#[ broken glass -- dark themed writing ]
Text
The Figure in The Mirror [ broken glass / blood rain ] - The Expurgation Series [ broken glass / blood rain ]
content warning for: [ foul language, descriptions of character death, mentions of blood and violence, and implications of childhood violence. Oh, and a little bit of classical insanity. ]
Sometimes, the figure in the mirror is right about you. In an almost mocking sense, it’s always right.
It knows you deep down inside, like an old friend who never really left. Someone who, for better and for worse, is always there, right by your side.
He really isn't you. But rather, someone you feel like you know. A little trickier to catch out, because he isn't always there. Sometimes it's just me and my reflection. It's a little hard to tell, sometimes.
It's like a perfect simulacrum, you can't tell anything is wrong at first. Sure, something feels a little off, like a hair out of place... or a missing scar. It's always something really small.
Of course, it isn't always so subtle. Even if only I can see it, it's staggering how different people can look from their reflections in the right scenarios. Maybe it's only difficult because me and him are twins, so there's little to tell us apart to begin with. I hated him for that. I only ever felt like half of a person.
Even if he technically doesn't exist anymore.
Even if no one remembered he ever existed to begin with.
That sucks.
Looking in the mirror is... odd sometimes. In our world, her hair is an almost... dusted cherry red color, and it's rather long, thick and messy. And her eyes are this light baby blue color. But in the mirror, sometimes, her hair is really short, and a soft blonde color. And her eyes are more... what is that color called? It's as if roses could be golden in color... I guess we'll call that color "rose gold" for now. Do you see what I mean? It's just... different.
Or that boy with the black hair and the white streak, and the purple eyes. Sometimes, his reflection is the opposite. Choppy uneven white hair with a black streak in the bangs, and really soft yellow eyes. He's a little taller, a little thinner than the one in our world. But he looks just as sweet and friendly. Hmm. I don't have much to say about that one.
And then there's the orange-haired boy with the mullet or that creepy missionary, or the light purple-haired boy, obsessed with birds and the idea of flight. They all look different in the mirror to me. But they don't see anything wrong with themselves. And it leaves me a little confused. How they can't see the fake thems in the mirror. Or, maybe they're the fake ones here, and the ones in the mirror, that's the real them?
... Of course, the actions themselves never seem to change. The words they seem to speak, the way they laugh, smile, cry, plead. Those were all the same.
Well, there was one. But I never gave them the time to mess with me. It was- no- he was a playful little thing. He liked to tap on objects, to roll items into view, to flicker the lights, and more.
He was like an attention-seeking whore in that way. When he was around, my eyes had to be on him, or I didn't get to have eyes anymore. He liked to be seen, to be heard, to be wanted.
And that was the mistake.
I hated him.
He looks human, but, he's not. Oh my god. He just isn't.
...
And that photographer wonders why I don't like mirrors. They make no sense.
Mirrors shouldn't be able to touch you.
...
Both of the mirrors in his personal quarters were covered with a thick, beige blanket. Mirrors were always a more sore subject for the man. He wasn't sure why.
It didn't take him long to shove his way through the small, crowded area he was forced to call his new home. Of course, he would rather be here than at his actual home. Sure, he loved his sister (... did he have a sister...? He couldn't actually remember. The medication they gave him made things really fuzzy.) but his parents... well, he didn't know too many things.
But he knew he never should have felt unsafe in his own home.
I think?
Papers and craft supplies littered the floor of the small room, which he stepped over with ease. Holding the plain black coffee in one hand, and the sweet caramel drink in the other, cradling the crepe against his chest, he maneuvered his way to the small desk, tucked away in the corner.
He paused a moment, rubbing his face in tired silence.
God.
He wasn't sure how long that coffee would save him, how long it would keep him awake. He hadn't slept in weeks.
He felt like shit. (Judging from the barista's reaction, he didn't look as terrible as he felt, at least.)
He took a seat down at his desk hesitantly (although, if you asked anyone else, it seemed more like he had collapsed into his chair.), simply staring at his shaking palms. The scars, he remembered how they started at his palms, and in a jagged, zigzag pattern, traveled up his arm, just past his elbow. Most of the scarring on his right arm was hidden beneath bandaging. Even if he had long since lost the ability to feel in that portion of his arm, he still was plagued by phantom pains. This was one of those moments, where a burning sensation flared up from his palm and seared his flesh.
"... shit! Oh, god damnit, son of a- mhm."
Biting his tongue, his fingers twitched in pain. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, but he refused to cry over something so... stupid. Fuck you. Fuck that.
Leaning over the desk, he clasped a handful of his thick, messy brown hair in his shaking hand, tugging on his coat with his other hand. Trying to subdue the shakiness, trying to distract himself, he grasped at anything that could simply... distract.
And, with the sounds of light taps, distracted he was. Taps, just light enough to catch someone's attention, but not distinctive enough to tell where it was coming.
Of course, he wasn't just anyone. I was better than that.
Slowly turning his head and lowering his hand, Daishobu sneered as his eyes narrowed. Carefully, he placed his palm against the wooden desk, standing up. Light brown eyes scanned the small room, before falling on one of the covered-up mirrors.
"... yeah, no. I'm not doing this today."
And as quickly as he focused on the mirror, he looked away. He refused to give it any more of his attention, he knew that was exactly what it wanted. However, it refused to simply give in to this... unsatisfactory result, as the light tapping began again.
And then, this light tapping became sad (yet, clearly faked) sniffles and fishing voices. It began to cry, to whine, to sob, to mock.
"Do you not love me anymore, brother?"
"I'm not your brother. I don't even have a brother."
"Well, you did have a brother! But then, papa sent him to hell. And now, nothing remains but me. Boo hoo! Stop ignoring me."
Gripping onto the desk tightly, Daishobu looked away with a huff, shaking his head. This seemed to happen every time. It always wanted something, violently so. And while it was hard to ignore it, he had done it before. One time.
But he didn't know what it was he was dealing with at that time.
"Hey! Heyyy! Daishobu, Daishobu, Daiiii."
The gentle taps on the glass eventually turned into slightly harder bangs, shaking the frame of the mirror slightly. The blanket covering the mirror began to fall and then landed on the floor with a gentle thud. Daishobu groaned in response, covering his face in scared hands. Maybe he should have super glued those blankets to the mirrors, he thought. That way, at least, they couldn't fall off.
“… heyyy… heyyy don’t ignore me. That isn’t kind! That isn’t very peace and friendship.”
He paused at the sentiment for a moment, before rubbing his face in annoyance.
“Peace and friendship…? You should be the last person to trying and pull that card on me. Hell, you ARE the absolute last person whose opinion I should be giving a damn about.”
Sneering in response, he kept his back turned, racking shaky hands through his hair. Looking at the sweet caramel drink and the strawberry crepe on his desk, he paused a moment.
“…But, sure. Peace and fuckin’ friendship. Consider this my peace and friendship to you, you eldritch squander. Now can you stop usin’ my reflection as your vessel and fuck off?”
Without turning around, he gestured to the items by his side. Rubbing his eyes slowly, he groaned. He was astonished at how little he cared anymore. How little hearing the footsteps coming up behind him actually bothered him.
No. They weren't really footsteps. Moreso, it was the sound of the countless papers from behind him moving and being pushed aside. It doesn't make noise when it walks. But, in his head, he could see "himself" using his feet to clear a path forward.
Feeling a hand running along his shoulder, not really there. And then, multiple hands resting along his back. It should have bothered him, knowing he was the only person in this room. Hell, he should have been bothered that this... thing was touching him. But it didn't bother him in the slightest.
What bothered him was the mirror near the desk, watching as the beige blanket was slowly tugged off the mirror's surface, until the blanket fell onto the floor, revealing a reflection of the room he sat in.
"... That's better. Woah, you've let yourself go. You look like shit."
"Wow. Thanks for the compliment, asshole."
And, center in its reflection, stood... himself. Well, it looked like him if you only spared a glance. Ignoring the dark mass of hands coming from just behind the reflection and the red eyes, then yeah, it looked pretty damn close.
Watching as the coffee was picked up in the reflection, Daishobu yawned. His breath hitched as he felt a hand creep along the nape of his neck, fingers gently scraping against his jaw. With a violent twitch and an instinctive smack towards the air, he hissed. He hated the feeling on being touched, of having hands laid on him in any sort of manner. He despised it.
He loathed it.
"And the crepe... you even got it broken in half and dipped in chocolate? Wow! You do love me after all! I'm enthused! I'm overjoyed even! I feel so lucky!"
Shuddering a bit, Daishobu looked away from the mirror. Remembering the words of the bartender, his eyes rested on the window.
"The old witch said someone used to order that same thing, what's up with that, huh? You said they don't remember anything from the past, was that a fuckin' lie?"
"I dunno, she didn't recognize you, isn't that proof enough? I mean, if I got burnt alive like an actual witch and allowed to remember that, I'd totally remember the face of the man who killed me. But that's just me, personally speaking."
To this statement, he could only roll his eyes in response. Leaning on his hand, he groaned. Memories of a burning fire flashed before his eyes, the screams and sobs from within the cafe... and the gross sound of crackling bones and oozing organs as the cafe fell to pieces.
It didn't matter. He had reduced all three of the cafe residents to ash.
"Mhm... hey, let's not talk about that one. That's not relevant to my question either way."
Shrugging off the hypothetical (and, attempting the shrug off the many invisible hands he could feel creeping on him), Daishobu continued on.
"You said they wouldn't remember. So why would she remember a drink and snack combo as highly specific as yours? She never mentioned it in the past."
"Simple. You never ordered it in the past. You would have never known!"
"And yet, there I fucking was, asshole. With a familiar drink."
"Well, even if I told you this hypothetical truth, you'd never believe me. So, boo hoo! Move on-"
...
"H-Huh?"
The reflection had stopped talking suddenly, more focused as a beautiful crimson-red began blooming from the bandages around his neck, a thick, viscous liquid beginning to dip from the cut. Blood began to pour from the reflection's slit throat, staining the reflected room's floor in crimson tides.
But in the real world, the only thing that remained was the fresh blood staining the blade the man held in his hand. Tilting his wrist slightly, he flicked the blood off the blade, splattering the sheets beneath his arm.
"O. Oh. So, you've made your choice. I-I won't forgive you for this one, you know-"
"I don't care. Just die already, █████."
The reflection's hand began to tremble lightly as it rose its hands to its bleeding throat. Despite everything, it wore a smile on its face. Even as crimson hues spilled through its fingers and it fell onto one knee, it never once seemed bothered.
"You're just a little bit of a monster, aren't you, Daishobu?"
And then, it collapsed onto the floor and moved no longer.
...
Mhm.
He knew it would be back.
Standing up from his desk, he twirled the small pocket knife in his hand before carefully wiping the blood against his sleeve. Humming to himself, he closed the switchblade before placing it in the inside pocket of his coat.
Then, turning to face the mirror, he paused. Moving around his foot, his eyes focused on the reflection's corpse (can it even properly die?). Then, winding his foot back, he kicked the air as hard as he could. His foot collided with the otherwise invisible corpse, earning him the sound of crackling bones as the reflection's corpse was violently sent flying out of view.
"... Hmm."
And then, snatching the now cold crepe from his desk, he turned to face the closed door.
The door opened with an eerie creak, and then, it slammed shut as the man left his room, as if nothing had happened.
...
The figure in the mirror can be right about you, sure.
But, what does it matter if it's dead? Dead people tell no tales.
So, stop talking, █████.
#[ broken glass -- dark themed writing ]#[ and here she lies the expurgation series ]#[ 'daishobu' -- who are you really? ]#[ man in the mirror -- █████ ]#[ uhm. yip. yippee for writing? ]#[ okay i skuttle away to go and hide now ]
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i just read your miguel o’hara fic and it’s beautiful.
so i found out that when he bites his prey, his fangs have paralyzing venom and i was thinking about him being obsessed with reader who tries to ignore him, but eventually he becomes impatient and uses his venom on them and all they can do is moan and take him (with a sprinkle of breeding kink🤭).
sorry if this is too much and makes you uncomfy
WAH, thank you so much! ❤️
(Breeding kink is my fave kink, Id never be uncomfy) I've wanted to write this for him since learning about it, it's so...hot, HAHA.
P.s: this turned into arguably the longest Miguel x reader fic I have ever done 💀
× × ×
Dominion
Miguel O'hara x Fem!Reader
This is part of a nonlinear storyline.
Warnings; NSFW, extreme noncon/dubcon (reader is paralyzed from Miguel's bite), dark!Miguel, stalker!Miguel, PiV sex, unsafe sex, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, praise, taunting, general bad themes. Reader is a virgin in this.
× × ×
When Spider-man saved a bus full of children on a collapsing bridge, the world cheered. What the news outlets and fanatics fail to see are the people who are not rescued. Your family had been on the bi-monthly trip down state when the bridge had been attacked. They were one of the cars that went down with the initial rubble. There was no big heroic moment, no surprise rescue, or hero swooping in the last minute to save them all. On that day, you lost everyone you ever cared about and came to hate Spider-man.
Miguel O'hara understood a lot of things about this world. In fact, he understood a lot of things about a lot of worlds. There was synchronicity between the universes, such as Spider-man being the hero and getting the girl. What he failed to understand was how he couldn't get you.
It was a Thursday evening, and he was fighting Rhino in the open street. As the leader of the Spider-Society, Miguel didn't often get to run around and handle crime. Seeing an opportunity to release some frustration and get some air, he'd left Jess in charge to patrol the city. Cue, the bad guy showing up and their all-out, property destroying brawl. During the back and forth with his opponent, Rhino had picked up a small car above his head and chucked it. When Miguel dodged, the car hit the road, rolled, then skidded into a light pole as the engine burst into flames.
As he turned to lunge, he heard you.
Screaming, inside that car.
Duty to civilians was more important than apprehending a criminal. Still, he hesitated before, inevitably snarling and prowling towards the car. With his strength, Miguel lifted and shoved the pole to the side before he walked around to the front. Inside the glass was you. Small compared to him, bloodied from the glass and impact but still shouting. What confused him was the way your fearful expression twisted into a look of pure disdain once you two spotted each other. Regardless, he'd broken the windshield and pulled you out.
"You alright?"
Nothing.
Not a word.
As you wipe glass from your clothes, the masked crusader lingered in your presence, perturbed. Miguel did not do this for 'thank yous' and pats on the back for a job well done. He did it because, as a hero, it was the right thing to do. Certainly enough, people in the world hated him, and he could accept that. When you looked up at him finally, blood had run trails down your forehead and cheeks, painting you like some warrior of the macabre. The man wonders if the head injury had affected your brain.
"Go sit down, an ambulance is sure to be here."
Silence.
Miguel catches your eyes as they glint beneath flickering street lamps. There is something about the way you look at him that unsettles him. You stare at him as though you are judging his soul, like you could possibly know the wrongs he's done and lives he's lost. Anger blossoms within his chest, and he feels his muscles tense. This was not something he experienced around most citizens. After what feels like a decade passes between you, your eyes lower, and you turn away. Standing and watching, Miguel observes your limp as you hobble towards the sidewalk and sit.
Left to stand amidst the ruins of his run-in with Rhino, O'hara draws in a steady breath. Lyla pings, showing him the location of the villain, and he sets off to track him down. He found himself distracted by thoughts of you that night. Those burning, scornful eyes and those lips that pressed so tightly together.
The thoughts of you did not stop there.
Days of obsessing turned into weeks. Miguel had pulled your information from the local PD database and had started stalking you shortly after. He had learned your routines, your job, and where you liked to go out to eat with friends. You weren't busy during the work week and usually spent the weekends catching up on chores or TV shows. His favorite was perching in your fire escape and watching you do laundry. You were beautiful, oblivious too, and he liked that.
You two had a close call when he decided to get brave.
It was a late Saturday, and you had run out to the store last minute for some missing ingredients. Miguel had been watching your evening unfold and followed not far behind, even going as far as to track you inside the grocery. Mask-less, he loitered around shelves just in view and watched as you hurried around to grab eggs and flour. An older woman had pulled his attention, asking him if he could retrieve something from a high shelf for her. Though reluctant, he'd obliged, which had cost him his line of sight on you.
Urgently rounding a corner to attempt to locate you, Miguel hadn't been paying attention. Fate made you turn the same isle, and if not for his inhuman reflexes, you two would have collided. He stops himself just before impact and steps back while you gasp and touch your chest from being startled. "Sorry," you mutter, not bringing your eyes up to look at him. Miguel doesn't say anything as you skirt around him in a rush. He was frozen, having been so close to you and nearly caught in the act. You hadn't realized who he was and what he was doing, and that thrilled him.
After that day, Miguel decided he could wait no longer.
The next Friday, you were returning home from a late night at work. Clothes disheveled and eyes heavy, you fumbled to get your door unlocked and stepped into the dark. Before your fingers could brush the light switch, something hit you from the side and clapped over your mouth. You're aware of being attacked, and while your screams are muffled, you flail and kick and thrash, throwing your weight around to try and make it difficult for your assailant. His grip is like iron, and you hear him laugh, his breath fanning your neck. A drag of something warm and wet along your throat made you tense, and you scream suddenly as your flesh is punctured by teeth.
Miguel moans at the burst of blood across his tongue. You taste sweeter than he could have imagined, and he relishes your flavor. Closing his eyes, he releases his venom into your body while holding you into him. Your thrashing continued, even while the paralyzing agent pumped through your veins. He knew it wouldn't take long and indulged himself by withdrawing his teeth and sucking at the puncture holes they left. Blood smears across his lips, and he groans again, lapping at you like a starving animal. Miguel had imagined what you'd taste like, and this exceeded all expectations.
As you fell limp, Miguel licked his lips clean and scooped you into his strong arms. He'd been inside your home before, while you were asleep or away with work. Carrying you to the bedroom, he nudged the door open with his foot and placed you on top of your bed. Your eyes were closed, having fallen unconscious not long after he injected you. The man takes his time, propping your head up and removing your clothes until you are left in nothing but a tank top and underwear. Admiring his work, Miguel smiles to himself and steps away to give you time to wake up. He wanted you conscious for this.
When you woke, you were aware immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes stared across your room, darting around in your skull as the memory of being attacked came back to you. As you tried to sit up, you found that you couldn't. You utter a soft whimper, trying once again to raise your arms, but they only twitched and remained flat on the bed. Heart starting to pound, you look around and try to rationalize. This had to have been a bad dream, and you were stuck in some sort of sleep paralysis. Your eyes closed, and you drew in a shaking breath, telling yourself that if you fell asleep, it would be okay.
Everything was dark, save for the stripes of moonlight that stretched across your bedroom. Your door, wide open like a gaping, black mouth, and your closet door sealed shut. You felt unease build as you forced your eyes to the bedroom door again, then gasped. Red dots hovered six feet off the ground in the hallway. Transfixed, you didn't dare blink as the dots grew in size, coming towards you.
This had to be a dream.
This could not be real.
Slowly, a man emerges from the doorway and stops at the edge of your bed. His eyes red like coals, shoulders broad, and hips tapered. He was tall, brooding, and looked very real. The two of you stare at one another, unblinking. After a moment, his eyes lose their color, and his stoic demeanor breaks. Miguel was giddy. He couldn't deny it. A perfectly healthy young woman with a scent that told him you two were a perfect match genetically. He couldn't have been luckier.
A sound builds in your chest. You would be screaming if your mouth could move. The man before you raises his brows and smiles. "I wouldn't try it," He hums, "You're going to be like this for another couple hours. There is no need to panic. It will wear off and you'll be just fine." Lifting his large hands, he brings them to his chest. "I must say I'm a little offended. I knew certain folks didn't like me, but it appears you might even hate me." Miguel smirks into his words, giving you a glimpse of his fangs.
"I went through your phone." He tacked on. "I know it's rude, but I wanted to know you a little better. Y/N, works downtown, lost your family in a tragic incident where I couldn't save the day." His clothes rippled with light and slowly peeled away until he stood only in boxer shorts.
Horror seeps into your bones, and you cry. Tears dribble down your temples as you lay there at his mercy. Lips quivering, you try again to speak, but no words come. It slowly dawned on you that he had told you indirectly who he was. What happened to Spider-Man being the good guy? Nausea creeps inside your guts, a cold rush of dread rising under your skin. It shouldn't be possible, it shouldn't be real, but there he was.
Miguel wore a smile. He could observe the gears churning in your brain while you fought your own body. The smell of your feel was palpable to him, causing his other instincts to shudder. It had taken every ounce of strength not to feed on you, and now, with you limp and pliant, he could feel that familiar itch prickling up his spine. Luckily for you, he'd taken his injection not long before arriving in your home. With the other half tempered, Miguel had all the time in the world.
“Of all the people to be in their car that night, it just had to be you.”
Your fingers twitch as your brain screams. No matter how hard you tried or how loud your voice was in your head, your body was not listening. Helplessly watching him climb onto the bed above you, you close your eyes. Miguel sits back on his legs and places a large, warm hand on your shin.
“I guess fate always has a way of working out.” he prompted, pushing his fingers over your knee and gradually along your thigh. Your skin crawls, itching under his touch. You wanted nothing more than to break away and kick him for touching you. Miguel can sense it, his lips twitching in an impish smile. He could tell from your scent alone how afraid you were.
“I’m sure this isn’t how every girl imagines their first time going,” He continues, and your eyes fly open. Staring up at him, the color drains from your face and your heart begins to quicken. “Yeah, I figured.” Miguel hums impassively as his other hand touches your opposite leg and pushes it open. His dark eyes focused on the apex of your thighs. “But don’t worry, above all else I am still a gentleman.” Flashing his teeth, Miguel curls his fingers under your knees and folds you in half. The sudden movement makes you grunt and whine. “I’m going to take good care of you, princess.” You catch him as he winks before dropping his head down.
Miguel draws a slow breath above your cunt, savoring the heady aroma of your sex. As his mouth watered, he places a soft kiss at the tip of your crease over your panties. He hums and licks a slow stripe over you, drooling into the fabric as he caught the faintest taste of your pussy. “Just as I’d hoped,” he purrs.
You were revulsed, your eyes blurry with tears as you lay helplessly below him. Your body was betraying you now, and you could feel your clit engorging with blood from arousal and knew you were beginning to leak. Miguel knew too, and he places a series of firm kisses over your covered folds before turning his head and nipping at the fat of your inner thigh.
“Just relax and enjoy yourself. Most guys I know don’t even bother with this part.”
You can feel the fabric being pulled, then torn. It was an effortless motion on his behalf, using his claws to assist in shredding the unnecessary material. With your soft cunt now exposed, Miguel sighs, his breath fanning over you. He mumbles praise in Spanish, something you don’t recognize, before he delves in. Pushing the thick tip of his tongue forward, he prods your opening before shoving inside.
A cry smothered in your chest, feeling heat rising in your face. You hated him. You hated this, but your body wasn’t cooperating with you. Miguel moans, fucking the appendage inside your heat before suddenly lapping up your cunt in quick, successive motions. The flat of his tongue drags over your swollen clit and makes you squeak.
As you crumble, he latches his mouth around the sensitive bud at the peak of your folds and begins to suck gently. His attention to detail and willingness to make you feel good had you rising against your will. Your chest heaves again, another pitiful mewl trickling from your lips as he assaults your virgin cunt. Miguel was grinding against your blankets now, the bulge in his boxers painful.
Your scent had his blood pumping and desire growing. The fact that he would be laying claim to you first thrilled him enough to bring him to leak. As eager as he was, he kept his patience with working your body, wanting to see you fall apart under him knowing the man you spent years hating had made you cum.
Soft puling cries wept from your parted lips, your eyes closed in denial. You were being pushed closer towards the edge. The suction from his lips around your clit was perfect and he pulsed gentle sucks against it. Occasionally, you’d feel the press of his tongue on the underside of it, applying light pressure while his mouth continued to suckle you. Your clit was fully engorged now, and while you couldn’t move your thighs trembled as you grew closer. It was sick, degrading even, that you would ever cum from something like this. Miguel hears you gasp quietly, and he withdraws his lips to instead lap firmly at you with the flat of his tongue. Fast, firm licks that slipped over the sensitive bud that sent jolts through your abdomen and up your spine.
The venom rendered your mind in a haze, forcing you to live consciously aware of every grueling moment. Each lash of his tongue or rumble from his throat sending you hurtling towards your peak. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, yet your body paid your mind no heed. When his tongue rolled over your engorged clit, and was followed by a gentle suck, you fell. Even with the intensity of your orgasm, the most your body could do was tense its muscles. A cry squeaks out, along with a series of sharp, mewling gasps as you tremble and seize under him. Miguel laps you lazily now, vermillion eyes staring up at you between your legs. He had done it.
Now certain he had done his part in satisfying you, Miguel lifts and crawls up your body, peppering swift kisses to your skin as he goes. He hesitated, tugging your bra down your ribs to expose you to him. The words ‘please stop’ built in your throat, yet died on your tongue. You can only watch as his eyes grow heavy and his head drops to your breast. His tongue rolls over your nipples, causing them to pebble. Miguel’s spit goes from warm, to cold, shocking your skin and making you whine again. The worst part of it all was how good he managed to make you feel. You were aghast at the fact you had just cum for this lunatic, and hated the fact he acted like he knew your body, able to apply licks and kisses in places you weren’t aware that you liked.
After he satisfied his desire for your breasts, he kisses your collar and up your throat. Miguel is going slow on purpose; you know that now. He was relishing in the control he had over you, knowing that you wanted nothing more than to tell him to go to hell. Now hovering over your own, Miguel ghosts his lips against yours. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.” He purrs. “You sound so pretty when you cum, princess.” The smile that follows his filth tugs your stomach and fills you with embarrassment. Noticing your tears, Miguel tuts and kisses your forehead. “No need to cry, this part is easy. I’ll make sure to start slow.” The way you whimpered made the devil in him purr.
Miguel takes your legs and parts them as he sits back against his own. He enjoys the view of your spread form while he removes his boxers and tosses them on the floor. From the angle, you can see the spring of his cock. Fear makes you go cold at the sight. He was long, thick, bigger than anything you’d seen before. For a moment, you wonder if it were going to fit at all. Miguel closes a fist around his base and strokes himself twice as he lines up against you. “Big breath, kiddo.”
You realized too late that his venom that left you paralyzed had also weakened your muscles. When you tried to clench and fight his insertion, your body did nothing more than twitch. Smiling, Miguel nudges the fat, weeping tip of his cock into you and he grunts. “Dios-“he sighs, biting his lip while he trained his eyes in the spot you two connected.
“Look at you, taking me so well.” There is a flash of teeth as he edges himself inside. The stretch is excruciating, especially for your first time. Miguel’s cock was relentlessly thick, filling you to a capacity you didn’t know you had. Hearing the curling whimpers in your chest, he stops and looks down at you thoughtfully. “Almost there, you’re doing great.” You feel revulsed when he winks at you.
The venom kept your body relaxed, making it easier for him to violate you. As he eases inside, you see stars as he presses somewhere deep within you. Miguel’s pubic bone pushes against your swollen clit as he bottoms out, groaning salaciously at the squeeze of your cunt around him. His large hands find their way onto the back of your knees, and he guides one of your legs over his broad shoulder.
“I bet you thought it wouldn’t fit,” he taunts, smiling and biting his lip as he begins to slowly draw back. Miguel’s cock grinds every nerve in your canal, setting fireworks off beneath your skin and making you shriek and grunt in the back of your throat. You hated how full he made you feel.
With a firm jut of his hips, Miguel sinks inside of you and groans as your pelvises collide. He curses again, repeating the motion before lowering himself to cage your body under his own. “Take it,” He gasps, his head dropping to your neck. His breath pants across your skin, warming you further as he drives his cock home. The man begins to rabbit himself inside of you, using your pussy as he saw fit and throwing any concern for your lack of experience to the wind. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t had time to properly stretch, you were his now and meant to be taken. “G-good girl,” he pants, licking over the bruising bite mark he left on the nape of your neck. “S-so s-shocking good.” He laughs dryly, biting you once more without penetrating your skin. Pain blooms in your shoulder and you whine, your eyes closing as you see spots.
Miguel’s pace is relentless. He pounds into you with reckless abandon, bouncing your smaller body repeatedly up the bed and making your shitty mattress creak noisily. It felt as though the air was being forcefully shoved from your lungs, his cock spearing inside with such strength you think he may break your pelvis. The worst was the way he praised you, rumbling as you took him, calling you his good girl over and over. You were rising again, once more against your will as your attacker defiled you.
“That’s it, t-that’s it.” He gasps. Miguel was coming closer to the edge with each thrust, knowing he’d never be the same after this night; after finding you. He whimpers against your throat, the sound pathetic for a man with his strength. You see stars as he ruts sloppily, his thrusts uneven as he came apart above you. Ramming his cock to the root, the man shudders and growls, his muscle rippling as his cock throbbed and began to empty. The hot, heavy spurts of cum impacting and oozing against your cervix, coating your insides. While he slowed, his stomach pressed and ground just right against your clit, making you whimper much quieter this time. You throb, your eyes rolling back in your skull as you flutter and squeeze weakly around him. Miguel grunts again, then smiles impishly against your throat.
“Not so bad for a first time, huh?”
Sitting up, Miguel pecks a kiss to your lips before sitting back on his legs and casting his attention downwards. He watched as he began to withdraw from you, his cock coated in your joined fluids. There was a deeply sickening tremor of satisfaction as he watched his cum begin to dribble out. A part of him hoped his seed would take; he was certain you’d be just as beautiful with your belly swollen. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see his face. At least, you reason, it was over, and he would leave, and you could try to pick the pieces of yourself back up.
Miguel hummed, slipping off the bed and pulling on his boxers as he steals a look around your room. Once dressed, his suit reformed around his body in a glimmer of hard light. All but his mask. “Alright, let’s get you dressed and ready for the trip home.” Ice floods your veins and the nausea returned. Your eyes open and try to focus on him as the room begins to spin. “What? You thought this was just some random encounter?” His lips stretch into a smile as he holds his hands out. “First of all, I’m hurt, secondly, I’m going to try really hard to pack you some of your favorite stuff, I’ll supplement anything else you need.” Miguel hums as he walks to your closet in search of luggage containers.
Tears streak from your eyes and obscure your vision again. Your chest was so tight you felt certain you were going to break. He packs things for you while you panic, wanting to sob and beg him to leave, to apologize and tell him you were wrong about Spiderman. A sob escapes you as your chest shakes, your eyes closing again as you weep. Your body was sore, filled to the brim with this man’s fluids, and you knew you’d never be clean or safe again. Miguel glances at you from over his shoulder and smiles anyways.
You would learn to love him.
He just knew it.
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara headcanons#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara smut#miguel spiderverse#atsv miguel#miguel x you#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x reader#miguel x reader#miguel ohara#miguel atsv#miguel spiderman#spiderman 2099#oscar issac characters#oscar isaac#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel ohara x y/n#spiderman x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you#miguel o'hara x fem!reader
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Where Do Broken Hearts Go - Chapter 6 (18+)
Pairing: Model, ex-boyfriend!Jungkook X Child psychologist, Fem!Reader X Lawyer, Single Dad!Hoseok.
Summary: Jungkook stripped your emotions naked, left you bare in the chilly wind of despair and self-doubt with an unending heartache. You tried your hardest to move on from him, to live for yourself but failed miserably. Each night you had to come back to your empty home where memories and broken dreams were scattered all around the floor, until one day a little angel and her unbelievably beautiful father came into your life. Finally, when you find yourself healing, maybe falling too, Jungkook had to show up! Again!
Theme: Angst, pining, heartbreak, break-up, smut
Warnings: SMUT AHEAD!! Explicit sex, hair pulling, tit slapping, nipple play, body worshipping, doggy style, protected sex, Hoseok is just so whipped for her, confessions, mina makes an appearance, multiple orgasms, argument, drama!!! NSFW!!!
Word count: 4.1k+
Taglist requests are closed.
Minors and karens are not allowed in this blog
A/N: This chapter was so fun to write. I hope it's fun to read for you too. Please let me know what you think of it.
Main Masterlist
Chapters:-
Prologue/Masterpost || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 - Finale
It’s been long since you had any physical action.
