni Esposito, one of the best damn men we’ve had in the Sonnelino family since the 40’s. You’re a real gangster, kid. You’re proving yourself every day since you were first hired. Cheers, slugger.”

A unanimous call of ‘Cheers!’ went around the room as glasses clinked and men took sips of their beverages.

Chance recognized them. It was Don Sonnelino and his goons, celebrating their victory from the last round. It was obvious they were all proud of Tony for carrying out such a brutal and quick execution, especially to the mafia’s worst enemy.

“Thank you guys,” Tony said bashfully, a grin in his voice. “But really, I don’t see what makes this round so special. I’ve killed Chance dozens of times!”

“Ah, but not this brutal,” Sasha corrected. “This was buckwheat, zaichonok.~ Something not many men can stomach doing. Something that isn’t commonly enjoyed.”

“Heh,” Tony chuckled. It was obvious he was blushing a bit. “I guess I did get a little carried away, huh?”

“Anthony,” Don Sonnelino said firmly, leaning back in his swivel chair. “For me, that is above and beyond, my friend. You like playing with your food.~”

Chance shivered. Was he being compared to prey for these sadistic, cruel killers? Like a rabbit being hunted and toyed with by a pack of wolves? Fuck, that was brilliant.

“I’ve got a gift for you boys in the garage,” Don Sonnelino purred, taking out a key fob from his coat and presenting it like a grand prize. “Take care of her like you’re taking care of your mother. You can’t drive it in this weather, but I’d be glad to let you check out the interior.”

He tossed the keys to his consigliere, who clumsily caught it in his silk gloved hands, peering at them curiously.

“Oh don, the Ferrari? You love that car, are you sure?” Beaux asked, standing as Don Sonnelino stood.

“I have no use for it here. I have nowhere to go, nobody to impress. I’ve seen how you boys look at it, so why not let you have it?” Sonnelino said, circling around the front of his desk and placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders.

“I-I’m speechless, boss,” Tony said, looking at his coworkers in disbelief. “And you trust us not to total it?”

Vincent and Beaux cringed slightly at that but Don Sonnelino stayed calm and collected, chuckling and shaking his head.

“You’d have to try real hard to wreck it, babes,” The don explained. “She’s not gassed up, and the rain has made the pavement undrivable. Besides, there’s no roads beyond the gates; you wouldn’t get far before being put right back in the garage.”

The goons chuckled nervously, but soon corrected themselves, wanting to enjoy their reward as much as possible. It’s not like they even had the bravery to drive such a beautiful car. Besides, they wouldn’t get much driving done with what they had planned for the hood of the car and the back seats.

“You can trust us, boss,” Vince said, saluting to the don while guiding the others out of the office.

“I do trust you,” Don Sonnelino said, smiling uncharacteristically gently at his subordinates, “Go, have fun. You all deserve it.”

Before everyone left, Tony lifted his hat and grinned wide at the mafioso, eyes glimmering with stars.

“Thank you so much, Don Sonnelino,” Tony said, beaming at the don, who was now leaning against his desk. “I promise, we’ll keep the Ferrari safe.”

“Good boy,” The don purred, pulling a cigar out of his pocket and lighting it with an old fashioned, metal lighter.

The contractee blushed, his ears twitching nervously, before he put his hat back on and shut the great mahogany doors to the office behind him before running after his comrades.

Don Sonnelino sighed and puffed on his cigar, exhaling a deep sigh of smoke as he relaxed his posture. Chance felt he needed to get out of here, go hide somewhere where the don couldn’t continue to torture him. Tonight had been a lot, and Chance knew they would just break if there was any more stress added to their mind, soul, and body(s).

Then, Don Sonnelino turned a silver eye to the shelf which Chance sat on. The plush gambler froze, reverting his face to the default toy expression, sitting as still as he possibly could in order to not alert the mafioso.

