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hunnylagoon · 5 months

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Wayfaring Stranger

PREMISE: After your husband refuses to check a concerning sound outside, you do it yourself only to find a beautiful stranger bloodied up on the beaten road beneath moonlight. The events that follow soon after turn your once quiet world on its head.

DISCONTINUED

A/N: Forgive me if there are typos or confusing sentences. I was high asf writing this and I am high asf posting this. I have a series outline posted on my page right before this post, idk how link it, I’ll figure it out sometime. I’m releasing another Ellie fic tomorrow, it’s a modern AU and will be two parts. As always, thanks for reading!

WARNING: Murder, mentions of violence and injuries

The night hung heavy over the isolated homestead, a sea of inky darkness punctuated only by the sparse glow of stars scattered across the expansive canvas of the western sky. You, wrapped in a weathered shawl, stepped cautiously onto the creaking wood floorboards leading to your bedroom window. The pristine planks groaned under the subtle weight of your movement, echoing through the stillness of the night. "Sawyer, did you hear that?" You ask, turning your head to look at your husband who lay with his back to you, His blonde curls falling upon the satin pillowcases. "Sawyer!" You hiss, trying to capture his attention.

"It's just some cattle," He dismissed, not bothering to look at you; in fact, he pulled the covers even farther up his figure to conceal himself from you.

"Can you go look?"

"Why would I do that?" He groaned, it was a genuine question. He couldn't figure out why you would want to investigate a concerning sound.

"Because it sounded like gunshots and screaming, someone could be hurt!"

"All the more reason to stay inside."

"Well, I'm going to go see what it is if you refuse to." You spat, grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside stand and using your shawl to clear it of debris. You swipe a match across its box, watching it ignite, small sparks dancing around your fingertips. You move the match to light the exposed part of the wick before blowing it out and discarding it on the spruce floors.

"Okay, don't get hurt," He said flat, nuzzling back into the feather pillows.

A solitary oil lamp, its flame shifting with every step, cast feeble shadows that clung to the edges of the wall like silent sentinels. Under the flickering light, you made your way down the stairs and slipped on a pair of worn leather boots, dusty from the day's toil. As your boots met the uneven wooden surface of the porch, you shivered, you hadn't anticipated just how cold it would be.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of sagebrush and the distant whispers of the unseen nocturnal creatures that inhabited the wilderness. A coyote's distant howl painted the night with an eerie soundtrack, a reminder that the untamed landscape surrounding your home was both beautiful and treacherous.

As you descended the porch steps, your eyes, accustomed to the darkness, scanned the horizon. The landscape unfolded before you in nothing but shadows and silhouettes, the distant outlines of distant hills and mesas barely visible beneath the cosmic tableau above. The isolation of your homestead, far removed from the flickering lights of the town, cocooned you in an otherworldly silence, a solitude that carried the weight of the untamed frontier.

You looked back towards your home as you moved down the dirt road; weathered limestone walls, adorned with ornate ironwork, bore witness to years of harsh sun, and dust storms, though the relentless passage of time wasn't easy to spot as Sawyer had constant maintenance on it. Standing proudly against the dark backdrop of endless prairie, the mansion's presence was a testament to opulence in the rugged west. The home sat on the top of a hill, the trip down being somewhat steep, though the main path was easy to trek, other ways down would send you tumbling.

A soft breeze rustled through the grass dunes, creating a gentle whistle that you liked to believe carried every secret ever whispered in the town.

With a deep breath, you ventured beyond the perimeter of the homestead, your silhouette becoming one with the night. The crunch of your footsteps on the gravel path echoed faintly, a lullaby for the wilderness that watched over you. You move with hesitation, trying to consider that your husband may be right and you should've ignored the clash and tucked yourself back into the king-sized bed, despite this, you keep moving, leaving only the echoes of your presence behind.

You were surrounded by almost nothing but darkness, you could only see the shapes of rocks and cacti reflecting the moonlight along with whatever was immediately around you, thanks to the shine of the oil lamp.

Writhing in the rocky dirt path you saw a figure. It hadn't been an animal or an article of clothing that somehow found its way to you, it had been the slender silhouette of a person, just as you suspected, someone was hurt. As you carefully approached you could hear their shaky breathes that made you sure it was a woman. Her chest rose and sunk as she shuddered in the cold air; she was soaked through with blood, you had never seen someone in worse shape. "Ma'am?" You ask, your heartbeat speeding up. She looked visibly startled, trying to grip the ground and crawl away from you out of fear. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise, I can help you." Your eyebrows furrowed in skepticism at the sight before you.

"No," She shook her head, the woman could hardly get words out of her mouth, just ragged breaths.

"You're shivering," You slowly crouched down, gingerly sitting her up, she winced in pain when you did so "I'm sorry," You hooked an arm around her waist while she slid an arm behind your shoulders, she used her other arm to clutch at a wound in her stomach, you ignored your shaking at her additional weight leaning against your own, you just had to get her up the hill. "SAWYER!" You shouted as loud as your lungs allowed you "SAWYER!" You screamed again, waiting for your husband to be standing on the porch.

You hauled the woman to your porch just as Sawyer finally emerged "What do you- WHAT IS HAPPENING!" His annoyance quickly turned to panic when he saw who was clinging onto you, behind him the door was hanging open letting the light from the foyer break apart some of the darkness. In the light other than the moon you finally got a better look at her. You couldn't even tell what colour her hair was beneath the blood matting it to her head, streaks of red ran down her freckled face and soaked almost every inch of clothing she adorned.

"Ride into town, get the doctor and bring him back here." You ordered, pushing past him, into the living room where you laid her gingerly onto the white gold crested sofa, feeling relief of the added weight gone.

"Well, there goes my coach-

"Sawyer!" You yell again, urging him to leave, he finally does, slamming the door behind him. You run around, hastily lighting candles to brighten the room; you bring a bucket of clean water to her side, drenching a rag in the water, you bring it to her face and begin to wipe away the blood. You noticed her shudder at the touch of cold water on her raw flesh "It's okay," You muttered, in an attempt to comfort her. You weren't quite sure what to say, she must've been terrified but it's not like you were feeling okay with the whole situation, you just didn't want to worsen anything.

More than anything, you wanted to know what had happened to this woman. Of course, you weren't going to ask at that moment, you didn't have to ask though, it's like she read your mind.

"I'm, Ellie," She said between ragged heaves. Just when you were beginning to make up your own backstory for the wayfaring stranger. The picture you had formed in your mind was that her name was Maybelle and she had taken a loan from a gang, and gotten herself into some serious trouble. Nope. Her name was Ellie and what was most logical was that she had been robbed by bandits.

You smile softly, trying to put her at ease. You thought back to all of the ways your mother used to calm you and your little sister "Well, Ellie, doctors gonna be here any minute and you'll be stitched up, good."

Ellie could've sworn that she made you up inside her head. She had heard stories of people on the brink of death imagining an angel guiding them to security just to be told when they recovered that person never existed. She was sure that she would get some rest and would wake up in some clinic with you nowhere to be found. You looked like an angel too, features illuminated in the soft candlelight. "Are you real?"

Her words had you thinking she was ebbing closer to the brink of death, blood loss making her woozy. "I sure am," You said, indulging her "I can tell from your accent that you're from as far west as west goes."

"That you would be right about, ma'am," She smiled with half-lidded eyes, her head lulling back and forth from the spot it rested on the sofa arm.

You soaked the cloth again, wringing it out in the bucket, the once clear water already becoming a foggy reddish hue. You used your free hand to push hair away from Ellie's face, with your other hand you held the cloth and gently wiped the blood from her forehead, clearing the way for you to see more of her freckles. "There we go," You moved your free hand to the back of her head to support it, now using the rag to wash away at the grime on her cheeks and button nose. "I can finally see that pretty face."

"pretty," She murmured, eyelids fluttering.

In the dimly lit room, shadows danced across the walls like ghostly spectres, and the air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood. The wounded figure lay sprawled on the once pristine white sofa, the echo of a recent struggle still reverberating through the stillness. Moonlight filtered through tattered curtains, casting an eerie glow on the scene of desperation.

A crimson pool formed beneath Ellie, soaking into Sawyer's beloved couch. The rhythmic breathing echoed in the silence, a macabre lullaby that seemed to accompany the fading pulse of life. Ellie against the encroaching darkness, the battle for consciousness etched across a face pale and drawn.

Every breath was a laborious effort, a struggle against the body's betrayal. Her once vibrant eyes, now dull and distant, glistened with a mixture of pain and determination. Beads of sweat clung to a furrowed brow, evidence of the fevered fight within.