Jungkook was far too unattached for the last couple of months of your relationship that he couldn't offer more than a few kisses and touches.
And then when he left, you were far too drained to give yourself a moment of release.
So, this can be a reason why you currently feel that you are being touched for the first time ever. This can be a reason why your skin is ablaze, your heart is pounding so hard that you can hear it in your ears and your panties getting soaked at the speed of light.
Hoseok groans in your mouth when you manage to slide your tongue inside of his. He tastes like the red wine you two just had. But he feels like everything you have been missing in your life.
“Stay the night.” Hoseok whispers in your mouth, parting for a second. A string of saliva connecting both of you.
“Should I?” you reply breathlessly.
And then you are kissing him again. His hands hold you steadily by your hip, squeezing your ass occasionally.
“But first, let’s keep these away.” you murmur in his mouth and he groans in affirmation.
Parting from your lips again, Hoseok places a quick peck on your mouth and takes the wine glass from your hand. When he exits the balcony to keep the glasses on the dishwasher, you follow him.
Calling Hoseok only handsome would never be justified.
You stare at him thirstily as he puts the glasses inside the dishwasher. His forearm veins flexing with every movement he makes. The black turtleneck is tight around his well-built chest. His dark styled hair has come loose around his forehead so a few strands are covering his eyes.
You start blushing but not because you are horny. It’s more than that.
No matter how independent you are, you have always wished to have a small family. Some people, who you would always come back to. Someone of your very own.
And you have always pictured Jungkook with you in those moments.
But now, when you have a glimpse of what you could have in future (only if Hoseok feels the very same way), you feel greedy.
You want to wake up in the morning beside Hoseok, kiss him good morning, take Sua out of her bed, kiss her too, and at night you want to tuck her to her bed, kiss her good night and end your day in Hoseok’s arms.
You don’t know if it’s right for you to ask all these and you don’t even want to think of that. For now, you know you are in love with the man in front of you.
You know he is attracted to you too, and it probably doesn’t match the intensity you possess for him. But for now, you want to live in this feeling. It’s been long since you have felt anything akin to butterflies and you want to enjoy it all as long as it lasts.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” It's Hoseok who speaks. He takes a step towards you.
“Am I?” you mirror his actions.
“Yes. very much.” he takes a hold of your hand and places a kiss on top of it, “so much so that I want to make you mine… only mine.”
Hoseok intertwines his fingers with yours, making your heart go even wilder. You can’t remember the last time when you felt this loved, this cherished, this much adored.
His eyes stay on yours. You can’t find the least bit of mockery in those. His words are sincere, he is sincere and right now, you can read him like an open book.
Placing your other hand on his cheek, you whisper, “then.. What’s stopping you from doing so?”
His skin is smooth much like his words.
Hoseok halts his movements at your question. His eyes flood with emotions that are not quite positive. You know what he might be thinking. And you want to dismiss his thoughts as soon as possible.
“I- I don’t see why you would want someone like me? I am in my thirties, a single father on top of that. You can have hotter younger guys swooning over you, offering you the world and what not. And me? I can only offer you myself, my love and Sua as a bonus. That’s all.”
You smile at his admission. He probably thought his words would discourage you from stepping towards him. But in reality you fall for him even more.
Encircling your hands around his neck, you reply, “and what if that’s more than enough for me? What if that’s all I want? You, your love and Sua as a bonus? Will you make me yours then?”
“I have been alone for far too long, Y/N. and… and I might not let you go if we step into this. I might never let you slip away from me. Will you be okay with that?”
“I will love that, Hoseok. I.. I have come to like you a lot in the past few weeks. And would love to fall for you in the near future.” you connect your forehead with his.
“Too bad, because it took me only the first glance to fall head over heels for you.” as soon as his confession ends, his lips find yours.
This time the kiss is slow.
Hoseok takes his time to explore every corner of your mouth while caging you between himself and the kitchen counter.
You kiss him with utmost sincerity as well.
Hoseok bites down on your lower lip, making you release a low moan. His kisses shift to your jaw, then to the column of your throat, painting bruises all over your skin.
His hands find their way to your thigh. And within a moment he lifts you up and sits you on the counter.
Slotting himself perfectly in between your legs, Hoseok nips on your throat.
“Hoseok” you moan breathily.
Hoseok’s hands venture underneath your dress, discovering your bare thigh. Your breath hitches when his fingers reach closer to your leaking core.
Just when he is about to touch you there, the door lock chimes in.
Hoseok detaches his mouth from your skin. You can see all the color from his face start draining as he whips his head to look towards the main entrance.
“Hoseok” a high pitched voice comes out of the narrow passage that leads to the door. And at once you know who it can be.
Her stilettos clink against the marble floor as she invites herself inside.
You don’t make any effort to demount the kitchen counter or shoving Hoseok away from your body. You stay still, holding him by his arm and so does he.
“Hoseok, why didn’t you-” the woman comes into your sight wearing a tight bodycon dress that certainly emphasizes her curves a lot.
You gotta admit the fact that she is indeed pretty. And if you’re a tiny bit jealous then it’s a discussion for another day.
“Mina! What the hell? How do you know my passcode?” Hoseok screams at her. But she is too busy scanning the position that you and Hoseok are in.
“That’s not important now, Hoseok. Who is she?” she points her finger towards you.
“Why are you here?” the man asks calmly now.
“Because you won’t reply to my texts or receive my calls! And I suppose she is the reason why?”
“Mina. Let’s talk about it later. I need you to leave now, you can see I am busy.”
“Who is she, Hoseok?” Mina asks again, determined to know your identity.
Hoseok looks at you.
Maybe he is hesitant to name your relationship and it’s natural. You are definitely not only in a professional relationship with him anymore but you are nothing more than a person he just kissed.
So you decide to answer on behalf of him, “I am Su-”
“She is my girlfriend.” Hoseok cuts you off.
Damn! Did he just call you his girlfriend?
When you look up at him, he is already smiling at you, “she is my permanent.”
You two are too busy staring into each other’s eyes that you don’t see the third figure bolting out of the door and banging it way too loudly. Before you can register it and say something, Hoseok is picking up where he left off earlier.
His hands work faster this time, undoing the knot of your dress and pulling the cloth away from your body. Your dress falls limp on his feet.
Your hands grab Hoseok’s turtle neck as if they are on auto-pilot and tug it out of his slacks. He helps you in undressing himself.
As soon as his honeyed skin comes into view, you start salivating.
“Fuck! Is it really legal for you to be this sexy?” you speak the words out loud. Your hands explore the expanse of his chest, his stomach, his torso.
“Why? Are you going to report me?” Hoseok chuckles, trying to tear your hands away from himself so that he can see you properly.
“I might… report you to my bedroom.” You place a kiss on his throat.
He groans, finally grabbing your wrist, he pins those on your back and says, “I’m one hell of an attorney. I know how to win cases.”
He swiftly unclips your bra and takes the article off your body.
“Holy shit! Y/N! You are so fucking gorgeous!” Hissing at the sight of your bare chest, Hoseok garbs your right tit with his free hand.
“So big! Damn! I bet your nipples will taste heavenly on my tongue!”
His praises turn you on beyond repair, so you whine.
He takes your left nipple inside his mouth. At first he rolls his tongue on the bud and then he starts sucking it. His sucks are so powerful that the action produces loud wet sounds. You bite back a moan even though it’s tough to do so.
“Come on, baby! Let me hear you.” Hoseok speaks into your tit. His saliva runs down your bosom.
“B-but Sua is-”
“Her room is upstairs, remember?”
“O-Oh. I completely forgot you fucked Mina neumerous tim- Ah” a bite of sharp teeth on the sensitive skin of your nipple restricts you from completing the sentence.
Hoseok slaps on your other tit harshly and bites on your nipple again.
“Hoseok!” you let out a thunderous moan.
When he finally leaves you tits, those are covered in red, purple bruises.
Hoseok winds a hand around your naked waist and picks you up easily. You wrap your legs around his torso, letting him take you to his bedroom.
On other times you would take a look at the decoration of someone’s bedroom as that tells a lot about a person. But right now you can only think of Hoseok’s body, his mouth and those damned set of fingers.
He drops you onto his plush bed and hooks his fingers around the waistband of your underwear. Once those are discarded, he takes off his own slacks.
His strong thighs make you wanna ride him till you come undone. But then your eyes fall on his bulge. The anticipation of his rock hard cock filling you up makes your head spin.
“Let me see you, baby!” Hoseok cooes at you and only then you realize, you have been clenching your thighs and blocking the views.
Hoseok urges your legs open. Hungrily staring at your leaking core, he licks his lips.
“Fuck! The most beautiful cunt of the most woman I have ever seen. You are a fucking goddess! I will worship the ground that you walk on.” Hoseok groans briefly before he dives down into your heat.
As soon as his mouth comes in contact with your cunt, you start seeing stars.
He kisses your mound, then your folds and then your clit. He takes it into his mouth and sucks the bundle of nerves as his life depends on it.
And when he enters a finger into your core, you feel your heat building.
His tongue plays with your clit as two of his fingers plunge into your hole at a rhythmic pace. It’s too much to take, so you voice, “Ho-Hoseok! I’m gonna c-cum.”
“Yes darling. Cum on my mouth.” he takes out his fingers from your hole and replaces those with his tongue. His fingers do the job of drawing tight eight figures on your clit in the meantime. And as a result, he rips out one of the best orgasms you have ever had. Your scream accompanies your release as you cum in Hoseok’s mouth.
“So sweet. So fucking sweet.” Hoseok stands on his feets.
You are so fucked out already that you miss the moment when he releases his cock from its confinement and strokes it twice.
When your eyes finally fall on his naked body, you start getting wet again.
“Oh god, Hoseok!” you try to sit up and take a hold of his meat.
Wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, you give a kitten lick and wipe away his pre-cum. Hoseok shudders with your touch.
But he takes his cock away from your hand and murmurs, “You can suck me dry later baby. I really really want to be inside you now. Will you let me?”
Sitting on your knees, you place a kiss on his lips, “Do whatever you want, Hoseok. I am all yours.”
Hoseok grabs you by your neck and smashes his lips on yours, “You drive me crazy!” His words vibrate into your mouth.
He tactfully lays you down and snatches a packet of condom from the drawer of his night stand before climbing on the bed. Rolling down the same around his girthy length and lines his cock on your entrance.
“Can I?” He asks briefly before pushing himself inside your greedy hole slowly.
He gives you a few moments to adjust first and when you are done he starts moving.
“Fuck! So tight! Fuck!!!” Hoseok growls as he holds you in your place by your waist.
The first few thrusts are slow, he takes his time with preparing you. But then you whine, “Hoseok! Faster!”
“Whatever you say, baby.” Hoseok mutters briefly as he urges you to sit up and change position. He pulls himself out of you.
Within a moment you are on your fours.
He grabs you by your waist and slams himself inside again, pulling out an earth shattering moan from your mouth.
His other hand reaches for your neck and then ventures into your hair. He grabs and pulls your hair gently as he thrust into you harshly again.
The thrusts are so powerful that your words morph into nothingness and come out as gibberish. You start clenching around him sooner than you would like to admit and you know you are gonna cum again.
“I- c-cu” and you cum on his cock even before Hoseok could offer you a reply.
“Shit!” He growls as he cums in the condom.
Your body falls on the bed, you are too exhausted to even get up and clean yourself.
But soon enough you feel one strong arm sliding underneath your stomach and flipping you over. Hoseok lays you down on your back and then places a damp cloth in between your legs. He cleans you thoroughly.
Honestly, you want to cry. When you peek at his face, you see nothing but admiration. He gives you a small smile and continues.
Once he is done, he lays down beside you. Greets you a small good night, wraps his arms around you and kisses on your crown as you slowly melt into a dreamless sleep.
He still can’t believe it.
Hoseok still can’t believe that you are now his. His to hold, his to kiss, his to love and do all the things he wants to do to you, with you.
Without any doubt, last night was one of the best nights of his life until now. And now that he knows how it is to fall asleep beside you and wake up with you sleeping in his arms, he doesn’t want a life without this.
He traces the contour of your face with his thumb as if to make it into a muscle memory. Your eyes, your nose, your lips.. He wants to remember everything, he wants to engrave it into his brain.
Your alarm goes off, breaking your sleep.
You stir awake and then look for your phone on the nightstand. Turning it off, you look at him and give him one of your most beautiful smiles.
“Good morning.” gosh! Your sleepy voice is perfect.
“Good morning, darling.” If hoseok isn’t wrong then he can clearly see you blushing at the nickname.
“How did it come here? I definitely left it at your dining place.” You ask him, pointing at your phone.
“I brought it. Thought you might have an alarm set and see I was right.” he reaches down and places a kiss on top of your nose.
“Umm. so considerate.” you mirror his actions. He giggles at that.
“I need to get up now. Do you have an extra toothbrush?” you ask, starting to get up from the bed.
“Y/N! I could drop you. It’s not a big deal.” Hoseok whines. He wants to spend as much time with you as possible. Or better he doesn’t want to let you go. But he knows you have work to attend and he values that.
“I know, Hoseok. But I don’t want you to wake Sua up and drop her to your sisters’ this early. And on top of that the cab is almost here.” you take your purse and follow Hoseok outside his mansion.
Hoseok intertwines his fingers with yours and pulls you closer once you are at the porch, “I don’t want to let you go.”
“Neither do I want to, handsome. But Namjoon will kill me if I take another day off. I slacked off for two entire weeks after my break up.” The mention of your break up somewhat dims the light in your eyes but Hoseok knows he can make it better. He can heal you.
He puts a hand on your cheek and places a chaste kiss on your lips, ��So, today is our day 1?”
He knows he has successfully diverted your mind when your cheeks turn darker and a sheepish smile takes over your lips.
“If you say so.” you murmur.
Just right then the cab pulls in outside Hoseok’s mansion. You hug him and bid him goodbye.
“Y/N” he stops you when you are about to tear apart from him, “what are you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Great then.”
And with that you leave. Even though it upsets him, it also fills him with a new excitement of seeing you in two days.
Saturday comes painfully slowly.
But the prospect of seeing Hoseok not as your counselee’s guardian but as your boyfriend has kept you filled with an incredible amusement.
You two pondered on what to do and where to go for your first official date. But no options satiated you. You kept making excuses for whatever he came up with and there is a reason why.
You wanted to spend time with him inside the comfort of your home. And when you presented the idea to him, he agreed in a heartbeat.
The preparations have kept you busy since morning and it’s almost the time of his arrival.
So you change your clothes, slip into a fresh pair of tee and shorts, wash your face and apply some lip balm.
As always, Hoseok is right on time. He rings the doorbell right at 7 pm, just as you two decided.
“Hey, come in.” you open the door wide open, welcoming him inside.
He has arrived with a large bouquet of red roses and a plastic bag full of soju bottles.
“Flowers for a flower.” He offers you the bouquet and you can’t help but tsk.
“So cheesy, Mr. Jung.”
“I’m sorry.” he laughs out loud.
Once you are done putting away his presents, you take a good look at him.
He has his hair down today, unlike the other times you have seen him. His fluffy hair covers his forehead, making him look younger. His lips, as always, are inviting. And he has chosen to dress himself in an oversized white hoodie and baggy jeans.
“You.. are looking so beautiful, baby.” It’s hoseok who compliments you first. Wrapping his arms around you, he takes you in his embrace.
“I was about to say the same. You look so handsome, so domestic.” letting your lips capture his in a kiss, you show him how much you have missed him for two days.
“Is it okay for you to stay the night?” You ask Hoseok in between your ragged breaths. His mouth sucks on that one spot on your neck, that gets you all weak.
“Sua is with her grandparents and she likes them more than me.” He replies, pulling his mouth away from your skin for a second.
“I doubt that. She loves her daddy the most.” You giggle as Hoseok’s hands slide inside your t-shirt.
He shuts his eyes as soon as you emphasize you on “daddy.”
“Can you call me that again?” his voice trembles a bit.
“What? Daddy?” It's such a pleasure to tease him like that.
“Don’t tease me, Y/N!” his nails dig into the flesh of your waist.
“I’m not teasing you. I am asking. Is that what you liked to be called? Daddy?”
“Fuck it!” Hoseok growls as he captures your lips in a hungry, rough kiss. His hands reach up to your tits, groping the flesh to snatch a moan out of your lips.
And just then the doorbell rings.
You whine into his mouth before breaking the kiss.
“Who is it now!” clearly being very annoyed, you charge up to the door.
“Hello, who is it?” asking through the door dash cam, you wait for an answer.
Whoever is outside, is wearing a helmet and from the angle of the camera, it’s impossible to tell if it’s someone you know or not.
“Courier service.” the muffled voice of the person replies.
You don’t think much. You usually receive a lot of mail for seminars and stuff that has become a common feat.
So you open the door.
But to your dismay, the person wearing that damned helmet and bikers’ jacket is none other than your ex-boyfriend.
The scene slowly unfolds in front of Hoseok.
He sees your good mood turning sour as soon as you see the person standing at your door.
“What is it again?” you grit through your teeth.
This is the first time Hoseok is seeing you losing your cool and if he is not wrong then the person on the other side is your ex-boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook.
Even though your body is blocking the view, Hoseok can see the man taking off his helmet.
“I need to talk to you, Y/N. please.” he speaks in a calm voice as if it’s no big deal to knock on your ex’s door at 9 on a saturday.
Hoseok’s hands ball into fists. His blood boils at the thought of your ex-boyfriend trying to win you back even after he left you for someone else.
“I don’t understand what the fuck is left to talk about?” you scream at his face.
“Y/N, Please. I know you can’t forgive me for what I have done to you but I understood it. I- I realized my mistakes. I thought I fell out of love with you but-” the man sighs, his voice trembles constantly, “but I was wrong. I broke up. I- I ended things with her as soon as I realized I still love you. I never stopped loving you. I never-”
For a moment, Hoseok is afraid. What if you take him back? What if you accept his apologies and take him back into your life. What will be left for Hoseok then?
But, “It’s too late, Jungkook.” you cut him off.
“Y/N, please.”
“I don’t feel anything for you anymore. And I will appreciate it if you leave now.”
“Y/N, listen to me-”
“Didn’t you hear what she said? She asked you to leave, Mr. Jeon.” Hoseok intervenes. Even though he knows he should not butt in, but you are now his, and it’s his responsibility to protect you.
You turn your head to meet his eyes. Your face is apologetic as if you are ashamed of whatever is happening right now. He assures you a small “it’s okay”.
Then he looks at the man standing at your door, only to find him glaring already.
“And who are you to come between us?” Jungkook’s voice is now laced with venom.
“I am her boyfriend.” Hoseok replies as he walks up to you and stands between you and Jungkook as if protecting you from an impending danger.
Taglist 1:-
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Taglist 2:-
@llallaaa @mikrokookiex @parkinglot-nights @hiqhkey @diamonddia-mond @00frenchfries00 @koalasandcuddles @superchamchi88 @ttanniett @coralmusicblaze @multiasf @kookscumrag @sumzysworld @knjjjk @xtrataerrestrial @survivalistghost @kelsyx33 @aann95 @btsffreader92 @jjk174 @dragonflygurl4 @xwniazx
#bts angst#bts smut#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#hoseok angst#hoseok smut#bts x reader#jungkook x reader#hoseok x reader#bts fanfiction#jungkook fanfic#hoseok scenarios#jhope angst#jhope smut
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All of You
Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (eventual wife reader)
Word Count: 2900+
Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!
Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.
Notes: I’m not sure who originally said it, but the wonderful @morallyinept shared this and I had to write it for her! A Boxing Day gift? Is that a thing (said in American)? Shoutout to @rhoorl for the nickname! This is not beta’d because I’m tired lol
Yeah... I'm not okay. I read a reblog comment which made me chuckle saying this is older, retired Peña who's being slowly overfed by his wife
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**Reader is not described
Main Masterlist
Javier Peña Masterlist
“I’ll be right with you!” I yell over my shoulder as the entry bell dings, boots casually walking across the hard floors of my little corner store bakery.
I slide the baking pan in my old oven, an antique to most but she works better than most of these modern ones. I set my timer and place it on the counter next to the oven, wiping my hands on my apron as I spin around to address the customer and am momentarily rendered speechless. A man casually peruses my glass display case, all dark hair and dark eyes, a slim frame but the broadest shoulders I’ve seen. His nose is prominent, a mustache that sort of reminds me of Burt Reynolds is neatly trimmed, and he leans down to look closer at something in the case.
Sexy would not begin to describe this man.
“Are those coyotas?”
I blink, his voice runs through my brain and makes my body shiver, goosebumps erupting across my arms.
“Y-yeah. Yes. Coyotas.”
He looks up at me, his eyes wide and round just like a damn puppy and I could get lost in those eyes.
“Could I have a few?”
“Absolutely. Anything else?”
He finally looks at me, pulling his eyes away from whatever memory the coyotas held and blinks, his eyes scanning down my body, the tingles from before starting back up.
“S-sir?”
“Huh? Oh. Uh yeah. I’m picking up an order for Chucho? Peña?”
I chuckle. “Chucho. My favorite customer! I have his order right here.” I move to grab a small bag with various pastries inside, making him a to-go cup of cafe con leche to accompany it.
“Would you like a cup?”
“What? Oh I don’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not. How do you like it?”
“Plain?”
I pour him a black cup of coffee, sliding the lid over it before turning to hand it to him, his fingers brushing against mine as he takes it and I feel my cheeks heat up at the spark that passes between us.
“Chucho normally comes to say hi.”
“Yeah he’s dealing with farm shit right now. Asked me to come.”
I nod. “And you are?”
“Oh shit! Sorry! I’m Javier. Chucho’s son.” He extends a hand as I say my name but does it too quickly, coffee spilling out of the cup that he had squeezed a little harder than he should have. “Fuck I’m so sorry. Let me help-”
I wave my hand. “I got it. Are you ok? Some of that got on you. Hold still.” I take a clean cloth from my apron pocket and run some water on it, turning back to Javier. I gently take his hand, placing it in mine, trying to ignore the heat that immediately sprung up between my thighs. I dab at his hand, hearing his breath come in short bursts.
“Am I hurting you?”
“N-no. Not..hurting.”
He looks into my eyes, his pinched together and round and we just stare at each other for several moments, getting lost in the other. Then the bell rings and the spell is broken, Javier jerking his hand back as a woman walks in and I wave to her, letting her know I’d be right over. I grab Chucho’s order and coffee, carefully handing the latter to Javier.
“Wait. I haven’t paid.”
I wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”
“No. You deserve payment.”
“Javier, really. It’s ok.” My body braver than I am, I place my hand on his forearm, giving it a little squeeze, offering him a smile. Javier shifts from foot to foot before looking at me and nodding.
“If you insist.” He hesitates, opening his mouth to say something else but then the door bell jingles again and he closes his mouth, holding up the bag slightly in thanks.
Javier comes to get his dad’s order every day for the next few months. I’m fairly certain Chucho will have gained some major weight by now, with all the cookies and pastries Javier brings him. But I am not complaining - any chance to see this man, hear him talk. He doesn’t tell me much about the last few years, but I imagine he can’t, not really. His job has so much confidentiality involved but it’s deeper than that. I can see it in his eyes, the hardness, sadness, regret for things he must have had to do to take down an evil man.
So he asks me about me, where I’m from, how did I get so good at baking, all of it. I tell him how my “abuela” taught me the from moment I could talk, teaching me all the traditions that accompany each pastry. Even though we weren’t blood related, she had been really close with my mom, who reminded her of a daughter she’d lost. Javier listens with rapt attention, asking me questions to learn more as he sips his coffee.
But one day he doesn’t come in at his normal time in the morning. Instead, Chucho walks in, smiling and giving me a quick hug before making his usual order.
“No Javier today?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant. Which I guess I’m not because he smirks.
“Actually, I had business in town today. Javi is mending some things in the barn for me.”
The image of a sweaty Javier fills my mind and I shake my head a little. Focus.
“Oh. Sounds like hard work.”
There’s that smirk again. “It is. Hey, could you do me a favor? I owed him dinner and I won’t be home in time for that. Poker night at Robert’s house. If I call Rita’s, could you bring it to him?”
“I..me?”
“You close early enough?”
I’d close right now if it meant seeing sweaty Javier pounding nails.
“Y-yeah. I can do that for you.”
He smiles, handing me money for his coffee. “I’ll call Rita’s. Could you get it around 4?”
I pick up his food at Rita’s, ready and waiting for me at 4pm, and follow the directions Chucho had given me out to the Peña farm. I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t nervous, getting to see Javier outside of the walls of my little bakery was something I’d only dreamed of. I figured if he were interested, he would’ve asked me out or something by now. Right?
Taking one last glance in the mirror to adjust my hair, I step out of my car, walking around to open the passenger door and grab the food, his drink secured in my other hand. I hesitate at the front door, mostly because I’m trying not to chicken out but also because my hands are full and my brain is not operating fully. I eventually decide to set his drink down on the arm of the porch chair and knock, waiting several moments. Only, no one comes and the house is quiet. I knock again, wait again, and still nothing. But then I hear a faint clink! Clink! Coming from around back where the barn is and I assume Javier is in there.
Grabbing up the drink, I take a deep breath and head towards the barn, where I hear some more banging and a couple of swear words. Nervously, I raise my hand to the wood door and knock, despite the door already being open. The pounding stops immediately and then he walks into my vision, Javier, sweaty, no shirt, jeans with some wear on them, and a tool belt slung low on his hips. He’s wiping his hands on a handkerchief as he walks towards me, head cocked to the side but his eyes wide and…nervous?
“Pastelito?”
I smile, clumsily holding up the food and drink. “Chucho said he was going to Robert’s and wouldn’t be home to get you the dinner he owed you.” Don’t look at his chest, don’t look at his chest. Don’t. Look.
His eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Owed me? He doesn’t owe me anything.”
“O-oh. I..he just asked me and I said I’d help. But you look busy, I can take this back if you don’t-”
“No!” He steps closer to me, reaching for the food. “I mean, no. I’ll…thank you, pastelito.”
I hold out the food and drink, Javier only a couple of steps away. I finally manage to look at him and find him already looking at me, his eyes dark and bright, looking for something in mine. He takes the food, his fingers brushing against mine, only this time he doesn’t move away. His large hands pause over mine for several moments before his fingers start to trace little lines up my forearm, goosebumps pimpling my skin, my heart racing. No longer in control of my brain, my eyes scan down his shirtless chest and back up, heat flaring between my thighs. He grips my forearms, pulling me to him and I drop the food, my hands immediately coming up to touch his chest as he lifts my chin, his lips pressing against mine. Fuck, his lips are soft and he’s so warm, sweaty from his work and all I can think is how I want him to press me into this bale of hay and take me, let me take his worries away.
One hand slides down my back, the other cradling the back of my head as his tongue pushes gently forward, my lips parting, tongue coming out to meet his. He presses his body against mine, the sweat from his chest getting me wet all over. He walks me backwards until I bump against a beam. He starts to kiss a path down my neck and I gasp, whining a little when he sucks on some spot below my ear. His hands are wandering, sliding across my body, hoisting one of my thighs up on his hip, his stomach pressing in between my thighs and I moan at the feel of it. As he reaches my boobs he stops, pulling his head up so fast I’m dizzy with the motion of it.
“Javier?”
His eyes are nearly black, his chest heaving, and he shifts slightly where he stands. “I…I can’t.”
Ouch. “Oh. I..you can. If you need permission, you definitely have it.”
“No, it’s just-” He sighs, gently setting my leg back on the floor and stepping away from me and I feel cold despite the heat of the evening, and embarrassed.
“I’ll see you around then,” I have to get out of here before the tears come. But his hand gently closes around my arm, tugging on it lightly until I turn, swallowing hard.
“Paselito, it’s not you. Please, come sit? And I’ll explain?”
I nod, shaking my head to rid myself of the tears. At least for the moment. He sits on a bale of hay and pats the space next to him. I sit, wrapping my arms around myself for some sort of comfort. He looks at me, taking my hand in his and holy shit why are his hands so large?
“Pastelito…I..I normally rush right into the physical. Hell, that’s all I really had for the last 6 years.” He sighs. “But I don’t want to do that with you. I don’t want to rush it. I definitely want to, but I want to date you. Fuck, I sound stupid don’t I?”
“Not at all, Javier. I…I’ll assume this isn’t a line,” Javier chuckles at that. “But I would absolutely love to date you.”
We fuck at the end of the first date and through the remainder of that weekend.
10 years later…
Javier sets his utensils down, chewing the last bit of his dinner before taking a sip from his glass. “You need to stop cooking so well, mi esposa [my wife], or I may not be able to fit through the door.” He rubs at his stomach, softer and slightly more fluffy after a few years of early retirement.
“Never. I love cooking for my husband. He’s definitely earned it.”
“Yes but soon you may not want me.” He pats his stomach and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, insecurity brimming behind it.
I set down my fork, pushing my chair back to stand up and walk over to him. His eyes follow my movements and I gesture for him to push his chair back from the table, which he does. I stand between his legs, looking down at him. I place my hand over his, where it rests on his stomach.
“You think I’d find you unattractive because of this?” He shrugs, a non committal answer.
“Maybe. I am not in the shape I was when we met.”
“Neither am I, Javi.”
“Yes, but you’re gorgeous.”
“So are you.”
He blows air from his lips, looking away from me. Much to his surprise, I decide to straddle him, his arms quickly hooking behind my knees to help hold me. I lean forward, kissing him hard and he kisses me back, his nails digging into my skin. I’m grateful I wore a dress today, especially because there’s less layers between us. I start to move my hips, slowly at first but the heat quickly builds as I grind along his belly, breaking the kiss to gasp. He watches me, eyes wide and dark as I rub myself on this area that causes so much insecurity.
“Fuck, Javier, you’re so fucking..ngh!” My hands grip his shoulders, digging into his skin.
“Yes, pastelito, use me. Fuck me how you want. Show me how you feel.” His chest heaves, helping to hold me in place still, but his hands are twitching, wanting to touch me. I speed up, grinding harder and then suddenly I come, his name spilling from my lips as I leave a wet mark on his shirt. Finally, I look down at him smiling, seeing his eyes like a damn puppy.
“I fucking love your body, Javi. All of it. I could fuck myself on all of YOU!” I scream out the last word as Javier suddenly stands, pushing me up and laying me on the table, somehow pushing dishes out of the way as he did, some of them clattering to the floor, to be picked up later.
His hands scramble up under my dress, yanking down my soaked panties and pulling them off, groaning when he felt how wet they were. His belt buckle clanks as he undoes it and drops his pants to the floor. He lines up, but I lean up on my arm.
“Wait.” I reach forward with my other hand and undo some of his buttons, Javi finishing the rest before yanking it off himself. I run my nails down his chest and over his belly, the damp skin there heating me up.
I meet his eyes. “You’re so fucking, hot Javi. I will never stop thinking that.”
He pushes me back down and into me at the same time and I yell his name as he splits me open, his fingers digging into my hips and pulling me towards him as he thrusts, an extra hard jut of his hips when he’s already inside, knowing how that makes me writhe and moan, my entire body like a livewire. He grunts with every thrust of his hips, baring his teeth sometimes with the force of it and all I can do is hold on, my fingers digging into his arms as I moan and yell his name.
“Yes! Fuck me, Javi!”
His hand moves between my thighs, touching me and my legs twitch. He smirks down at me as I chant his name. “Scream my name, pastelito. Make the neighbors know who I am.”
“Ye-YES! JAVI!” I come hard, yelling his name as he asks, stars in my vision and the sound of wind rushing in my ears, but not loud enough that I don’t hear him, grunting and panting out my name as he spills into me. His forehead touches mine, his nose nuzzling into me for several moments before he sits back up with a different groan, rubbing at his back for a moment before pulling out.
“Well my back definitely tells me I’m getting older.”
I chuckle, my breathing finally leveling out as Javi extends his hand to me, helping me sit up. He holds it, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand before placing it on his cheek, looking at me.
“So, you said you could fuck yourself on all of me?” His eyebrows are raised questioningly.
I nod. “Oh yes.”
His eyes darken. “Then show me.”
