The Mob Queen Wants to Claim Me for Herself (In a Reverse World)

I float back to consciousness like a balloon drifting lazily upward, disconnected from gravity, from reality, from pain. The world comes into focus in fragments, the soft beep of monitoring equipment, the antiseptic smell of hospital disinfectant, the weight of something warm pressed against my back.

My eyelids feel impossibly heavy, but I manage to pry them open. The room spins slightly before settling into focus, the same clinical space from before, but now bathed in dim, gentle light instead of harsh fluorescence. I’m no longer strapped to that terrible table but lying in the hospital bed I’d noticed earlier.

Something doesn’t feel right. My arms feel weird, heavy, and distant like they belong to someone else. With tremendous effort, I tilt my chin down to look at my hands, and what I see doesn’t immediately register through the haze of whatever drugs are coursing through my system.

Both of my hands are encased in massive white casts that extend halfway up my forearms. They look comically large, like cartoon boxing gloves. I try to wiggle my fingers but feel nothing, no movement, no pain, just a strange, cottony void where sensation should be.

“You’re up,” comes a soft voice from behind me, slightly raspy and thick with emotion.

I turn my head slowly, the movement feeling underwater-slow and dreamlike. Caterina is curled around me, her slender body molded against my back. Her usually perfect appearance is completely undone, blonde hair tangled and disheveled, her eyes are swollen and red-rimmed from what must have been hours of crying.

“Hey,” I manage, my voice a dry croak that barely sounds like my own. The word floats out of me, disconnected and distant. Whatever they’ve given me is strong. I feel like I’m wrapped in a blanket made of clouds, drifting somewhere high above my broken body.

“Hey,” she whispers back, fresh tears welling in her eyes. Her hand reaches up to stroke my hair, fingers trembling slightly as they brush against my forehead.

She wraps her arms around me tightly, pulling me against her. Even through the drug-induced haze, I’m aware of her body pressed to mine, her breasts soft against my chest. My body responds automatically, a primal reaction that seems completely disconnected from my broken mental state.

I sigh heavily, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“What’s wrong?” Caterina asks, her voice gentle with concern. “Does something hurt?”

“No,” I mumble, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just... insane that I can get hard after getting the hammer.”

A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, starting as a chuckle before growing into something wild and uncontrolled. It doesn’t sound like my laugh at all, more like the desperate sound of someone teetering on the edge of sanity.

“My life sucks, dude,” I gasp between fits of laughter, tears streaming down my face. “I used to spend all my time reading reverse rape stories, but since I met you, it’s like, my god, is this how they felt? It’s terrifying.”

Caterina pulls back slightly, her crimson eyes studying my face with a puzzled frown. “Reverse rape?” she asks, confusion evident in her voice.

I shake my head, the movement sending the room spinning slightly. “I don’t even know how to explain this right now.”

The laughter dies in my throat, leaving behind a hollow emptiness that seems to echo through my entire being.

Caterina’s hand returns to my hair, stroking gently as if soothing a frightened animal. Her touch is tender, loving even, a stark contrast to the woman who brought down the hammer on my hands just hours ago.

I stare at my hands, these giant white casts that render my fingers useless. The reality of my situation crashes over me in waves, each one stronger than the last. Through the pharmaceutical haze, a practical concern suddenly surfaces.

“Who’s gonna wipe my ass?” I blurt out, my voice cracking with hysteria. I look at Caterina with naked terror in my eyes, the enormity of my helplessness finally hitting me. “I can’t even feed myself.”

Her expression softens, crimson eyes glistening with something between tenderness and possession.

“From now on, baby, I’m gonna do everything for you,” she whispers, pressing her forehead against mine. “Everything. You won’t have to worry about anything at all.”

The words should comfort me, but they only deepen the pit of dread in my stomach. Complete dependence. Complete control. No autonomy left, not even for the most basic human functions.

I sink into her embrace. There is no more escape, no solace, no hope for freedom. There is only Caterina. Only this twisted version of love that binds us together like barbed wire around a heart.

“Cat,” I murmur against her shoulder, my voice muffled by the expensive fabric of her blouse, “what happens if I kill myself when you’re not looking?”

She stiffens against me, her arms tightening to the point of pain. When she pulls back to look at me, her expression has hardened into something dangerous.