Trembling hands clutched at the wound, desperate to stem the relentless flow of a life's essence escaping through her fingers. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of pain through the body, threatening to pull the fragile thread of consciousness even thinner. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of mortality, and every passing moment whispered of the inevitability of the abyss.

Amid this struggle, fragmented memories flickered like distant stars in a fading night sky. Faces and places, fragments of life now hanging in the balance, flashed before weary eyes. The pulse, once strong and steady, faltered like a distant drumbeat threatening to fade into silence.

Yet, amidst the darkness, a fierce will to survive burned like a defiant flame. The wounded soul summoned reserves of strength, drawing upon reserves untapped in ordinary times. Each laboured breath was a testament to an indomitable spirit, a refusal to yield to the encroaching void.

The room itself seemed to pulse with a quiet urgency, bearing witness to a solitary struggle against the inevitable. Shadows clung to the edges of consciousness, threatening to pull the wounded figure into an abyss from which there might be no return. She saw your lips moving but the words fell upon death ears, she couldn't make out whatever you were frantically telling her, all she knew was that she was tired and she couldn't fight to stay awake much longer.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Though Ellie had believed you to be an angel, you proved yourself to be real.

As the first rays of the Southern sun began to pierce through ornate curtains, casting a warm golden glow upon the opulent bedroom, she stirred beneath the layers of soft, embroidered linens. The mattress cradled her like a sanctuary, and the pillows plumped to perfection, offered a haven for dreams. The room itself exuded a rustic elegance, with intricately carved wooden furniture standing proudly against the walls adorned with rich tapestries. The air carried the subtle scent of cedar, a nod to the untamed wilderness just beyond the ornate windows. Lace curtains danced in the morning breeze, revealing a breathtaking view of the rolling hills and vast plains. The room, a luxurious oasis in the heart of the frontier, embraced her in a cocoon of comfort, providing a stark contrast to the rugged landscape outside. As she slowly opened her eyes, the lavish details of the room unfolded like a dream, and for a moment, she forgot about the events of the night before, until the throbbing pain of stitched wounds hit her once more.

Ellie was no longer in the drenched clothes from the previous night and was no longer nose-blinded by the sickly sweet stench of blood. Though she didn't remember everything from the night before, she remembered you

What had woken her up was the incredible smell filling whatever room she was in. Cast-iron fried bacon, its savoury perfume mingling with the tantalizing scent of freshly steeped tea that wafted through the air. The aroma of flapjacks, golden and perfectly griddled, hung thick, inviting all who caught wind of it to indulge in a culinary celebration of the morning.

A bounty of farm-fresh eggs scrambled to perfection, adorned the table alongside a bowl of vibrant, sun-ripened tomatoes and sliced avocados, their colours mirroring the vivid hues of the sunrise. A basket brimming with flaky biscuits, warm and buttery, beckoned with promises of melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

In the center of it all, a heaping pile of wild berries and succulent peaches offered a burst of sweetness, a reminder of nature's abundance even in the rugged expanse of the frontier. A jar of homemade preserves, bursting with the flavours of sun-ripened fruits, awaited its turn to grace the breakfast spread. All of it meticulously placed on the breakfast tray beside her.

She had never been blessed enough to get such a thoughtful breakfast, or meal, or anything for that matter. Ellie had grown up around ruffians who showed love through gunpowder and chewing tobacco.

Every bite tasted just as good as she had anticipated, most people wouldn't have thought it smart to eat a meal in a stranger's home that magically appeared to wake her up and maybe Ellie wasn't smart but she sure was hungry.

In the corridors, you hummed along to a song you used to sing on the piano when you were a girl while you rearranged and tidied bits and pieces of your shared home so everything was in its place. Your ears pricked up at the sound of rustling, it could have only been one thing. You knocked on the door of one of your guest rooms.

"Yeah?" She said through a mouthful of food.

You pushed the spruce door open, closing it behind you "Good mornin'," You smiled "Or afternoon, I suppose. Feelin' any better?"

She felt embarrassment well up in her throat, there you were looking so effortlessly stunning and she was a half-baked mess laying in one of your beds, swallowing back the food you slaved away to prepare. "Ma'am, I am so very sorry for imposin' on ya' last night, I will be out of your hair in no time."

"Stay as long as ya' need," You dismissed her "Truth be told, it gets a little lonely in this house, Sawyer goes away all day and when he's home he's too tired to speak, so it's just me."

She furrowed her eyebrows "You own a house this big and you haven't got a maid or servant or something?"

You shook your head "We used to have one but Sawyer fired her, said I needed some chores to keep me busy. We do have a stable boy, name's Jerry, nice kid just can't speak English all that well. He comes by a couple of days a week and has tea with me during his breaks. I won't keep ya' here if you don't want to though."

"I'd just feel too guilty eatin' your food and givin' you nothing," Didn’t seem guilty one minute ago. She moved the tray of food from its spot on her lap to the empty bedside table. She began to push the covers off of her, trying her best to ignore the ache in her bones. When her feet hit the ground she felt extreme agony course through her body like a million little knives swimming through her bloodstream. She crumbled over into herself on the ground.

You rushed over to help her back up "Easy," You say, your tone soft "You're hurt, remember?"

Ellie couldn't even stand on her own at that moment, her legs shook with each step she tried to take, you leading her gingerly. "Can't feel a thing," She lied through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure?"

"Nope, I need to sit back down," She said and you helped her to sit on the side of the cushioned bed. She couldn't remember feeling that weak for a very long time, not since she had been a child. Ellie almost wanted to laugh at how stupid she felt, needing you to help her take a few steps like she was elderly, instead, she looked up at you "How did I get so lucky as to have you take care of me?"

"Sometimes we just meet someone at the right time." You shrug. You were no longer able to bite back the question that had kept you up all night "If I may ask, what happened to you last night?"

She sighed, scootching herself back in the bed to get comfortable "I'm nothing more than a travelling merchant ya' see, last night while I was headed out of Palecliff, I was raided by a group of bandits, took my horse, my wagon, everything I've ever known gone in one night along with my dignity."

Your eyes went wide and you clasped a hand over your mouth "What did they look like?"

You had a million questions for her and you didn't waste time in showering her with them. It had been so long since you had someone to talk to, not your stoic husband, not a fourteen-year-old who didn't understand your language, but a woman your age who indulged your questions and laughed at your jokes, adding her witty remarks to them. When you married Sawyer it was like you were thrown into the life of someone you did not know, it went from sixteen-year-old you playing piano every night, serving food, chatting up locals to being isolated in a stark mansion on top of a hill, watching the ghost of what your life used to be from what felt like a cage. You were allowed to enter town once a month, beyond that you would sneak off to the creek and the far-off forest where there was no one to report to your husband, his father was the mayor so out of fear they would never keep their mouths shut.

It only made you ecstatic when Ellie had agreed to stay with the promise of doing house and stable work when she recovered to pay you back in whatever ways she could.

Mornings with Ellie began with the aroma of herbal tea and the comforting crackle of a wood-burning stove. You, now a dedicated caregiver, tended to the injured woman's wounds with gentle hands, your touch a balm for both body and soul.

Conversations flowed like the pages of a well-worn novel, each chapter revealing the layers of their respective histories. Shared laughter echoed through the homestead, a melody that resonated against the backdrop of the vast wild wind. In the quiet moments, as the injured woman gazed out of the window, she found peace in the sight of the rolling hills and endless skies.

Through the nuances of daily life—shared meals whispered confidences, and the unspoken understanding that transcended words—the two women became intertwined, bound to one another almost.

Sawyer wasn't fond of how his wife had come to spend her time. Something about the sound of her laughter echoing through the halls had angered him, knowing that he wasn't the one who made her laugh.

Sawyer, a figure of striking contradiction to his gentle and nurturing wife, cut a commanding presence beneath the harsh sunlight. His tousled locks, framed a face chiselled with the unforgiving lines of both nature and a life forged on the frontier. A mane of wheat-gold hair fell over piercing blue eyes, cold and calculating like the steel of a Colt revolver. His tall, lean form moved with the languid grace of a predator, exuding an effortless confidence that bordered on arrogance. Dressed in the finest of suits, Sawyer's appearance belied an innate cruelty that simmered beneath the surface. A well-defined jawline, framed by the hint of stubble, spoke of a man who had faced the harsh realities of the untamed West, and yet, it was the glint in his eyes that hinted at the darkness that mirrored the vast, shadowed canyons of the frontier. In the presence of Sawyer, the air seemed to thicken with an unspoken tension, a reminder that you belonged to him and him alone.