General Taglist:
@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @Withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry
#javier pena#javier pena x reader#javi pena#javier pena x you#javier pena x f!reader#javier pena x female reader#javier peña#javi peña#narcos#javier pena fanfic#javier pena fan fic#javier pena ff#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal character ff#pedro pascal characters#narcos fic#narcos fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#javijueves#pedropascal#pedropascaledit#pedro pascal fanfic
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The Six Pillars; Masterlist #1~
The animes I do write for is Demon Slayer, Jujutsu Kaisen, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, Death Note, Haikyuu and Record of Ragnarok~! But I also want to do writing for the current communities and shows I am vested in so I’d love for requests of Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss! Don’t have to but that’d be appreciated, any character from those two shows!
I’ll write absolutely any type of concept like angst, drama, romantic love to platonic love, NSFW, fluff, comfort, character x character, character x reader. I’d prefer to stay away from very intense situations like r**e, su****e, death since I don’t wish to make a mockery of these themes, I am not the best with reader x OC requests and I do not like choosing characters myself nor coming up with the scenario, please do these yourself! It’s your request, not mine! My main work is anime, primarily Demon Slayer!
Enough on that now! It’s time for the Masterlist~!I present you my work! Do as you please with this!
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💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓
Pillar #1: Demon Slayer~❤️
❤️ Akaza: Of Different Worlds
💜 Obanai: Back Off
🌈 Douma: Snuggly Orders
❤️ Muzan: All Mine
🖤 Gyomei: Toasty Blood
💙 Giyuu: Fuzzy Morals
💜 Obanai: Serpents and Arachnids
❤��💜���� Tanjiro, Obanai and Kyojuro: Ribboned-up Niffty
💛 Hotaru: Nothing or Everything
💙 Muichiro: Wire of Fate
💜 Nakime: Hot Red Strings
💙 Giyuu: Sky-High Fortitude
💜 Obanai: Dragon Tamer
💙❤️💙 Muichiro, Tanjiro and Giyuu: Eating Drama
🖤 Gyomei: Typhoon Shelter
❤️ Tengen: The Best and the Worst
💜 Obanai: Sheathed Blade
💚❤️💙💛 Karaku, Sekido, Aizetsu and Urogi: Fishing for Prizes
🩷💜💚 Kanae, Shinobu and Kanao: Near-Death Experience
🩷🧡💜 Mitsuri, Kyojuro and Shinobu: Doll Mattress
💙 Aoi: Horseyback Rides
💙 Muichiro: Rest Now
💜💜💚 Shinobu, Obanai and Sanemi: Victim Issues
💜 Genya: Unlikely Partnership
💙🩷🖤 Giyuu, Mitsuri and Gyomei: Hook Hashira
💜 Shinobu: Eyes on the Walls
❤️ Tanjiro: Wait, Your Majesty
🌈 Douma: Sharing a Heart
💚 Kanao: Feeling Flop
🧡💜💚 Kyojuro, Obanai and Sanemi: Past and Future
Pillar #2: Jujutsu Kaisen~💜
🖤 Noritoshi: Numb Senses
❤️❤️ Choso and Ryomen: Tiger Eye
❤️ Choso: One of the Same
❤️ Choso: Styling Perfection
💛 Kento: Eclipse Heart
❤️ Naoya: Toxic River
Pillar #3: JoJo Bizarre Adventure~💚
💙💚💛 Jonathan, Erina and DIO: Clock Delay
Pillar #4: Death Note~💙
—
Pillar #5: Haikyuu~💛
Osamu and Atsumu: Plus Three
❤️ Kenma: Level 0; Training
🧡 Hinata: Impressing You
🧡💙💚 Atsumu, Osamu and Rintarõ: Clown of Mischief
Pillar #6: Record of Ragnorak~🩷
💚💙 Adam and Eve: Broken Little Heart
💜 Loki: Appreciation and Simp Post
💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞
Hazbin and Helluva Pillar~🖤
💙🖤🩷 Vox, Valentino and Velvette: Mini Sheepie
💜 Loona: Fuzzy Kisses
💛🖤 Moxxie and Millie: Appling
❤️ Valentino: Silkworm Caterpillar
❤️ Blitzø: All the Same to Me
💙 Vox: Baby Laptop
🩷 Angel Dust: Made of Love
❤️💙 Alastor and Vox: Climbing the Ladder
🖤 Rosie: Fire Lily
🖤 Carmilla Carmine: Love at First Meeting
💙 Vaggie: Bolt Spear
💙 Vox: Cameras and TVs
🖤 Husk: Dolling Up
🖤 Husk: Glass Barfly
🖤 Husk: Daddy’s Little Girl
💛 Emily: Counting Sheep
❤️ Alastor: Three Glowing Candles
💛 Charlie: Balloon Soul
🖤 Husk: Pootie-Kitty
🖤🩷 Husk and Angel Dust: Growing Up
❤️🩷💛 Alastor, Velvette and Emily: Mirage Mind
❤️ Alastor: Yin and Yang, Light and Dark
🖤❤️💙 Husk, Cherri and Vox: Pink Shoes
💛 Adam: Stem of the Apple
❤️🖤 Alastor and Rosie: Blood Spill
💚💙 Fizzarolli and Asmodeus: Ruby in the Rough
❤️ Alastor: Picking Favourites
❤️ Alastor: A Little Game
❤️ Blitzø: Guns & Volleyballs
🖤 Husk: Precious Kitten
❤️Alastor: Rose Drop
❤️ Alastor: Staying Here
❤️ Alastor: Fresh Meat
❤️ Alastor: Rainbow Irises
❤️ Alastor: Old Habits, Never Die
❤️ Alastor: Diamond Trio
💙 Vox: Vampire Canine
❤️ Alastor: Rabbitfoot
❤️ Alastor: Lies and Deception
❤️ Alastor: Little Mistake
❤️❤️🖤 Alastor, Lucifer and Husk: Wildcard
❤️ Alastor: Smile, My Dear
❤️💙🩷 Alastor, Vox and Velvette: Getting Over It
❤️ Alastor: Crystal Heart
❤️ Alastor: Beauty from Within
❤️ Alastor: Blood Draw
❤️ Alastor: Shopping Trip
❤️ Alastor: All the More Demons
❤️ Alastor: Follow Me
❤️ Alastor: Mischievous Rumours
❤️ Alastor: the Prey and the Predator
❤️ Alastor: Redemption Path
❤️ Alastor: Chaotic I.M.P
❤️ Alastor: Night & Day
❤️ Alastor: Reaching Out
❤️ Alastor: Hell’s Angel
❤️ Alastor: Hopping Little Heart
Here is the first temple of this blog’s lengthy Masterlist~ Masterlist #2
#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#jujutsu kaisen#sorcery fight#jojo’s bizarre adventure#haikyuu#death note#record of ragnorak#anime and manga#demon slayer x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#death note x reader#jojo’s bizarre adventure x reader#haikyuu x reader#record of ragnorak x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#helluva boss#helluva boss x reader#vivzieverse
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Heyy, I have a little optional request for the nightmare factory. Eddie could be located in an abandoned theme park or an abandoned place half submerged in water & loves how much this location freaks you out in the best way…
nightmareGuide!eddie x reader
another installment of The Nightmare Factory
masterlist
This is a collection of blurbs and short fics about Eddie falling for you, but only being able to communicate through your nightmares. 2.3k
This suggestion really inspired me, and I don't think it's exactly what you had in mind, but I will be using more abandoned themes throughout this series. This is a comfort write for me that I post as soon as I'm finished, so I'm sure there are plenty of errors.
18+ONLY, nightmares, terror, abandoned places
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When you showed up to the theme park, you were the only one there. Strange also because you didn’t remember how you got to that location, and as you looked around you wondered if maybe you were at the wrong place.
Perhaps you were supposed to go to a different fairgrounds or theme park because this one looked like it was abandoned. It was dark out, and there didn’t seem to be a single star in the sky. The moon was bright, though, and it loomed comically big, as if it were somehow much closer to earth. You were standing in the empty parking lot in front of the ticket booth and rolling metal arm entrances, which were all covered in graffiti; the pavement littered in shattered glass from the broken windows. Ahead you could see the looming rides spread out over the vast park, each of them overgrown with moss and vines, rusted and frozen in time like a place where laughter goes to die.
Questions echoed somewhere in the back of your head as to why you were there, but all the same—your feet kept moving
Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a black mass with multiple spider legs crawling up the ferris wheel—but when you turned with a gasp, it was gone.
“You lost?” A deep voice called to you from between the fence and the ticket booth. You saw the plume of smoke first, and then someone stepped out.
It was a man, possibly in his twenties, with long, curly dark hair past his shoulders and bangs that covered his eyebrows. He was wearing dark jeans with holes in the knees, white shoes, and some type of denim vest covered in patches over a leather jacket. When he took a drag of his smoke, you noticed the chunky silver rings on his fingers.
Eddie wanted to contain his excitement, but it was hard to be normal about this.
He finally found a way for you to see him—-to really see him. To talk to him. You could even touch him, if you wanted to.
In dreams, there are people we travel with once in a while that are simply known as Guides. Sometimes they pass knowledge on, sometimes they are there as a reflection of your needs, and sometimes—they are just there to hang out with you.
Usually, to be a Guide you had to be employed with the Nightmare Factory for a long time; it was the equivalent of slacking off for a few years before retirement. But, Eddie had wormed his way into the Abandoned Spaces Simulation wing of the factory by flirting ruthlessly with Jean, the older woman who worked the front desk.
And now, there you were—looking right at him.
“I think I came to the wrong place,” you said. It never occurred to you to ask him who he was or where he came from—there was an instant familiarity. You even wondered if he was the reason you came to the amusement park to begin with.
“Come with me,” he inclined his head, extending the crook of his elbow for you to take. “I have something I want to show you.”
In a blink, you were deep inside the park, surrounded by the long-forgotten rides and a place along the fence where there were once games to win prizes like pop the balloon and bullseye. A roller coaster loomed menacingly in the distance like a big, green, sleeping monster while a vendor that advertised cotton candy had what looked like mold growing all over bags of the sweet treat and bullet holes through the sign.
Eddie guided you to the ferris wheel, and for some reason, now it looked brand new—as shiny as the day it was first erected.
“Take a ride with me?” Eddie asked, enjoying the expression of awe on your face.
A gust of wind blew his hair back and you wrapped your arms around yourself, horrified to realize you were still wearing your pajamas.
“Oh shit,” you whispered, meeting his amused gaze with terror. “I forgot to change my clothes before I came here.”
“It happens,” he shrugged.
He took your hand to help you up into the metal bucket, and then he settled in next to you and pulled the safety bar down. Your hips were touching and he opened his knees a bit wider so that your legs were touching too. He arched forward to adjust his jacket, and when he sat back, he turned his head to ask if you were comfortable, and you had this overwhelming urge to kiss him.
Eddie felt it too. He noticed the way your gaze fell to his lips, the way you swallowed hard and then sought his eyes with a childlike curiosity.
“Do I know you?” You asked. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”
“Not here,” Eddie rocket the squeaky bucket as the ride started at a crawl. “But yeah, we’ve met before.”
Who was operating the machine? How was it suddenly in working condition? You didn’t even think to wonder. When their seat finally made it to the top, it stopped and swayed there. Eddie lifted his arms up for a mock yawn and a stretch, and then one of his arms came down around your shoulders.
You heard the music first, and then the playful screaming and the buzz of conversation.
“Look down,” Eddie told you.
Below, the park was completely functional again. There were no more weeds or mold growing on everything, and a sea of people made their way around to the various rides and games, enjoying the festivities. There were bright carnival lights and people cheering and the smell of buttered popcorn.
Eddie was watching your face; basking in the way your eyes lit up.
“We should get a funnel cake after this,” you told him, forgetting that the place was ever abandoned. “With powdered sugar and strawberries.” You put your hand on his leg so that you could lean further over to see the rest of the scene. There were stars in the dark blue sky again, and they twinkled like jewels.
“Hey,” he brought his arm down from around your shoulders and took your hand to interlace his fingers with yours and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. You were warm and soft and he didn’t want this to end; he could feel desperation tightening in the back of his throat. “Can I ask you something?”
You met his gaze, searching for your answer. “Sure?”
He looked down, rubbing his thumb along yours. “Do you think you could try to…remember me? After you wake up, I mean.”
Your face offered the genuine confusion that you felt. “Wake up? You mean, this is a dream?” Your attention returned to the swarm of people down below. “Why does it feel so real?”
“I’m real,” he whispered.
You turned to face him, to return the affection in his rich, umber eyes, and he squeezed your hand.
“Fuck it,” he breathed, deciding to shoot his shot. “Listen, this is going to sound crazy, okay? But I work for a place called the Nightmare Factory and I was dispatched to scare you a few months ago, but I just…I don’t know…I really like you.”
As his mouth moved, his face began to distort; his eyes and nose vanished, and then they came back misplaced like a deranged Mr. Potatohead. You watched it in awe, having trouble registering what he was saying.
“I mean, I’m not sure how this could work,” Eddie continued. “Because we exist in different realms, but there are dreams that last for days, and I’m going to find one for us, so we can get to know each other better. If you want that?”
You nodded, even though his voice was garbled and there was an eyeball where his mouth should be. You blinked a few times, and then his face finally went back to normal.
“I’d like to spend a few days with you,” you heard the words come out of your mouth and felt the response come from your heart, even though you didn’t think you had heard a word he’d said. As you slept there was another very important part of you that stayed awake—and it yearned for this boy you were with.
Eddie coughed out a laugh, relieved, and then tightened his lips around a long exhale. “Damn, that’s a relief.”
The lights all around the park began to dim, but you didn’t notice or mind, because Eddie brought his hand up to cup your jaw and ran his thumb a few times over your cheek. The screams you heard coming from down below were different now—more blood curdling—but Eddie was pulling you close to press his forehead against yours.
“I want to be your favorite nightmare,” he said with a chuckle.
“Are you supposed to be scary?” You asked, innocently, rubbing the tip of your nose on his. “Because you’re not very good at it.”
The bucket you were in began to swing aggressively as something made the ride jostle.
“Shit,” Eddie hissed. “There’s always something. But wait—don’t look!”
Before his words could register, you did, indeed, look down to find that what had once been a sea of regular people, had morphed into a horde of zombies.
Snarling, hungry, ragged zombies with bulging eyes and skin hanging off their bones.
They were crawling their way up the ferris wheel to get to you.
You screamed and crushed in closer to Eddie. He wrapped his arms around you and put his lips against your ear so you could feel the sensation of his hot breath. “They won’t hurt you, I promise. You trust me?”
A few of them were half way up, screeching and moaning as others joined the ascent. You were thinking maybe you should crawl down the other side and run into the woods. The last thing you wanted was to be mauled to death by the walking dead.
“Do you have a knife, or something we can stab them in the head with?”
Eddie chuckled at your exuberance to kill his co-workers. “Baby, it’s okay, I promise. They’re just trying to scare you, they won’t hurt you. Hey—” he took your face in his hands as the metal basket made a cracking sound at the hinges like it was about to break.
“Oh god oh god oh god—”
And then he pressed his lips to yours, softly, but with enough pressure that your eyes fluttered and you forgot to be worried.
The big wheel you were on started to move forward, chugging and jerking along at a labored pace.
Eddie pulled back to see you. “Remember me? Please? Remember my face.”
All you could do was nod a few times.
The zombies were sliding off and falling to the ground as the contraption rotated on its axis, but the next problem was that you were about to be deposited right into the arms of the waiting horde; jagged teeth snapping at the air, eager to tear you limb from limb.
“I promise I’ll try,” you told him, bracing yourself as you were lowered into the outstretched hands of your demise.
When the bucket was about to ground level, two of the zombies lunged at you from the side, and just as their fingernails clawed at your clothing and you screamed bloody murder, a wide, black hole with blue edges opened up in the atmosphere and you fell through, screaming.
You fell back to your bed.
Your eyes flew open as you gasped, feeling your arm and neck for bite marks.
“What the hell was that?” You said aloud to the dark room.
It was so vivid, so real.
There was a boy in the dream that you desperately did not want to forget, and a voice inside told you to write down what you remembered of him. Even as you searched around in the drawer of your nightstand, the details of the boy you kissed were slipping away and turning to mist.
Writing frantically in the dark, you recalled that he had brown eyes and he said he wanted to be your favorite nightmare.
But what did that even mean?
The abandoned theme park and the zombies—-those details were very clear. But him…him…HIM. Why couldn’t you keep him in your mind?
Why couldn’t you keep him?
When the ferris wheel came to a stop, Eddie pushed the metal bar up with a grunt.
“Thanks for nothing, you guys,” he told the group of flesh-eating zombies that were all gathered casually around him, mingling with clueless expressions on their faces.
“Sorry Munson,” Val—the one with a broken neck that made her head sit sideways and a missing eyeball—said with a helpless shrug. “Kevin said we had to.”
“Fuck Kevin,” Eddie jumped from the platform to the ground, his wallet chain clapping against his thigh. “I suppose he wants to talk to me?”
They all nodded in unison.
“Are you coming to the potlatch this weekend?” Norman—the one with a skeletal face that looked like his skin had been burned off with acid and a bloody hole in his stomach—-asked with his wide, lipless mouth.
“Maybe,” Eddie answered, shouldering his way through the rest as they mumbled their greetings. “If I have time before band practice.”
Marv, the Zombie with maggots in his rotten cheek, clapped Eddie on the back a few times. “Kevin is on the warpath today, but don’t let him get you down, kid. You do good work.”
Eddie walked a bit and then stopped and turned around when he realized none of them were beside him. “You guys coming?”
“Nah,” Val said. “We’ve gotta wait around here for the next one. Our shift isn’t over for another hour.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson fic#eddie munson series#nightmare!eddie#nightmareGuide!eddie#abandoned#zombies#eddie munson fluff#scary fluff#nightmare#satire#Eddie munson fanfic#the nightmare factory
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the devil you don't know (or however it goes)
hunter/raider!Joel Miller x f!reader
Word Count: 4.7k
Summary: When Joel's men bring back the (adult) daughter of a rival group of hunters, he sees an opportunity.
Warnings: DARK, dub-con, Joel Miller is not a nice man, suspension bondage, abduction, captivity, themes of torture, mentions of past sexual abuse (not Joel), starvation, dehydration, a smidge of knifeplay, a pinch of bloodplay, seriously dead dove do not eat, ambiguous ending, reader has suicidal ideations because of anxiety and threat of imminent death, I mean it guys, this is somehow less depraved than the last raider!Joel but way darker, author makes up stuff about how garage doors work because google failed her but she's probably on a watchlist now so, canon-typical violence, gags, overnight bondage in an unsafe environment, reader's age isn't specified but she was an adult when the outbreak started
Prompts from this list by @absurdthirst.
also on ao3.
Back in the before, in all the movies and books, when the damsel in distress or dashing hero was captured, they woke up clueless. Thinking they were home before it all settled in. They’d write off the pain as a hangover or a friend’s shitty couch.
That’s not how it happened for you.
When your consciousness first blinked back into the world, you were already having a panic attack. Your brain had registered the clues long before you were involved in the process.
Your cheeks are already streaked with tears before you can open your eyes. Your throat is dry and aching, and you can’t breathe.
Of course, you don’t realize it’s a panic attack at first. You just assume you’re dying. Here in this damp, cold… garage?
Recognition snaps you out of it. You’re still gasping, ragged, like you’re full of broken glass, but you’re alert enough to look around.
You’re alone. Small mercies. Or maybe not, given the way you’re tied up. Coarse rope forces your arms behind your back, wrapped from wrist to elbow. Your shoulders ache from being yanked backward, but the length has some slack, at least, between you and the bracket on the thick steel wall.
No. Not a wall. A door. You’re tethered to a huge door, inflexible accordion-style metal punctuated with heavy-duty brackets. No windows, no rotting wood. Impenetrable.
The door isn’t closed all the way, but it’s locked into place. Even if you got your hands free, it would take time and strength to remove the locks and open it enough to slip out.
The air coming through the bottom is chilly but fresh.
It helps. Focusing on the cold shushes the other alarms in your body. Enough to realize it's not just your arms that are tied.
There are loops of rope around your thighs, tethered to the same point as your hands, and loops around your ankles, which are attached to the side walls nearby. Both grant you enough slack to move a little but hold your legs wide enough to prevent standing.
Not that it matters, you think, as a door on the other side of the room swings open.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” croons a man as he steps through the frame, the soft twang plucking at your heartstrings.
No. No. “Miller.”
“I was surprised to see you, too. M’boys said they found one of your daddy’s people in our territory. Imagine my face when they dragged you in.”
“So let me go. You know he’ll come looking.”
“Will he? Lotta blood out there.”
“Not mine.”
“Oh, I know. I saw the way you carved up one of my guys. You got him good.” He almost sounds pleased. “But daddy doesn’t know that, does he?”
“He’ll still look for me.”
“You think he’s going to break our pact for you? He’s gonna risk facing me over a runaway?” He pauses. “Were you runnin’ to me?”
“No,” you snarl.
“But you are runnin', ain’tcha?”
“No,” you lie. “I just got lost. He’s waiting for me for dinner.” Part of that, at least, is true. You would have never intentionally crossed into Joel Miller’s land.
“Alright, I get it. Better the devil ya know, right?” he grins.
You glared over his shoulder, refusing to look at his stupid, smug face. That was why you had stayed these last few years. When supplies ran lower and lower and your father found other ways to keep his men loyal.
At the end of the day, you had food, water, and shelter.
As you look anywhere but Joel, you see what fills the industrial metal shelving along the walls. There are stacks of boxes of bullets. Pallets worth of bottled water and canned goods. Cases of dried pasta. A couple dirty mattresses are leaning against the back wall. Your stomach sinks.
He sees you taking in the stock. “Sorry, would have kept ya in the other one, where we usually have our… guests, but see, it’s a little messy right now.” He pulls a Dasani out of a case and brings it over, pressing it to your lips after pocketing the lid.
You rear your head back.
“What, you think it’s drugged or somethin’?” Joel takes a big swig out of the bottle, a drop rolling down his chin. He swipes it away with the folded cuff of his denim button-up. “Why would we waste any of the good stuff on you?”
He offers it back up to you, and you let him pour it in your mouth. When he takes it away, you spit it at him.
He sighs. “Wish you hadn’t done that,” he says and tips the bottle over your head. “But if that’s the way you’re gonna be, I’ll go.”
But he doesn’t leave. Not yet. First, he presses and holds the button on the wall and watches as the pulley cranks to life.
The machinery grates, gears crying for oil, and you flinch from the noise. You don’t realize what’s about to happen until it does. The ropes holding you aren’t that long, and as the garage door slides up, it lifts you with it.
You scream. “Stop, please, put me down.”
Joel shakes his head, disappointment exaggerated in his scowl. “Shoulda been good. Now ya know.”
He releases the button when the door is open. You’re hanging, now, with your arms pulled to their limit behind you. Your shoulders already burn. The loops around your thighs and ankles keep you balanced at the expense of spreading you wide. You jerk, trying to… what? Trying to get out? You know that wasn’t happening, not like this. All you were going to do was dislocate your shoulders.
The late summer breeze blows in, and you shiver. Your hair and shirt are soaked.
“Don’t worry,” Joel jerks his head to the dark house across the street. “Ain’t got neighbors.”
He goes to leave, and you can’t help it. “Don’t, please!”
He stops and turns around, head to the side like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out. “You gonna shut up, or do I gotta take care of that?”
Blood drains from your face.
He comes over to you and pulls a filthy bandana from his pocket. He rolls it up and ducks behind you. You try to lock your jaw, but he digs his fingers into the hinges until you open a little. He presses the bandana into your mouth, yanking back on it, and tying it tight behind your head.
“Night,” he tips his head, flourishing a hand like a fucking cowboy in a Stetson, and leaves, closing the door behind him.
You don’t sleep, waiting for hungry dogs or Joel’s men to find you trussed up.
When he comes back in the morning, you’re a wreck. You survived the fucking apocalypse, but none of it could have prepared you for this. You’re blinking in and out of consciousness.
There’s nothing but the pain. You’re sure you would have cried or thrown up, but you’re so dehydrated now that you can’t even spare a tear. It’s not lost on you that you got into this situation by wasting water.
“Chilly in here,” he says by way of greeting, tugging the bandana off you.
You keep your eyes closed. Imagining his smug smirk is bad enough, you don’t need to see him see you like this.
“You shoulda worn a jacket, sweetheart.”
“Did,” you croak, and wish you hadn’t fallen for his bait.
“Ah, someone took it from ya? Must have been a nice one.”
It was. It was patched up and ugly, but so was everything in this world. And it was warm. Heavy denim with quilted down lining. The last thing you’d ever take from your father, you thought.
He walks around you. You’d stiffen if you could, but you’ve long been stuck, muscles given out.
“Alright, let’s get ya down.”
At least the dehydration saves you from the whimper you almost let out. But it’s silent, and if Joel notices anything, he doesn’t react.
He walks back over to the door and presses the button. “S’gonna hurt like a bitch,” he warns before the door jerks backward, click click clicking as it lowers. It’s slow, but when your legs touch the ground, you may as well have plummeted.
You scream, wrenching it from your haggard throat, hands balled into fists behind your back. When you’re fully on the ground, you collapse against the door, only sparing a wince when your head bounces against the jutting metal seam between panels.
“Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.” He crouches down in front of you, same ratty denim shirt and jeans, same scuffed up boots. “You ready to behave?”
You nod, barely moving, but he gets the message.
“Y’look thirsty.”
You crack your eyes open to peek at him but can’t. They roll back into your head, lids fluttering.
You’re vaguely aware that he leaves and comes back but have no idea how much time passes. He crouches back down in front of you, and you hear the crinkle of a decade-old plastic bottle.
“If I give you this, are you going to spit it at me again?”
“No,” you whisper.
“You gonna ask nicely?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, but your brain is mostly static, so you give up without much of a fuss. “Please.”
He hums his approval and brings the bottle to your lips. He only lets you take tiny sips, infinitesimal in the arid expanse of your mouth. He pulls it away far too soon, and a soft sob leaks from you in its absence.
“You can have more later. Don’t need you gettin’ sick all over my garage.”
He leaves.
When he comes back late into the evening, you’re asleep, but you startle awake when he turns the light on.
Your wide eyes follow him as he moves about the garage. When he finally approaches you, it’s to offer more water. You accept it immediately, opening your mouth for the bottle before it even reaches you.
“Learned your lesson, huh? Good girl.”
It’s accompanied by a sneer, but that doesn’t stop the way your pussy clenches for a minute. Given that you’re still fully clothed, he remains blessedly unaware.
“Can you just, like, shoot me now or whatever,” you mumble. You know you’re not leaving that garage. You’ve seen where he keeps the top supplies. You know which house this is—or at least, the numbers on the house across the street.
“Nah,” Joel says as if you’re discussing what to eat for dinner. He sits down in front of you, knees bent up, leaning on them with the arm holding the water bottle. “You’re gonna help me first.”
“Why would I help you if you’re going to kill me?”
“Because I’ll make it quick for ya.”
You think you might throw up the water.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he gestures at you with his loose hand, now grasping a closed switchblade. “You know how this goes. Seen your pops do it plenty, right?”
You nod.
“I don’t think you’re gonna make me, though,” Joel muses, and scratches his chin with the outside of the blade.
“I was running,” you blurt. “If I tell you everything, I swear, he’ll never know, I just want to—”
“‘Fraid not,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothin’ personal, sweetheart, just can’t trust ya.”
The way you’re staring at him with your pretty eyes, glistening with fear, makes him scowl harder. He flicks the blade open and watches as a tear escapes before you close your eyes.
“Promise?” you whisper.
“Promise what?”
“Promise you’ll make it quick, if I tell you everything.” You’re shaking, and realize you’re probably about to have another panic attack as your breathing grows shallow.
“Yeah, I promise,” he says. He stands up and watches you, the way you’re clenching your hands into fists and trying to breathe out of your mouth.
“Jesus. It’s not gonna happen right now, calm down.”
Before he leaves, he gives you more water.
You’re awake when he comes back the next morning. He sits in front of you, legs crossed, and sets a cloth full of dried meat between you, and another bottle of water.
He picks up a thick strip. It doesn’t look like the shit they used to sell at grocery stores. It looks like they’ve salted and dried their own fucking jerky.
You stare as he rips off a piece and eats it.
“What? Y’ain’t got pigs?”
You shake your head.
“Jesus,” he sighs. “Is there even anything to take, or am I wasting my fucking time?”
“Lots of guns,” you shrug. “Some food. Not like you’ve got.”
Guns were more than enough of a reason, and you both knew it. He ripped another piece off and held it to your lips.
You didn’t hesitate.
“Here’s how this is going to go,” he says while you chew. “I’m going to ask you a question. If I believe your answer, you can have somethin' to eat or drink. If I don’t believe you, that’s when things get tricky.” He opens the switchblade and sets it next to the water.
It takes hours, but true to your word, you tell him everything. The layout of the old campground your father took command over. Patrol schedules. Planned raids. Locations of guns, food, medicine, everything.
By the end of it, you’d had two sticks of the jerky and the whole bottle of water. You look more alive than you have in days, given that you’d been thoroughly lost for two before stumbling across his men on patrol.
“Why’d you feed me?” you ask when he stands to leave. “Aren’t you about to kill me?”
“No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Gotta see if your information is good. Probably won’t even make a move for a week or so.”
You tense. “You promised. You promised you’d make it quick.”
“I promised I’d make it quick when I kill ya. If you told me everything. Can’t prove you did until it’s done.”
He doesn’t know what he expected you to do, but screaming was not it. It’s a wounded, rageful thing. He hates it. He stomps back over and covers your mouth, blade in hand. It presses against your cheek, and you hiss.
He pulls his hand away and watches the blood drip down your cheek. You don’t scream again, but there’s something in your eyes when you stare him down.
“Coward,” you whisper.
His hand wraps around your throat, pushing you against the garage door. He doesn’t remember kneeling down close to you, but that’s where he finds himself as he squeezes, bringing the knife up above his hand.
You aren’t struggling, yet, His grip isn’t that tight. Some air still leaks, and you laugh. “C’mon,” you taunt.
He lets go. You slump down a little, chest heaving. There’s blood dripping down from the small nick in your neck to your cleavage.
You watch him watch it. “Can you at least clean that up if you’re going to leave me here?”
He doesn’t know what possesses him. It has to be the unhinged look in your eyes, spreading to him like poison. He grabs your jaw in the hand with the blade and pushes your head to the side so he can lean down and lick the blood off your breast. You moan.
He spits it to the side, and turns your head back to look at him. Your lips are parted, pupils blown. “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls, leaning back, putting distance between him and your tits.
“C’mon,” you repeat, but this time, it’s heady.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” But he doesn’t wait for you to answer. He grabs your jaw again and kisses you. It’s not kind or soft. It’s all teeth and snarls and the knife against your cheek. But you kiss him back, because it pleases the ravaging wildfire of rage that lives in your chest. Fuels it.
He pulls back. “Shit," he mutters.
“You gonna fuck me or what?”
He lets go. Stands up. You think maybe he’s going to get his cock out, but he stalks over to the door. “Or what.”
He slams the door so he doesn’t have to hear you howl in fury after him, spitting insults.
He doesn’t come back the next day.
By the second morning, you’re starting to panic. You’re so thirsty. The last bottle had a few dregs in it, just a sip, but it's just out of reach. The only light you have is when it creeps in from the little gap between the garage door and the uneven concrete.
When he comes that evening, he’s ditched the denim. He’s got tight dark pants and a gray t-shirt on. You don’t look at him directly as he gives you water and more of the salty jerky.
He crouches down in front of you again. You’re getting tired of it. Of his stupid pretty face and this stupid garage. Your arms are numb, and the pounding in your head hasn’t gone away since the first day. You don’t even know how long you’ve been here anymore.
“Why’d you ask me to fuck you?" It’s less of a question than a statement, but you know he expects an answer.
“Dunno. Thought maybe you would.”
“I’m going to kill you. Your pussy ain’t going to change that.”
“Didn’t expect it to.”
“What, you a virgin or something? You trying to get fucked before you die?”
“Or something, yeah,” you mutter.
“Shit.” He can’t believe he’s considering this. It feels like crossing one of the few lines he hasn’t crossed.