“You little shit,” The don snarled at the plushie. “You really thought you’d get your way tonight? Pullin’ on my ears and making me suck your cock like a cheap hooker?”

He grabbed the plushie around the neck and hissed angrily through his teeth, digging his claws into the soft fabric of Chance’s body.

Chance held their breath, prepared for the worst. But then something unexpected happened; Don Sonnelino loosened his grip and slumped against his desk, sighing long and deep. He took off his wide brimmed fedora and combed a hand through his slicked back, salt and pepper hair, before taking a drag off of his cigar. His eyes held a deep sadness. A longing. A defeated kind of anger.

“What the hell am I going to do with you?” He whispered, holding his head and looking down at his stress toy.

Chance didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Don Sonnelino was vulnerable, and if he knew Chance was currently inhabiting the plus doll, watching him slowly unravel, there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to be ripped to shreds and thrown into the open fireplace.

“You always look like this stupid toy to me,” The don said, turning Chance over in his hands and laying his head back against his desk. “You’re so fragile. So easy to play with. So willing to be played with.”

This was true. Chance was one of the shorter survivors out of the bunch (on unlucky days), and he wasn’t exceptionally muscular like Guest1337 or imposing like Two Time, and they didn’t have any scary or serious facial expressions to put over his normal silly grin, like Shedletsky. He was fragile, unimposing, and he liked being thrashed around and bloodied and bruised. The perfect pain-slut toy. And yet, there was his defiance problem.

“Why’ve you gotta’ have a mind of your own?” Sonnelino groaned, slamming the back of his head against the mahogany backing of his office desk. “Fuck, if I had known you wanted to be dominant, I wouldn’t have fucked with you in the first place.”

That made Chance’s heart sink. They loved fighting for dominance with the don, they loved pushing his temper, they loved finally winning when Don Sonnelino had enough, and they loved losing and being humiliated by his enemy. But did Sonnelino feel the same way?

“Shit, kid, I can handle losing in a round,” The don began, chuckling to himself. “But I can’t fucking handle when you get sexually dominant… I—”

Sonnelino paused to growl and squeeze Chance’s throat, shaking him violently.

“I hate how wet it makes me,” He snarled, frowning at the plush in disgust.

Oh sweet Dusekkar. Not only did he feel the same way, he fucking loved it.

“I just— Geez, I wish there was a way I could tell you that you could take anything you wanted from me without it going to your head,” Sonnelino grumbled. “You’re a cocky little shit, and I’d fucking hate to—-”

The don paused to swallow back nausea.

“To be your bitch permanently…”

Chance didn’t want that either. What good luck it was that the two of them were having this conversation!

Don Sonnelino pressed his forehead to the plush doll and groaned. He really didn’t want to have this conversation in person. Why was he so scared to have this conversation with them? They weren’t that scary, were they?

“Fuck, Chance, you drive me insane,” Sonnelino whined, thighs squeezing together. “You’re mine. You’re my toy. You shouldn’t be so unpredictable.”

Chance wanted to comfort the mafioso, finally speak up and be the perfect toy for him, but the don’s next words told him that maybe wasn’t the best idea.

“This plan was so fucking stupid,” The don growled, claws clasping arounf Chance’s squishy head. “I should have let the boys keep you. I could have just asked them to have me instead, they know what I like from them. Why the fuck am I risking it all for a slimy bastard like you?”

‘Because you hate me,’ Chance wanted to answer. ‘If I ever leave, you’ll be glad I’m gone. If you loved me, you’d be exposing your soul to me. If I ever left you then, it might just kill you…’

It was clear that the don wanted intimacy. Someone to fuck and be physically close to without having to be vulnerable emotionally or otherwise. Chance recognized that feeling. He was used to being used by people. For his money, for the supply his words of affirmation gave, for his body, for his skills. Yet there was always one thing that drove these people away;

And that was the fact that he was Chance. Loud mouthed, arrogant, clingy, helpless, unreliable Chance. It was just like Don Sonnelino had said; Who could ever love Chance?