When Ellie had healed enough to hobble around the house and assist you with chores as well as join you and Sawyer at the dinner table, he had made sure to be vocal. "Ellie, I think you could ease up on the help a little as much as we appreciate it," He said across a table of food you spent hours preparing "I don't want my wife to forget to be grateful for the life that's been handed to her if she relaxes too much she just slips away into some progressive madness."

You look towards him, a subtle rage simmering inside of you "Sawyer, I'm not being ungrateful, I'm just tired from-

He raised a hand to stop your talking "I don't think we want those womanly emotions to get in the way, do we?"

You pushed yourself away from the table, slamming your serviette down and storming out.

Sawyer only chuckles at this, turning to look at Ellie who had found herself constantly having to bite her tongue around him "Just wait until she has children, she'll cry every day and make up even more things to complain about." Before Ellie, he had never felt such a sense of possession over you, typically he just treated you like an ornament.

All good things must come to an end and so they did; Ellie had healed almost completely after two months, the Southern winter had passed and spring was arriving. You both lied to yourself, pretending that it was still sensible for Ellie to be living in your house. You convinced her to let you take her to your favourite spot.

In the early embrace of spring, a hidden gem sat in the heart of nature—a beautiful creek that meandered through the landscape like a serpentine ribbon of liquid silver. The air, still sharp with the vestiges of winter, carried the invigorating scent of damp earth and awakening foliage. Along the banks, delicate shoots of vibrant green grass peeked through the remnants of melting snow, heralding the arrival of a season draped in renewal.

The creek itself murmured a gentle melody, a harmonious symphony composed by the bubbling riffles and the soft percussion of water cascading over smooth stones. The water, crystal clear and pure, reflected the azure canvas of the early spring sky, creating a mirror that captured the fleeting beauty of budding trees and the emerging wildflowers that lined the water's edge.

Beneath the surface, the creek harboured secrets—shimmering pebbles, polished by the tender caress of the water's passage, and tiny aquatic organisms that stirred with the promise of life. The sunlight filtered through the burgeoning leaves above, casting dappled patterns on the creek's surface like nature's stained glass adorning a cathedral of serenity.

On the banks, clusters of delicate wildflowers began to unfurl their petals, their hues ranging from the soft pastels of violets and blues to vivid bursts of yellow and pink, something you didn’t see much in the South. The air resonated with the hum of awakening insects, drawn by the allure of this watercourse oasis. Overhead, the first tentative flights of butterflies painted the air with ephemeral strokes of colour.

As the creek wound its way through the landscape, it carved miniature canyons and pools, inviting creatures to quench their thirst and revel in the burgeoning abundance of the season. The stones lining the creek bed, smoothed by centuries of flowing water, became stepping stones for adventurous critters and skipping stones for the whimsical heart.

The beauty of the early spring creek lay not just in its visual splendour, the soothing melody of flowing water, the caress of a gentle breeze, the fragrance of blossoming life, and the dance of sunlight playing upon its liquid surface. This pristine sanctuary embodied the very essence of renewal, inviting all who encountered it to immerse themselves in the sublime poetry of the changing seasons.

The pair of you just sat in silence, neither wanted to say what had to be said so you decided to drown beneath the weight of the words that went unsaid.

"I can't stay here anymore," Ellie said, her voice hardly above a whisper. She sat on the lush grass with her knees pulled into her chest. Her chestnut hair, the colour of fresh earth, cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, occasionally stirred by the whispering winds that danced across the plains. Almond-shaped hazel eyes, reminiscent of the vast prairie skies, held a depth that spoke of an untamed spirit. Ellie's sun-kissed complexion bore the subtle traces of a life lived under the relentless Western sun, and a scattering of freckles across her cheeks hinted at days spent amidst the open range. Clad in practical yet well-worn attire she had borrowed from you, her hands, calloused from the rigours of the mysterious life she lived before meeting you, spoke of a resilience that mirrored the vast landscapes she navigated. In the unforgiving wilderness, where strength and grace were as vital as the air one breathed.

"I know," You said back just as quietly, you both looked at the creek ahead of you, not able to meet each other's eyes.

"I don't want to leave you."

"I can't leave." You said, a newfound sense of sadness washing over you. It had just hit that you would return to the dull life you lived before her, days filled with nothing more than silence, loneliness, and regret.

"I wish you could," She picked at the grass, unsure of what to do with her hands.

Silence stretched between you like birds on a wire "Just stay, one more night and then I'll let you go for good, I won't pester you anymore."

She smiled softly "Sure, I'll stay another night."

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

You had left town at the crack of dawn that morning to gather supplies for Ellie before she left, and the night before you had babbled on and on to Sawyer about how excited you were for your plans before you turned in for the night. You had used the only day that month that you were permitted to leave to do something special for Ellie. After paying a brief visit to your father and sister you began the trek back up.

After you returned home from the short trip you had intended to go into the house and bundle up your goodies for Ellie but you had been detoured by a sound from the stable. You hadn't expected Jerry to be there, it was one of your days to man the stables, not his. Despite the confusion, you followed the crashes and bangs from the stables.

As you approached the stables, the familiar sounds of horses' hooves and distant howls of coyotes were overshadowed by an unfamiliar murmur and groan. A knot tightened in your stomach, foreboding lingering in the air like an impending storm. Pushing open the creaking door, your gaze fell upon a sight that froze her to the core.

In the muted light of the stable lanterns, you saw your husband, a man you slept beside every. night, entwined with another woman. The hay-strewn floor became an unwitting witness to the betrayal unfolding before your disbelieving eyes. The flickering lantern light cast shadows on their entangled forms, revealing a scene that would forever alter the course of your existence.

The air hung heavy with tension, the silence punctuated only by the stifled gasp that escaped your lips. The two figures, caught in an embrace that spoke of deceit, turned to face her with eyes filled with shock. The other woman, a fleeting presence in your life until this moment, bore the weight of her transgressions. Horror pushed tears from your eyes "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" You screamed, watching as the two shamefully and frantically dressed themselves.

"Can you blame me?" Sawyer buttoned up his trousers "You're always sad or angry around me, I love you, I just need a break sometimes-

"You make me feel that way!" You felt sick to your stomach like you were going to vomit "I have turned myself inside out trying to love you but I don't even like you!"

You could see your words hit him when his jaw began to tense up, the familiar tell that he would be raging soon "I don't even think you like me!"

"I don't!" You shout "I hate you I wake up every morning and I feel so empty when I have to look into those dull eyes of yours!"

"You won't even touch me."

"You only show me a sliver of kindness when you want your dick taken care of." You spat, the look of complete rage on his face made you smile; that was when he struck you. His backhand landed firmly on the side of your face, forcing you to stumble back, shuddering at the stinging sensation.

He put his hands up, trying to show you that he wouldn't hit you again "I'm sorry-

Before you could finish your sentence you were screaming, grabbing the shovel from its resting place on the stable wall and slamming it across his head. Sawyer didn't even stand for a moment, the second the shovel made contact with his head, he flopped to the ground. You audibly squeaked, watching blood ooze from the newly formed gash in his head.

"Sawyer?" You crouched down, poking at his limp body with the shovel to see if he would shift. Nothing. His eyes fell lifeless along with the rest of him. The shovel clattered to the ground as you brought both hands to cover your mouth.

You stood over his body, your actions registering in your head, you had killed him. You had taken the life of someone.

You were only snapped away from your thoughts when you heard a thud. Your head snapped to where the sound had come from, only to find the black-haired woman he was cheating on you with stumbling back up from her fall, she cast a look back at you, terror written across her pale face.

Feet moving faster than your mind, you ran after her, she had already got a good headstart on you. She was beginning to rush towards one of the steeper sides of the hill, you knew you wouldn't catch her in time; so instead of pursuing her, you grabbed the gun off the front porch and aimed it at the woman.

The metallic tang of gun oil hung in the air as you cradled the shotgun, the weight unfamiliar in your hands, you were only going off of what your father had shown you all those years ago. The overwhelming sun cast long shadows across the open range, painting the world in hues of amber and gold. With trepidation etched on her face, you squared your shoulders and took a deep breath. The gun felt cool against your trembling fingertips as she aimed at a distant woman. The tension in the air was palpable as you squeezed the trigger, the gunshot echoing through the vast expanse. The recoil startled you, and a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty danced in your eyes. At that moment, as the echoes of the shot reverberated through the silence of the frontier, you felt a seismic shift watching the raven-haired woman fall, now rolling down the hill.

Still gripping the shotgun, you ran over to the spot where you had seen the woman collapse.

When you bore down the hill, her body was nowhere to be found.

Your head shot up to search the plains for her but you didn't see a sign of where she had gone, aside from the small pool of blood, seeping into dead grass where she had initially fallen.