It’s not lost on you. “Are you having a fuckin' moral dilemma about this? You’re gonna gut me, and you’re trying to figure out if it’d be fucked up to have sex with me?”
“Not gonna gut ya,” he says. “Said I’d make it quick, didn’t I?”
“Oh my god. That was so not the point.”
“Shut up. Look at me.”
You do. He’s holding the blade again. “I verified your information yesterday. We’re going to make our move tomorrow. I’ll be back by sundown. You still want this?”
It feels like he dumped the water on you again. You shiver. So that’s it. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be gone.
“Yes.”
“Fine. But we’re doin’ this my way.” He walks away, and you think he’s going back inside until he stops and presses the button.
You’re shocked enough that all you do is gasp when the door lifts, pulling you into the air. He stalks back over to you and holds the blade up. “Hold still.”
You’re hanging in the fucking air. What does he think you’re going to do? Fly away? But you hold your breath anyway while he slides the knife between your skin and clothes. When you’re bare to him, he drops the knife and grabs your waist.
“You done anything? Anyone ever make you cum?”
You shake your head and murmur, “No, no one.”
When you look up at him, you’re surprised to see something almost soft behind his eyes. You glare. “What, is it going to make you feel less guilty if I have an orgasm?”
“What do I got to feel guilty for? You fuckin’ begged for it.”
“Then fuckin’ fuck me already,” you snap. Your arms hurt again. You want to fuck him, you want to land your fists against his stupid face, you want to not fucking die tomorrow.
But you can only have one of those things, so. “Please,” you say, and sigh.
He cups your breasts, stroking thumbs over your nipples. He leans over and licks, and you moan again, soft this time.
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t gotta do that. Just fuck me.”
“Ain’t doin’ it for you,” he lies.
You don’t protest again, not after he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks. He brings a hand to your cunt and thumbs your clit, sliding two fingers down to start working you open for him. He eases the first one in through your slick, and you whine.
“I’m not gonna be nice,” he says, panting a little. “It’s going to hurt.”
“Yeah,” you agree, watching as he stretches you open. Your legs are held so wide they ache, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from rolling back when he picks up speed.
He holds you tight when you cum so your arms don’t jerk too hard. It’d be a shitty end to a shitty life, you think, to wait all day with dislocated shoulders for him to come home and slit your throat.
Finally, he pulls his cock out. A man of his word, he doesn’t go nice or slow. It does hurt. His cock is thick and long, and he makes it fit even as your body tries to reject him. He hooks his hands under your thighs, forcing you to put some of your body weight on him as he fucks up into you.
It takes the pressure off your arms, and you suspect maybe he's strong enough to fuck like this without the help from the ropes.
The burn is exactly what you wanted. It stings, and you cry, silent but for a few whimpers. He pulls another orgasm out of you with his clever fingers on your clit.
When he comes, he pulls you to him and sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. You wail, but you also cum again as he fills you.
You expect him to leave you there, dangling and dripping his spend. But when he lets go, it’s just to lower you back to the ground.
He tucks his soft cock away and zips up, staring down at you. You lay against the door, trying to catch your breath.
“What’d you mean by ‘or something’?” he says, surprising himself.
“S’nothin,” you sigh.
He sits down, offers you water. You drink and watch him, tense and untrusting.
“Was that the first time you’ve been fucked?”
“First time I ever wanted it,” you say.
His jaw ticks. “Answer one more question for me, ‘bout your father’s camp.” He waits until you meet his eyes. “If you’re strugglin’ for food, how’s he keeping all them happy?”
You flinch and look away.
He doesn’t need another answer.
You don’t expect to see him in the morning, so you’re startled when the door opens. He throws something on the floor, but you don’t have time to look before he’s crouched over you, knife in hand.
You had promised yourself you’d be brave and quiet when he came for you. But you thought you’d have time to prepare yourself, so when he brings it toward you, you flinch back and cry out. “Hold still,” he snaps. He doesn’t have time to wait for you to cooperate, so he holds your shoulder with one hand and slices through the rope with the other.
When he’s done, he jabs the knife in the direction of the pile of fabric by your foot. “Get up. Get dressed.”
You can’t stand. He huffs and pockets the knife, pulling you up. Your limbs barely move from the way they’ve been stuck, splotchy and limp from poor circulation. He helps you tug the flannel on and step into what must be a pair of his boxers.
He looks you over. “S’all I got.”
“Okay,” you say. You’re so confused. Between the pain, the hunger, the dehydration, and the fear, it’s a wonder you can string together a single thought.
“Let’s go,” he snaps as he heads for the door, like you were supposed to know already. When you get into the house, he grabs one arm and pushes you ahead of him, through a kitchen and living room and out another door.
Most of his men are in two vans, but Joel shoves you into a pickup truck. He buckles you in and waves a finger in your face. “You try anything, and it’ll take you days to bleed out.”
You just nod. You’re thinking now that he probably doesn’t want to kill you in his house. Blood all over the stockroom would be a pain in the ass.
At least you got to see sunshine again.
It’s not a long drive, but you keep your eyes closed. The autumn sun is weak, but you think you might cry as it brushes your skin.
Joel doesn’t say a word.
You don’t open your eyes until he parks. He hops out and comes to pull you out the other side, but when you see where you are, you panic and try to push him away.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps. “Get out of the fucking truck.”
God. Everything you’d heard about him is true. Was he really this cruel? Monstrous enough to drag you back, to die here when you’d finally escaped?
Or—has he struck a deal? Is he going to give you back to your father?
You can’t breathe.
Joel crowds you against the truck, hands on your shoulders, and shakes you a little. “Snap out of it, I ain’t got time for this. Stick with me and keep your mouth shut.”
For a moment, neither of you move. You get control of your breathing and realize he hasn’t restrained you. He didn’t give you shoes, but you still know this land far better than he does. You told him all your father’s secrets, but not yours.
“Don’t,” he says. It’s the softest he’s spoken to you yet.
And, god help you, you nod.
Two of Joel’s men are struggling to hold your father when Joel drags you into the living room of the main cabin. He’s holding your wrists behind your back, his gun pressed into your side.
“Oh, thank god, honey, you’re okay,” your father says, but his face falls when he sees the gun. “C’mon, Miller, let her go. She’s not a part of this.”
“She is now,” Joel says. “Found her on my land. Ain’t that right?”
You want to close your eyes, want to ignore your part in this, want him to just fucking shoot already, but you can’t look away from your father’s face.
“I swear to god, Miller, if you laid a hand on her—”
“Like your men did?” He waits and doesn’t receive a response. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“You know how it is,” your father says. He can’t read Joel, never could. “Everyone’s gotta contribute somehow. Keep morale up,” he plows forward, oblivious to the dangerous way Joel’s eyes have darkened. “Look, I can look past it. Whatever you did, she probably had it coming, for trespassing. We can call it even.”
Joel’s slow smirk is feral. He nods. For a moment, your father breathes with relief. But Joel isn’t looking at him.
His men move quick, and your father is on his knees in just seconds. They struggle to hold him down with hands on his shoulders, but he stops fighting when Joel lifts the gun away from you.
He doesn’t aim it at your father, who has to watch as Joel flips the gun in his hand and offers you the grip. He didn’t even notice that Joel had let you go.
You don’t say anything. You look at Joel for a moment, and your father watches you slowly move to take the handgun. He has the nerve to look relieved again, until you stop, holding it in both hands in front of you, looking at it.
“What are you doing? Shoot him!” your father says.
You look up at your father, grimacing against the bile rising in your throat.
You look at Joel again, gun heavy. You wonder what would happen if you let it drag down, out of your fingers, to the knotty pine panels that cover every surface. You wonder what would happen if you clasped your fingers around the weight of it and raised your arm to the left.
Joel’s men watch him, unsure. He holds up a hand and waits, watching the glow from the hearth dance across your face.
“Shoot them, you stupid girl, and get me out of here.”
Joel steps closer, puts his hands on your waist, and leans in. “Up to you, darlin’,” his hot breath against your ear.
You pull the trigger.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#dark!joel miller#raider!joel miller#hunter!joel miller#joel miller fic#the last of us fic#the last of us smut#dead dove do not eat#kinktober 2023
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Dripping in Gold | Chapter 6
synopsis: finding a job was never easy, and why even bother trying after you meet satoru gojo, a man with mysterious and exorbitant wealth, who wants nothing more than to spoil you with it? the only caveat to your little arrangement is that it can never, ever, become personal.
pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader [suguru geto x f!reader]
themes/content: non-curse modern au, sugar daddy gojo. language, angst, smut. alcohol consumption, kissing, mentions of oral (f receiving). 18+, MDNI
word count: 2.2k
a/n: tbh writing this chapter has started turning me into a geto girlie lmao i may have to do some more content for him later teehee
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The warmth of the bar greets your skin as the buzz of conversation fills your ears. You’re too exhausted to wonder if you’re overdressed, your black dress hanging loosely off you after your encounter with Toji. Making your way past sticky, sweaty bodies, you finally find an open seat and sit down on the swivelling stools.
You order a beer and a shot of the cheapest liquor they have, anything to clear your mind of the day. More than anything, though, you’re just trying to clear your thoughts of Gojo. He has this insidious way of popping up when you least expect it, when you let the noise in your head get a bit too quiet.
Knocking back the shot quickly, you sip your drink as you wait for it to kick in, hoping to blur the edges of the turmoil inside you.
An arm reaches across the bar in front of you as a man leans against the counter. “You know, some places consider it rude to take shots by yourself,” he opens, his voice airy. “They’re made to bring people together, but here you are, looking so lonely.”
“Well, good thing that’s not here,” you retort, not bothering to look up at him. You don’t want to be talked to right now, all you want is to sit, drink, get a taxi home, and go to bed.
“I’ll take two more of whatever she just ordered,” the man requests from the bartender, talking to him over your shoulder. “Cheers,” he turns back to you, holding out the two small glasses of liquor.
Your eyes finally move up to him, sluggishly scanning the black dress shirt over his torso, to his arms, one of which is covered in a full sleeve tattoo depicting what seems to be a dragon (it’s hard to tell under the dim light of the bar, and you can only see his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up to, anyways). Finally, your gaze meets his face and your heart flutters for a moment. His dark eyes are partially covered by a few loose strands as his bangs escape the bun that holds most of his black hair.
Oh my god, he’s fucking hot.
Maybe it’s the alcohol finally hitting you or maybe it’s the fact that one of the most gorgeous people you’ve ever seen is standing in front of you, but your cheeks suddenly get hot as you try to avert your gaze from the man you were just ogling.
A soft laugh escapes his lips as he watches you become visibly flustered. “Aw c’mon now angel, you’re really gonna turn down a free drink?”
The nickname only furthers your bashfulness as you try to regain a semblance of self-respect. “N-no,” you mutter, still not able to look back up at him as you reach out your hand to accept the glass.
Before you realize it, the glass slips through your fingers, tumbling to the floor as it spills its contents over you.
“Shit,” you exclaim as the glass shatters beneath you, suddenly covered in liquor.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, grabbing napkins off the bar to try and pat you dry.
You sigh. “It’s fine, honestly with how this day was going I’m not surprised something like this would happen,” you reply with a sarcastic chuckle.
The man squats down to collect the broken glass, and something about him practically kneeling between your legs as he does so sends shivers through your body. Once he’s carefully placed all the pieces in a napkin, he turns his attention back up to you, still between your thighs.
“I know this isn’t very romantic, but I live about a block from here, I can get you a change of clothes and wash your dress for you if you’d like,” he offers.
“Is this your attempt at flirting with me?” you tease, trying to shove down the images your brain flashes you of what he would look like if he just leaned forward a bit, tongue against your pussy, eating you out.
No, I’m not doing this again. I’m just getting over Gojo, and the stuff with Toji. No.
“Oh, angel,” he purrs through a low voice, standing up, his body suddenly so close to yours, “if I was flirting with you, you’d know.”
Okay, nevermind.
Unable to discern if it’s the heat of his body or the warmth of the bar, something hot builds in your stomach. You need him.
“Okay, let’s go” you huff, hopping off the stool and grabbing him by the wrist as you lead him out of the bar. You can’t see behind you, but he’s grinning ear to ear.
On the walk to his place, you realize you’re about to willingly go home with a complete stranger. Maybe the whole situation with Gojo made your morals slip a little more than you cared to admit - after all, you did just fuck Toji a few hours earlier, but you at least had his address and pictures in case something were to happen. As the dark-haired man leads you down an unknown street, nervousness builds inside you.
“I-um, I just realized I never got your name,” you observe, trying to quiet your nerves.
He smiles, so genuine that it almost immediately puts you back at ease. “I’m Suguru Geto.”
Okay, a name is at least something, and honestly you weren’t getting any threatening vibes from him. I’m sure it’ll be fine, you reassure yourself as he stops in front of a door, reaching into his pocket to grab a collection of keys.
Unlocking the door, you step inside to the nicest apartment you’ve ever seen as Suguru flicks the lights on for you. The white granite countertop of the kitchen greets you first as your eyes move past it to the living room, decorated with a perfectly clean white couch and light wood coffee table, a gold vase with fresh roses sitting in the middle.
You try to stifle a laugh at how impeccable everything is. No way a guy lives here. Especially not a single guy. This is the opposite of whatever a bachelor pad is, it almost looks professionally designed.
“I can show you to my room to get that dress off for you, if you’d like,” Geto murmurs behind you, forcing your attention back to him.
You nod and he leads you down a hallway to the right of the living room, turning into the first door on his left. It seems like the hallway just keeps going, maybe to an office? You really don’t know enough about Geto to even make an educated guess on his living situation, but you honestly don’t really care. You just want to be out of this dress and under him.
His room is just as perfect as the rest of the apartment, a neatly made bed in the middle with a black comforter, plants decorating the corners of the space.
He clicks on a lamp to provide some lighting before turning around. “I’ll be in the living room, just take whatever clothes you need and come get me when you’re done,” he says as he reaches a hand up to his hair, undoing the bun and letting his shoulder-length locks fall.
Your arm shoots out to grab his wrist, freezing him in place. “Suguru,” you hum, voice low and full of lust, “why don’t you stay in here? I might need help finding something to change into.”
Slowly, he turns back to you, a sly grin on his face. “If you insist, angel.”
With that, his hands are on you. His palms grab your waist and lift you up, gently tossing you onto the bed. Your lips meet his as he lays on top of you, his breath smokey with the taste of liquor. “Let’s get this dress off you, hm?” he purrs against your mouth.
Snaking his hands behind you he undoes the zipper and slides it down your legs without breaking the kiss. While he does so, your hands are on his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt. He pulls it off his shoulders and tosses it across the room before leaning back down, his lips now tracing down your neck.
You open your eyes slightly, taking in the muscles lining his shoulders and back. So, it is a dragon tattoo, you think to yourself as you mentally trace the outline of it down his arm.
Suguru continues working his way down your body, leaving trails of sloppy kisses along the way, until he finds himself between your thighs. The image of him from the bar flashes into your mind and you smile to yourself in anticipation.
A realization suddenly comes to you: this is about to be the first time in months that you’ve fucked someone and haven’t gotten paid. Hell, it was probably closer to a year since your sex life wasn’t particularly active before Gojo.
Suguru seems to sense the shift in you, pausing from where he was gently sucking on the flesh of your inner thighs. “You okay there, angel?”
“Y-yeah,” you stammer, unsure of what emotion you’re feeling as you grapple with the need to understand why you’re about to hook up with Geto. Is it because you want to? Is that even allowed? The concept feels foreign, especially after Toji. But then again, you kept seeing Satoru long after you had enough money - besides, there was that day when he forgot to pay you, and you didn’t seem to care. What did you want?
“M’kay, if you say so, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
Your heart drops. Images of Satoru come flooding back to you as the word repeats in your mind, only this time in his voice. The way he’d laugh through it as he teased you, how he’d whine it when you’d suck a little too hard on the skin of his neck, when he’d whisper it to you as he placed a kiss on your forehead before you both drifted into sleep.
Fuck. Fuck. No, not this, not now.
You were just starting to get over him, you were finally hoping to forget about him.
“I-I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,” you mutter, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
Suguru immediately sits up and moves to your side, eyes scanning your face. “Okay, that’s okay,” he reassures, gently rubbing your arm as panic begins to take over you.
“Y-you didn’t do anything wrong,” your voice waivers as you wipe away the first few tears starting to fall. “Sorry I just…” you sigh, “I have feelings for someone else.”
The words leaving your mouth feel like a surprise even to you, but some part of you deep down knows it’s true. In everything you’ve been doing you’ve been trying to push Satoru out of your mind, but with each shove it seems like he digs his heels into you further, unable to tear yourselves apart.
“Oh,” Geto chuckles softly, “I get it. I’ve been there.” He squeezes your hand and hops off the bed with a gentle grin, moving towards his closet. Grabbing a large black t-shirt, he tosses it to you before grabbing your dress off the floor. “Why don’t you put this on, and I’ll get this in the wash for you. You’re welcome to stay here tonight since it’s pretty late, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
A smile forms on your face from his kindness as your tears begin to slow. “Thanks, Suguru.”
He nods, still grinning, and heads out of the room. Now alone, you’re able to try working through what just happened with him.
You still have feelings for Gojo? No, that can’t be right, because he doesn’t have feelings for you. Besides, you haven’t seen him in months, and you’ve been completely no-contact since you confessed to him.
But then, why would you turn down hooking up with Geto? There weren’t even supposed to be any emotions involved in it, at least not like there were with Gojo. Wait, were there emotions with Gojo?
Thinking back, you remember the way he’d look at you, eyes soft and full of love. He looked at you like you made everything good in the universe, as if you single handedly hung the sun in the sky and painted the clouds just for him. His gentleness with you, even when he was rough, was tender. The way his lips would linger on yours just a moment longer when you said goodbye after each date, how he’d watch you walk back into your apartment building because he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from you, how he’d purposely leave sweatshirts laying around for you to borrow so you could remember him even when you were apart.
Those are feelings. They have to be, right?
Too tired and too confused to think any more, you put on the t-shirt Suguru gave you and pass out in his bed, wishing Satoru’s arms were around you.
–
In the morning, you awake to the smell of pancakes. How sweet of Geto to cook. Sliding out of the covers, your bare feet make their way over to the door before opening it and stepping into the hallway.
Your eyes close as you stretch your arms up above your head. “G’morning,” you yawn.
“Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart,” a voice calls from across the kitchen.
Your eyes shoot open, body frozen in place, as your gaze meets the man who you fell asleep wishing for.
“Satoru?”
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#q writes#dripping in gold#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo x reader#satoru x you#satoru x y/n#satoru x reader#jjk#jjk fanfiction#jjk fic#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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°｡⋆⸜Workplace love.. Miguel O’hara.
Warnings: 18+ content!, modern au, public-ish sex, unprotected sex, piv, mating press, taboo themes at the workplace, no aftercare mentioned.
Art: b_luediary on instagram!!
Authors note: haven’t written in a long, long time so this is more to see if i can still write. didn’t include much dialogue since its practice =^•^=
This wasn't right. You both knew that.
You wanted to push him away, think rationally, keep your morals.
But all of that was easily forgotten, the mutual feeling of lust tying you together like webs,
leaving you trapped.
You laid on the desk, papers, pens, and his glasses dropping to the floor from the shakes of the wood. Miguel's hand covered half of your face, keeping the sinful, yet angelic sounds that escaped your lips at bay. His other hand had a tight grip on your thigh, the skin molding under his tight hold, his fingers occasionally pulling up your garter, and letting it fall back down onto your skin with a smack.Your squirms and whimpers from the sting were just beautiful to him, making the crease between his brows deepen, and the snaps of his hips turn more feral.
Your hands held onto his shoulders tightly, nails nearly ripping the fabric of his dress shirt. Your heels dug into his sacrum, you were holding him like he would crumble into nothing before you. Miguel would whisper to you: all of the things he thinks, desires, and loves about you. His voice was dark and gravelly as he spoke, making your toes curl to your soles, and for your walls to tighten around him shamelessly. Miguel seemed to know everything; everything to make your breath hitch, your thighs twitch, and cunt drool.. His hand roamed all over your body, groping, slapping, and rubbing whichever part of you he was able to reach.
Miguel knew you were close, he could feel you, feel every muscle contract and tighten around him, making him hiss each time from the sensation. Miguel removed his hand from your mouth, missing the sight and feel of your lips. He lowered his head, catching you by surprise as he kissed you again. Your face represented pure bliss; you were an angel in his eyes, one he’s willing to drag down with him for his own selfish desires.
You brought a hand to your face, biting onto your knuckles, only Miguel's voice repeating for you to be quiet in your head. Miguel lost every sense of control from the sight: your eyes closed shut, small wrinkles surrounding your eyelashes from the force, your knuckles turning white from your teeth, blouse unbuttoned and skirt perfectly bunched up on your hips. Miguel brought both hands to the backs of your legs, folding them over till you felt your knees against your chest. You didn't think about the consequences at this moment, you didn't think about anything but him, his filthy promises repeating in your mind like a broken record.
Once Miguel plunged back into you from this new angle, the warm coil in your stomach snapped. Your entire body quivered, your hands coming to hold onto whatever you could, moans freely falling from your lips and bouncing across the walls.. Miguel's head was tucked into your neck, canines grazing over your beautiful skin as he spoke to you. “There she is.” He mumbled into your skin, his cock beginning to twitch inside of you, signaling his own peak.
Your brows furrowed and a string of drool was just ready to slip past your chin, but Miguel cleaned it up for you, his tongue grazing over the skin of your face painfully slow. Miguel pulled out, his moans and groans turning needier as he slapped his tip against your cunt, both of your juices mixing together to create a wet smacking sound as he spilled all over you.
His head was leaned back, his eyes closed and mouth agape while he allowed himself to create a mess on you. His thighs twitched in a matching rhythm of your own twitching thighs, his breathing heavy and uneven as his head slowly tipped forward. Miguel looked at you, all of you; you were a piece of art, a painting so perfect it needed to be destroyed,
and he intended on doing so.
#🎀⋆｡˚ miggy! ₊ ⊹#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o'hara#across the spiderverse#spiderman atsv#⋆lux’s diary⋆
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🇹🇷🇦🇻🇪🇱 🇱🇴🇬 \\ 🇷🇺🇱🇪🇸 + 🇹🇦🇬🇬🇮🇳🇬 🇸🇾🇸🇹🇪🇲
BAG OF MARSHMALLOWS - Writing with the [ BAG OF MARSHMALLOWS ] tag will be soft/fluff writing, or writing that does not have themes of disturbing content within, and will be on the softer and lighter side.
...
BROKEN GLASS - Writing with the [ BROKEN GLASS ] tag will be writing that contains dark themes such as themes of violence, foul language and blood, but will still be relatively tame and contained. Reader discretion will be advised, and a list of themes will be provided at the top of the writing.
...
BLOOD RAIN - Writing with the [ BLOOD RAIN ] tag will be writing that contains the same themes mentioned in [ BROKEN GLASS ], but will also deal with additional themes such as character death, murder/suicide, obsession and possessive behavior, and more. A list of themes will be provided at the top of the writing, and reader discretion is HEAVILY advised. Read [ BLOOD RAIN ] at your own discretion.
Due to the existence of [ BLOOD RAIN ], this blog will cater to those 16+ and therefore, any ageless followers or followers under 16 will be blocked if felt necessary. On a similar note, let it be clear that the themes present in [ BLOOD RAIN ] will never be glorified, romanticized, OR encouraged in ANY manner, and are heavily discouraged against copying.
This aside, the boundary walker indulges purely in pleasure, and will only take requests which interest her. If a request discomforts her for any reason, she will delete the ask. Of course, it may take a while for her to fulfill a request, so you must simply be patient.
The boundary walker herself is an adult [over 18] so feel free to ask her anything, maybe she will entertain the notion and share a little more insight into her thinking. However, please refrain from asking NSFW questions. Suggestive questions are fine, but nothing straight-up NSFW.
Thank you for your cooperation.
#[ the still tempest || information ]#[ the boundary walker || mun ]#[ BAG OF MARSHMALLOWS - soft writing ]#[ BROKEN GLASS - dark themed writing ]#[ BLOOD RAIN - reader's choice ]
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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 ~ 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐟 18+
*𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒚𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔.*
✩✩𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴：ⓌⒶⓇⓃⒾⓃⒼ
<<𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐢𝐭-𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱--𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞
𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡 𝑆𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝐻𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤／𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐸𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖❤️🔥
✩𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔：𝐂𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐞!𝐊.𝐒 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏.𝐒𝐇 𝐱 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧!𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
☆𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒： 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡/𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭/𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞
☆𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡：3,090
☆𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦：𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"Good morning, Miss. Y/N," the doorman greeted you as you entered through the large revolving glass doors of your office building.
You were currently working as an intern to be a newsreporter and your job was to write exclusively for the "Goût du Paradis" or "A Taste of Heaven," a food segment in a popular French-themed magazine. However, you were in charge of this segment on all platforms, including "the print in the magazine, the article on their blog, and the recording for their vlog," you could hear your manager's voice repeating in your head like a broken record.
Veronica, or Ronnie as you often called her, was probably the chillest manager you've ever seen. She was like a super supportive friend that was also your boss. She always wore her hair in a sleek and sexy bun, leaving out a few strands to frame her face. The mole that sat above her plump lips and her tailored monochrome suits made her look even classier.
You walked over to your desk and logged into your computer to check the stats on your latest post. You had to monitor the engagement activity to make sure that you weren't falling behind on the charts. Sometimes you've had to create an ad that would draw more people to check out your segment or offer an incentive like a free gift card for 5 random readers. The gift card idea was actually more useful than you anticipated, it has helped you so many times that it's become an addition to your write-up.
"So far, so good," you thought to yourself as you sipped on your vanilla latte. "Now, I need to figure out what I'm gonna do next," you scratched your head before opening a new tab.
"Bonjour, darling," Veronica smiled through her thin framed glasses, cutting through your thoughts. "Morning, Ronnie." "I just got a hot new topic for your upcoming article. You can think of the title on your own for this one, but basically you're going to be reviewing this cute petit café. Apparently, it has been around for a few years. But recently it has grown to be very popular and we want to know if it's really worth all the buzz," Veronica slid a yellow filing folder across your desk.
"Oh my god. Thank. You. You're a lifesaver. I was just looking for what I should write about next," you said opening the folder to see whatever information Veronica had already gathered. "Tsk tsk. You give me too much credit. I'm just looking out for you. Plus I'm kinda curious myself," she smirked. "Oh, I have one more surprise for ya," she continued before pulling a dark blue plastic basket from behind her back. "Sapphira's!!" she beamed. "I know how much you love this place, so I bought you breakfast. A grande vanilla-almond latte with extra whipped cream and a cream cheese bagel with fresh fruits."
"Aww, Ronnie. Thanks, but you didn't have to do this. And I already had coffee." "First of all, I'm like your best friend and you know that I'd literally die for you. Second, I know you're drinking that coffee from the lobby. That is not coffee. That is dehydrated rabbit turds ground up with mop water and octopus milk. I have delivered to you treats from the gem gods. So drink up, enjoy your breakfast, and start working on that article ASAP," Veronica said before walking off to her office, leaving behind the basket of goodies.
You were too much in shock to even give a response. You should've been used to it by now, Veronica always said some of the craziest things to make a point.
Before leaving the office you wrote down your usual notes to keep you on track and packed up your fully-charged Nikon Z8 camera. In your opinion, this was the most well rounded camera on the market. You had been using it for all of your past articles and the quality is flawless.
You walked outside and climbed into a taxi that was tainted with the scent of cigarettes, an aroma that singed your nosehairs and made your eyes water. Fortunately, the café was only a 15 minute drive away. However, a 15-minute drive soon became 45-minutes and you had no choice but to roll down a window. Just a little bit of fresh air to relieve you of this metallic, yellow gas chamber.
The driver tried to keep you entertained as the two of you sat in traffic, but it was hard to understand his heavy Brooklyn accent.
"Sorry about this here traffic. I mean, hey, if i could, I'd fly ya right over this mess." "It's okay," you sighed. "Hey, you wanna here a crazy story?" "Sure." "Being a taxi driver comes with a whole lot of wackos. I mean, seriously. There was this one time that I had a guy crawl in the backseat completely wasted. I mean, pissy drunk. Crazy part was that his girlfriend or whatever was sober. She started sucking em' off in the back seat while he was passed out and then he randomly started coughing. My guess is he was about to get off. That's when he uttered this ungodly groan and puked right on the back of her head. But she didn't even stop. She kept on sucking. I kicked them out as soon as I was able to stop because I don't like that type of activity in my car."
"Wow...that's crazy." "I know right. Do you wanna hear another story?" "Umm, no that's alright." "Hehe. Hey, what'dya know. Looks like we're right where you wanna be."
You looked out the window to see the quaint little café. It sat on the corner of a reletively quiet street. The perfect location to feel like you had really traveled to France. Honestly, the entire strip felt like a mini city in Paris.
You payed the taxi driver before stepping out. "He actually wasn't half bad, but that story was crazier than I expected. And the strong scent of cigarettes burned my lungs...thank god for windows. Now, I need to focus. I'm here to write an article," you thought to yourself.
Before entering the café you walked around to take a few pics of the surrounding area. You also made sure to record a few videos to fill in time for a VoiceOver on the vlog.
You tucked your camera into your bag before walking into the café. Immediately, your senses were overwhelmed. The intense aroma of fresh baked bread, coffee, and vanilla filled your nose, while the Gymnopédie No.1 played gently around you. The volume was just loud enough to set the mood without being a distraction, but what was even more beautiful was the interior design. The minimalistic, Euro-Korean vibe was unique and the tables were arranged perfectly. There was plenty of space to move around, and enough seating for about 20-30 people--including the seating outside and the two miniature balconies. It was romantic and whimsical at the same time. The pastel pink walls were adorned with paintings of bikes, flowers, cityscapes, and of course food.
"Maybe this is what keeps people coming back?" you thought to yourself, but you knew deep down that you should always look beyond the surface as a reporter. "I should try some of the food here. Unfortunately, it's already kinda late so I'll only be able to stay for a snack and maybe an early dinner before I have to go back to the office."
Luckily, there were only a few people here today, so you wouldn't have to waste time blurring out the many faces that preffered to stay anoymnous. You walked over to the register to place your order.
"Hello. Welcome to Kape-Café, what would you like to order?"
You were still shuffling through your bag looking for your wallet when the person at the cash register spoke to you.
"Oh ummm--" you stuttered as you looked up. You didn't expect to see a guy that attractive. He literally looked like a model. His skin was like porcelain, so clear that it almost appeared reflective. And his eyes were like pools of honey, both delicate and bold.
"Umm...I'm-I-I-I've never actually been here before, but I'm doing a review on this café. So, I'm not sure about what to order. Do you have any recommendations?" you couldn't believe that you were actually letting a guy you don't even know have this affect on you.
"Pull yourself together girl. You've got a job to do," you tried encouraging yourself.
"Yeah. I can tell you've never been here before," he replied. "How?" "Well, it'd be hard to forget a face like that," you couldn't help but blush upon hearing this. "I'm Sunoo by the way. And you are?" "I'm Y/N." "Well, it's nice to meet you, Y/N. I like to get familiar with my customers. It makes me feel like I have a sort of connection to them, ya know what I mean?" "Yea."
"So, tell me. Are you more of a sweet or savory girl?" "Umm. Well...I like more sweet food than I do savory, but I kinda wanna get a taste of the whole menu here if that's okay." "Oh. Yeah. I get it. Do you have any allergies?" "None that I can think of, why?" "How about I just surprise you?" "Surprise me?" "Yea, I'll surprise you with something savory and something sweet. If you're here to write a review, I want to make sure youre getting the best of both worlds," he winked.
"As tempting as that is, I think I'd like to know what I'm getting into." "Hmm, well how about I bring you one sandwich, one dessert, and one drink? That way you know what you're getting, but at the same time you don't." "Okay, I'll trust you on this one."
"Perfect," he smiled. "You can sit wherever you like and I'll get to work on your order right now." "Wait! I didn't get a chance to pay for it yet." "Don't worry about it. You can pay afterward," he said before heading to the back.