It’s not like they needed love to feel fulfilled, but a relationship like this was bound to end in tears. But gods did it momentarily mute the world around them and not a single thing mattered but nerve burning pleasure and the closeness of another human-being willing to be skin to skin with an insufferable man like him.

“Please let me be a good toy for you, Don,” Chance whispered, leaning into Don Sonnelino’s face and hugging his cheeks with his stuffed paws.

Chance was immediately chucked to the wall.

“How long have you been listening?” The don roared, marching up to Chance and pinning a heel to his back.

The plush gambler coughed and sputtered, gripping his fedora to his head and cowering away from the man towering over him.

“Since you were talking to the goons,” Chance choked, shutting his eyes tightly. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ve had enough tonight. I just wanna’ make sure you’re enjoying our agreement as much as I am.”

The don hesitated for a moment, staring down at Chance, his face illuminated by the fireplace, casting eerie shadows across it and accentuating his deep wrinkles. After a moment, Sonnelino knelt down and scooped Chance off the floor, before walking him over to his desk.

“Then let’s talk.”

Chance sighed in relief and looked up at Don Sonnelino, who was putting his hat back on his head and sitting down in his office chair. He seemed like a kettle; perfectly fine on the outside, but boiling on the inside, steam whistling through the slightest of holes in his mask. Sneering down his nose at the plushie on his desk, the don folded his hands and allowed silence to suffocate the room.

Nothing but the crackling of the open fire and the sound of rain against the windowsill. Chance finally broke the silence, clearing his throat.

“You uh… Enjoyed tonight?”

The don scoffed, smirking slightly.

“Yeah,” He admitted. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” Chance promised, brows furrowing upwards. “I swear there’s not any judgement. It’s— nice to relinquish control sometimes—”

“Pipe down,” The don ordered, voice rising in volume as anger swelled. “We’re gonna’ add a clause to this agreement, and you’re only gonna’ open your mouth when you object to something. Got it?”

Chance nodded, grimacing in embarrassment. Don Sonnelino slid a blank piece of parchment towards himself, rolling his calligraphy pen open and licking the pointed end to warm the ink. He then began to quickly scribble down some words, pen scratching into the paper.

“We’re gonna switch it up occasionally. Depending upon our moods, either one of us could be randomly placed on top or on the bottom. Results will depend upon who pulls the white flag first during hunts and brawls. It doesn’t have to verbally be stated that either of us intend to be submissive, but we’ve gotta’ come up with some sort of signal. Any ideas?”

Chance thought for a second, tapping a paw on his chin and gently scratching his embroidered goatee.

“How about we give a chance for escape, but if we stay in the same spot, that means we want it?” The marksman offered.

“And if either of us happens to be incapacitated? Unable to speak, react, eloquently tell the other off?” The don asked. It was a good question.

“That’s what safewords are for,” Chance explained. “Could be a word, or an action, or a sound. How confident are you that you’d be able to form words if I had you pinned down?”

The don threw his head back and laughed.

“How much confidence do you have in yourself, Chancey boy? You think you’d really be able to stun me speechless?” Sonnelino chuckled, grinning at Chance wolfishly. “I’ve been able to shout at you, cuss at you, shove you off if I’m unimpressed with your actions. Don’t forget which one of us has more muscle, doll.”

Chance shrugged, grinning sheepishly.

“I mean, sometimes I get kind of breathless when I’m overpowered, even if I could reasonably shove that person off or tell them to stop,” The gambler said. “But I’ve always been able to use a safeword, even if I’m crying too much.”

The don paused in his writing and looked at Chance inscrutably. There was no judgement in his gaze, just curiosity. Yet he refrained from asking any questions following the admission that Don Sonnelino wasn’t his first BDSM partner.

“What safeword did you use?”

