Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 53

Chapter 53: ’A Foreboding Nightmare’

WARNING: The following italicized content contains implications of sexual assault. If you’re uncomfortable, please skip the italicized section and resume reading at "Florian’s eyes shot open."

"Let’s see..."

The man’s grin widened, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he loomed over Florian. His breath, thick with the stench of alcohol and decay, curled in the stale air between them. Behind him, shadows stirred—other men moving in, their heavy footsteps slow and deliberate, an unspoken promise of suffering.

’Please... someone... help me...’

Florian lay bound and gagged, his wrists raw from struggling against the rope that bit into his flesh like a living thing, tightening each time he moved. His clothes, torn and ragged, barely clung to him, leaving his skin exposed to the chill of the room—and to their eyes.

He twisted, squirming backward, his body moving on pure instinct, desperate to escape. But the attempt was pitiful. Weak. The men around him chuckled, low and cruel, amused by his suffering.

"Look at him," the leader sneered, cocking his head. "Squirming like a little rabbit. Does he actually think he can get away?"

A rough hand snatched at Florian’s hair, yanking his head back so sharply that a strangled cry escaped his throat. His scalp burned, a fresh wave of pain surging through him. His breathing turned ragged, frantic.

’Heinz... please... where are you...?’

The man leaned in, and then—

A slick, wet sensation dragged across Florian’s cheek. The realization of what had just happened made his stomach churn violently. His entire body recoiled, convulsing with disgust, but the man only laughed.

"Mmm... soft."

Florian whimpered, shaking, his muffled pleas swallowed by the gag. He thrashed harder, trying to twist free, but the ropes cut deeper into his skin, biting into muscle and tendon. Every struggle only brought more pain. _{freewebnσvel.cѳm}

"Let’s see if the rumors are true..." The man’s voice turned hushed, almost conspiratorial, as his fingers trailed down Florian’s quivering thigh. "If the little prince can really get pregnant."

Florian’s breath hitched. His stomach twisted so hard he thought he might be sick.

"Nwo... pwease... stop!" His screams were garbled through the gag, each word barely intelligible through his panic. Wildly, he lashed out, his body acting on nothing but sheer desperation.

His foot struck something hard—a sharp crack as his heel connected with ribs. A choked grunt of pain echoed in the room. For a single, fleeting second, hope flickered in Florian’s chest.

But it died just as quickly.

The man’s face twisted, his eyes flashing with pure rage.

"Fucking bitch."

The back of his hand came down like a whip, striking Florian across the head with such force that his vision exploded into white-hot pain. His skull rang, his ears buzzing with an awful, piercing hum. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, and his body gave out, crumpling.

He whimpered, curling inward, his breaths shallow, uneven. Every nerve in his body screamed. His fingers twitched uselessly against the ropes. His vision wavered, the edges turning black.

"Hwelp... plwease..." His broken plea barely scraped past his throat.

The man exhaled sharply, wiping his mouth as though the very act of touching Florian disgusted him. Then he turned to the others.

"Hold him down."

Hands. Everywhere. Grabbing. Pinning. Pressing him into the cold, unyielding floor. He struggled, but it was useless. He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t fast enough.

"Nwo! Nwo!" His muffled screams filled the suffocating space.

Dark eyes glinted with hunger. Laughter curled in the air, thick and taunting.

Tears slipped down Florian’s face. His body trembled violently, his breaths coming in quick, shallow bursts.

’Heinz... please...’

"...Help me!"

Florian’s eyes shot open, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His chest ached, a dull but persistent pain that tightened around his ribs, and his hands trembled violently as he clutched at the fabric of his sheets. His entire body felt like it was on fire, burning with panic, with something deeper—something he couldn’t quite shake.

"Your Highness, are you... are you okay?"

Cashew’s voice was laced with concern as he hurried to Florian’s side, his presence grounding but still distant, as if Florian were caught between two worlds. It took several disoriented moments before reality began to settle around him, before the weight of the dream—no, the memory—faded just enough for him to breathe again.

’It was... it was just a nightmare...’ Florian swallowed, trying to convince himself, but the lingering sensation of rough hands pinning him down, the phantom echoes of mocking laughter, told him otherwise. ’No, this wasn’t just a nightmare... This was a memory... or rather, a glimpse of what would have happened to the original Florian. But why...?’

His fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles white. He had known, of course, what the original Florian’s fate was supposed to be. He had read it, written it—had vowed to change it. But knowing and seeing were two entirely different things. Feeling it, even in a dream, made his stomach churn with nausea.

It wasn’t enough that he had knights protecting him. It wasn’t enough to hope things would be different. He had to be aware, to stay alert. He couldn’t afford to be careless, to be weak.

Because that—that nightmare, that fate—could not happen to him.

He would not let it.

"I’m... fine, Cashew," he said, his voice steadier than he expected. "I just had a nightmare."