You looked over the menu just to get an idea of the pricing here. "Hmm, it looks like I'll end up paying no more than $20. That's not bad," you strategized to yourself.
"Are you having any trouble decideing on what to order?" A voice asked, but this one was different from the guy at the cash register.
You looked up to see yet another painfully attractive employee.
"Oh, umm...no actually. I've already sorted it out with your co-worker, Sunoo." "Well, I hope you don't mind if I get you something to drink while you wait." "Thank you, but I'm okay. He's already preparing me something and I don't want to bother you." "Are you sure? I really don't mind. I'm working on a new drink anyway, so it'll be free of charge." "Hmm, well alright."
The tall, platinum haired walked behind the counter and began working on your drink.
"Dammit. I didn't even catch his name," you thought to yourself. "Wait. What am I saying. I shouldn't be thinking about dick right now. I'm here for a job and that's what I need to focus on."
You pulled out your camera to take a picture of the menu as well as a few shots from the table. Afterward, you started filming a panoramic video from your seat which was interrupted by the platinum-haired barista walking to your table carrying a wooden tray. Hopefully, the camera didn't catch the way you flinched at his arrival. Either way, you knew that you needed to take another video just in case.
"This looks like a lot more than a drink," you chuckled. "Well, I thought you might want something to eat with it," he continued, placing a small cup and tray in front of you. "These just came out of the oven so be careful." "What are they?" "Minnabuns. They're basically minature cinnamon buns."
"Oh. Cute," you said, examining the treats before tasting a bit of the cream cheese frosting. "Just like you," he smiled as your eyes met. You could feel your face burning up. "Are all the guys here like this? Attractive and flirtatious?" you thought to yourself.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you, but it's true." "Thanks," you smiled shyly. "I’m Sunghoon,” he said extending a hand. “I’m Y/N,” you replied as you held his hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said, raising you hand to his lips as he placed a delicate kiss on the back. “You should try your drink while it’s still warm,” he suggested as you reached for the cup. “Ouch!” You quickly pulled your hand back as the cup was much warmer than you anticipated. “Here, let me help,” he said lifting the cup and bringing it to your lips.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. OH MY GOD!!!” You screamed internally as Sunghoon looked into your eyes.
You were surprised to taste such flavors. The cappuccino was bold. Coffee just strong enough to taste but not overpower.
He gently pulled the cup away and placed it back on the table.
"How was it? Oh- Hold on," he said as he cupped your chin and wiped the top of your lip. "Sorry, there was foam covering your pretty lips," he smiled. "Oh, uhh, thank you." "You're welcome, Princess. Now you can try my minnabuns. Trust me, you'll love them," he said, picking up one on the minnabuns between his fingers before placing it in your mouth. Your eyes widened as the minnabun--and Sunghoon's fingers--touched your tongue. "Wow! All of this stuff is really good," you thought to yourself.
"It's good huh?" Sunghoon smiled. "Mhm," you nodded your head. "Does the princess want some more--"
"Ah, Sunghoon, this is my customer. You need to go watch the register," Sunoo pouted as he carried a tray over to you. "Oh can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" "I don't care." "Aww you're no fun," Sunghoon said before walking back over to the register.
"Sorry, he's not usually like this," Sunoo said as he placed your order on the table.
"Thank you and it's okay," you smiled.
"But I really can't blame him. You are very pretty and I would love to take you out tonight after my shift to get to know you a little more," he smiled with a lustful look in his eyes. "Well, I'll go and let you enjoy your meal. And don't worry about paying. This one's on us," he continued before walking off.
"Work is gonna have to wait. I am not missing out on an opportunity like this. I can get to it in the morning. The deadline isn't until Thursday anyways," you though to yourself.
After snapping a few pics of your food you ate the tasty meal that Sunoo brought out to you. When you were done, you wrote down a few notes about your day, careful to exclude any spicy details.
You hadn't even noticed hoe the lights were dim and the lobby was completely empty. You gathered your things neatly together in your bag before placing your empty tray on the counter.
Sunghoon came from the kitchen to grab your plates, "I hope you enjoyed yourself," he smiled. "Yes, I did," you replied. Shortly after, Sunoo exited the kitchen door, no longer wearing the white shirt and apron from before. "You ready?" he asked. "Yea," you nodded.
"Just follow me. My car is parked back here, in the employee's lot," he said as he walked you outside. You were surprised to see Sunghoon leaning against the hood of the vehicle. "I hope you weren't expecting to have fun without me Sunny," he huffed with a smirk. "Well it's kinda hard to do that when we live together," Sunoo rolled his eyes. "Yea, whatever," Sunghoon said before hopping in the driver's seat.
"So, where are we going?" "Home, we don't like drinking in public when we have work the next day. But if you want, you can join us on Friday," Sunoo smiled from the passenger seat.
Sunghoon turned up the radio before whispering something in Sunoo's ear. The two of them began exchanged a few hushed words before they both took turns to look at you. "We're almost there," Sunghoon said.
Now you were feeling a bit uneasy about getting into a car with some guys you met the same day, but there was nothing you could do at this point except to hope for the best.
The drove through a neighborhood before finally stopping at a house.
Sunghoon turned the car off and Sunoo stepped out and came around to help you.
After going inside, Sunghoon got some drinks going.
❤️🔥: The exact details of how you got to this point are a blur to you now. The last thing you remembered was having one too many drinks and sharing one too many secrets and now you were sandwiched between two guys. Sunghoon fucked your pussy from behind while you sucked the Sunoo's dick. "I love the way you moan on my dick," he smiled, caressing your face before grabbing a handful of your hair. Sunghoon continued to grip your waist tighter as he fucked you harder.
"She's so pretty, isn't she Sunghoon?" "Well all I can see from here is her ass," Sunghoon said before flipping you over on your back. "Hmm, you're right Sunoo, she is very pretty," he continued before going down to play with your pussy. Sunoo kissed your lips and your neck before sucking on your tits. Sunghoon lifted your legs over his shoulders as he continued to eat you out. This cycle of switching and fucking ended after you had gotten off so many times you couldn't even remember your name. :❤️🔥
The next morning, they gave you a few treats from the café and dropped you off at work. "Bonjou--Oh, what's got your smiling? Was the café really that good?" Veronica giggled. "It was amazing," you giggled back. "Well you gotta tell me everything." "I think you'll be happy to read my blog," you winked. "Oh my god, what is it you tease? Wait! Is that from the café too? Did you actually go back there this morning? Why can't you just tell me now? I can't wait any longer. I'm literally burning with curiosity." "Hehe, slow down, Ronnie. I'll tell you tonight okay. And yes I did go back this morning." "Hmm okay," she pouted.
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ °❈° ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
❀𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:
@chlorinecake @hoyeonheeseung @nikohiroshi @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul
#fanfic#enhypen#kpop#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen smut#enhypen fluff#reading#explict#cute#sunoo enhypen#sunghoon enhypen#sunghoon smut#sunoo smut#enhypen hard hours#enha hard hours#enha hard thoughts#park sunghoon#kim sunoo#sunghoon x reader#sunghoon x yn#sunoo x reader#sunoo x yn#enhypen x reader#enhypen x yn#mdni#minors dni#mdna#minors do not interact#smut#tw noncon
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Was it Real?
Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin x Bell!Reader SMUT 18+ MDNI
Photo cred: @pricescigar
A/N: This has been brewing in my drafts since MARCH lol, and I suddenly felt the urge to finish it today so I hope you guys enjoy it!
Synopsis: Bell manages to break out of Adler's mind control early on in the game. She infiltrates the KGB to hopefully reconnect with the current leader of Perseus himself Stitch, angst ensues, old feelings emerge, betrayal happens, they deal with it in the most reasonable way: Shmex :)
CW: Dark themes, dubious content, SMUT, office sex, ex-lovers to enemies to lovers? Stitch is a bad guy ish, possessive sex, degrading, PWP, canon typical violence (this is COD) but not the main theme of this, they're in love but it's complicated because she's a double agent, not really a happy ending but also not a sad ending.
P.S. this one is dedicated to @stararch4ngelqueen because she's great and she makes me wanna keep writing so :)
P.P.S. Dialogue in Italics are flashbacks, dialogues in bold are russian.
You see him right away when you turn the corner of the hallway, his imposing form walking out of the elevator surrounded by some of his most trusted men. The silvery scar tissue cutting through the left side of his face and into his eye adding onto the threatening aura around him.
You remember him, you remember the relationship you had with him before you got taken away and had all of your memories jumbled and carefully rearranged to fit into the narrative the Americans wanted you to be a part of.
Vikhor Kuzmin aka “Stitch”, current leader of Perseus, your mentor, the man who had taught you everything you knew. The man who had made you into the woman you were. That woman was long gone, that thought angered you. You had no loyalties to the American cause, nor to the men who you were currently working for.
Your loyalty to Russell Adler, the leader of this operation, was especially treacherous. You knew what he did to you, the lengths he had taken to turn you against the very people who had built you from the ground up, whatever charade you were currently playing by “helping” him sneak into the KGB to recover intel, was about to end. Sooner rather than later.
You watch intently through the shaded glass of the door you’re hiding behind as Stitch walks through the empty corridor, the armed men at his side posting themselves at strategic points in the hallway as he continues to make his way through the space, not sparing them a second glance, his patterned eyes ice cold and constantly searching and analyzing. The hood covering his head as well as the mask obscuring the bottom half of his face keeping his true emotions from shining through.
Your heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him, you didn’t know where you stood with him anymore, you knew just how important Perseus’ cause was to him, and how loyal to it he was. You doubted he’d ever forgive you, no matter the circumstances surrounding your disappearance, people didn’t just leave Perseus, and if they did, they were found and dealt with. You knew because that was your job, the executioner. The shadow of death, you were the last thing traitors saw before the light left their eyes.
At one point in time, you were his most trusted advisor, his right hand, his friend. You’d spent countless hours with him, the both of you planning, scheming, organizing, a myriad of different operations to spread your influence through the western countries. Most of which had greatly succeeded, you were always five steps ahead of the Americans.
You don’t know when exactly it changed, when your relationship with the stoic, brutal man, changed. When you became something more, when he started looking at you with a glint in his eyes, when his face relaxed a little when it was just the two of you in the same room, or when he started removing his mask around you. Exposing the gnarled, scarred skin of his face to you, letting you see just how truly broken he was.
But you didn’t think he was broken, you saw a man that had overcome challenge after challenge, continuously coming out on top and never giving up. Your respect for him grew, as did your heart. Butterflies swarming your abdomen whenever he looked your way, not needing to say a single word to you, his eyes always speaking so loud in the silence of the room.
Then he started smiling at you, not a full-blown smile, you didn’t think the man was even capable of such a feat, but a small, subtle quirk of his lips. So small you thought you’d imagined it at first. A fleeting curve of his full lips towards you, gone as fast as it had appeared. The memory makes you blush slightly in the dark space of the office you’re hiding in, chewing at your lips anxiously as you wait for him to dispatch the men around him, giving you an opening to talk to him. Hoping your connection plays in your favour, hoping the man won’t shoot you where you stand, knowing that he would, knowing that he should.
Afterall, you’d not only betrayed your cause, but you’d also betrayed him. That realization had weighed heavy on your shoulders ever since you woke up from whatever trance Adler had you in, all of your memories coming back to you in painful bursts, flashes of images blinding you as they assaulted your brain. The pain you had felt as each memory hit you, still sizzling inside you, causing a shiver to trail up your spine.
You take a steadying breath as you watch him through the tinted window, his white, scarred eye, glinting under the artificial light emanating from the fixtures above him. You’d asked him once if he could still see out of that eye, out of curiosity, but also because he seemed to see everything, all the time. Nothing ever escaped him, you wondered how he was able to be so alert with half his vision gone.
“I see.” Had been his curt answer, not giving you anymore detail than that, leaving you to speculate in silence about it, you found it unlikely that his vision had remained intact after taking a knife to the eye, though you supposed miracle stories could happen and he might’ve just been very lucky.
What had surprised you the most though, was weeks later, when you and him had been working together late one night, both absorbed in your respective tasks, you weren’t really paying attention to him, too preoccupied with finishing your own paperwork. He was though, you’d come to learn that he always was, his eyes always straying back to you, no matter how many times he tried to scold himself. You remember it like it was just yesterday, the scene playing out in your mind like a movie. That had been the start of something that meant so much more.
“it’s colour. I can’t see colour.” He’d said suddenly, his voice gruff from lack of use, the heavy Russian accent wrapping clumsily around the syllables of each word, startling you out of your state of deep concentration and forcing you to look up at him, your mouth agape at his sudden answer. The dim, amber lighting of the light above you, bouncing off the discoloured surface of his eye as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.
“I- is it, weird…? Seeing colour with one eye and not with the other?” You’d replied to him after a beat, your voice coming out unsure as you took a hesitant step towards him, his two-tone eyes following your every movement like a hawk.
He’d never really given you a clear answer, his shoulders lifting in a shrug before dropping his gaze from yours and going back to his work, pensive look on his face as he continued to meticulously organize the papers before him. You didn’t blame him for not answering, hell, the fact that he even talked to you in complete sentences was something to marvel at. Considering he usually only interacted with his men, and even then, he would only really bark orders at them before dismissing them.
He tried though, you could tell he did, his English was choppy at best when he tried to talk to you, sometimes jumping back and forth to Russian when he couldn’t find his words. You’d started to learn Russian that way, and he started to learn English. It was beautiful really, now that you thought about it, he would teach you words in Russian, and you’d teach him the same words in English. He’d get frustrated when trying to pronounce some words and you’d giggle in your sleeve as he grew more and more flustered, the tips of his ears growing red with embarrassment until he huffed out a curse and gave up.
Your throat grows tight at the memory, eyes starting to sting with unshed tears as emotion threatens to overtake you, he was a complicated, brutal man, and yet he was so patient and gentle with you when you were together, his naturally gruff voice growing softer when he spoke to you. It hadn’t always been that way, of course, at first, he dismissed you as just another body in the sea of men he had to direct, not giving you his time of day, and barking orders your way the same way he would the rest of the men.
But then you’d started to make your mark, your work within the organization gaining more and more recognition from your peers, whispers growing and growing until they became a loud roaring in each room you would walk into, eyes tracking your every breath. Soldiers hanging onto your every word like they were prophecy.
He noticed, like he always did, way before everyone else did. Taking matters into his own hands and tracking your progress, reviewing everything you did himself before approving it to be passed down the chain of command, reeling in the few men who thought acting like dogs would get them anywhere but six feet deep with a bullet between their eyes. And so, the whispers started to change, echoes of Perseus’ executioner leaking from the cracks in the walls, men thrice your size averting their gaze when you walked by, in fear of angering their leader, knowing him as the type of man to not make threats, only promises.
He would seek your advice more often, confiding in you and asking your opinion on certain aspects of operations he wanted to greenlight. You’d been privy to the birth of many successful missions, a lot of which you’d tweaked and reworked under his careful guidance, the subtle glint in his eyes growing more and more every time you managed to surprise him, the pride in his voice unmistakable when those plans came to fruition.
One of those nights after a successful mission, he’d finally kissed you, it happened out of nowhere and even he seemed surprised about it. He’d been watching you all night from across the room, ice cold eyes trailing after you as you mingled with men unworthy of your attention, men who had no idea just exactly who they were talking to. His own thoughts surprised him, the sudden possessiveness coursing through his veins startling him and causing him to stiffen up in the corner of the room he was standing in, the men attempting to congratulate him on yet another successful operation immediately backing up at the sight of their leader so wound up.
You weren’t paying attention, not really, the sudden peak in popularity you were going through quite hard to digest at that time, going from “just another body” to Perseus’ Executioner was already taking its toll on you. So when a harsh slap resounded from across the room, startling everyone into silence, you took a second to understand what the buzz was about, your Russian at the time not as fluent as it was now, add to the fact that your brain was fuzzy from the effects of the alcohol you were drinking, the only words you caught amongst the whispers of the room currently staring in muted fear at their leader were “fucking mongrel” and “kill you where you stand.”
He'd stormed out after that, his anger palpable in the now silent room, the man victim of his wrath left to lick his wounds on the carpeted floor of the decorated conference room you were all left standing in, he wasn’t one for parties to begin with, he’d told you as much during one of your many late night conversations, social gatherings made him feel uneasy, especially when they served no purpose.
The remaining guests had slowly started to leave after that, some of them throwing you a questioning look as they walked out, forcing a frown to form on your face, sure you were still considered an outsider to this whole operation but you’d been with this team for months now, your work was paving the way for generations to come, Stitch was the first one to back that statement, his trust in you unwavering.
With that in mind, you decided to follow after him, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in your endeavours as the fuzziness in your brain started to dissipate from the alcohol you’d been indulging in earlier. His usual hangout place in the late hours of the evening tended to be in a room adjacent to his office, he used it for multiple different purposes, and right now, that room held most, if not all, of your joint findings for future operations. You decided to check there first.
You found him hunched over one of the tables, a piece of paper crumpled in his large fist, his shoulders heaving under the thick charcoal material of his jacket, the hood covering his head doing little to conceal the man’s current emotional state. You took a hesitant step forward, not wanting to startle, or anger him further in the state he was in.
“Vik…?” You’d called softly, the nickname somewhat new and foreign to you, but you’d taken to calling him that when it was just the two of you alone, his alias always felt wrong to say, you were never quite able to put a finger on why exactly you felt that way about him, but when he’d given you his real name after countless nights spent working with you, you’d decided to go with it, accepting the gesture as what you could only imagine meant something far greater to him.
He never did answer you, his hooded head shaking back and forth in the confines of the room, the flickering light above you doing very little in terms of actual lighting, mostly casting shadows on every corner of the room, illuminating his figure but not highlighting any of his features.
He was mumbling something under his breath, the heavy notes of Russian syllables registering in your mind and forcing you to get closer to him in an effort to understand his tense ramblings. He’d heard you for sure, but he was probably too far into his own head to really acknowledge you at this point.
You took another hesitant step forward, coming to a stop next to him, his words sounding clearer now that you were next to him, but your brain still couldn’t find the right associations at that moment, too overwhelmed with the events of that day to make sense of it all.
“Vik- Can you slow down? I can’t make out what-“
He’d turned around then, his bright eyes pinning you in place, his right eye as blue as the iciest lakes of Russia, and his left eye, as white as the tallest peaks of the motherland’s mountains. He rarely held any warmth in them, even when he looked at you, it didn’t surprise you, after all, the man was a product of his environment, and his environment had been nothing but harsh and unforgiving. All in all, he’d come out of it mostly unscathed, a smart and intimidating man with a steel resolve and an ambition for revolution, it was hard to not admire him in that sense.
“Fucking pigs. Have no respect for their superiors.” He finally answered after a long moment of looking at you, his breathing had calmed down some and he was finally able to slow down when he spoke, the harsh, grating sound of his dialect oddly comforting to you.
You frowned at him then, not understanding his anger, closing the distance between the both of you and gently grasping onto the scarred hand that was holding onto the piece of paper you’d seen him crumpling up when you walked in, extricating it from his grasp and straightening it.
Your eyebrows shot up as you carefully unfolded the paper to reveal the source of his anger; a crudely drawn stick figure with pigtails and enormous breasts, bent over in front of a hooded stick figure holding a knife. The drawing obviously representing you and him engaging in something obscene.
At the bottom of the piece of paper you made out the words “Perseus’ whore”, scrawled in sloppy writing, no doubt an attempt at humor from whoever gave this to him. You shook your head as a deep sigh escaped you, crumpling the offending art project and throwing it in the bin next to the table.
“He’ll get what’s coming to him.” You whispered as you gently placed your hand onto his broad shoulders, the soft fabric of his jacket warm under your touch, your head tilting slightly to catch his eyes. “The men closest to us respect me as they respect you Vik, this will not go unpunished.”
“No matter. I will not allow such vile conduct from lowly insects. He will pay with blood.” He’d said, carefully enunciating every word to make sure you understood his meaning well, his voice had grown rougher with barely contained anger.
The tension in the room had suddenly come to a boiling point, you remember the feeling vividly, his eyes had slowly dragged up your body until they’d landed on your face. The intensity he’d held in his gaze at that moment seared in your mind forever. You feel your breath hitch just at the memory, your throat bobbing as you swallow uneasily.
“My executioner. Together we’ll watch the world burn.” He had finally said, his rough hand carefully taking your much softer one from where it lay on his shoulder, fingers intertwining as he’d closed the distance between you and him. His mask long forgotten on the table next to you, he’d probably taken it off when he walked in, chucking it carelessly onto the pile of paperwork currently taking up most of the surface.
You remember smiling at his ruthlessness, the rough Russian words had somehow seemed so romantic to you in that moment. You remember the way his scarred lips had felt as he’d finally pressed them onto yours, so warm in contrast to the cold man they belonged to. You remember the way he’d held you that night, the way his muscular body had felt against yours, the way he’d whispered your name almost reverently in between soft kisses, his body gently crowding yours against the desk, pushing you up onto it so he could fit himself between your legs, his lips never leaving yours.
He'd taken you, right then and there, on the desk. Pushed everything off the wooden surface so he could have access to all of you without restraint. His lips explored your skin, worshipping every inch of it, every scar, every blemish as if the simple touch of his lips would somehow atone for the sins of others against you. The words he’d whispered to you alternating between Russian and English, he wanted to make sure you understood just how much you meant to him.
You’d done the same to him, ensured to kiss every scar you could see, your fingers gently traced the damaged skin of each and every one of them as you whispered your own words of worship to him, the taste of his skin burnt into your DNA, the shape of each of his tattoos engraved into your mind forever.
That night changed everything.
The memory fades, your heart clenches in melancholy at the knowledge that you’ll never be able to regain his trust, his softness, his love. All that you were eclipsed, and all that could’ve been was now nothing but wishful thinking on your part.
Vikhor didn’t forget, most of all, he didn’t forgive.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally dismisses his men with a curt nod followed by a rough command, the armed men hastily retreating to their assigned post, leaving the hallway deserted for the most part and the path to his office clear.
You follow his gaze as he sweeps the hallway himself one last time, the iciness of his eyes as they take in every detail one last time makes your heart beat faster in your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s out of fear or excitement. After a moment his critical gaze lands directly on the door you’re hiding behind, his eyes squinting at the tinted glass as you duck, a curse escaping your mouth.
The majority of his face is hidden by the gas mask he constantly wears outside, coupled with the thick hood obscuring his head, it’s hard to make out his expression as he finally turns around and enters his office, the door clicking quietly behind him. A relieved sigh leaves your mouth, you shuffle quietly, gathering your thoughts and trying to calm the storm raging in your mind as you get closer and closer to what you came here to do.
You hope he’ll listen, at the very least let you apologize and explain to him what happened to you, maybe even believe you when you tell him that your heart never left this place, that your purpose was and still is to be at his side, to rule the empire you helped him build over the years.
You know your chances are slim to none, but a small part of you hangs on to that sliver of hope that he’ll spare you, that he’ll accept the information you bring him. You swallow uneasily as you get up from where you were crouching on the floor, you throat suddenly dry and constricted. Most of all, you hope that he’ll remember his love for you, the love you both shared for one another before all of this went down, before your entire identity was ripped to shreds, before you were ripped from him.
You scan the hallway one last time before opening the door as quietly as possible, your eyes jumping from corner to corner to make sure no one sees you. You know this place like the back of your hand, spent countless hours walking through these very halls, working with some of these people, and yet, you’re nothing more than a ghost now, another soul lost to the cause, another name whispered, another body never recovered.
You step carefully, gracefully to his office, the blinds behind the tinted window are always closed and today is no exception. You strain your hearing in an attempt to decipher what he’s doing behind the closed door, nothing reaches you but dreadful silence. You grasp the door handle with a sweaty hand, fingers shaking as they wrap around the cold metal, your breath quickening as you slowly turn the handle and push open the door, one foot stepping in before you stop dead in your tracks, your eyes widening.
The sight before you is enough to make your stomach drop, you see the man you love lounging behind his desk, relaxed as ever, one foot propped on top of it, the heavy military boots he wears resting on the worn wood as he stretches his body out. His right hand wrapped around his gun, the metal glinting menacingly in the dim light of the room as he slowly rocks the weapon back and forth in his hand, dragging it over the surface of the desk every so often.
His other arm hangs on the side of the chair, out of view. His head is inclined slightly to one side, eyes pinning you to the spot as he glares at you with an intensity you’ve only ever seen directed at insubordinates within his ranks. The sword of Damocles hanging over your head in the very room you’d engineered Perseus’ most successful hits.
You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, your breath rushes out of you as you try to find your footing.
“Close the door.” He finally says, his English rusty and broken, his eyes unwavering as he tracks your every move like a predator waiting to pounce. You fumble with the door for a moment before finally closing it.
“Lock it.” He tells you, his voice coming out as growl and forcing a shiver of uneasiness to trail up your spine, every fiber of your being telling you to run, to get away, to save yourself before it’s too late.
“Vik-“ You start quietly as you turn around to face him, not moving from where you stand in fear of angering him further.
“Vik? After all this time?” He interrupts you roughly in Russian, his tone dripping with venom and disdain at your use of his given name. You miss the way he flinches at your voice, the lighting in the room too dark to perceive the slight reaction.
“Please listen to me, I promise- I promise this isn’t what you think it is.” You answer back in Russian, your voice quivering with unshed tears as you take a hesitant step towards him, imploring him to find it in him to listen to what you have to say.
“Do you know how many men I have looking for you, executioner? Do you know the price there is on your head right now, my love?” He spits that last part at you like the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, like he can’t believe he ever called you that to begin with.
He gets up then, slowly, confidently, his foot slowly dragging across the desk before falling heavily on the floor with a dull thud, the weight of it making the desk tremble slightly. The barrel of his gun drags against the wooden surface as he slowly rounds the desk to come face to face with you, standing well over a foot above you.
His smell assaults you then, clean linen and a hint of fresh mint overshadowed by gunpowder that sticks to every piece of clothing he owns. A smell that was once familiar and comforting now eliciting a shiver of fear in you, pale eyes that once held your entire world now only hold anger and hurt, a hurt that runs so deep you feel your heart crack under the weight of his gaze.
“I’m sorry Vik, I’m so fucking sorry, you have to listen to me please-“ You whisper as your voice breaks under the torrent of emotion raging through you.
“The Americans, they took me, they experimented on me, forced me to forget everything, made me into their puppet so I could feed them information on Perseus.” You tell him, stumbling over your words as you try to make him understand what’s at stake. His eyes harden, the scar running through his left eye looks even angrier like this, the usually pale blue of his right eye now looks almost black as anger simmers in it.
You swallow uneasily as cold metal presses under your chin, forcing your head up and straining the muscles of your neck.
“And? Did you? Did you betray us? Did you betray me, my love?” He whispers as he presses the cold metal harder against the delicate skin there, the heat in his gaze igniting something inside you, it feels wrong, so fucking wrong but you can’t help yourself as a whimper escapes you.
“No. No, I- “ You swallow uneasily as you try to keep your head upright and your gaze on his, refusing the let him see how scared you are.
“I told them nothing, I invented false leads to throw them off your scent. I convinced them to let me come here to get information because I wanted to warn you- They’re coming Vikhor, they want your head, Adler wants your head.” At the mention of Adler his other hand shoots up to wrap itself around your neck, pushing you against the door violently, the hand holding the gun lets go suddenly, the weapon clattering to the ground.
His now free hand comes up to his masked face, ripping away the constricting contraption to reveal more of his scarred flesh to you, his full lips pulled back into a feral snarl as he lowers his head to your ear. “You’re telling me Russell Adler is outside this fucking building waiting for you to bring him intel on ME?!” He rasps out in a deadly whisper, the hand around your neck tightening as he slaps the other one against the surface of the door, making you flinch.
“No. Not here. I’m alone, I promise I came alone, they trust me, I made them believe they could trust me. You need to move to a different location NOW Vik, I’ll give them a random location to give you time to get your men mobilized but you can’t stay.” You reply, one of your hands closing gently around the one at your neck, squeezing gently, reassuringly. Your eyes pleading with him, trying to get through the thick layer of ice between you and him.
He smirks then, his lips twisting in a deformed grin, exposing perfectly white teeth from the corner of his mouth as his hand loosens and his thumb slowly drags across your lips, his breath fanning across your cheek as a humorless laugh escapes him.
“I should fucking kill you, make an example out of you, discard you like the dog you are.” He whispers seductively, his eyes fixated on your lips as his thumb continues to rub gently across the delicate skin there, trying to coax your tongue out to wet them.
“Vik-“ You whimper breathlessly, your heart beating wildly in your chest.
“No, instead I think I’ll let you continue on this mission of yours, you keep feeding them faulty information and you keep giving me information like the good little bitch you are, and maybe, MAYBE, I’ll let you live.” He growls out, his lips now dangerously close to yours, a wicked glint in his eyes as his tongue pokes out, dragging across his own lips as hunger starts burning through the glaciers nestled in his eyes.
His mouth is on yours then, he’s kissing you like he’s never kissed you before, desperation driving his every move as both of his hands cradle your face, one of his knees pushing your legs apart, forcing your core against his clothed thigh, the thick muscle under you flexing to accommodate you.
Your own hands grab onto the sides of his face, his strong jaw speckled in stubble, the rough texture of it making you moan into his mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting yours for the first time in almost a year. A guttural groan escapes him at the taste of you, his desperation increasing tenfold as he suddenly scoops you up, one hand securely around your waist, while the other grabs a handful of your ass, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.
You hear commotion as he drops you on his desk, his lips never leaving yours as he sweeps everything off the wooden surface, in one swoop all the clutter occupying his desk is sent flying across the room, you hear what you assume is a mug, shatter as it hits the floor.
His hands are grabbing everywhere at once, pulling at your clothing as he tries to get as close as possible to you, his need presses insistently against your stomach, pulling a moan from you as you try to move against him, your own delirium getting the best of you, all previous thoughts or worries gone from your mind as you finally feel him against you once more.
“Need you, Vik, please” You whine out, your hips straining towards his for any kind of relief, the Russian words coming from your mouth in such a needy manner pushing him into a frenzy, his hands dipping under the fabric of your shirt, pulling away from you just long enough to tear the piece of fabric off of you, exposing more of your skin to him. His hands immediately going to your breasts, pulling the cups of your bra low enough to expose them.
“Shut the fuck up, don’t say my name like that, not when you ripped my entire fucking heart out when you left, not when you left and took my soul with you. I couldn’t fucking think without you, I can’t fucking live without you.” He growls out, his voice betraying him as it cracks with emotion at his own admission.
Your answer comes as a moan as his lips wrap around one of your nipples, tongue curling over the sensitive bud, your hands tighten around his neck as you throw your head back in pleasure, hips grinding against his pulsing erection, the friction not nearly enough to provide any relief through the thickness of both your pants, you let out a frustrated cry at that, deciding to take matters into your own hands, you slide your fingers down his muscular chest, the wild thumping of his heart vibrating through your skin.
You reach his belt buckle a few moments later, nimble fingers working through the loops of his belt in quick efficient movements, finally freeing it. You hurriedly unzip his pants, his hips push into your hands as he continues to explore your skin, kissing and biting every inch of exposed flesh, making you his once again, making sure you’re real and not just a figment of his imagination.
When your hands finally wrap around the thickness of him, his forehead drops against your sternum, a grunt escaping his mouth as you slowly pump his length, your own mouth leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along his jaw, his name like a prayer on your tongue, reassuring him that you’re actually there, that you’re real, that you love him.
“Can’t- can’t wait. Need you, right here, right now.” He breathes out, his hands fumbling with your pants impatiently, almost tearing them in his haste to get them off of you, not even caring to remove them completely.
“I’m here, I’m here my love, take what you need.” You whisper reassuringly, your lips catching his in another kiss as his big hand cups your core, fingers dragging through your arousal before pushing one thick digit inside you, the tight ring of muscles relaxing around him as he starts thrusting his finger in a steady rhythm, more of your arousal leaking out around his hand.
You push your face against his clothed shoulder to muffle the sounds you make, not wanting to get caught, your teeth sinking into the thick layer of muscle when he adds a second finger, the soft squelching of your wetness resonating throughout the dark room, coupled with the soft curses leaving his mouth occasionally as you continue your own assault on him, precum leaking steadily from his tip and onto your hand, making a mess of his own.