"What's wrong?" Ellie shouted, running over to where you stood, frozen in fear for what lay ahead of you "I heard a gunshot."

"Ellie I-" You were stiff where you stood, grasping the shotgun so tight that your knuckles had turned white "Sawyer was cheating on me in the stables and I saw him and I was just so mad that I-I hit him with a shovel, I didn't think he would die, I just wanted him to be as afraid of me as I was of him. That woman he was with, she saw me kill him so I shot her but she got away and now I'm good as dead."

Ellie didn't seem as mortified as you thought she would be, she took the shotgun away from you, slinging an arm around your waist with her free hand and guiding you back to the house "It's okay, not as bad as it could be, you took care of me now it's my turn to take care of you."

"It's not okay, I'm gonna be strung up at the gallows in front of everyone, I killed the mayors son." A breath hitched in your throat "My dad's gonna watch me hang."

"Only if they catch us," Ellie said nonchalantly, steering you up the porch "Pack what you need, we'll be out of here in no time. It only feels fair to tell you now that I’m not actually a travelling merchant.”

#ellie williams #wild west #ellie williams x you #cowboy #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us #the last of us ellie #tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #cowboy! ellie #ellie williams au #ellie williams x reader fluff

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chvoswxtch · 2 years

Text

happy anniversary

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt shows up late for your anniversary dinner, so you decide to teach him a lesson in waiting.

warnings: cursing, drinking, lil angst, some fluff, explicit sexual content (minors dni), blasphemy (?), little bit of sub!matty

word count: 5.9k

a/n: once again, no one asked for this. I am just once again being a selfish slut for matthew murdock. also, i'm not catholic (nor do I know that much about catholicism) so if the religious things mentioned are totally wrong or offensive, I apologize. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

The candles I had lit several hours ago were now completely liquified pools of amber. I tapped my nail against the side of my fifth glass of wine as I watched the flames dance over the melted wax, their glow casting shadows on the one and a half empty bottles of onyx glass. I could hear the faint ticking of a clock as I brought another tart taste of sangiovese to my lips. The flavor profile was sweet in comparison to my own bitterness. I tapped the corner of my phone to illuminate the lockscreen. 10:57pm. No missed calls. No voicemails. No text messages.

The apartment was silent apart from the ticking of a clock, and the crackling of the wooden wick as it burned. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend there was a fireplace in front of me. I could no longer smell the warm clove spice and toasted cranberry of the candle I had been burning all evening, or the fresh aroma of the meal that was still neatly placed on the table. I couldn’t smell anything but the lack of his presence. I wasn’t turning in for the night until he came home. I didn’t care if I had to wait until sunrise. He may escape the dangers that were waiting for him around every dark alley, but he wasn’t escaping my wrath tonight.

I heard the drawn out sound of squeaking hinges as the door to the rooftop was pulled open before carefully latching back into place. Heavy boots thudded against worn wood as they descended the staircase down into the living room, stopping just shy of the final step. Tension hung thick in the air like an ominous fog, and I waited impatiently for whatever excuse was about to tumble from his lips.

“Sweetheart.”

“Matthew.”

Even with the cowl covering most of his features, and the light cloak of darkness, I could see him wince. He knew I only called him by his full name when I was upset with him. I watched his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed thickly, bringing his gloved hands up to remove the helmet as he cautiously took the last step down into the living room. Normally the sight of his messy brown hair sticking up in odd places made me giggle and wanna run my fingers through it, but right now I wasn’t in a loving mood. His eyes blankly darted around, his head tilting to the side slightly as he gauged the scents and sounds filling the space.

“It smells amazing in here. You..you smell incredible.”

“Do you know why that is, Matthew?”

“Honey-”

“Because I took my time in the shower today. I was nearly in there for an entire hour. I am shaved and waxed beyond your wildest dreams. I am completely lathered in that raspberry iris lotion that you love so much, that you said makes my skin feel like silk. And you don’t even wanna know how much I spent on the red lace that’s under this dress. Not to mention, I also spent hours making your favorite dish, and dessert I might add, because you promised me you would be home tonight. And why did you promise that?”

“Because it’s our anniversary.”

“So you did remember. You just chose to forget.”

“It was just supposed to be a quick sweep-”

“Nothing with you is ever quick, Murdock. You promised me. I asked for one night, Matthew. One. Night.”

“Listen, tomorrow night I’ll-”

“No. Tomorrow night isn’t our anniversary. Tonight is.”

Matthew Murdock was usually able to talk and charm his way through anything. I had to admit, there were a few times it had even worked on me in the past. But I was not falling for his shit tonight. I didn’t want excuses. I didn’t want empty promises. I wanted to teach him a lesson he would never forget.

“Please..let me make it up to you. There’s still time left of our anniversary, we can still have dinner and celebrate. Let me get changed, I’ll open a new bottle, and I’ll spend all night apologizing between your thighs.”

“Tempting. If you had been fifteen, or even thirty minutes late, but had called to let me know ahead of time you were going to be late, I might have taken you up on that offer. But right now, I don’t think you deserve my pussy, Murdock. I think..you deserve a little suffering.”

Matt’s jaw hardened at my words, and I could hear a quiet whine slip past his lips in the silence. He was usually the one in charge in our relationship, and normally I reveled in it. I loved nothing more than letting him take complete control, obeying his demands, feeling his large hands manhandle me into whatever positions he saw fit. I trusted him completely, and the reward was always overly generous. Matt was a very giving lover, so I let him take me however he wanted or needed knowing we would both reap the benefits of pleasure. But tonight, I would be the one doing the taking.

“Honey-”

“No.”

I downed the rest of my glass and set it down on the table, rising slowly from my seat and crossing the short distance to where Matt was standing. I turned to give him my back, gathering my hair and pulling it over my shoulder.

“Unzip me.”

Matt hsatily discarded his gloves, tossing them into the abyss of darkness haphazardly. He never touched me with his gloves on. He always said he liked to be able to feel me and never wanted anything in the way. His fingers quickly found the zipper of my dress and I felt his knuckles brush against my spine as he tugged the small piece of metal down the middle of my back. I could feel his warm breath against my shoulder, lips dangerously close to my neck.

“I didn’t say you could kiss me, Matthew. Help me out of this dress.”

I could hear the hum of disapproval that sounded in his throat. He gently grasped at the straps on my shoulders and pushed the satin fabric down over my hips until it pooled around my ankles on the floor. As I stepped out of it, I turned around to face him.

“Sit down, Matthew.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I said sit down, Matthew.”

I could see the struggle written clearly all over his face. He wasn’t used to this, taking orders. Hell, neither was I. But I was going to make the most of it. He walked backwards slowly until the back of his knees hit the chair behind him, lowering himself into a perched position on the edge of the seat. I giggled softly as I took a few steps to stand in front of him.

“Oh, get comfortable, Matthew. You’re gonna be sitting there for a while. Now, give me your hands.”

He didn’t hesitate to raise his hands up into the direction of my voice. I gently wrapped my hands around his wrists and guided his palms to lay flat against the crimson lace teddy that covered my body. A soft sigh came from his parted lips as he began to move his hands slowly over the fabric, fingers gliding over every inch.

“No squeezing. No exploring. No lingering. I don’t want you to touch me. I just want you to feel what you’re missing. What’s been waiting on you for the past four hours. It’s your favorite shade of red, by the way.”

The whine that emitted from his lips went straight to my core. I finally understood what he meant when he would tell me how much he loved the noises I made, and how much of an effect they had on him. It made me feel incredibly powerful to hear him being needy.

“Angel..please. Let me-”

“No, Matthew.”

I pried his wanting hands from my body and let them fall onto his lap. Taking a few steps backwards, I sat down on the chair directly in front of him and sighed.

“You know, it’s really a shame. I was so excited for tonight. God, I was going to worship every inch of you. I was going to let you have me as many times as you wanted. Even when my body was begging for a break, I was going to beg you to keep going. I wanted to spend the entire weekend with you buried deep within me. But, I guess tonight didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me, so I’ll just have to take care of myself.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, Matthew. It isn’t. It’s not fair that I’m going to have to get myself off when you and I know my fingers don’t feel as good as yours. When we both know they don’t reach as deep. But, you’ve left me no choice. You’re going to sit there, and you’re going to be quiet and listen. You will not touch yourself. I don’t want to hear any begging or any complaining. If you speak without permission, or move your hands an inch, I will leave you out here alone. I will lock myself in the bedroom, and you will have no choice but to listen, knowing you don’t get to touch me. If you’re a good boy, I might just have mercy on you. Understood?”

Matt’s cheeks and the tips of his ears had blushed a deep shade of rose. His mouth hung open slightly as he held onto every word. There was a quiet whimper that escaped when I called him a good boy, but I heard it, and it sent a fresh wave of arousal through me. Oh, so he has a praise kink too.