“Pineapple,” Chance replied. “But it makes me think of Him too much. I want a different one for us.”

“Alright,” The don said, setting his pen down to gaze into Chance’s felt glasses. “How does ‘Fedora’ sound?”

Chance thought. It was easy to remember, as both he and Don Sonnelino wore fedoras. And it was a distinct word that wouldn’t be mistaken with any other words that might be exchanged. It sounded good.

“I like ‘Fedora,’” Chance replied at last. “Let’s go with that one.”

“‘Fedora’ it is,” Don Sonnelino concluded, writing the word down in the document he was composing.

After a bit more scratching of the mafioso’s expensive pen against the desk, the don loudly punctuated a sentence with a ‘thump’ of a very decisive period.

“I want your official signature on this agreement, Chance,” The don said, turning the parchment around to face his debtor. “It’s the whole agreement, down to the rules of our game, safety measures, financial responsibility, and repercussions of breach of contract.”

“Is this legally binding?” Chance asked, scanning over every meticulously written paragraph, every curly word, and of course, Don Sonnelino’s large signature at the bottom left of the page; ‘Don Michael Aurelio Sonnelino.’

“Not legally,” Sonnelino admitted. “And you can leave whenever you’d like. But as soon as you do, it’s back to status quo; no more sex. Ever.”

“And conditions for ending the contract?”

“You either pay off your entire debt, not a single cent left, or you just ask to leave, or you kill me during a round,” The don explained, tapping a claw on one paragraph. “If you manage to kill me, all on your own? Game over. I take that as a sign that we are no longer doing business, and you wish to part ways. I’ll respect your wishes, even if you come crawling back on your knees.”

“Makes sense,” Chance shrugged. “How come you’re allowed to kill me?”

“Because it gets you off,” The don purred, scratching Chance’s chin with one finger. “I saw how your cock twitched after Tony pulled the trigger tonight. You like enough pain to kill you.~”

Chance melted, humming softly as he was pet like a dog.

“Only from you, Don,” Chance mumbled, squeezing his plush thighs together.

The don chuckled and growled dominantly in the plushie’s ear, slamming a hand on his desk as he loomed over Chance. The room was getting hotter, but Chance really didn’t have time for that now. Not when he had papers to sign.

“H-Hold on, Mickey! Gotta’ sign this before you get back to toying with me!” Chance said, scrambling backwards and grabbing a pen.

The don grinned fiendishly and sat back in his seat, allowing his debtor the room to work. Chance stood up and gently looped their signature into the space next to Don Sonnelino’s, then noting the date in tiny text next to it.

‘Chance Felix Marshal II.’

Named after their father, but they sure as hell weren’t going to go by ‘Junior.’ Their father always went by Chauncey, giving them the unique nickname ‘Chance’ as their given name. Good thing it was fairly gender neutral too, otherwise Chance would have gone off and changed it to be something silly like ‘Cash’ or ‘Vegas.’ It had a nice old-timey cowboy feel to it too. They had always looked up to their father. Not a day went by that Chance wasn’t thinking of what his father would say to him if he saw him now.

‘You’re a problem solver, son!’ He would say. ‘Life ain’t even giving you lemons, and you’re still managing to make lemonade! Keep your chin up, kid, you’ve got brighter days ahead of ya’. Just focus on what’s in front of you, one problem at a time. You’re doing good by your old man.’

Well. Probably. As long as he didn’t admit he was sleeping with Don Sonnelino to pay off his debt. Shit, that would probably kill him, if he hadn’t already had a heart attack long before all of this had transpired.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with ya’, gambler,” Don Sonnelino said, extending a leather gloved hand to Chance. Chance placed his embroidered paw in the don’s palm and shook his hand, officially sealing their deal, all documented and everything.

“You as well, Mr. Sonnelino,” Chance said, smiling to himself. “Are you interested in another round? You seemed to be a bit horny before I signed.”