“Then I’ll kill that boy, Connor,” she says simply, each word precise and cold as ice. “Slowly.”

A broken laugh escapes me, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. Of course. Of course, she would find a way to control me, even in death. My final act of defiance would only result in more suffering for someone I love like a brother.

“I talked with Maddy,” Caterina continues, her fingers returning to stroke my hair with deceptive gentleness. “She told me you and that guy seem to have a much deeper connection than I initially thought.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I say, my words slightly slurred. “He’s my best friend.”

Caterina sighs, clearly annoyed, but her eyes remain full of sadness.

“We’ll discuss this later,” she says, rubbing my head as if I were a pet who’d performed a trick almost correctly.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice cracking like thin ice over deep water. “No more torture, right? You’re done?”

Caterina’s face hovers above mine, her features softening as she traces a finger along my jawline. Her touch is feather-light, almost reverent.

“No more hammer,” she assures me, her crimson eyes glistening in the dim light. “Hammers aren’t for good boys.”

The words should comfort me, but something in her careful phrasing sends a fresh wave of dread coursing through me. I force myself to meet her gaze despite the terror threatening to choke me.

“Can you just say no more torture?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds, how desperate. “Please, just say it clearly.”

“I’m not planning on torturing you if you’re a good boy,” she says, each word precisely chosen, leaving room for interpretation that terrifies me more than direct threats.

Tears well up unbidden, hot and sudden, spilling over to track down my temples and into my hair.

Caterina watches the tears with a mixture of impatience and pity. She sighs again, heavier this time, and brushes the wetness from my face with her thumb.

“You’re being a good boy right now, okay?” Her voice softens, taking on that maternal tone that both comforts and disturbs me. “Just stay obedient. Don’t pull away, don’t run away, and your life will be wonderful.”

I swallow hard, my throat clicking dryly.

“Can I even play video games anymore?” I whisper, lifting my useless, cast-encased hands slightly.

“You don’t play video games,” Caterina corrects gently as if reminding a child of an established fact. “You just watch YouTube videos of people playing video games.”

I close my eyes again, tears streaming down my face. “It’s really hard to commit to a game, you know?”

Caterina strokes my hair, her touch gentle. “Your hands will recover someday, baby,” she says softly, her voice carrying a strange tenderness that doesn’t match the monster who wielded the hammer. “They won’t ever be one hundred percent again, but I’m sure with time and physical therapy, you’ll regain function. I’ll teach you how to use them just fine.”

A small, twisted smile curves her perfect lips as she traces a finger down my chest. “You still need to be able to cup my breasts, remember?”

‘I hate her.’

The casual cruelty of her words, spoken with such affection, breaks something inside me. “Cat, you’re a monster. Like an actual monster from a horror movie.”

She leans forward, crimson eyes burning into mine, and presses her lips against my mouth. Her tongue forces its way between my lips, invasive and possessive, claiming me completely. When she finally pulls back, her expression is a terrifying mixture of tenderness and pride.

“Yes,” she agrees, her voice a silken whisper as her fingers continue their gentle exploration of my face. “But I’m your monster, Adam. Forever.”

She kisses me again. At first, I resist, but the drugs make it hard to struggle. My mind screams to pull away, but my body feels disconnected.

Then I let her tongue in. She wraps it around mine. She knows what I like at this point. Every movement calculated, every flick and press designed to draw out the response she wants. After our short time together, she’s mapped my body’s reactions like territory she’s conquered.

‘If I don’t give in, she might think I’m a bad boy. If I don’t enjoy this, she might think I’m a bad boy. Bad boys get hammers.’

I surrender to her kiss, letting my body respond while my mind retreats to some dark corner where the shame can’t reach. If I have to kiss her anyways, and she’s good at it, is there even a reason to resist?

I embrace her kiss fully, responding to her skilled touch despite everything she’s done. A soft moan escapes me, and I feel her smile against my mouth, triumphant.

She pulls back slightly, her crimson eyes glittering with satisfaction as she gazes down at me. Her thumb traces my lower lip, still damp from our kiss.

“That’s a good boy,” she whispers, her voice honeyed and approving. “Showing your mistress love like that goes a long way.”