“I-I understand.”

“Good boy.”

I grinned as his thighs tensed. I could already see a growing bulge straining against his suit pants. I moved my body towards the edge of the seat and pulled the fabric covering me to the side, completely exposing myself to him. I ran my middle finger up and down my slit slowly, collecting some of the wetness that had formed before bringing my middle and index finger up to rub languid circles around my clit. I sighed softly at the contact that I had been craving for hours. Matt groaned loudly as he listened to my movements. He told me once he always knew when I was turned on, that he could smell the arousal that soaked my panties and it drove him crazy.

I flattened my palm against myself, slipping my middle finger just slightly inside my entrance as the pad of my index finger brushed against my sensitive nub. I whined softly, beginning to move my hips against my own hand as I felt myself grow wetter. Ever since Matt and I had gotten together, I hadn’t touched myself like this. I didn’t bother. Nothing felt as good as he did. He had memorized my body completely. He knew all of my sensitive spots, where to touch, where to tease, what I liked and what drove me crazy.

“Can you smell how wet I am, Matthew?”

Matt’s hands balled into tight fists on top of his thighs. He was squeezing them so tightly, they were shaking slightly and his knuckles had turned stark white. His jaw was set in a hard line as he leaned his tense body forward slightly.

“Yes.”

“Can you hear it?”

“I can practically fucking taste it.”

I couldn’t help but grin at the growl that ripped from his chest at his response. Don’t get me wrong, I loved a sweet and romantic Matt. I adored when he took his time, held me close and whispered sweet things into my ear as he made love to me slowly while holding my hand. I loved feeling connected to him that way. I could feel how much he loved me and it made my heart swell. But God did I love a pissed off Matt.

He was always calm and collected around everyone. He tried really hard not to let his irritations and temper show. But at night when he put on the suit, he got to let the devil out. All that pent up rage and frustration got taken out on the unlucky criminals of Hell’s Kitchen. But I was even luckier when he came home and still had some left to take out on me. I loved when he snapped and lost control. I knew how much he needed that release, but he didn’t understand how much I needed it too. I’ll never forget the night I was finally able to convince him to take it further.

“I trust you, Matt. I know you need this, and I want it. I’m not made of glass, Matty. You’re not gonna break me. Please..use me.”

That was all it took. Of course that didn’t stop him from apologizing afterwards no matter how much I told him he didn’t have to. Now, it was an unspoken thing between us. He didn’t even have to say it, or ask. I could tell as soon as he walked through that door after particularly rough nights what he needed, and it always sent a rush through me that what he needed was me. I was always ready for him, and he knew it.

“Wouldn’t you like to taste, Matthew?”

Matt closed his eyes tightly at my words. His chest had begun to rise and fall a little quicker now that his breathing had become erratic. If it weren’t for the tightness of his suit, I’d be able to see the perfect outline of his cock. I could tell just by the look on his face that he was painfully hard.

“I asked you a question, Matthew. Open your eyes and answer me.”

I didn’t recognize the demanding tone of my own voice. In my head, I was drawing from my own experiences with Matt from when he had been in more dominant moods. He opened his eyes slowly and let a deep breath out through his nose, spitting out his response through gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes I..I wanna taste.”

“Mm, that’s too bad. I would’ve let you have your fill all night, Matthew.”

I began to quicken my pace, now fully slipping my finger inside my entrance. I let out a slow whine, but more due to frustration than pleasure. My fingers weren’t as long as Matt’s, and they didn’t reach as deep. I started to focus on swirling my index finger around my clit, applying pressure ever so often.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Matt’s hands fly up to grab at the collar of his suit, tugging at it softly with a grimace. I halted my actions as I narrowed my eyes over at him.

“Matthew.”

“Please..can I just take this off? I..it’s too hot. It’s making it hard to breathe.”

“Fine. Take it off.”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice, and I was frankly impressed at just how quickly the suit had been discarded. He let out a sigh of relief as he sat back in the chair, clad in only a pair of black boxer briefs that clung to his muscular thighs. I captured my bottom lip between my teeth as I took in the sight of his half naked form.

“You can’t come like that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sweetheart..I know you can’t make yourself come like that. Please, let me help. If you wanna tortue me, fine, but don’t make yourself suffer. Please..let me help.”

“I don’t need your help, Matthew. While I admit, I do come harder and easier with you, I did take care of myself before you came along. It just takes me longer. So, I suggest you be quiet..and patient.”

I began to move my fingers again, focusing the pads of my index and middle fingers on my aching clit. Part of me wanted desperately to give up and just let Matt take over, make him prove all night how sorry he was. But I was stubborn and hellbent on proving him wrong.

“Baby..please. I-I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again, okay? I swear. Just please..please let me touch you. I need to touch you, sweetheart. I need to taste you. Please.”

“Matthew, this is your final warning to shut the fuck up.”

A strangled groan escaped Matt’s throat and filled the apartment as he threw his head back against the couch in frustration. He braced his hands on the armrests of the chair and gripped onto them so tightly I was certain they would snap. His entire body was rigid with pent up tension and I watched in awe when he started to slowly thrust his hips upwards into nothing. That sight had to be the hottest thing I had ever seen.

“You could come like this, couldn’t you? Just listening to me fuck myself on my fingers?”

Matt whined loudly as he turned his head in my direction. A sheen of sweat had already formed on his forehead and at the top of his chest. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he sighed defeatedly.

“Yes.”

“Too bad.”

Matt’s eyes widened at my callousness, his lips parting in surprise.

“Sweetheart, I can’t-”

“Now Matthew, we’re playing by your rules, aren’t we? What do you tell me when I’ve been a bad girl and want to come?”

Matt collapsed against the chair and groaned, digging his fingertips into the fabric of the armrests. It wasn’t hard to see how much he detested the taste of his own medicine. I wondered for a moment how long he would actually last through the teasing. I thought about how much longer it would be before every ounce of self control Matt had was completely eroded, and he snapped and took control. At that moment I decided I really wouldn’t mind. I think we both knew when it came down to it, he was a lot stronger than me, and definitely faster. I wouldn’t even make it past the couch before he had his hands on me.

“Only good girls get to come.”

“Same rules apply. Only good boys get to come. And you haven’t been very good to me tonight, Matthew.”

“Angel please..I don’t know if I can hold it.”

“You’re a strong boy, Matthew. You’ll find a way.”

The internal conflict I felt only raged in intensity the longer I watched him. I hated seeing Matt in pain, or upset. I always wanted to comfort him and make him feel better. The world hadn’t always been kind to him, and I always felt like I needed to make up for that. Matt for a moment looked like he might cry, and I instantly worried that I had taken it too far.

“Matty?”

Matt’s head perked up at the change in my tone and the use of my usual calling for him. His head tilted to the side slightly as his eyes blankly stared over in my direction, brows slightly furrowed.

“Yes?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

I waited with bated breath for his response. I knew he was sorry. I could see how bad he felt about tonight. If he wanted me to stop, I would. I’d happily give in and let him take over.

“No.”

I was slightly taken back by the conviction in his voice. I stared over at him silently for a moment, suddenly feeling nervous as I nibbled at my bottom lip.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I can hold it. Go ahead, sweetheart.”

All my anger from earlier had completely flown out the window. All I wanted at that moment was him. I took a deep breath and got back to work with my fingers. I wanted to come as quickly as possible so that I could finally have him. I scrunched my brows as I began to rub furiously over my clit, whining as I applied more pressure. I could feel that familiar bubble building inside me, but it felt so far away. I dipped my fingers into my entrance to collect more of my wetness and pressed my fingers a little harder against my clit as I rubbed and moved my hips in time with my hand. Finally, it hit me. I moaned softly at the explosion of bliss and fell back against the chair. My orgasm was weak, but I didn’t care. I could finally have him.

I looked over to see him waiting as patiently as he could, panting softly and features contorted in need. I sat up slowly and licked my lips, letting my eyes wander shamelessly over his body.

“Come here, Matty.”

Matt let out the deepest sigh of relief and jumped to his feet, crossing the short distance between us and kneeling down in front of me. His hands grabbed onto the arm rests as he waited for my next instruction.

“Open your mouth.”

His lips instantly parted, and I slipped two of my fingers that were coated in my release into his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned as his tongue swirled around my fingers, collecting every drop from them. I whined as I watched him, feeling a fresh wave of need flood between my thighs. I giggled softly when he bit down gently on my index finger, a cheeky grin covering his mouth as he kissed the tips of both fingers.

“Mm, do you think you deserve to be forgiven?”

“No.”