The don chuckled, but trailed off. There was definitely horniness on his mind, but something else lingered. Unfinished business, one more thing left unsaid.

“I’ve gotta’ tell ya’ something before we do anything else,” The don said, lowering his head and shadowing his visage ominously. “And if you say a goddamn thing about it, I’m chucking your ass out in the rain and we’re never speaking let alone fucking ever again.”

Chance nodded quickly, anxiety flooding their stomach. Could this be the secret Chance had been waiting for the reveal of?

Don Sonnelino took a deep breath and looked down at his desk, clasping his hands together. The rain picked up outside, wind rattling the Italian style shutters outside. At last, the don wet his lips and spoke.

“I’m transsexual.”

That made sense now. Chance thought the big secret was going to be that the don had a wife and was always thinking of her when they fucked. Or that his dick had been blown off during a war. Or that Builderman forbid he was falling in love with Chance. Or that maybe he had erectile dysfunction and fertility issues. Chance found his mouth forming the words before he could stop himself;

“That’s it?”

The don snarled, baring his teeth and standing from his seat.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘that’s it?’” The don growled between his sharp teeth. “Do you have any idea how goddamn hard it was to come to you about this?”

Chance simpered nervously, scrambling backwards on the mahogany desk and shielding himself from Don Sonnelino.

“I mean!” Chance corrected themselves. “I thought you were maybe gonna’ say something that would potentially end our agreement! Something career ruining!”

“This is career ruining, you imbecile,” The don hissed. “If anyone else besides yourself finds this out, I could be the subject of a scandal. Blackmail, mutiny, hate crimes. Not everyone in the world is as open minded as you.”

Chance nodded quickly, getting the don to back down and sit back in his seat, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So nobody else knows?” Chance asked. “Not even your goons?”

“Especially not them,” Sonnelino said, keeping his voice low. “I’ve known them all for too long. I’d risk being overthrown if they knew I was keeping such a big secret from them.”

Chance didn’t understand. Tony was transgender too, and the others loved and respected him just fine. Shit, they worshipped the don and the ground he walked on. Sure they’d be shocked if he came out to them, but they wouldn’t hate him or doubt his character. Or did the don just not care to be that vulnerable with people that had been so vulnerable with him? Did he not feel his secrets were safe? Did he feel that would be a secret too intimate to reveal, risking how he saw his relationship with the goons?

Chance didn’t ask further questions. Don Sonnelino clearly wasn’t ready for those questions or the answers to them.

“Your secret is safe with me, Don,” Chance said earnestly. “I don’t care what gender you are or what’s in your pants. As long as you promise to keep beating the shit out of me and hunting me for sport.”

The don smirked, chuckling softly.

“Heh. It’s the inside that matters to you, eh, Chancey boy?”

“I guess! I’ve never had any biases towards external appearances, though they do hel—”

“This is the closest you’re getting to the inside, gambler,” The don suddenly snarled, gripping the edge of his desk and scratching the polished wood. “This is the only thought behind these eyes that you will ever be able to read. Beyond my kinks and my gender, you will never know ‘the real’ Don Sonnelino. Because this is me, and that’s all that will ever matter to you. Do you understand?”

Chance nodded, suddenly feeling the air drop a few degrees. The don was clearly not keen upon revealing anything beyond surface level. Chance was just fine with that. They felt that if they ever saw anything beyond this, they would vomit. They would feel empathy for the don, and Chance could not bring themselves to ever humanize this horrible, awful man. Even if they had seen the fear in his eyes as he spoke of mutiny and blackmail. Even if they felt the same about coming out as non-binary to their teammates, once upon a time. Even if they felt the smallest flicker of kinship every time they had a sexual encounter.

Even if now, out of all times, even when Chance had told themselves to never allow it to happen, to stop letting it happen so easily; Chance found themselves feeling the faintest sense of developing feelings.

The don could never find out about this. This issue needed to be solved, and fast.