“Always so fucking wet for me aren’t you? Even when you betray me, this pussy knows who it belongs to.” He growls possessively in your ear, his movements growing more relentless as you start clenching around him, the degrading statement only adding to your growing arousal.
You cum suddenly, violently around his fingers. Tears spring to your eyes as you throw your head back, a broken half sob, half moan escaping you as he continues to thrust his fingers slowly inside your pussy, your legs shaking from where they’re still hooked around his waist.
His fingers slide out of you, forcing a hiss from you at the sudden emptiness, but the feeling doesn’t last long, you feel the thick head of his length pressing against your opening, the familiar feeling causes a shiver to rip through you.
“Look at me. Wanna see you when I make you cum.” He commands, breaching you with a steady thrust. You struggle to keep your eyes open at the onslaught of pleasure overtaking you, your eyesight blurry from tears of pleasure threatening to spill out, but you nod clumsily, one hand twisting into the material of his sweater when he starts working himself deeper into you, his breathing growing ragged at the feel of you taking him deeper and deeper with each thrust.
You lose track of the words coming out of your mouth, Russian and English coming out as a jumbled mess, different variations of his name as well as pleas to let you cum fade into one another, his hips stuttering every so often when your voice cracks around the syllables of your prayers to gods who gave up on the both of you long ago.
His hands end up around your jaw once again, the roughened skin holding your face softly as his piercing eyes hold yours, his own jaw clenched hard enough to make the vein on his forehead jump with strain as he wrestles with his feelings and with the pleasure coursing through his body, wave after wave assaulting his senses like an unrelenting storm.
When your release comes, it’s an all-consuming inferno, the muscles in your core collapsing onto the heavy thickness of him within you, forcing his thrusts to turn erratic in turn. Your head thrown back in a silent scream as you soak the desk beneath you with the proof of your pleasure, a pleasure that gets stretched out as he chases after his own release, pumping into you with abandon, strong hands holding onto your head as his own eyes roll back into his head as he finally cums deep inside you.
You both lay there panting for a moment, your minds reeling, your hearts clenched tight with emotional turmoil, wanting to stay here forever, and wanting to disappear at the same time.
When he finally pulls out, a hiss escapes him, his eyes fixated on the evidence of your coupling slowly leaking out of your abused cunt as he tucks himself back into his pants gingerly, the mask of tense indifference he wore earlier falling back into place seamlessly.
“Go. Grab your shit. I’ll find you when I’m ready.” He grunts, turning around and exiting his office without another word, leaving you there.
#call of duty#call of duty cold war#stitch call of duty#vikhor stitch kuzmin#bell call of duty#fanfiction#Stitch x Bell#Stitch x Reader#russell adler#adler call of duty
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The Night Is Dark And Full Of Terrors | 141 x Reader/OC
Synopsis; There’s blood in her mouth
Warnings; violence, gore, death, foul language, smoking and vague horror themes
Notes; Part Two to this piece here and is centred around Gaz and Soap this time. Also this is a secondary account so I can't reply in the comments but I see them and thanks for the support. This will be a series and I’ll probably write some for a normal human Glass as well.
▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一
Her back was to Soap when he stumbled out the door and into the dark.
The bar behind him was bursting with life and noise, the small establishment packed to the brim with rowdy soldiers celebrating the latest win against an arms and human trafficking ring that had dragged them across the globe in what had felt like a wild goose chase. Almost a full year of travel and bullets had built up frustrations and a desire to simply let loose. A desire which had culminated in now drunk and rowdy soldiers.
Soap loved them all, he did, but he needed moment to breath before he dove back into the fray and truly indulged himself in the liquor that had been flowing as free as a waterfall.
It seemed Glass had the same idea.
She sat a few meters deep into the gravelled car park, perched on a low brick wall near an old black Impala with clouds of thick grey smoke hanging in the night around her. She sat just out of reach of the lamp posts golden ring of light, body lingering in the shadow, while the tips of her black boots shimmered when the glow glanced off them. Her back was to him but even from here he could see the dull red of a cigarettes ember.
“Alright Soap?” His own voice called from the dark.
He jumped, the sensation of cold fingers crawling down his spine, but forced a smile and braved onward. Each step was heavy, the gravel crunching under his boot, while the air got more frigid every inch he got closer. By the time he reacher her, his breath was misting with ever exhale. Frost crept towards him from under her soles.
“All good, just needed a breather” He admitted with a forced chuckle, feet rooted firmly in the light “You?”
The cigarette bud glowed as she inhaled and something cat like shimmered where her eyes would be “Needed to clear my head before the pool tournament started”
A real chuckle slipped past his lips this time before they lapsed into a frigid silence that was only broken by the occasional passing car. Strobes of headlights shimmered by, flashes of bright white bouncing off the Impala and frozen puddles. The shadows around the woman remained as solid as obsidian. Glass seemed content, puffing on the cigarette which burned dangerously low against her gloves, while Soap leaned against the frost covered lamp post.
He hated the silence that hung around them, heavy in the air like the tobacco smoke. He was usually unbothered if someone didn't feel like chatting, comfortable to fill in the silence himself, but he found it hard to breathe next to her; let alone talk. Every inhale was sharp while each exhale felt like a fist had been lodged in his throat. A shiver racked down his spine as he blew onto his clasped hands, desperate for some semblance of warmth.
“Was a good win” Glass spoke suddenly. This time, the voice was her own. Low and raspy with a lilting accent that sent a more pleasant shiver up Soaps back. Cautiously, he relaxed back against the still freezing pole.
“You can say that again, just wish we got ‘em sooner.” His skin prickled with the touch of the cool metal and the feel of her unseen eyes piercing through him “Finally done with those fuckers though and I'm desperate for a drink at this point”
Glass chuckled lowly, stubbing her cigarette out before almost instantly lighting a new one “Then go inside before Gaz comes looking for ya, looks like you're freezing anyway”
Her hand reached out from the darkness, smoke cartoon in hand. A temptation to join her in sin. A temptation of self destruction.
Fingers itching in want, he waved her off with a tight smile “And leave you here all lone without a single drop of alcohol in ya? Couldn't call me a good teammate if I did that”
She laughed this time. It was a deceptively human sound. Through the thick smog of nighttime, he could see her lithe silhouette lean back, broad shoulders shaking slightly. His eyes followed the path of the cigarette bud as she lifted it to where her mouth would be.
“Trying to get me drunk Soap?” Her voice was still full of mirth.
Confidence boosted by the surprisingly easy conversation, Soap dared to joke as he cast a glance back to the pub door “More like trying to catch peek of that mug of yours, might even get lucky with L.T too”
“You could just ask me”
The rumble of a passing car was the only sound that echoed through the lot as a feeling of wrongness settled in the Scots gut. A hand, frigid and skeletal, had wrapped itself around his heart while the fist had lodged itself in his throat again.
Do it
He watched Glass from the corner of his eye. She stood slowly, bones cracking, and turned on the balls of her feet to face him. Gravel crunched under her boot. Slowly, she stepped into the light.
Her balaclava was firmly in place, dark green fabric stretched taught over sharp bones. Two black pits, void like and bottomless, had infested the space of her eyes and Soap only watched as she exhaled a thick plume of tobacco. Grey wisps broke through from the fabric over her mouth while more slithered up and out the eye sockets. Something pulsated in the blackness.
Soap blinked.
Ghoulishly pale eyes stared back.
“Something wrong” A new voice warbled from Glass's mouth “ya look pale”
The cold hands returned, tracing patterns over his neck.
“I’m good” He coughed out, ribs shaking as he breathed “Just..., just gonna slip back inside”
He moved slowly, Glass locked in his peripheral. Each step was calculated and slow as if to not startle her into movement, likening her to a feral creature wanting to pounce on something it wanted to devour. Gradually, the further he got away from the woman, his steps quickened until he was jogging across the the gravel towards the glow that crept out from under the pubs back door.
The door shrieked when Soap pushed it open but before he entered, something tugged at the back of his mind. A stray thought had lodged itself into his skull.
‘one last look’
Do it
Hesitantly, bathed in the safe and warm glow of the now open door, Soap forced himself to turn back to the carpark. Lingering under the now colder light of the lamp, Glass continued to smoke her cigarette as a plume of tobacco smoke curled out of where her mouth would be and through the thick fabric of her mask. Through that smoke, Soap could make out the moonlit glow of her eyes fixed on him.
Like nothing was wrong, Glass waved.
Soap shut the door behind him tight.
▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一
Gunfire rained down like thunder while the stench of blood was thick and fresh.
The vicious crimson liquid clung to every crease in the skin of his hands, staining them and everything he touched. More of it, older and a flaking brown, stained the from of his tac vest from where a mans head had been blown open standing to close. It was so thick that the embroidered Union Jack was lost under brain matter and skull fragments.
“Fuck!” Gaz hissed. Uselessly, he tried to swipe excess blood off his face but only smeared more across his cheeks.
“Gaz? Report!” The captains voice growled over the radio and broke through the barrage of mortar shells. The night around him was alive with firework like muzzle flashes.
“It's gone to shit, Sir!” The young sergeant yelled into the receiver “Informant was a rat and walked us into an ambush, fuckers were watching as we scoped out the drop point!”
“Informant?”
“Dead”
“Me and the boys are on our way to your position. Hold fast”
“Yes Sir”
“Where’s Glass?” The Lieutenants voice, low and dangerous, floated over the comms. Gaz jumped and the harsh sound before shuttering at the mention of the creature woman that had all but mauled the informant when he had tried to run. Like it was instinct, she had gone straight for the eyes.
“Gone, Sir. Lost sight of her when they opened fire” Gaz admitted as he ducked behind a burnt out car, long strides carrying him across open ground quickly. Most of the gunfire had stopped by now and was focused to randomised burst after they had lost sight of him in the dark. Occasionally, there'd be movement in a widow but they were more shadow than people and it was hard go tell if it wasn't a trick of the eye.
“Shit...” Ghost growled.
“She's not answering the comms, unit must be shot” Price grunted out.
“Or she's ignoring us”
“She wouldn't-”Gaz tried to defend the woman from the Lieutenant but a window shattering drew his attention. He watched, almost in slow motion, as a body rag dolled through the third story window of the warehouse and plummeted onto a a car. The windows shattered, glass singing like a wind chime as it fell, before the metal frame screamed as it twisted around the corpse.
Glass stood and watched through the window.
Quickly, before she disappeared again, Gaz raised his rifle to peer through his scope at her. Thermal scope locked onto her, it took a moment to register that she was colder than everything around her. Lithe figure bathed in purples and blues, she lingered like a phantom in the window before stalking off and disappearing back into the depth of the building.
He scrambled for his comm “Captain, I just had a visual on her but I lost her again but I know she's in the building, third floor moving to the west side.”
“Fuck..,” the radio crackled “Gaz, I want you to pursue her and get her back on comms.”
The young sergeant hesitated for a second, the mission objective rising to the forefront of his mind “The target, sir?”
“Probably already gone, just grab Glass and regroup” Price growled “We’ll be on sight soon, eta twenty minutes”
“Roger that”
“Engage only if necessary”
“Yes sir”
“Good, see you soon. Over.”
The line went dead.
The night was deceptively quiet now, gunfire and mortars completely silenced. The only sound was his own ragged breathing and the crackle of the fires left behind from the explosions. Hesitantly, Gaz crept forward. With his rifle raised, he stalked past the man folded into the car roof and desperately tried to ignore what was left of his face. No eyes, throat mauled open
Inside was just as quiet.
Dust and cobwebs littered every surface, bullet casings more common than pebbles filling the ground. It smelt like wet mould, wood rot, and that familiar copper tang of fresh blood. A lot of fresh blood.
Slowly, body trained to perfection, Gaz stalked through and cleared the first floor. Empty room after empty room greeted him. Blood stains marred the walls, smears and pools and spattered of it, but he couldn't find a single corpse besides the withered remains of rats and crushed bugs. The second floor was much the same. Desolate and quiet, gun posts just completely abandoned like the people had just dissolved into the ground.
Coming loser to the entrance of the third floor, that irony tang of blood somehow got stronger.
A red pool of it oozed around the corner that Gaz was approaching, chunks of brain matter floating in the liquid like a demented and deformed lily pad.
He turned the corner slowly, gun raised.
The body was poised at the top of a small set of stairs, crumpled like a doll on its side with the top of its skull blown open. Thick viscous rivulets of blood oozed from the skull cavity and down the stairs. Carefully, Gaz took the stairs two at a time as he dodged past the dark puddles before he dropped to his knees beside the corpse.
It was a familiar looking man and with half his face missing, it took Gaz a couple moments to fully recognise him as the target.
Head blown open, jaw and throat ripped out, Gaz was left to stare into frozen blue eyes he had seen dozens of times in a photo pinned up in a briefing room. The man had had a sneering and nasty look in his eyes in the photo but now they're frozen over in what looks like terror, seeing something that had savaged him almost beyond recognition.
Hand shaking, Gaz reaches for his radio to call it in.
“What ya doing Gaz?”
His own voice came from behind him.
He spins so fast something in his back pops and his foot looses traction in a puddle of blood ,sending him back to his knees when he tried to stand. Pain rocketed up the joint, blood seeping into the thick fabric of his tactical pants, but he gets his feet under him quick enough and steadies his aim at where the voice had come from.
Glass stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Her black tac gear glistened under the flickering florescent lights overhead, the harsh white beams making the blood soaked into her gear shimmer like oil, while a steady stream of it dripped from her empty fingers. She stood directly in the puddle that had gathered at the bottom of the stairs, boots submerged in a way that made her look like she had simply emerged from the dark pool. Slowly, Gaz let his eyes trails up from her boots to her face.
Even more blood clung to the corded fabric of her balaclava.
Where her mouth should be was nothing but a mess of viscera and blood that dripped from her chin in a steady flow that caught on her tactical vest and further darkened the fabric. The once army green fabric was stained such a deep glossy black it looked more like a void.
“That's a lot of blood” Gaz pointed out, dodging her question while simultaneously holding his rifle steady.
“I know.” She panted, eyes crinkling in what could be perceived as a smile, more blood oozing through the fabric as it was released from behind her teeth “Its not mine”
“I know”
They continued to watch each other.
Gaz was coiled tightly in trepidation, waiting for her empty hands to reach for the steyr AUG hanging around her shoulder or for her to start moving up the stairs towards him. He swallowed shallowly, sweat beading down his throat.
Glass simply watched him like one would watch a rat in a maze, curious of what it would do, which way it would turn. Curious if he'd squeeze the trigger or put the gun down. Watching as he shifted the grip on the rifle, muzzled aimed at the tricolour on her chest, hazy eyes tracking the bob of his throat as he swallowed.
“We should get going.” Glasss said before making a noncommittal gesture to the carcass by Gazs feet “I got everything we needed from him”
Gaz shifted his grip and used the muzzle of his rifle to point “You go ahead”
Something shimmered in her eyes “Scared I’ll shoot you in the back?”
He was more scared she’d go for his throat.
#simon riley x reader#Cod oc; Glass#cod oc#john mctavish x reader#john price x reader#simon riley#john price#John McTavish#kyle garrick#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x reader#shattered tag#glass tag#141 x reader#call of duty original character#call of duty fanfic#call of duty oc#ghost x reader
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"If you truly loved me, you should be dead." (Yandere Hitman!Dainsleif/Reader)
a/n: shoutout to rin for giving me that wine prompt, general for making me simp more, and ana for indirectly giving me that final push to write abt dain again lol. Maybe I enjoyed this way too much. Sorry for the b&w manga panels lol.
unreliable summary: Dainsleif– a well-known ex-hitman– recently discovered that his deceased spouse might be alive. Whether or not that’s good news is entirely up to his mental state to decide.
Cw: yandere themes, mafia au, religious themes, major character death, violence, UNRELIABLE NARRATORS, mentions of cancer, and grief mixed with suicidal thoughts. Hurt/no comfort. Please PLEASE prioritize your mental health first before consuming dark content. you matter first and foremost.
“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect, 6:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.”
—---
“Get in.”
“B-But what if!–”
“Just get in, Thoma.”
Dainsleif uncapped his hip flask as Thoma trembled at the foreboding skyscraper in front of their smaller and seemingly insignificant stature. He’s not bothered by Thoma’s reaction, besides–
What sane person wouldn’t be intimidated at the sight of a hotel run by criminals?
The Heavenly Principles is a chain of hotels established by the Abyss Order. It is also regarded as a haven for those with blood-stained nails– but never freshly coated hands. The Snezhnayan branch is the cruelest and most frigid one. They won’t bat an eye if you had arrived after a “job”, but it is most certainly a problem if you conducted “business” inside. It’s a neutral territory for the underworld with several ground rules. Rules that, once broken, would result in what is referred to as “ex-communication”… and no one wants the Adjudicator to hunt them down.
As fate would have it, the infamously retired assassin turned "Bough Keeper" aided a corporate bodyguard inside. Thoma spoke about how the Adjudicator was looking for his Lady without ascertaining the reason why. To soothe the "pup"’s nerves, Lord Ayato kindly asked his old friend Dain if he could drag Thoma to Lord Arlecchino. If Dain knew how finicky the lapdog would be, he probably would've turned the favor down.
"Why are you so sure he's not after Ayaka?" Thoma boldly asked.
Dainsleif refrained from sighing.
The only reason Thoma wasn’t afraid of Dainsleif was that the retired hitman made an oath to his spouse that he would never kill again once they were married. Nowadays, Dain’s income relied on mundane “clean-ups” or sometimes disarming bombs. He dismantled himself from his old responsibilities and became the Abyss Order’s errand boy. Currently, his job is the lowest rank yet he remains respected. As the Bough Keeper, his job is to clean up and handle disputes as long as it doesn’t result in the death of any parties.
A bit similar to Thoma’s line of work, but the bodyguard loathes that comparison. In his point of view, Dainsleif’s eyes are terrifyingly empty when compared to his. Thoma fears his eyes. It reminds him of the time he rowed a boat to Inazuma from Mondstadt. Being stuck in the middle of the sea is not what rattles him, it’s when Thoma gazed and saw the difference between the water and skies was heavily blurred, unable to pinpoint where the ocean ends.
That uncertainty makes anyone shake. They’d rather not make an enemy of a man who is one more step to having nothing to lose.
“If Adjudicator Cyno were out to get her, he would’ve surely ended her life by now,” Dainsleif answered, walking without as much letting the bodyguard catch up. “It’s far more likely that he has business with me and not your lady.”
The adjudicator would surely look for him in the next 3 hours.
“But My Lady has–”
“Not caused actions that'll make the Abyss Order turn against her whatsoever.”
Dainsleif stopped by the tinted glass door and Thoma exhaled deeply. They had been walking for hours since the ex-hitman refused to take a taxi. He claimed that a walk would be safer for Thoma. Assassins don’t act kind towards bodyguards, so seeing Dainsleif march beside him (rather, in front of him) is more than enough to secure his safety.
“Rest assured, once you talk to Arlecchino you’d realize that he’s not after the Himegimi.”
“A-And I’m supposed to be more relaxed by the possibility that he’s after her brother instead?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Because the Adjudicator wouldn't thoughtlessly kill the person who runs the Heavenly Principle's Inazuma branch. I'd appreciate it if you think critically.”
Katheryne, the receptionist, opened the hotel's door. She welcomed Dainsleif in, but if her hair was any longer she would’ve slapped her locks against Thoma’s face with how quick she was to turn and disregard his presence.
“Good afternoon, Sir Dainslief, Thoma,” she said in a monotone voice. Her lack of honorifics when addressing the bodyguard was noticeably rude. “Please, do not wait around outside, come on in.”
The hotel looks even more spacious and positively regal inside.
Thoma had anticipated that a place where "lowlives" would find sanctuary would be horribly run-down and neglected, but he cynically understood that money talks—and crime speaks louder. His skin crawls at the idea that the blood money used to construct this infrastructure served as its fundamental foundation, but he lacks the courage to say it.
“So… Do you come here often?” Thoma whispered.
Dainsleif blinked– and Thoma can barely determine the subtle shock on his face.
“... Yes. Yes, I do.”
Dainsleif proceeded to advance toward Katheryne without explaining why he was taken aback by that question.
Thoma normally takes the front line during security disputes in the Kamisato Esate, but this hotel is a very different situation. If the act of clinging onto Dainsleif’s toned arm won’t disparage the Kamisato Clan’s reputation, Thoma would’ve done that in a heartbeat. A few oddballs gave him the side eye, and a ginger-haired man almost charged at Thoma with a makeshift lance before putting it away when he saw Dainsleif.
“Holy shit. It’s the dead Twilight walking!!!” The ginger greeted with empty eyes. “Where’ve you been, comrade?! And what’s with the news we just heard? You gave Skirk an aneurism.”
Dainsleif took a sip of his pocketed Death After Noon with a look in his eyes that screamed “Here we go again.”
“Your concern for me is flattering, Childe,” Dainsleif spoke, bored. “I’m only here for personal matters.”
“Is he a relative of yours?” This “child” squinted his eyes, piercing them against Thoma. “Must say, he looks like a total greenhorn.”
Thoma raised his hand, “I’m–”
“That’s not worthy of your concern, and don't bother him.”
Thoma was grateful for Dainsleif’s nonanswer. The way he phrased it had implications that he might be a VIP and therefore untouchable.
“Alright then, who am I to disrespect a legend’s wishes?” The “child" patted Dainsleif’s shoulder.
“In any case, welcome home for the last time, comrade.”
Dainsleif diverted his gaze.
“Home?”
This place is not his home, he refuses to let it be so. The scent of cocoa truffles, the messy watercolor-ed desk, the bulletin board littered with red threads, and scattered impulsive notes about a character’s dialogue– where is it? Is this stiff hotel Dainsleif’s home when there’s no sign of life– no sign of them? In here, there is no bed to fix, no brushes to dry, no markers to cap–
and no insomniac spouse to forcefully tuck into bed at 2 AM.
A strained laugh exited Dainsleif’s throat, and a burning sensation in his eyes nearly reminded him that he does have emotions he cannot bottle underneath a cool facade. Yet, as that laugh reverberated in the otherwise silent lounging area, the ex-hitman steeled himself. That phantom coil in his chest dissipated and was replaced by something hollow.
Midnight cuddles and drinks with his spouse, watching their eyes crinkle as they ramble about their last horror piece, pulling them closer just to see the stars in their eyes. That scenery? It was his home. It was what street musicians dub like Venti would as happiness. Not the silence after slaughter– not the quiet of the Principle's lounging area.
The Bough Keeper closed his eyes and answered the two oblivious men with a flat voice.
A “home” to get back to...
“I… no longer have a home.”
He's already reached his journey's end. All his bones await now is death himself.
For only death can lead him back home into (Y/n)’s arms again.
Dainsleif sighed.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Childe. Do svidaniya. Extend my greetings to Skirk if you have the chance, and when you try your hand at hunting me down: do your best.”
—-------------
“Found you."
The woman of the hour smirked as she peered over her shoulder. Her luxurious locks of short dark-streaked albino elegantly hair swung as she faced both Dain and Thoma.
“Oh? Well, it’s only because I wanted to be found.”
Dainsleif sat at one of the chairs unperturbed while Thoma tried not to squirm as the Heavenly Principle’s Snezhnayan branch proprietor– Lord Arlecchino– organized her documents. The enormity of Thoma's situation was lost on her. Arlecchino's face was barely wrinkled, a sign that she takes pleasure in her job. Despite carrying out a task that required undivided attention, her piercing stare dug holes in the wall clock. Her lack of focus relieved Thoma, but only for a fleeting moment.
3 hours more, huh?
Arlecchino fished out a paper from her desk pile.
Never been one to beat around the bush, she laid the facts drop-dead on the table with a loud thud.
“(Y/n) is alive, and Her Highness expects that both Dainsleif and Kamisato Ayaka know where they are.”
…
Dainsleif didn’t utter a word.
“E-Excuse me?!” Thoma gasped.
Dain’s spouse died years ago. Much like a cat leaving the house when it knows it will inevitably shake hands with death, (Y/n) vanished when they knew the next month would be their last. Their family on their mother’s side had always been riddled with cancer and similar illnesses. When they muttered sweet phrases about how they wanted his last memories of them to be of them smiling and cheering him on– Dainsleif didn’t question the validity of their death.
So for Arlecchino to say such a thing is a bit…
“There’s no way! Sure, (Y/n) was close friends with the Kamisatos– but My Lady cried during (Y/n)’s funeral. Ayaka had always been honest to a fault– she wouldn’t have been able to lie, act, or keep a secret like this–”
At least, that’s what Thoma assumed. All he has is word-of-mouth from his master and the Darknight Hero’s associates. The Dawn Winery isn’t the most reliable source unless you’re trained at fact-checking rogues and fabulists’ crude testimonies. Thoma may be a streetwise man, but he always exuded naivete when surrounded by men like them.
Dainsleif cut him off immediately.
“Your rambling is as banal as Katheryne asking for “Dinner Reservations” after business. Worse, yours suffer from how unwarranted they are.”
Thoma went silent to both Arlechinno and Dain’s immediate relief. The two understood it as Thoma perceiving a threat, but in reality, the bodyguard just wasn't aware that “dinner reservations” meant cleaning up a crime scene.
“Where is (Y/n)?” The ex-hitman looked at Arlecchino nonchalantly. “If that intel was real, where are they now?”
“Y-You can’t be serious, Dain!” Thoma gawked. “Your spouse died long ago–”
“Where are they now?”
Silence filled the room as the assassin repeated his inquiry with accentuated obstinacy. Dainsleif knows his spouse better than them so Thoma cannot question the widower’s line of thought.
(Y/n) (L/n), may not have been an official criminal in the eyes of the underworld, but they were guilty of multiple accounts of rebellion, sedition, and illegal associations. They penned propaganda in literary mediums and had repeatedly given out tactics on how to dismantle the current system under a 4-lettered pen name, “████”. His spouse was devious by nature and a long-winded conversationalist– which emphasizes a noticeable stark contrast when seated beside their stoic husband.
If they were alive, they must be watching this conversation while suppressing a smirk.
(Y/n) was the type who would laugh at their own funeral. An expiration date made more sense to them than a promise of forever. Fixity made them uneasy. Dainsleif cannot trust others to share a domestic life with them when he is wholly aware that they’ll die from their hereditary illness. (Y/n) sought thrills more than comfort, which is a reason why he can't cross out the possibility that they had grown bored of their marriage and used their health as an excuse to–
No. That’s an awful line of thinking.
(Y/n) loved him.
… Surely, they did?
"Don't lose your composure, Twilight. I'm not saying this so you could drown yourself in grief with fire-waters. I’ve heard word from Pantalone that they’re likely in Sumeru City during the Sabzeruz Festival, but as (Y/n) loved to say–”
“Information always travels faster than people,” Dainsleif closed his eyes, tasting the words as if it was his deceased lover that imparted them themselves. “That leaked intel is as reliable as wet tissue paper.”
(Y/n)’s insight in regards to trends had been prescient– which is a kinder and less pessimistic way to say they likely already knew the adjudicator had been trailing them for some time. Runaways follow oft‐trod paths to free-trade zones– his spouse would be no exception.
That is, of course, if (Y/n) is alive.
But they’re not.
Dainsleif refused to believe it.
If (Y/n) (L/n) truly loved him, they wouldn’t be alive right now.
“Let us temporarily assume that your spouse is alive for the foreseeable future, Dain,” Arlecchino said, noticing Dain’s subtly pained expression. “For the sake of formalities– are you aware of the repercussions you will face if they were?”
“Repercussions…?” Thoma’s eyes widened.
Dainsleif shook his head.
“If it’s as I suspect, then this is a tragic state of affairs.”
“Indeed,” Arlecchino placed a hand on her hip, subtly pushing away her coat to signify her slotted holster. She tilted her chin up menacingly at Thoma.
“Since you can’t catch up, Mister Kamisato Estate Representative, allow me to spell everything out for you– Dainsleif would be formally announced as a “sinner” in the next 3 hours.”
Thoma’s eyes widened, unlike the man who was affected by the news.
“HAAAH?!?”
Dainsleif sipped his flask again, unbothered.
“Sinner” describes individuals who have been banned from all services, resources, and relationships with other members of the criminal underworld. Sinners become a target for any individuals who wish to kill them with a large bounty placed on their heads. And an ex-communication ordained by the Heavenly Principles is a guaranteed high payroll. When it’s the Abyss Order that hands the cash, you’d get more than enough to secure more than a handful of assets. The moment that occurs– Dainsleif would have to run and find connections that would help him plead his case.
They would surely goad everyone with tenfold the normal amount given the Twilight Sword’s intimidating repertoire.
Dain found that amusing.
The nickname “Twilight Sword” he carries is not reserved for anyone else, but mortal arrogation would surely take a jab and see if they can steal the only life he can’t take away.
He’d laugh now if he weren't depressed.
Killing the Twilight Sword, huh? Even he fails to accomplish that.
"That's unreasonable! The sins of a spouse can't be shared–"
"Why don't you keep your mouth shut, blonde?"
Arlecchino snarled.
"Read the room. No one is giving you a turn to speak."
…
Dainsleif cleared his throat, “Back to the matter at hand; Her Highness is under the assumption that my spouse was– or is– conspiring against the Abyss Order. Which, I reassure you, is unlikely given how their last book is an anti-fascist novel with The Crane being alluded to as the protagonist.”
It didn't make sense for (Y/n) to betray the mafia when they were part of the cog that overthrew Osial, Ei, and the rest.
“... The Crane?” Thoma muttered to himself.
Arlecchino sighed gutturally, irritated.
“You might know her as Shenhe. She’s the assassin that overthrew the ex-Capo, Osial,” Arlecchino answered Thoma. “Strange that you don’t know her. I’m certain she had helped with renovating the Kamisato Estate before.”
Thoma answered with a small voice, “I do know Shenhe as my Lady’s friend, but I don’t recall having her help us with our last renovation…”
“But you should’ve remembered that. After all, cranes are the best kind of bird to help you lift planks.”
…
…
…
“... None of you got the joke too? Don’t even think about disparaging me. The joke is not mine, it’s the Adjudicator's.”
Thoma frowned, “I’m sorry, I think it’s too advanced–”
“Stop.” Dainsleif whispered urgently, “Don’t let her explain it. We’re wasting time.”
—-------------
“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect: 2 hours and 30 minutes.”
—-------------
“There’s a fourteen million bounty on your head now, Dain,” Arlecchino said. “If I were more heartless, I would’ve easily planned something. Fourteen million is an impressive starting price.”
“Thank you.”
“P-Please don't thank her. She admitted that she wants to kill you," Thoma begged in a hushed whisper.
As if he doesn't want that to happen.
“Although you have been a loyal customer, I can’t provide any services once the timer runs out,” Arlecchino deadpanned. “You’re a brave one. Sauntering into my hotel when assassins are waiting to strike. It’s as if you have a death wish like my former colleagues.”
“I’ll take my leave then.”
Dainsleif stood up and prematurely exited the conversation, leaving two acquaintances behind.
Arlecchino chuckled. Always up on his feet, that one. She looked at the person who left. It’s clear to her that Thoma does not know what he intended to do next. Thoma fiddled with his fingers, staring blankly.
"It's rude to stare. If you have something to say, spit it out."
Thoma cleared his throat.
"Lord Arlecchino, I was hoping to find out more about My Lady's safety…"
Arlecchino rolled her eyes.
“I’d rather you figure out the truth for yourself. (Y/n) taught us that indoctrination is not education before they ‘passed’, but since I happen to be in a friendly rivalry with Lord Kamisato, I’ll give you your damn reassurance and advice."
Arlecchino grabbed Thoma’s shoulder tightly. Thoma stiffened at her harsh touch, but his determined eyes impressed Arlecchino.
"Ayaka is fine, and Ayaka will be fine."
Arlecchino slid an envelope against his chest. He winced awkwardly at her cold touch and fumbled to receive it.
…
…
After reading the letter, Thoma sighed in relief.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes. Yes, Lord Arlecchino."
"Good."
No one outside the room knew at that time what the letter contained except for Lord Kamisato. But in 2 hours, the world would know soon enough.