I couldn’t help but laugh loudly at his instant reply, shaking my head as I brought my hand up to thread my fingers through his messy hair.

“Should’ve known better than to ask a Catholic that question.”

The grin on his lips stretched even further into that megawatt smile complete with dimples that made me weak in the knees. His hands hovered over the tops of my thighs, as if asking for silent permission. I gently grabbed onto his wrists and pushed them downwards, sighing at the feeling of finally having his hands on me.

“I think I need to pray for forgiveness.”

I arched one of my brows and smiled softly, tilting my head to the side curiously.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

I knew religion was important to Matt, but I didn’t think a confession was needed right at this very moment.

“Okay. I..suppose you better find an altar then.”

“I already have.”

Matt gently squeezed my thighs before slipping his hand in between them to part them slowly. My eyes widened in shock and I let out a gasp of surprise once his words finally clicked in my head. He shuffled closer on his knees, wetting his lips with his tongue once again before whispering huskily.

“May I?”

“Yes.”

As soon as the word left my mouth, my legs were thrown over his shoulders and Matt’s head was buried deeply between my thighs. I grabbed a small fistfull of his hair and cried out in astonishment when I felt his plump lips wrap around my clit and began to suck with fervor. His fingertips dug into the soft flesh of my thighs and I felt vibrations sent throughout my entire body every time he grunted against my pussy. Matt pushed me deeper into the chair as he tried to get as close as possible, nearly suffocating himself between my thighs. I was an absolute mess above him, moaning his name over and over like it was the only word I knew. I nearly lost it when I felt his tongue thrust inside of me and began to explore.

“Fuck..Matty..right there..please!”

Matt shook his head violently and I screamed as his nose bumped against my clit repeatedly as he ate my pussy like it was his last fucking meal. In a matter of minutes I was coming apart on his tongue, white flashing behind my eyelids as Matt continued to devour me through my release. I clamped my legs around his head and grabbed onto the back of his neck, rolling my hips up against his face as I rode out the high he had brought me to. This orgasm hit me ten times harder than the measly one I had conjured, and I found myself struggling to keep up.

I whined when it all became too much and attempted to push at Matt’s shoulders as I unwrapped my legs from around his head, but he wasn’t having it. He only gripped tighter onto my thighs and continued his assault on my overly sensitive clit. I whimpered softly as I tugged at his hair roughly to get him to move.

“Jesus Matty, please. It’s too much.”

Matt chuckled as he pulled back slowly, licking every bit of my release off his lips. He rubbed soothing circles on my inner thighs as he sat up on his knees with a wicked grin.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I got carried away.”

“Carried away? Fuck, I can’t even see straight right now.”

“Well in that case, I suppose you can forgive me now.”

I slowly sat up and reached my hand out to push Matt’s sweaty hair away that was stuck to his forehead. I frowned slightly as my thumb brushed lightly over a faint bruise that was forming on his left cheekbone. He turned his head slightly to nuzzle his face into my palm, pressing a soft kiss to my wrist.

“I’m okay.”

“I know. I just..hate seeing you hurt.”

Matt gently grasped my wrist and brought my hand up to his mouth, pressing a featherlight kiss to each of my knuckles before he held my palm against his chest over his heart. I could feel it pounding against my palm as he held it there. Matt’s face contorted into an apologetic expression, a deep sigh sounding from his chest as he leaned in closer.

“I really am sorry about tonight, sweetheart. I promise, it’ll never happen again. I don’t ever want to hurt your feelings like that. I just..wanna keep you safe.”

“And I just want you, Matty. I just wanted one, normal night with you. You..you mean everything to me and I had this whole night planned out and then-”

“I ruined it. And I’m not done making up for it.”

“Well..good. Cause that was only like..one Hail Mary, and I’m pretty sure the standard is like..three. I think.”

“It’s five, actually. And that first one you did absolutely did not count.”

I felt my heart begin to thump against my ribcage in excitement. My cheeks immediately flamed with heat at the thought of what was still to come. Glancing down between us, I could see that Matt’s neglected cock was still straining against the confines of his tight briefs. I slipped my hand down his chest and lightly grasped at his cock through the fabric, causing Matt to hiss through gritted teeth.

“Honey, what about dinner? And dessert? You spent so much time on it, I don’t want it to go to waste. Besides, I have a gift for you.”

“The only gift I want right now Matty is the one I’m holding. Everything else can wait.”

I grabbed onto the back of his neck and pulled him in close as I crashed our lips together in a needy kiss. I greedily accepted Matt’s tongue in my mouth and moaned at the taste of myself on it. I dragged my nails against his lower stomach, causing his abs to contract as I dipped my hand into the waistband of his briefs once again to wrap my hand around his cock. He moaned into my mouth and it sent my mind into a frenzy.

He felt heavy in the palm of my hand, and warm. Everything about Matt was always so warm. I stroked my thumb along the underside of him, feeling the velvety smooth skin against my palm as I stroked him slowly. Matt hastily pushed his briefs down his thighs, sighing in relief to finally be freed from the confinements.

“I wanna taste you.”

“Not now, sweetheart.”

“Matty, please.”

“You know how much I love having those pretty lips wrapped around me, but I’m not gonna last angel. Not after that little show you put on. I need to be inside you, right now.”

Matt wrapped his arm around my lower back and hooked his other underneath my knees, easily lifting me into the air as he stood and carried us over towards the kitchen. I felt goosebumps erupt over my skin as the cold of the cabinets hit my exposed back. I braced my palms against Matt’s chest to halt his movements quickly.

“Matty, please don’t rip this. It was really expensive.”

A devilish grin formed onto his plump lips as his hands slowly snaked up my thighs. He moved in closer until he was flush between my thighs, brushing his nose along my jaw as he nipped softly at my neck. I wrapped my legs around his waist and moaned quietly at the feeling of his lips at the base of my neck. It was one of my sweet spots, and he knew it. I shivered when I felt his hot breath fanning over the shell of my ear.

“Oh angel, you think I wanna rip this off when you look so beautiful in it? It’s staying on.”

Matt quickly shoved the fabric aside before pushing the blunt head of his cock through my folds. I let my head knock back against the cabinet as he pushed himself into me painfully slowly, inch by delicious inch. The sound of our moans mixed together once he had completely bottomed out.

“Fuck honey, no matter how many times I ruin you, you’re always so fucking tight for me.”

“Just for you, Matty.”

Matt wrapped his arm around my lower back and pulled me closer towards the edge of the counter until our chests were flush together. He didn’t waste any time as he started to thrust his hips at a vigorous pace, his hand slipping between our bodies to press his thumb against my clit roughly. I whined loudly at the pressure and dug my fingernails deeply into his shoulder blades, no doubt leaving crescent shaped indentations.

“God..you always take my cock so well, don’t you sweetheart? This needy little cunt just grips me so fucking well.”

I couldn’t hardly speak. All I could do was hang on. The collision of Matt’s hips into mine and the feeling of his thumb working over my already sensitive nub was very quickly pushing me towards the edge, and I was ready to fall.

“This pussy was fucking made for me. You were made for me.”

“Made for you, Matty.”

I had no idea if I was making sense. I wasn’t even sure if I was speaking English. I tried so hard to stay grounded. I wanted to remember every single second of this, but Matt was brushing that spongy spot inside of me with precise accuracy with every powerful thrust of his hips and it only sent me higher and higher into another realm.

“Fuck sweetheart..not gonna..last much longer. I’ll make up for it later..I-fuck, I swear. I’ll take my time later, angel. Right now I need you to come with me. Can you do that for me, sweet girl?”

I wrapped my arms around Matt’s neck, bringing one hand up to cup his face as I pressed our foreheads together. I leaned in to press my lips to his in a passionate kiss, gently nipping at his bottom lip. I whined in pleasure when I felt his pace quicken at an inhuman speed, his thumb moving so fast over my clit it was practically vibrating.

“I..I love you, Matty.”

“I love you, my sweet girl. Come for me, baby. Let me feel you let go with me.”

My throat burned as I screamed loudly when euphoria finally hit, wracking thunderously throughout my body and drenching me in complete elation like a hurricane. I held onto Matt as tightly as I could, savoring the sound of his honey coated moans of my name that echoed in my ears as I felt him paint the inside of me with his sweet release. His hips stuttered as he spilled his seed over the garden within me, fingers no doubt leaving violet marks on my skin as he thrusted through the aftershocks of gratification.

I hid my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling a deep breath of his scent as I placed a gentle kiss to the spot right below his ear. I felt his strong arms wrap tightly around my waist, caging me against his chest. For a moment, we just held each other as our jagged breaths attempted to return to normal. I nuzzled my cheek against his, welcoming the slight burn of his scruff rubbing against my skin.