"And lastly, I know you're tempted, but stay away from Dain. He's a dead man and most of all–" Arlecchino breathed between her teeth.
“He's unreliable. His view on his relationship with (Y/n) is tinted with a rosy hue. His memory has all but faded completely regarding what transpired. And sometimes, liars get fooled by their own lies. See for yourself.”
Thoma’s eyebrows knitted in an instant. Arlecchino didn’t give him a turn to speak and opened the door on his way out.
“Focus on your issues, Kamisato Dog. Ad astra abyssosque.”
—------------------------------------
“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect in 4… 3… 2…”
“1…”
“Dainsleif: 14 million. Open contract is now in effect. All services have been suspended.”
—------------------------------------
“Halfdan.”
“Dain.”
“Please let me do this.”
Dainsleif hummed non-committedly.
His new enemy is none other than Halfdan: an old friend back when he served in the military and also the same brother-in-arms he dragged along to become freelance hitmen. Thanks to the fall of multiple governments, Khaenria’hns had to vicariously live through dirty work to survive. To cope, Dainsleif mercifully persuaded Halfdan down this route with a gifted gun for him to take.
And it’s the very same revolver now aimed at Dainsleif’s forehead.
“Capo Pantalone denounced two possibilities from this scenario: one being your spouse had turned traitor and the other would be that they were a double agent this whole time,” Halfdan quietly mused. “And if that were the case, they fear what that makes you."
“And that’s why you’re here?” Dainsleif spoke between labored exhales, clearly worn out from the numerous assassination attempts against his life moments prior.
The world they walk on is liquefied and weightless, never a flat one. Most are content to kill, but not to live– never to dream. Here in the underground, capitalism plays in a greater uneven field. Assassins, elites, common folk– such titles make no difference. Whatever bounty pays moderately might shoot higher the next hour while others might drop lower than the corpse themselves.
Which led Halfdan to make the worst decision of his life.
An ex-hitman who refuses to kill does sound like an easy target on paper.
Dainsleif gritted his teeth.
If Halfdan knew Dain's barrel was empty, he would be dead right now.
Still, not everyone would be bold to make an enemy out of the Bough Keeper.
Especially not when he memorized every hitman’s fighting style, moves, and preferred weapons.
"Evidence suggests that you’re an accomplice. Did you help them?"
“I did not help them– because (Y/n) was not a traitor.”
“Then who else could’ve ratted out all the Abyss' trade routes?” Halfdan said robotically. “It’s a win-win situation for (Y/n) if this whole mess is true. They’d get recognition for their work and potentially have you dead after your ex-communication.”
"Do you know where they are? Where (Y/n) is?"
"You're at the end of my revolver and that's what you're asking?"
"Is that so surprising?"
"Not at all," Halfdan closed his eyes. "Not at all."
"I take it you don't have a clue."
"I know that (Y/n) has been the brains of Archon Kusanali's return to office– possibly her second sage. Whatever that is."
That can’t be right. His spouse hated superordinate roles.
"For someone who was told their dead spouse might be alive, you're surprisingly calm, Dainsleif."
"Forgive me, I try my best to remain composed twenty-four-seven," Dainsleif sardonically replied. "It was a requirement of my previous profession."
“Right… Being a hitman must’ve been tough. Can’t imagine what it’s like,” he chuckled.
Halfdan fired first.
Dainsleif sprinted, hiding behind the alleyway's bricked stores. With his finger hovering above the trigger, he had momentarily forgotten who was after him. As Halfdan carefully scanned the area, Dain tied his blonde hair up loosely, courtesy to how his late spouse nagged him about how it helps keep loose strands out of his eyes during "business hours".
Three warning shots followed.
"Senior, can't you go easy on me? Just this once?" Halfdan mumbled.
Now that the gun was pointed at him, it came to both their minds that they don’t know one another as deeply as they thought. Not in the traditional sense of knowing their names and faces, of course. It dawned that neither talked about themselves as soon as they became hitmen. The Heavenly Principles– whether it’s the Snezhnayan branch or the one Lord Ayato’s running– was like their version of two lost samurais’ dilapidated shelter. They’d talk and bond while it rains– but they’ll never converse outside that haven.
Dain pursed his lips, glaring at the corner of his eyes...
It’d be too easy to kill him.
There’s a crack in the wall that can easily target Halfdan’s temple. Should he pull the trigger, he would be dead without another word. His blood and brain matter would paint the alley’s wall like vague graffiti and there’d be one less person off his case.
But Dainsleif didn’t fire his gun.
“Senior”? Don’t make him laugh.
"I'm not your senior anymore, Halfdan."
Dainsleif jumped out of his spot–
And took his shot too, without any intent to kill.
“NGAH–!”
Halfdan gasped sharply, biting his bottom lip as blood gushed from his left arm. He slid back behind the post immediately, afraid to get close to Dain. Besides, anyone can see a rifle's imprint on Halfdan's cheek.
He's a sniper. Close combat is not his forte.
Unfortunately, Dainsleif used to be a spotter.
“Shit, Dain! What the hell?!” Halfdan tearfully begged. “W-Why are you fighting back? Aren’t you tired of this world?! Aren’t you just waiting to die?!”
Dainsleif’s eyelids lowered.
He doesn’t know the clear answer to that himself.
Until a thought occurred to him.
“I.. Want to carry their memories.”
“... W-What?”
“I wanted to carry on living, for them,” Dainsleif said. “For (Y/n).”
He realized that as long as he was alive, he could keep (Y/n)’s memory alive. He can continue to tell stories about them– to cherish the memories they shared and to honor their legacy. With a newfound sense of purpose, Dainsleif made a silent promise to himself and his deceased spouse.
Hence, Dain would continue to live, not just for himself, but for them. He would carry their memory with him wherever he travels and he refuses to forget their warmth. With that, he gripped his gun, feeling resolute. It’s a long road ahead, but he can carry on, for (Y/n) and for himself. As it turns out, he still had a purpose and a reason to keep going.
His memories of (Y/n) are enough for him to stay alive.
Dainsleif glanced at the crack in the wall.
He reasons that he will be fine if Halfdan dies. Dain had killed many of his former allies before he was wed. Many did oppose his marriage with (Y/n)– worse, many thought they could kill his beloved for it to occur. Killing an old friend tonight wouldn’t be his first.
Dainsleif sighed. He could use his dagger, but he wanted Halfdan's death to be quick.
‘I’m sorry, Halfdan.’
But he did not feel sorry.
Dainsleif loaded his gun.
2 bullets.
That should be more than enough.
‘You’re going to have to be my first kill after 7 years.’
—------------------
As Dainsleif fended off greed-blinded men, Thoma found himself in another nerve-wracking dilemma. He stood inside one of the private rooms in the Heavenly Principles, unflinching. The sharp yet muted shrill of a spoon grated Thoma’s ears, but he remained standing, vigilant yet afraid.
Hard to speak when it was the adjudicator himself that stirred the cup.
The adjudicator, Cyno, is a dreadful shadow to have. Unlike the Bough Keeper, he had deep-set eyes that looked to be calculated at all times. Thoma was most terrified by the adjudicator's reputation for having unwavering determination. His job is to be both feared and respected in equal measure. If Cyno wills it, Thoma and Ayaka would be nothing more than mere bodies between him and his goals.
If it’s true that (Y/n) managed to escape Cyno more than a few times, then he ought to get some tips on how they do it. Cyno cornered Thoma so effortlessly before he could leave earlier.
"Coffee?" Cyno offered. "Don't worry, this isn't the same drink Dain prepared for (Y/n) every morning."
Thoma raised an eyebrow.
What does that mean?
“No thank you sir, but I appreciate the gesture.”
Cyno nodded.
“Let me be clear: I am here to adjudge your master, not you. So if my subordinates found evidence against her, I shall be the one that weighs those scales.”
Thoma already knew that and that threat was never going to provoke him.
If Thoma tells him what the letter contained now, it'll only make the Kamisatos more suspicious.
“I understand, sir. Would that be all?”
“Course not,” Cyno said. “Thoma, I’ve got a question to ask.”
“Go on, sir.”
“Did you ask Dainsleif for help earlier?”
“... Yes, sir.”
“Good,” the Adjudicator nodded. “I value your honesty– and are you sure you don’t want coffee?”
“Yes sir– and I’m sorry for asking for his assistance, I didn’t–”
“Know he was going to get excommunicated, I’m aware,” he muttered. “But that’s an old excuse.”
Cyno sipped his cup, his eyes locked on Thoma's. Thoma tried his best to avoid his gaze but found it impossible. The Adjudicator had a way of making people feel small with just a single look.
"You're brave," he said. "But bravery can’t save the Himegimi. Only the truth can. So where is he?"
Thoma's heart raced as he tried to come up with a response. He knew he had to be careful with his words, or he might end up endangering not just himself, but Dainsleif as well.
"I don't know where he is," Thoma said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't lie to me," Cyno's expression darkened, slamming his cup against the table. It shattered, making Thoma finally flinch at the sound of its impact.
"We know you've been communicating with him. You're part of his and his spouse’s rebellion against the Abyss Order."
“I genuinely don’t know where he is and I'm not part of any rebellion,” Thoma’s voice cracked. “Lord Ayato just ordered me to communicate with Lord Arlecchino and had Mister Dainsleif tag along, please believe me.”
The Adjudicator went silent.
He scoffed.
“Damnit.”
Cyno understood through experience that Thoma wasn’t lying. He ran his fingers through his stressed-white hair, eyes closed.
He unlocked the door.
“Fine, you’re free to leave.”
Thoma blinked, hesitating to do what was commanded.
It’s as easy as that…?
He’s not going to interrogate him further? Wasn’t he supposed to probe into what he knows about Dainsleif or why Lord Ayato sent him to Snezhnaya in the first place? Won’t Cyno give Thoma the chance to tell him that he went all the way here because he feared what he plans to do to Ayaka?
It can't be over just like that.
Wasn't he after Ayaka?
What's going on?
Why did he give up that fast?
All the effort he went through… Just for that?
That’s all the big scary Adjudicator has to say?
Thoma combed his hair up.
Was Lord Ayato right? Was he really just paranoid?
Whatever was on Thoma’s mind– he spoke none of it. He discarded every doubt. Above all else, he was glad that everything seemed to be over.
As Thoma turned to close the door behind him, he heard Cyno mutter something barely a whisper.
“If I am to weigh the souls of others in this world as an Adjudicator, then I must also place my own soul on the scales to be judged in the same manner, but…”
Thoma closed the door before he heard him finish the rest.
“(L/n), despite being a wrongdoer, I wonder if you had a point…” Cyno said.
“... Maybe it’s time we dismantle the current system and rely on the government– Kusanali– once more.”
Cyno didn't drink the coffee he prepared for Thoma. Instead, the adjudicator grabbed his case and left the dubious drink be.
—--------
Thoma thought that was the end of it, but fate had other plans.
He was on his way back when he stumbled upon Dainsleif, soaked in blood. It was a complete coincidence that Thoma had taken this particular route, and he can’t tell whether that was a blessing or a curse. Knowing that Dainsleif possesses incomparable mental fortitude to carry on fighting despite his weakened state, he approached him warily. Thoma was warned already by Arlecchino not to get involved, yet he can’t just leave without a proper thank you. As he got closer, Thoma saw that the man was mumbling incoherently.
"Eli…”
Thoma blinked. Is he calling for Ellin, the rookie hitman?
“Dain…?”
He’s lost in his thoughts.
Dainsleif was morbidly aware that feelings of grief should've surfaced, that he should be mourning the loss of an old friend. Once again, he tried to summon some kind of emotion, any reaction to his Halfdan's corpse. But he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no regret. What he felt was frustration only after his failed attempts. Dainsleif was unable to shake off the sense of detachment that had taken hold of him.
Halfdan was just another person who failed to kill the “Twilight Sword”.
“Eli, lama sabachthani…?" Dainsleif muttered.
"Huh?"
Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani: those were the words his spouse said when they were incredibly ill.
It meant "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"
As he gazed at the scene of Halfdan's death, Dainsleif heaved a heavy sigh. He was aware that he had to face the facts of his predicament, but he wasn't sure how he should press on. The deafening silence prevailed. Now that he had to deal with isolation and social rejection, his longing for (Y/n) rekindled sevenfold. He knows that it's near impossible to continue living without his spouse.
But finding them?
That should be easier.
"Y-You should take a rest, Dain," Thoma frowned. "I know you haven't killed anyone since today, so maybe you should seek shelter and steel yourself for now."
“I can't, and there is no need for that. No other Black Serpent assassin danced with grief more than I.”
Dainsleif swiftly picked up the knife from the ground, masterfully twirling it until the blood was wiped clean.
“But when I got back to work– I suddenly felt a small amount of relief from this suffering.”
He stabbed the knife back into the corpse’s chest like a toothpick. The blonde carved the knife down the ribs with sheer brute strength. Blood coated his fingers and as he curled it deeper inside Halfdan’s chest, the blade disappeared.
Dainsleif laughed.
The manic blonde’s crooked grin widened.
Thoma didn’t gag at the sight of Halfdan’s corpse– he was used to the sight– but he gulped as he saw Dain’s expression.
His "terrifyingly empty" eyes suddenly had something murky fill the void.
Dainsleif lost it.
“That high didn’t last. Even now, I can feel anguish permeating my entire being. There is no “undoing” their death, such a line of thought inflicts only agony. (Y/n) had become an integral part of me– slowly but surely replacing my sins with a tenderness one cannot attain in the underworld. They did say that grief comes in waves, but how long will I have to stand ashore until a crash large enough would drown me to sea?”
Thoma drowned out his musings. They were bound not to make sense in the first place.
He's not mentally stable, and he doesn't expect him to be. Dain just found out his dead spouse might be alive and killed a friend in under an hour. Thoma would be insensitive if he forced him to compose himself.
Dainsleif let the handle go.
“Can’t you understand why I’m so desperate to find even a sliver of my beloved?” He laughed. “Why I never took assassination requests from the Abyss Order after their death? Why I’m more than willing to kill again? The answer is simple–”
Suddenly, it’s harder to breathe.
The ex-hitman stopped.
His smile weakened as he spoke, “Thoma… (Y-(Y/n)... I want (Y/n) to take me back in their arms as a corpse.”
Dainsleif breathed in shakily, his tears obstructing his speech. He clenched his fists above the table, arching his back as he avoided the bodyguard’s concerned gaze. Thoma could practically see his sobs as Dain’s entire body trembled from a depleting mix of ineffable exhaustion, sadness, and longing. He had bottled these emotions for long enough.
He always had nowhere else to go– no one else to turn to. But nowadays, it felt different. All because he foolishly trusted that maybe this time someone would be able to kill him…
Maybe this time…
The bodyguard rubbed his back, which only served to make the lonesome man conceal his weeping. There's nothing Thoma can do other than provide useless ministrations. To save the last of the ex-hitman's dwindling pride—if he really cared for such—he can only frown and look away.
Dainsleif trembled.
He doesn't know how to cry.
So he cried clumsily.
“I-I’m tired… of taking my own life.”
—----------------
“Dainsleif, open contract. Increase: 20 million.”
—----------------
[Eight Years Ago]
“So, Dain,” they awkwardly voiced with a warm smile. “Do you come here often?”
Does he come here often? Of course, he does. He “worked” here– but no ordinary citizen should know what business goes down in Wanmin restaurant.
And he knew (Y/n) frequented this restaurant too.
Dainsleif laughed.
It’s true, Dainsleif stalks them.
He initially believed they were just an extroverted student who had nothing better to do than to talk to the stranger they kept sitting next to on the bus. He was so exhausted from "work" that his initial impression was of (Y/n) was a loud and brazen scholar. Since the bus they boarded frequently had a TV, they were always open to talk with him about delicate subjects like the daily news about the syndicates without displaying any expressions of disgust. Although they didn't agree with everything he stated, they showed maturity by holding their ground. They praised him for his noteworthy thoughts while criticizing him for his blatantly generic statements. Dainsleif was almost sure they were part of the "industry" he works on–
Until he saw the collage of their friends and professors as their lock screen. Dainsleif realized two things at that time.
1) They like to write.
2) Their favorite mentor was Professor Aether. The “Traveler” who would inherit the Abyss Order if the Abyss Princess dies.
So it’s no wonder they knew a lot about human trafficking.
Something about their easygoing attitude and quick wit struck a chord with him. He found himself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of rare ease and comfort. And whenever they said their goodbyes when boarding off the bus, Dainsleif felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that this was something special.
And now he "knows all that he needs to know" about (Y/n) (L/n).
Upon realizing that he was staring (they were waving a hand near their face), Dainsleif cleared his throat.
“I enjoy the wine here.”
“Thought the light was about to take you to the other side,” (Y/n) teased. “Anyways, yeah, you know my friends Stella, Jude, and Shiro? They like it too. Can’t catch me drinking though– I just order the sardines pasta here while they get red-faced drunk.”
He sneakily glanced at the menu and silently noted how that order appears to be the cheapest meal. If Dain pitied his date, he made no mention of it. Uyuu restaurant is for the rich and the shady and based on their humble hand-me-down shoes, both descriptions eluded them.
“Well-off friends?”
Dainsleif already knows the answer.
"Eh. We all know both rich and getting-by folks, don't we? As long as we can pay our bills, it doesn't matter," they shrugged. “Still… I’m REALLY sorry that you dressed up for me, Dain.”
They pinched their forehead.
“Look– I don’t know what on earth Rin told you, but I’m not worth this effort. You look incredibly dashing in that suit and tie by the way– but your date is wearing their sister’s Converse right now. If you want me to leave and enjoy your meal alone, just say so– you can even tell everyone that I’m just some charity case college student you fed or something. Fine by me, no problem.”
Dainsleif snorted slightly. While there’s no doubt in his mind that his salary can afford someone’s student loans, the last thing hitmen would do with their monthly pay is invest in multiple scholars.
“Would you feel better if I said I just arrived from work and had no time to change so I 'didn’t' put in any effort…?”
“Kinda,” they croaked pathetically and bowed their head. “But now that you phrased it like that, I can't tell if you're lying for the sake of my feelings, huhu...”
But that uncontrollable sunny smile on their face doesn't show any hint of genuine remorse. Dainsleif reciprocated their smile. (Y/n) is getting more comfortable being in Dainsleif’s presence than before, and Dainsleif seems more open to sharing things about himself– albeit not enough to spill about his true occupation.
His occupation…
Dain tried not to think about it whenever they're on a date, but he can't help it sometimes.
When, he wonders.
When will he find someone that is close enough to actually kill him?
This job was starting to get stale…
If it weren't for (Y/n), he sees no reason to even get out of bed anymore.
(Y/n)... Right, (Y/n). Of course.
Dainsleif stopped himself from grinning widely.
He's on a date– he should be more attentive.
Dain looked at them again, finding himself naturally concentrated on their mannerisms.
“... Why are your hands in your pockets?”
“Oh– I learned from one of my professors that people look more confident when they have their hands in their pockets, if and only if they have a thumb out, apparently.”
“And this prolonged eye contact we’re having?”
“My poor attempt at applying what I’ve learned, yes.”
Dainsleif laughed.
“You’re very easy to listen to.”
They frowned.
“Sorry… I tend to overshare sometimes.”
“Why are you apologizing? I appreciate that you’re being yourself,” Dainsleif said. “Better than honeypotting someone in a relationship.”
“You’re right, sor– I mean, yeah, you’re right.”
A waiter passed by.
“One– Two Death After Noon please, boss,” Dainsleif said.
(Y/n) chuckled humorously, "I suppose I'd also drink a lot if I ended up going on a date with someone like me."
"Glad to hear it. Let's have a drink together."
"Aight– wait, what?"
Dainsleif attempted to pass the glass to (Y/n), but the moment their hand reached the stem–
Splash.
"Oh sh–! I'm so sorry!!!"
Dainsleif blinked.
"Oh my Goodn– I'm so sorry, my bad. I'm–"
"It's alright. Hand me some tissues."
"Sorry…" they cringed. "I'm– I'm a little out of it, lately. I didn't mean to spill that all over– ugh. I'm such a disaster today, what the heck?"
Dainsleif chuckled, almost inaudibly. He didn't move from his position, letting the wine soak his jeans.
"You don't need to worry, I'm used to this."
They tried not to visibly react to that statement.
Use to what, exactly? Having drinks spilled on him?
What kind of life is Dainsleif living for that to happen often enough times for him to get "used to this"? Are people constantly spilling things on him?
"...Workplace harassment?" (Y/n) muttered, not realizing Dainsleif heard it.
His heart leaped as he quickly glanced at himself to check for visible wounds or scars, but snapped out of it when he felt something light against his clothes. No matter how wrong it could appear in public, it seems that (Y/n) awkwardly grabbed the closest tissue box to dab it out (and this action was motivated by how dry cleaning was expensive that year).
"(Y/n)–" he cringed as they continued.
"Please wait."
"You should be more focused on yourself," Dainsleif cleared his throat, with his ears and cheeks slightly red. "Y-You're wearing white."
"Oh…"
They pulled the hem of their clothing. The wine soaked them as well but they were too engrossed to notice it. (Y/n) scowled.
"I'm– yikes, I'm irredeemable at this point. Whoops," they laughed somewhat nervously. “You’ve done it, Mx. (L/n). This is our last date, I guess.”
Dainsleif didn't say a word.
He just stared, looking directly at their splattered clothes. Unlike (Y/n), he didn't jump to helping his date clean up. Dainsleif covered his mouth and breathed in shakily. It was strange. Instead of feeling annoyed or frustrated, he found himself staring fondly at (Y/n) and their almost equally stained clothes.
This stain… It looked like…
They expect him to laugh at their clumsiness or berate them at worst, but when they gazed up, those slapdash daydreams evaporated. Dainsleif looked dazed.
… Blood.
“Dain?”
They looked up at him, doe-eyed and confused. Without hesitation, they cupped his cheek, checking his features.
“Dain? Are you feeling alright? You’re spacing out a lot today.”
Dainsleif couldn’t stop staring.
This scenery was almost perfect. Almost. It just needed one small tweak:
It shouldn't have been wine. (Y/n) would look breathtaking if they were covered in the blood of the men he killed to get a chance to date them.
He looked at his stained clothes and smiled.
Maybe, just maybe,
(Y/n) (L/n) will be the one who can kill him.
—-----------------------------
[PRESENT]
Dain stumbled towards a house with a small inteyvat garden, his body aching and his clothes still stained with blood. He lifted a weak hand and knocked on the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. He shook his hip flask, disappointed that the alcohol was already empty. Not that he needed it to ease his wounds. Thoma already helped Dainsleif patch up a bit, but left in a hurry knowing that the Adjudicator might see his act of “treason.”
After a few moments, the door creaked open and a blonde man peered out.
It was Professor Aether, a kind yet unassuming man who taught at multiple universities– including (Y/n)’s. Despite being the Abyss Princess's kin, he lived a relatively lowkey life in the suburbs after he stopped traveling. Aether looked Dainsleif up and down, his expression unreadable.
"You look injured," he said flatly, without a hint of concern in his voice.
Dain struggled to keep himself standing.
"I am," he said. "Traveler, I’ve been wrongfully excommunicated and I need your help."
Aether nodded as if he had expected that news. Still, he refused Dain entry to his house. “You didn’t honestly think I’d help you without a second thought, right?”
Dainsleif took a deep breath, “I have served and will be of service.”
The sinner then pulled out an object from his pocket and shoved it down Aether’s palm.
Aether raised an eyebrow, concerned.
Visions is a round metallic insignia formally recognized by the Abyss Order that signifies a blood oath. The debtor has their bloodied fingerprint pressed inside the shell. This vision had Aether's fingerprint, and he owes Dainsleif.
“A vision? Do you believe a blood debt will make me help you?” Unlike before, his voice was warm but distant.
“I helped you find your sister– you can help me find my spouse in return,” Dain glared. “Sinner or not, you owe me. I’m certain (Y/n) is alive– and I’m sure you know where they are. You shaped them into the tactician they are now. If there’s anyone who can figure out where they are, it’s you. So take me there.”
Aether closed his eyes.
There's no way he can reason with him.
This is no longer Dainsleif he's talking to– but a husk of a man.
“Fine.”
The professor also pulled something out of his pocket. A blue syringe, none other than one of Dottore’s concoctions, Dain believes. He did not question why he had that in his possession. Foolishly, he did not question if it was an anesthetic or a lethal injection either. What mattered more was (Y/n)’s location. Nothing else.
“But you’ll have to be asleep for it to happen,” the professor commanded exasperatedly. “Do you understand?”
“Why?”
“Because they wouldn’t believe I didn’t help you out otherwise,” Aether scoffed. “So just knock yourself so I can tie you up.”
Dainsleif rolled up his sleeve.
“Do what needs to be done.”
Aether administered the drug.
—-----------
Dainsleif slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing just as Aether warned him. The room spun slightly as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the distinct Inazuman patterns that covered the walls. The intricate designs were a mix of cloud shapes and leaf motifs, all in shades of blue and white.
This must be the basement of Uyuu restaurant. Dain didn’t expect he’ll be able to (Y/n) here– and if this was one of their base locations, that must mean Ayato is on their side. That’s another surprise he didn’t see coming. These all must’ve been Archon Kusanali’s idea– or maybe it was that government official, Al Haitham?
Whatever, it didn't matter. At least Dain was expecting to be tied down and he was right, he reminded himself. Dainsleif took a deep breath and calmed himself. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists as he struggled against them, squirming to find weak knots that bound him to the chair. No luck.
“Evening, Twilight Sword… Do you come here often?”
Dainsleif stopped struggling.
He looked up, dazed.
Perhaps “enchanted” might be the right term.
Although Dainsleif could barely discern their face from this lighting, he can just about make it out from the shape of their silhouette.
“To this day, you’ve faithfully done your duty as a loving husband– how can a person ever find a man better than you?” The shadow smiled cheaply. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"
The shadow tilted their head up, and a red glint refracted from a familiar pair of tinted glasses. They pulled out a chair and sat in front of him, chuckling angrily as they did so.
“I’d rather not. I’d rather ask how much can I pay you to die.”
Dainsleif coughed.
“... (Y/n)? My beloved, is that you?”
The abyss smiled back.
“I importune you to perish, and you call me 'beloved'?” They laughed sardonically. “Isn’t taking bounties your entire shtick? Why ignore me? Don’t tell me you had a sudden aversion for death.”
They rolled their eyes.
“You’ve encased me in your penthouse, locked me up, stolen my brushes and pens away– and lied to the rest of the world that I had cancer like my relatives when I didn’t and still don’t. So don’t call me beloved. You don’t have the right.”
Their voice was buttery smooth as if seducing him– yet it would be foolish of him not to notice the sharpness of their words– the bitterness it latched onto. It sounded like the truth, but Dainsleif believes they were nothing but lies.
Dainsleif cringed.
“But you do have canc–”
“Fucking bullshit!” The person slammed the table, but years of experience didn’t make the retired hitman flinch. “I was NEVER sick!!! You desperately wanted me to be– because– because YOU didn’t want ME to LEAVE!”
“You always talk about how I’m fucking corrupted– how I can’t be cured– how I’m terminally ill when you’re the one slipping poison in my coffee every fucking day!” They ranted. “You didn’t want me to live, Dainsleif. You wanted me to be sad and– and miserable like you are."
He heard nothing.
That’s not true. None of their words add up.
They loved him– (Y/n) loved him.
Didn’t they?
… Then again, didn't Dainsleif have awful memory?
“Every night, I prayed you’d be dead,” the shadow said, calmly. “And every morning I woke up, I was disappointed. It doesn’t help how your expressionless face is always the first to greet me.”
Dainsleif knew (Y/n) liked challenges– there's no way they want him dead. That's what the promise was for, right? The reason why they made him swear to never kill again once they're married was to make life a bit more exciting. That's what it was, right?
They're not trying to get rid of him from the very beginning, right…?
They clapped.
Dainsleif instinctively closed his eyes as the rest of the lights fiercely illuminated the entire room. Slowly, his burned eyes fluttered open, and his heart beat again after seeing the shadow’s face.
It was (Y/n)'s.
It was his beloved’s.
The same face who wrote the letter Thoma read earlier– the same bastard who schemed to prove the Kamisatos are "not involved" with the anti-mafia stunts they've pulled but not their supposed “spouse”.
"I know what you're thinking, and I know I can't kill you," they scoffed. "So I had to resort to some underhanded tactics. Getting you excommunicated was the best one. If I can't do the job, I'll give others a damn good reason to do it for me instead."
Dainsleif chuckled softly.
Adorable. What a kind gesture.
"You underestimate yourself. You can kill me if you just try."
They snorted.
"Best joke I've ever heard from you, Dain. Dry humor suits you."
"I wasn't joking."
"I know you weren’t," (Y/n) clicked their tongue. “I know one of the reasons you kidnapped me was to make me competent enough to maybe kill you someday. Hah. At least I can say that I tried.”
They scowled. Patronizingly, they tore their gaze away from him and instead looked at what was inside the room. Dainsleif was not the same. He couldn’t tear his gaze away to notice how he was trapped inside the Uyuu restaurant’s weapon room.
For the first time in years, Dainsleif smiled like a child.
Dogs like Thoma would never be able to understand what it’s like to have such a strong connection with someone that isn’t your master.
He could no longer care if they (Y/n) was the one that shoots him right there.
In fact, he wouldn't mind if (Y/n) died too.
Haha… Hahahaha….
They had always been dead to him for years now.
Dainsleif finally remembers everything clearly.
(Y/n) had never been "dead", he was just angry that they escaped successfully.
Angry to the point they were actually dead in his eyes.
“I don’t know why the Professor brought you here all tied up– but I’m growing impatient at just the sight of you.”
So is he.
Dainsleif chuckled. One other thing he expected was that Aether will send him here with the intent of killing him. Shame, however, that Dainsleif saw that coming from miles away.
(Y/n) stepped closer and Dainsleif frantically pulled at the ropes, feeling them loosen. Dain had to keep going. He needed to break free.
“Farewell.”
As (Y/n) reached out to grab their gun off the table, Dainsleif surged forward, throwing his weight against the ropes and snapping them. He stumbled to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground as he grabbed at the gun faster than they could. The patrons of Uyuu restaurant are completely unaware of the drama that had taken place below their feet, chatting and dining as usual.
“Tch!”
With years of experience behind his back, Dainsleif knocked the gun out of (Y/n)’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor. (Y/n) lunged for it, but he tackled them, driving them both to the ground.
(Y/n)’s eye twitched and they can tell Dainsleif was equally pissed. But even when he had them pinned on the floor, Dainsleif remained careful on how he should hold them down. That unspoken act of “love” makes them want to vomit, but there was no time for that.
Even so, something about his stare seemed off.
It's as if he wanted to drag them down.
It's as if he wants them to be as dead as him.
(Y/n) jolted upon seeing his eyes.
In an unexpected string of luck, (Y/n) kicked him off and wrenched the gun away from Dainsleif.
They pointed it at him.
Dainsleif did not take a step back or forward.
As (Y/n) preps the gun, like souls intertwined by fate and time, they both had one thought in mind:
“If you truly loved me, you should be dead.”
(Y/n) fired.
BANG!!!
…
…
…
They shot him.
They shot Dainsleif.
And they know they shot him because they felt his blood pressed against their body.
But they blinked.
Lord– all (Y/n) did was blink.
"Y-You finally know how to fire a gun."
Dainsleif has nothing to be proud of in his own life, but he can still be proud of them.
There's no way for (Y/n) to miss the wetness of his gunshot wound. Not when he's holding them into a tight hug. Despite bleeding out, his firm hand cradled the nape of their neck, humming contently. Dainsleif thought to himself that a shot from (Y/n) did not feel painful in the slightest. It almost seemed like an injection.
No… Something isn't right, why is he so close…?
Their stomach burned.
And they can almost hear his smile.
"Thank you, my beloved. I was tired of taking my own life…"
If he can't have them alive, well…
Dainsleif pulled out the dagger behind their back.
No one should be able to have (Y/n)'s corpse too.
Dain kissed them.
He traced his wet thumb against their cheek, painting their face red with his fingerprints.
Dainsleif grinned.
"I love you."
They choked out blood out of pure disgust. Their strength was ebbing away.
Haha… It’s almost like… They actually have stomach cancer…
Their vision began to swim and they felt their consciousness slipping. (Y/n) saw blood seeping through their clothes, staining them dark red. Tears streamed down their face as they realized what had happened. Dainsleif stabbed them. They tried to cry out loud, but their voice was weak and hoarse.
The blood on their clothes… It almost reminded them of their seventh date. The wine, his dazed look…
(Y/n) would laugh humorlessly if they could.
In their last moments, (Y/n) learned that it took strength to cry… to scream out the pain buried within their stomach. But they had no strength left and they dropped their gun.
Their only option was to wither away.
Dainsleif kissed their neck sloppily– (Y/n) couldn't tell if it was saliva or blood. The taste and scent of blood filled his senses. Surely from both of them. Maybe this is what Dainsleif meant when he spread rumors about his spouse constantly going through hemoptysis. Bleeding from the mouth does count as a sign of a terminal illness, doesn't it?
His thoughts are curt. His breathing is short. Yet, his unhinged eyes were near immortal.
Dainsleif no longer cared about his own life– not when the person he lives for wanted him dead.
The weight of their "atonement" falls on (Y/n)'s shoulders as Dainsleif weakly knelt along with them. As their vision dies out, he tightens his hug, hungrily leaning into their dwindling body heat.
Dainsleif was right.
They do look beautiful soaked in the blood of their enemy.
"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."
Even in death, he will not leave them be.
They sobbed.
No…
But they were so close…
In their final moments, (Y/n) could only look up at the ceiling and cry.
They clutched their feeble freedom and life, staring into the abyss as though it can provide them solace to answer the question:
"E-Eli… eli, lama sabachthani?"
#ansy-writes#yandere dainsleif#yandere dainsleif x reader#yandere#male yandere#yandere x reader#yandere genshin x you#yandere genshin impact x reader#yandere genshin#yandere genshin x reader#dainsleif#dainsleif x reader#x reader#tw: yandere#tw: suicidal thoughts#yandere male#tag: hitman dain
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Cherry's Favorites Part 2
Contains NSFW, blood, dark themes and more, just my personal favorites, many characters and topics
Start me up | Mechanic!Eddie x Fem!Reader
Wet dreams | Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!Reader
Possessive Techno
Sugar daddy!Techno
Brahms with a Nymphomaniac
Crit Hit | Virgin!Eddie x Reader
A helping hand | Steddie x Reader
Show me | Older!Eddie x Reader
Eddie ‘The Munch’ Munson
Take it | Eddie Munson
Bunny
Eddie's balls
Someone else | Fwb!Steve Harrington
Look in the mirror
Scotty Doesn’t Know | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Use me | Conrad x Reader
Somebody else | Eddie’s girl x reader and stepbro!eddie x reader
Steddie threesome
Daddy Steve
Fem!Reader x Older!Tattooartist!Eddie Munson
Joseph Quinn horny blurb
Moans for a song
Consent is sexy
Final essay | Jim Hopper
Broken bed
Horndog Eddie
What you want
Eddie's glasses
Cum | Steddie
Cum fly with me | Pilot!Loki
Nasty Kurt
Eddie's boobies
Possessive Eddie
Definitely Eddie
Eddie loves teasing
Above and below
Eddie making love to you
Penthouse Eddie
Squirting for Steve
Strong boi Eddie again
Sweet cheeks
Speak up
Steve watching you get off
Girl on the moon | Corroded Coffin x Reader
This dark!Eddie ask is everything
Crush me daddy Steve
Poor Eddie
Undeniable | Older!Eddie
Cockwarming Eddie
More dark!Eddie because I love it
You and abouncer!Eddie fucking in the walk-in during a closing shift
More dark!Eddie because this anon is the best at writing this
Mhm more dark!Eddie
You guessed it, more dark!Eddie
Yes this is more dark!Eddie
Roommate rules
Angel & Devil!Steddie AU masterlist
Eddie's dirty talk
Second Chances at First Times
The kissing monster
Teasing Eddie
A visit to the Healer | Loki
Eddie dry humping reader
Withdrawal | Eddie Munson
Touch me and you lose | Eddie Munson
Thighs | Eddie Munson x Reader
Eddie is a menace
Possible fic material
Fucking Eddie
Eddie slapping you
No more shying away | Brahms Heelshire
Joseph impregnates you
Two perverts in my room | Steddie
Eddie fell asleep while eating you out, again
Don't tease Spencer
Milk | Joseph Quinn
More milk
Rendezvous | Spencer Reid
Subby Reid
Riding virging Eddie
Just a taste
His favorite girl
Gamer Eddie
Red lipstick kisses | Eddie Munson
Mama
#eddie munson#eddie munson/reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie x you#boyfriend eddie munson#eddie munson x chubby reader#eddie munson smut#joseph quinn smut#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x you#technoblade smut#technoblade x reader#technoblade#brahms heelshire smut#brahms heelshire x reader#brahms x reader#brahms heelshire#brahms the boy#brahms x you#brahms x y/n#brahms smut#brahms hillshire
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this line of work pt 2
A/N: part two! read part one here. there will be a pt 3. this one is dark, you guys. please heed the warnings and do not proceed if any of the warnings will upset or trigger you. this may seem OOC for our darling couple but they're going through a not so great time. the meds really get to Tommys brain ok? A part of my Tommy and his darling wife!au.
warnings: violence, blood, language, Tommy is out of his mind (literally), cheating, not canon, breastfeeding a baby, Tatiana being manipulative, sexual themes, alluding to smut but no graphic depictions. 18+ only. Minors, DNI.
5.6k words.
I take no credit for the gif! text dividers by @cottage-writings
Bee never left Tommy’s side in the hospital. Ada brought her clothes and toiletries, the nurses giving her a side eye when she would use the bath to wash in Tommy’s private room.
Tommy was delusional half of the time, alternating between fits of rage and extreme sorrow. Once Bee had taken a walk to get some fresh air, only to be quickly hailed by the nurses to come calm her husband.
The room was in disarray, glass shattered on the floor, his arm cut from where he had raked it through the glass shards after he’d sent the pitcher flying across the room. Bee tenderly walked over to him, unafraid of his rage. His jaw was clenched, sweat pouring from him.
“Thomas,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of his bed.
The nurses looked on in awe as his demeanor immediately shifted. “Love?” he called out to her. “Are you back?” he asked, breathless, reaching out for her.
Blood dripped on her dress. She reached out to tenderly touch his face. “I’m right here,” she told him soothingly. “Right here, Darling,” she said. He gripped her hand, vision still fuzzy, only able to make out general shapes.
“My love,” he said quietly, bringing the back of her hand to his cheek.
“You’re okay,” she said, her other hand gently on his thigh. “You’re safe. I’m with you.”
“Where–where are the babies?” he asked, panic in his eyes.
Her heart broke in her chest. This was the third time he’d asked that day. “They’re at home, with Ada, with Frances. They’re safe, Lovey,” she told him gently,
“Yeah, yeah they’re safe,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“You hurt your arm,” she said gently, more blood dripping onto her dress. “Will you let me clean it for you?”
He smiled softly. “Can’t get blood on your pretty hands, angel,” he said.
She smiled softly. “Can I ask one of the nurses to help you, then?” she asked. The nurses stood in the doorway, trembling in awe.
“Yeah, yeah, please,” he said, settling back against his pillows in his bed.
The nurse named Penny came and cleaned Tommy’s arm up while Bee assisted the nurses with cleaning up the room.
“Mrs. Shelby, we’re sorry to disturb your walk, but he just kept shouting for you,” Jane, another nurse said.
“Oh, it’s no bother at all. He–he gets like that sometimes,” Bee admitted sheepishly.
Tommy was in the hospital for three months. Bee’s leg was nearly healed now, but her heart was broken. Tommy had regained most of his eyesight, but things were still blurry. His head pounded furiously almost every second of the day and he had a nasty scar on the back of his head from where they had to do surgery to relieve some of the swelling on his brain. Thankfully, his hair covered it. Guilt burdened his heart every second of the day for all that had transpired over the last few months. The danger he had put his wife, his children, himself in.
Arthur came to drive them home from the hospital, tears in his eyes when he hugged his younger brother. “You’re alright–” he said in disbelief, cut off by a massive hug Tommy wrapped him in.
Tears ran down Bee’s face. She was ready for their lives to resume some sense of normalcy. Arthur drove them home in silence, Tommy holding Bee’s hands both of his, his body pressed up against hers in the car.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered in her ear, nuzzling her neck, lips ghosting over the tender skin.
“I’ve been with you almost every moment,” she said, an embarrassed smile on her face as her eyes met Arthur's in the rearview mirror.
“Not enough,” Tommy rasped. “Every second of every day wouldn’t be enough with you,” he told her.
Arthur uncomfortably cleared his throat. “Uh–when–when’re you gonna be back at the office, Tom?” he asked, shifting in his seat.
Tommy sighed. “Monday I’d guess.”
It was Saturday. “What about the children?” Bee asked.
“What about them?” Tommy asked, reaching for a cigarette and his lighter. Bee was certain she could feel the walls of her heart separating from one another. Tommy saw the look in her eyes, his expression changing immediately. “That’s not what I meant, Darling,” he quickly said, reaching for her hands again as she pulled away from him.
Ada was waiting in the foyer with the children when Tommy and Bee returned home. Peter ran to his father. “Daddy!” he yelled, running towards him at full speed. Tommy bent down to pick him up, his head spinning from the quick motion.
“My boy!” Tommy said, tears in his eyes.
“Daddy!” Peter cried again, pressed against his fathers chest, his face in his shoulder. “I missed you!”
Tommy’s heart swelled. “I missed you too, son. Have you been good? Eh?” he asked, looking his son in the face.
He looked just like him, but everything about him was Bee. He was a good boy with the best heart. “Yes, I’ve been good. Ask Sara!” he giggled as Tommy peppered his little face with kisses.
Bee had gone to pick up baby Katherine from Ada’s arms. She was still so small, but doing better by all standards the doctors had set. Tommy’s breath hitched in his throat at his baby–his baby girl. His baby girl that he had neglected for all of her life thus far.
“Peter,” Tommy said gently to his son, setting him down. “How about you go pick a story for all of us to read tonight, hm? You and me and Mummy? We’ll all curl up in the big bed tonight before bedtime and Mummy can read us a story,” he said, and Peter’s eyes lit up.
“Okay, Daddy!” he said, running up the stairs towards his room.
He hadn’t noticed where Bee had taken the baby to, looking to Ada for some direction. “She’s in the sitting room, Tom. The baby got hungry,” she said softly. “I’ll go to the library for a bit.”
Tommy nodded at his sister, making his way to the sitting room, where his wife nursed the baby at her breast in one of the chairs. He closed the door behind him quietly, stripping his coat and suit jacket from his shoulders, followed by his waistcoat, cufflinks, sleeve garters and dress shirt, leaving him in just his soft cotton undershirt.
With tears in his eyes he made his way over to his wife, who sat in the chair, tears streaming down her face. “My love,” he said softly. “Forgive me?” he asked, voice cracking.
“Oh, Thomas,” she croaked, the baby pulling away from her as a tear fell on her face. Bee giggled softly, wiping the tear from her baby’s face. “Sorry,” she said to the baby, who had decided she was finished eating.
Tommy took the baby from her, putting her to his shoulder, a hand gently behind her head to support her neck. He patted her on the back until she burped, and moved her to hold her against his chest. “She looks like you,” Bee said gently, tucking her legs up under her on the chair.
“Poor girl,” he said in jest, admiring his little girl's features.
They sat in silence for a few moments before there was a knock on the door. Ada. “I’ll take the baby,” she said gently, walking over to her brother. “You two have some things to talk about, I’m sure.”
Tommy shot Bee a knowing look as Ada took the baby from him. She silently walked out of the room, closing the door behind her again.
“Bee,” he said gently. “I’m sorry,” he didn’t meet her gaze. “For everything.”
“So am I, Thomas,” she said. “When Ada called me–I–I didn’t know what I’d do if you’d die and I would’ve spent your last days being angry with you I–” she cried.
“Come here,” he beckoned her over to where he sat on the sofa. She climbed into his arms, settling against his chest, his arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” he told her, still unable to mutter the words he dreaded the most. Telling her about Tatiana.
Over the next week, life tried to resume its normalcy. Tommy pushed through his residual pain, having a greater mission in mind. Bee resumed her duties for Shelby Company Limited from her home office, Peter playing on the floor, and Katherine in the bassinet by the window, eyeing her mobile.
Tommy was busy at the office one evening when there was a knock on the door. He half expected it to be Bee. They hadn’t made love since their return home, and his need for her grew with every passing moment. The guilt made it difficult for him to act on his desire.
“Mr. Shelby,” the thick Russian accent pierced his ears. He sighed, not looking up from his paperwork. “I came to check on you. The doctors at the hospital said your wife refused you to have any visitors.”
That much was true. Bee had forbidden anyone from entering his room unless they were an employee of the hospital who had been there for more than a year. He sighed. “I am alive.”
“Are you?” she asked, walking towards his desk. “How is your wife?” she asked.
“She’s–recovering,” he ground out, reluctantly looking up at her.
“Hm,” she murmured. “I need you to be at a party tomorrow, Mr. Shelby. I need to see how dedicated you are to carrying out this deal.”
His brow furrowed. “A party?”
“And bring your brothers,” she tilted his chin up to look at her with her pointer finger before ghosting her lips over his. “I usually get what I want, Mr. Shelby.”
A chill ran down his spine.
That night when he returned home, he burst through the door of their bedroom, chest heaving. His blood rushed in his ears, his focus lasered in on his wife, sitting up in bed reading in a silk nightgown, her breasts peaked and visible through the thin fabric.
“Thomas?” she asked, closing her book. “Are you alright?” she asked, eyes wide in concern.
He furiously began to disrobe, clothes, watch, jewelry, lighter, cigarette case all falling to the floor in one pile. “I need you,” he breathed, climbing on top of her, pressing his lips to hers roughly. She let out a small squeak, hands roaming down his back, nails scratching at his skin.
He ground his hips into hers, rucking up the hem of her nightgown roughly.
He was quick and rough, rolling off her without so much as an I love you. He rolled over, his back to her, and miraculously fell asleep.
The next afternoon, Arthur, John and Tommy arrived at the Russian estate. “Boys,” Tommy started, lighting a cigarette. “Just remember, these people are crazier than us.”
And fuck if they weren’t.
After all of them being strip searched for any sign of alliance tattoos, they were admitted to the wildest party any of them had ever partaken in.
“Tom,” Arthur ground out, eyes darting every which way in the room. It was madness. People were fucking on any horizontal surface they could find. The floor, couches, tables. “Tom what is this fucking place?”
“Just have to uh–” Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat. “Play the part for the night, brother.”
“You’d do that to Bee?” Arthur asked, his own loyalty to his wife being tested and pushed.
“I’d do anything to keep her safe,” Tommy ground out, Tatiana eyeing him from the corner of the room.
“Yeah fucking that duchess ain’t such a bad way of keeping ‘er safe, hm?” John said in jest, a smirk on his face.
Misery was the word of the night. Every bit of it was miserable. The cigarettes weren’t the brand he preferred and their whiskey wasn’t Irish. Tommy got drunk off it anyway.
“This way, Tommy,” Tatiana lured him into a separate room, away from all the people. She closed the door behind them as Tommy ambled behind her. “How has your wife recovered?” she asked.
“She’s never better,” Tommy said. “Fucked ‘er last night.”
Tatiana smiled. “You should’ve brought her. The three of us could have had fun.”
Tommy smirked. “I don’t share.”
“Who said it would’ve been her we’d be sharing?” she asked, pushing him against the settee and straddling his waist. “She and I would share you,” she moaned, pressing a kiss to his lips.
His hands circled her waist as she ground into him, tongues tangling for dominance. Every ounce of self discipline in his body willed itself to the surface of his drunken state as he pushed her face from his. “Who says she shares?” he asked, breathless.
A devious smirk crossed the duchess's features. “She already has,” She leaned back down and bit his neck, traveling to his collar bones, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from him. “Have you told her about us?” she asked, a hand moving down to reach between the two of them, to unbutton his trousers. “How much you want this? How much you want to lean into that side of you that she has worked so hard to make good?” she asked, unzipping his trousers. “She had a lover at the hospital, no? One of the doctors who attended to you. I saw him with her one day, telling her he could take all this away with one medication. He could take her away to Paris in the snap of his fingers,” she ground herself against him again. “Did she tell you that, Tommy?”
Tommy looked at her, panic in his eyes. “She wouldn’t–”
“She didn’t. But she thought about it. And after he kissed her she said she would think about it after you returned home. She doesn’t love you as much as you think she does, Tommy.”
With rage in his mind and shards in his heart, he fucked the duchess.
What seemed like ages later, the duchess rolled off Tommy, a panting giggling mess. He tried desperately to regulate his breathing, body wrung out from the alcohol and the pleasure she repeatedly pulled from his body.
She traced invisible shapes on his chest as they laid on the floor. “What’s this?” she asked, fingers touching his newest tattoo. It was just above the inside crease of his elbow, on the tender flesh of the lower part of his bicep. It was a honeybee, a regal crown just above its head. It was small. So small it was almost indistinguishable from a distance, but up close, there was no doubt as to what it was.
Guilt washed through him. “For your wife?” she asked as he stood up, searching for his clothes that were haphazardly thrown in every corner of the room. “You had to know she wouldn’t love a man like you for long.”
Tommy paused, turning around, seeing Tatiana stand up and pull her slip back over her head. “What’d you just say?”
She shrugged. “It was not possible–she could not love a man like you for long. Someone like you needs someone like me. Someone who can see the darkness within you and wants to allow you to use it to its full potential. Not smother it.”
Tommy stalked over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. Tatiana moved to wrestle his hands from her body. “She loves me!” he roared, images of his wife flashing through his mind. The beautiful, precious creature he had just betrayed in body, mind and soul. “Why would you fucking say that? She loves me!” he said, reduced to tears, his face falling to between her breasts.
“At some point, the love runs out, Tommy,” Tatiana said, holding him in her arms as he sobbed.
The next morning, John, Arthur and Tommy all pulled themselves from the rubble of the party and made their way to the car, hungover and guilt laden.
“What a fucking night,” John said, shaking his head, adjusting his cap on his head.
“We’ve spent our nights in worse ways before, eh?” Tommy said, climbing into the car.
Tommy brushed past Bee when he arrived home, avoiding seeing that fallen expression on her face when he told her he didn’t have time for her that day. That he had a lot to do, a lot of business to take care of.
Tommy went up to their bathroom, where he began running a bath to scrub his infidelity from his skin. His wedding ring burned into his skin. In the whole time they’d been married he’d never taken it off. Not even the night before.
As he lowered himself into the tub, he removed his ring from his finger, scrubbing his hands and the ring to rid it of any trace of Tatiana. He faintly remembered her tongue on his hands, focusing on his ring in particular the night before. He shuddered.
Bee came to him when he had finished bathing. His towel was wrapped around his waist as he mixed his shaving lather, brushing it over his jaw. He silently hoped she didn’t notice the faint bite bruises on his collarbones, and hoped the scratches had faded from his shoulders and back. He'd just taken a dose of his medicine, willing the pounding in his head to go away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly as he pulled the blade of his razor over his cheek.
“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little mind over,” he mumbled, rinsing his blade in the sink.
She furrowed her brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “What does that mean?” she asked.
He sighed, pulling the razor over his jawline. “It’s just business,” he grumbled, not meeting her eyes in the mirror. He couldn’t bear to look at her. Couldn’t bear to see those dark eyes full of hurt.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why’s your ring off? Are you alright?” she asks, noticing his ring on the sink.
“I just had to clean it, Darling,” he said, the subtle lie rolling so easily off his tongue.
“What are you not telling me?” she asked, seeing through his facade.
Rage boiled in his belly as he finished shaving. She watched him, eyes ablaze with her own wrath. He thought of Tatiana’s words. Of the supposed doctor who offered Bee a way out of this life. A way to escape him and the horrors he paraded into their lives. And her betrayal of entertaining the idea. The pounding in his head was eased from the medicine, his mind whirring at a million miles a minute now.
He rinsed and dried his face before stalking over to her. She seemed to have shrunk into the shadows of the bathroom as he backed her against the wall, a hand dangerously on her throat. “How about what you’re not telling me, hm?” her eyes widened in fear.
“Wh–what are you talking about?” she gasped, his grip on her throat tightening as she clawed at his hand.
With his free hand he pinned her hands at her side, twisting her slightly to look him in the eye. “The doctor at the hospital. The one who offered you a way out of this life with me,” he sneered. “Darling,” he brushed his lips over her ear. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Thomas,” she croaked. “Please, you’re hurting me,” tears sprang to her eyes and a flash of annoyance bit at his mind. “Thomas,” she whined, his grip on her wrists growing stronger.
“What did he want with you, Bee?” he asked. “Did you want to sleep with him, hm? Leave me for him? Did he want you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “He said he’d never seen a wife as devoted as me,” she said, tears falling down her face, running onto his hand, still firmly around her throat. “He said it was admirable, but he would understand if I wanted a way out. I told him come hell or high water, I would stay with my husband. Everything else be damned. If you think,” she croaked, trying to swallow. “For one second I would turn away from you, you don’t know me at all, Thomas Shelby.”
He let go of her and she sagged against the wall, coughing as the oxygen returned to her lungs. He ran a hand through his hair. “Who told you about the doctor?” she asked, a hand on her chest, heart racing.
“The Duchess,” he said, his back to her, hands on his hips.
“Is she the one who scratched your back to hell last night then?” she asked.
His vision went blurry as a crack of thunder rolled through the countryside, shaking the foundation of the house, the electricity flickering under its impact. “Yeah, it was,” he said, turning his head to see her in his periphery.
“You–you what?” she asked, her voice so small. “What?”
He turned around to face her. “I’ve told you from the start, Bee,” he said, his voice low. “I am not a good man.”
Her lip curled in disgust. “You’re forgetting the second part of that sentence, Thomas,” she said, approaching him, poking a finger into his chest. “You always said but I’ll be a good man to you. I hope she was worth it, Thomas,” Bee says, stepping back from him to fiddle with her rings, starting to twist them off.
“Don’t fucking do that,” he snarls, pointing a finger at her.
“Why? You’ve already done it!” she shouts at him.
“Don’t fucking take those rings off, Bee!” he screams as she throttles them at him. They scatter across the tile of the bathroom–the engagement band, the wedding band and the thin green emerald band he’d gotten her for her birthday. “Fucking hell,” he says as she storms out of the bathroom and to their room, slamming the door. He walks through the halls, following her, sighing in annoyance when he finds the door locked. “Bee, please, can we talk?”
“Why would I want to talk to you, you fucking bastard?” she screams and he hears something shatter from inside their room.
“Open the door,” he demands.
She screams from behind the door, an angry, frustrated scream. He hears her walk to the door, flinging it open before stalking back to the numerous photos of them on any surface that would stand still.
“Love don’t–” he tried to protest as she took a frame down from the wall and threw it to the ground, shattering at their feet.
“Don’t call me love,” she growls at him. She goes over to the closet where she retrieves a piece of luggage. She throws it on the dresser and begins to haphazardly throw clothes into it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks, wincing as glass cuts at his bare feet.
“I’m taking the children to London with me,” she says.
He slams their door, noticing the attention they’re gathering from the maids. They scatter down the hall as he stalks back over to her, pressing her against the wall. “If I have to chain you to this fucking bed, you are not leaving this house,” he growls, arms on either side of her.
“Get the chains ready then, Thomas, because you’re going to have to do everything you can to keep me here,” she spat back at him, pushing against him.
He pushed her back against the wall. “If you think for one fucking second I won’t move heaven and earth to get you to stay here you don’t know me very well,” he growled, his icy blue eyes searching her face.
“I don’t think I know who you are anymore,” she said. “Because the Thomas I married would’ve never looked at another woman much less held me against my will for anything.”
Her words stabbed him in the heart, making him visibly wince. “It is my duty to protect you,” he tells her.
“It is also your duty to remain faithful to me,” she said, pushing against his bare chest, vying for freedom.
“And yours to me,” he tells her, wedging his knee between her legs to keep her in place.
“I have never been unfaithful to you!” she screams, tears coming down her cheeks again. “It’s always been you, Thomas! Since the first day I saw you, it’s always been you! But I’m not enough anymore, hm? I’m just your wife now, the mother of your children. Used up. Boring. I’m of no use anymore, right? Faithful, dutiful wife who stands by your side despite this awful life you lead, this wretched business you’ve created, this empire built on blood and soiled money!” she screams. His eyes are empty as he searches her face. “I married you because I loved you, Thomas, but I will not stand by and be your doormat while you wine and dine other women underneath my nose!”
She pushes against him and he doesn’t resist.
“Take these to the car will you, Simmons?” Bee asks, setting Peter’s small suitcase down in the foyer.
“‘Fraid not, Ma’am,” Simmons says as Bee bends down to button Peter’s coat.
“What do you mean?” Bee asks. Sara stands a few feet back with Katherine in her arms.
“Mr. Shelby’s orders, Ma’am. I am sorry about this,” he says as a few other Blinder men rush towards her, taking her by the arms.
“Wh–what are you doing?” she asks.
“Mr. Shelby wants the children taken back upstairs,” Bee could hear Finn’s voice.
“Finn?” Bee spun around to face her youngest brother in law.
“Bee, I’m sorry. Tommy’s orders,” he says with pain in his eyes as the Blinder men drag her away from Peter, whose eyes widened in fear.
“What are they doing with Mummy?” Peter asked Sara, blue eyes wide as saucers.
“She’s just going to handle some business with Daddy, that’s all darling boy,” Sara lies to the little boy, who is clutched against her skirts.
The men take Bee through the halls of the Manor, down to the basement and past the kitchens, through the tunnels that lead to the parts of this house that are made for discretion. Parts that Tommy had never allowed her to see for fear of her image of him being irreparably damaged. The floor and walls were rough concrete, faint cracks of light coming in through slivers of windows, most of them boarded up.
There were stains on the floor. Dark gray stains she assumed had faded from crimson red. They passed a room where weapons of every shape and size hung on the walls. Coat racks littered the corridors. There was a spigot in another room with an old tub and she shuddered knowing it was for cleaning blood.
They continued to walk until they reached a small room at the end of the hall with a lock on the outside of the door.
“What are you doing?” she asked, noticing only a cot in the room. “I am the lady of this house!” she screamed in protest, for the first time fighting against their strength as the men pushed her into the room.
“Mr. Shelby’s orders, Ma’am. We are sorry about this,” they said, thrusting her into the room before locking it.
She screamed and kicked at the door, hearing their footsteps as they walked to the end of the corridor to keep watch. There was a window with bars at the top of the door, so she could hear everything that went on.
A couple hours later, she heard John and Arthur and another voice she faintly recognized. “Just get in there!” she heard Arthur gruffly yell, and a grunt from the third voice. “Boys, watch ‘em, Tommy’ll be here in a minute.”
She heard their footsteps as they walked towards her. “Unlock it,” John commanded one of the men who had walked her down here. She was curled up on the cot, hugging her legs to her chest. “Sis,” John said, swallowing the lump in his throat as they eyed her.
“What is he doing?” she asked, trembling. She had never experienced this side of Tommy, this side of his wrath, his jealousy, possessiveness, anger.
“He’s er–he’s out of his mind, Bee,” Arthur said, not meeting her eyes. “I dunno what’s gotten into him but when I look at him, he’s not behind his eyes, yannow? I think it’s the medicine, the alcohol and the cocaine. He’s still in a lotta pain,” he said, clutching his cap in his hands.
“What’s he going to do to me?” she asks.
“He’s making sure you don’t run away,” John said, shifting uncomfortably. “He’s gonna uh, gonna kill that doctor today. He’s on his way now.”
Bee let out a huff of breath in disbelief. From cherished wife to battle shield to nursemaid and prisoner, all within a six month span. “How was it for you two?” she asked, referring to the Russian party.
They both looked at their hands, Arthur repeatedly clenching and releasing his fists at his side, his cap firmly back on his head. John worried a toothpick between his teeth. “They were mad, Bee. I think something the Duchess said got to ‘im. He’s–he’s not himself. You’ll see it in his eyes.”
“Oui!” They all jumped when they heard Tommy yell from the other side of the dungeon. “What the fuck are you doing?” he screamed, his footsteps quick. Bee sat up straighter as Tommy pushed through his brothers to get to her. “Hello, Darling,” he said, kneeling in front of her, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Sorry you didn’t get to go on your holiday. You don’t get a holiday from your husband, Love.”
She looked in his eyes and her heart nearly stopped when she didn’t recognize the man behind them. “You don’t get a holiday from your wife either, but you took one,” she spat back.
For the flash of a second, she could see the man she loved in his eyes. Just as quickly, he disappeared. “I have never done anything that wasn’t to protect you,” he said, his grip on her chin strengthening as his body shook with anger. “Everyone else be fucked,” he ground out. “I will always protect you, even if you don’t understand why or how,” his expression softened. “Now, Darling I am going to kill that doctor friend of yours,” he seethed. “And I hope it shows you what happens when someone gets in between us and this love we have.”
“Where is that love, Tom?” she asks and he’s halfway pulled from his out of mind state by his shortened name. She exclusively calls him Thomas, always has called him Thomas as long as they have known each other. “Where is it?” she screams.
He removes his hand from her chin, taking hold of hers and placing it over his heart. “Right here, where it’s always been. Close to me, right where I can see it.”
He pulls her close to him by the neck, slamming his lips against hers. Her hands go to his chest to fight him but his strength overpowers him. “Thomas–” she mumbles against his lips.
“I love you, Bee,” he rasps, holding her close to him still, their foreheads pressed together. “Everything I do is because of how much I love you.”
She closed her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks, Arthur and John still standing in the doorway, backs turned as Tommy came up behind them, hands on their shoulders. “Ready, brother?” John asked.
“Yeah,” Tommy breathed as they walked out of the door, one of the Blinder guards locking it behind them.
Bee listened on in horror to her husband torturing this doctor who had threatened his life and his marriage. Strangled cries for mercy, whispered prayers of forgiveness and reasonings for his actions all spilled from the doctors lips.
“Did you want my wife?” Tommy screamed.
“Yes! For a moment I did. Every man wants to be looked at by a woman the way she looks at you,” the doctor panted. “But she refused my offer. She said she loved you deeply.”
The man screamed in agony as Tommy inflicted yet another wound to his body. “But you kissed her? You touched what is mine?”
“I–I didn’t–didn’t know you loved her,” he rasped in excuse.
“Everything is for her!” Tommy roared. “Everything I am, everything I do is for her!” Tommy wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince with that statement. The doctor who lay bleeding on the floor, or himself.
He delivered the final blow and the man gasped for his last breath.
Tommy’s chest heaved, his throat seizing up, pain coursing through his body. He was exhausted. His stomach heaved and he ran to the corner where he threw up what little he had eaten that morning.
“Get him–get him to the fields,” Tommy breathed, to Arthur and John, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Build the pyre,” he breathed, head spinning.
“What about Bee?” Arthur asked.
“Leave her.”
For three days, Bee was in the dungeon. She was brought three square meals a day and was allowed to use the facilities as needed, but no more and no less was allowed.
On the fourth day, she was awoken by Tommy’s footsteps down the hallway and keys turning in the lock. “Good morning, Darling,” he said cheerily. “Come on,” he held out a hand to her.
She shook, afraid of him, not accepting his hand, but sitting up on her cot. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“You my Darling,” he smiled. “Are going to get upstairs and get cleaned up, do your hair, your makeup and we are going to the opening of the Shelby Family Institute.”
He pulled her up off the cot by her elbow, making her wince in pain as she stood to her feet. “And I’m just supposed to act as your dutiful wife even though you’ve had me locked in this dungeon for days?”
He moves to hold her hand, leading her out of the room. “Darling it was to keep you safe.”
“From what?” she asks.
He looks her in the eyes and she still can’t see the Tommy she loves–the Tommy she took the bullet for. “From yourself,” he says.
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