“Happy anniversary, Matty.”

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

My heart expanded in my chest so wide at his words I thought it would bust through my rib cage. I pulled back slightly with a satisfied smile, brushing my thumb along the top of his strong cheekbone as I kept him close.

“Hungry?”

“I’m fucking starving.”

I giggled softly as I smoothed his messy brown hair back into place, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Fighting bad guys works up an appetite, huh?”

“Well that, and pleasuring you.”

I blushed profusely at his cheeky words, lightly smacking his chest as a deep laugh rumbled from within his chest. Matt’s large hand came up to gently cup my cheek, his thumb lightly tracing my bottom lip.

“But no, actually I could smell your cooking from several blocks away. It made my stomach growl, and then I realized how much time had passed since I had left, and how much trouble I was probably in.”

“You know, for a lawyer, you cause an awful lot of trouble.”

Matt’s dazzling grin stretched across his beautiful lips, those charming dimples ever-present as he laughed and nodded his head.

“True, but I try to make up for it. Speaking of, what do you say I heat up dinner and open a new bottle, we’ll have dessert, I can give you your gift, and then we can resume my apology tour?”

“Hmm, I don’t know if you’ve learned your lesson yet, Murdock. But it’ll give you time to sit and think about what you’ve done.”

“Oh trust me, I’ll never make you wait again.”

“Don’t like the tables being turned, huh?”

Matt smirked and dipped his head, leaving a burning trail of kisses along my jawline and down my neck until he reached my sweet spot. His teeth gingerly grazed my skin as he sucked softly at my flesh.

“Oh angel, I don’t mind you taking control. That was actually really fucking hot. I just really hated not being able to touch you like I wanted.”

“You stand me up again, I won’t let you touch me for a month.”

“Never again, sweetheart.”

“Good boy.”

I grinned at the growl that ripped through Matt’s chest, giggling softly as I lightly pushed at his shoulders.

“Alright, you have a deal. But I have a gift for you too.”

“You are my gift.”

“Matty.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Alright, dinner, dessert, gifts, then more apologies.”

“Fine. Enjoy your break, Murdock. That was only two Hail Marys.”

“Three more to go.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fic #daredevil #daredevil smut #daredevil fic

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acapelladitty · 9 months

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Whole Day Off: The Continuation (Part 10)

Summary: Having agreed to return to the basement, you find that Crane has prepared a wicked medical examination which pushes both your limits and also the delicate line which seperates reward and punishment.

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader (6.7k words)

Full series also available on AO3

Pulling into your preferred parking space outside of the warehouse, your fingers are quick to turn the dial down on the music which is blaring across your ears. The level of noise, delicately chosen to cover the slight rattling of something metallic within the bonnet of the car, wouldn’t be appreciated by anyone in the nearby vicinity but it would hide the worst of it until you could get the bastard booked in with a mechanic.

A simple shift dress covers most of your skin, the opaque, dark material hiding the cute black lace underwear set which lay below. It was a small indulgence, the underwear coming in at a little more expensive than you would typically enjoy but the way the thin fabric hugged and held your skin in all the right places made the price tag that bit easier to swallow.

Instinctively, you reach to the seat on the passenger side to pick up your black bag, its contents crammed full of the various toys and tools which you typically found yourself subject to during a session, but your fingers stuttered in place as you recall that Crane already had the bag, having taken it with him as he left your apartment.

The air is as cold as ever and you grit your teeth against the chill as you walk on steady legs towards the metal door of the warehouse. Slipping within, your feet tread a familiar path to the second doorway which acts as the final barrier between you and common sense. Hesitating at the door, you pause to take a deep breath. Nerves tingle across your frame as your fingers dance along the handle but you steel your spine and continue. Pushing the door open with your shoulder, you descend the stairs as the metal creaks shut behind you.

Your eyes seek him out immediately, his back still turned to you as he finishes writing something on a thin notepad at his workstation. However, his attention is quick to shift as he stands to his full height and turns his face in your direction just as your feet hit the final step of the stairs.

“Hey.” You smile brightly to cover the anxiety which is tugging at your chest.

“Good evening.” There is a hint of unfamiliar giddiness to his deep tone. “I’m,” his pause is tactful and you can see him choose the words carefully, “glad you made it.”

“I did agree to come back and I’m a woman of my word.” Pushing through the hesitation, you slip slightly closer to him. “Besides, you have my bag and how’s a girl supposed to get anything done when all her favourite toys are missing.”

His brow quirks at your brazenness as a smirk settles across his thin lips. His hands delve into the pockets of the off-white lab coat which hangs over his thin frame.

“Bold as brass tonight, witty girl. Very interesting. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

And, just like that, the nerves were back but now they were wrapped in a seedy arousal which dried your mouth out in an instant.

“Follow me.” Crane demands, thin hands wrapping around your elbow to guide you forwards. “I have something to show you.”

Doing as commanded, you follow him around the corner to a familiar area; one which you had previously spent a good amount of time within as you stood with your arms restrained overhead, the rope tying your wrists connecting to a thick hook in the supporting beam above. However, as you approach, a very clear difference quickly makes itself known.

A thick cuboid of wood hangs from the familiar hook in the ceiling and your eyes follow the small length of rope which attaches to the top to see something resembling a pulley system. However, your gaze is quick to snap back to the wood and, more specifically, the four sets of thick padded cuffs which dangle freely from it, each one connected by a thick length of chain which is embedded solidly in the main frame.

If restrained by it, you would be held off the ground and completely at his mercy as both your wrists and ankles would be supporting the rest of your hanging frame. Leaving you unable to do much more than wriggle your head and claw your digits against the padded cuffs.

Crane turns the handle, newly crafted and embedded on the nearby wall, and the restraints slowly lowered a few inches down towards the floor.

“A piece commissioned by a friend.” Crane explains, his piercing gaze following your features like a hawk. “He constructed the main pulley system and established a solid capability to restrain a subject via their wrists or ankles for however long would prove necessary. I, obviously, added in the more personal touches such as the softer cuffs. I’m not foolish enough to believe that you possess the physicality to endure this type of restraint without some creature comforts.”

“A friend made this? Like, this whole thing?” Impressed and a little amused at the thought of him having to explain such a thing to another living soul, you run your fingers along the cuffs.

“I’m sure he naturally believed that its use was intended for more nefarious purposes. No doubt some cruel experimentation and prolonged torture of those who are unfortunate enough to find themselves trapped down here.”

“Is that not what we’re doing?” You ask, unable to help yourself as the cheeky question rolls from your tongue.

“If you would rather,” Crane offered in a dry tone, “I can have the padded cuffs removed and replaced with the steel handcuffs which were attached originally. Fully restrained, I imagine the bleeding and nerve damages will be very impressive by the time I am finished.”

“The padded cuffs are fine.”

Crane simply huffed his acknowledgement as he comes to move behind you, his presence enveloping you like a shadow as you shudder in place.

“Do you agree to it? You suggested a thorough examination, and this seemed like the perfect solution to allow me to accomplish such a feat.”

The echoes of your previous offer, so easily given as he was making your head spin atop your bed, whispered through your mind.

Maybe such a test should be scheduled for my next visit to the basement? I would hate for my wicked doctor to feel that he was neglecting his patient.

“Yeah.” You say, the words breathy as heat pools in your stomach. “I agree.”

“Excellent.” His hands are delicate as they ghost along the fabric of your shift dress and he takes a step away from your back, one hand spinning you in place to face him fully. “Now, strip.”

Flushing at the command, your hands scrunch up the hem of your dress as you pull it overhead in one swift movement. Already you can feel the growing arousal within your groin, excitement and mild anxiety battling it out to control your racing heartbeat.

A short noise of appreciation from Crane as he observes your underwear set, the black lace panties so thin that they hid nothing while the bra made a fantastic time of pushing your tits together in a very inviting manner.

“I like this.” Crane mutters, his thumb reaching out to brush down the thin strap on your right shoulder. “I thought the red was impressive but this-” He pauses, allowing the comment to fizzle out before running a hand through his russet hair and fixing his glasses.

“Regardless, before our examination begins, I have a simple task for you.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to take my belt off and hand it to me.” He explains with a hardened expression, the words brokering no argument. “I warned you before that the Scarecrow does not take kindly to being neglected and that I would warm that lovely skin for it. So, before we start you will take my belt and hand it me, knowing what I’ll be using it for.”

Dropping gently to your knees for a little bit of added drama, your mouth is wickedly dry at the surprisingly erotic act. It felt submissive in a different way, making you an active and willing party in your own ruin as your trembling fingers deftly unlatch his belt. You are in the perfect position to see the straining bulge of his groin, his cock already visibly hard and pressing against his dark slacks, as you slip his belt free of the loops.

Standing once again, you hand him the faux-leather belt with a shuddering breath, your face blushing as you take in the deep arousal which reflects in his expression.

“Good girl.” Is all he says and his wire-framed glasses glint as he tilts his head to observe you further. “Now ready yourself to be locked in.”

You shuffle forward to stand beside the hanging restraints, quickly raising your hands up to allow him to slip the thick cuffs around your wrist. They’re tight but comfortable, the thick band wrapping around and swallowing the first few inches of your wrist. Your heart beating harshly, you take a steadying breath as you allow him to grip your left ankle.

“Raise it. High as you can.”

And you do, even as the position leaves you balancing on one unsteady foot.

“I’m going to raise the restraints, be prepared.” He warns and his thin fingers wrap around the short handle on the nearby wall as he cranks it slowly.

It’s an odd sensation as your hands and foot are raised higher and higher until you are no longer able to support your weight. You gasp as you are lifted from the ground, hands and foot held high as your body hangs freely, dangling above the floor as he quickly secures your other foot in its waiting restraint.

Now weightless, the feeling is so strange that an absurd bubble of laughter rises in your chest. You hang in a messy ‘v’ shape with your lower spine and ass being the closest point to the floor; your legs and arms spread as your head hangs freely, gravity forcing it tight against the back of your neck as Crane continues to raise the restraints until your hanging body is roughly on line with his hips.

“Excellent.” Crane begins, his voice deliciously tinted with the arousal that he wasn’t bothering to hide. “It has been too long since you underwent a thorough medical examination, and I will be correcting that oversight today. Every inch of you will be subject to some form of testing as I cannot allow such a wanton little mouse to continue our games without a clean bill of health.”

“I wasn’t aware that you offered gynaecological services, Doctor Crane.” You say, finding the urge to comment difficult to resist.

“Ah, yes. That mouth.” Crane growls, slipping around your body to wrap a thin hand around your jaw. His grip is firm, threatening, and it causes your breath to hitch as he pulls a thin object free from the depths of his lab coat. “Let’s deal with that before we continue.”

Presenting the object before your eyes, you don’t recognise it immediately, but its intent becomes very clear as he swipes his scarred thumb along your lower lip.

“Open.”

You follow his demand, allowing him to slip the metal gag between your lips as it instantly springs open to force your jaw to widen as far as it would reasonably allow without tearing the skin. It’s uncomfortable and cold against the warmth of your mouth and holds a metallic taste which makes your nose scrunch; the edges of it pressing harshly against the corners of your mouth as it exposes your mouth and tongue freely to his heated gaze as he locks the dental gag into place.

“This will prevent you from both biting and also holding back those delightful little noises that I enjoy.” He pauses. “Plus, the added benefits which will become clear when we begin oral testing.”

There it was and a soft little mewl is the first noise to break free of your spread lips as your tongue traces along the edges of the gag, mapping them out in such a way that you can feel his gaze following your exploration with keen interest.

“Your examination begins now.”

His hands move to your own first, clasping over your fingers as he tugs as the restraints which hold you in place to test their strength. Satisfied, he does the same with your ankles and his fingers brushing the soles of your feet spark a panicked giggle which causes him to arch a brow before moving on.

As always, his attentions quickly divert to your chest. Your tits remain hugged within the lace bra which you had so carefully chosen and his hands are like claws as they immediately begin to grope at the material, sending a delightful discomfort rocking through your chest as he does so.

“There are several types of stimuli I considered for these,” Crane mutters, “but I believe that some kind of punishment is due and so-”

His fingers dip within his pockets once more as he pulls free the familiar clover clamps and the thin metal chain which connects them.

A mild dread poisons your thoughts at the appearance of those particular clamps, muscle memory making you wince in anticipation.

His fingers are deft as they pull your tits free of the bra, allowing the material to sit below the breasts as his thumb and forefinger pluck at your right nipple. Once satisfied with the peak of the nub, he snaps the clamp over it in such a way that you cannot hold back a short cry as a bolt of pain radiates from the harsh clamp.

Without giving you a moment to breathe, he repeats the feat with your left nipple and another shrill squeak of discomfort greets the accompanying pain. It’s a familiar ache, the wicked squeeze causing a fresh flood of arousal to brush against the thin lace panties which felt wet against your cunt as you clench around nothing.

His pinkie curls around the short chain which connects the clamps and gives it an experimental tug, forcing the clamps to squeeze even tighter for a moment, and your body curves in place; chest following the chain to alleviate the pain as your wrists pull against the restraints to raise you an inch higher for a moment. After a moment, he takes pity and frees the chain from his finger and your body falls slack to dangle like a piece of meat once more.

The examination continues and a solid flush of colour overtakes your frame as he methodically moves around your prone frame; pinching and stroking whatever bits of skin that took his fancy while his palms ghosted over the ultra-sensitive skin of your inner thighs and neck. He’s cruel with it, deliberately avoiding your soaked cunt and abused nipples as he instead teases the areas which he knows will only serve to stoke the fire within you while providing no relief.

Eventually, he seems content with his examination, and he moves to stand behind you, your head tilting even further back as you stare up at him with glassy eyes.

“I think it’s time I took advantage of that beautiful gag.” He mused, his hands curling around your head to hold you in place as he explains his intent. “Besides, a thorough test of that marvellous throat might remind you of what I expect from my witty girl.”

He releases your head as you shudder, swallowing down the sudden flood of saliva which accumulates in your stretched mouth.

You hear his zip and his hands return to your head, tilting your face roughly to the side as he presents his cock before you. Held in place and mouth unable to do anything but accept him, he pushes his cock within your mouth, holding himself there with great patience as he allows you to make the next move.

Without too much thought, you wrap your tongue around the head of his cock as the familiar taste of him floods your mouth. He’s already leaking pre-cum and you swallow down the salty taste as readily as you do your own saliva. The dental gag prevents you from wrapping your lips around him but you know that’s not what he’s looking for and so you try to regulate your breathing, knowing that he’s soon going to be buried deep within your throat.

As if he could sense your thoughts, his cock slides deeper and he gives a few shallow thrusts to build up pace before he jerks himself forward in a sudden movement, forcing his cock past your fluttering tongue and down the sensitive juncture of your throat.

Panic sets in in an instant as your fingers scramble against the restraints and you struggle to relax your breathing. Through the roar of blood in your ears, you can hear the satisfied grunt which escapes him at how tight and warm your throat must be and a sick sense of pride cuts through the anxiety which makes your eyes water with every passing moment.

His hips jerk in a steady rhythm, every thrust forcing his cock down your unprotected throat before pulling free enough to allow sharp, panicked breaths before delving in once more. It’s uncomfortable and you fight the urge to retch, your throat instead constricting around him in what you can imagine is a lovely tightness.

Before too long, his cock swells within your mouth and his fingers curl painfully against your scalp as he pulls your face flush against his groin, his pubic hair pressed roughly against your nose as he grunts out his pleasure. He comes, his cock twitching and convulsing as he releases deep within your throat while you thrash against your restraints; teeth painfully held in place by the dental gag as he rides out his orgasm before pulling away in one fluid movement.

Coughing and spluttering as a wayward tear breaks free of your left eye and tracks down your reddened cheek, the ache in your chest seems more pronounced due to your squirming and you blink away the remaining tears to fix him with your bleary gaze.

His glasses are slightly crooked and the flush which sits high on his cheeks speaks of the lovely affect your forced oral has had. At his groin, his saliva-slicked cock remains half-hard and he tucks it away with a clinical hand before returning his attention back to your suffering frame.

Dipping his head low, he captures your mouth in his own. It’s not a kiss, your fully restrained mouth making such a thing impossible, but his tongue trails across your gagged lips before delving within your mouth to taste both you and himself as a low hum vibrates past his mouth.

“You suffer so beautifully, witty girl. It makes it hard for me to be reasonable when you hang there with such vulnerability.”

Unable to answer that, a low keen of desire rips free of your mouth as his hand presses roughly against your panties, grinding the lace fabric into your cunt.

“Shall we move on?” He asks, seeking no answer.

Seemingly from nowhere, a small pair of silver scissors appears within his hands as you pull your head up to stare between your spread legs. He is quick and efficient in the way that he cuts your panties free of your ass – the cool metal of the scissors making your shiver as they roll up your outer thigh to snip away at the straps there.

You whimper as the fabric is pulled away, exposing your obvious arousal to his piercing gaze. Your body still on par with his groin, he lowers his hand to stroke one finger experimentally along your aching slit. After such neglect, the feeling is electric, and you clench around nothing as his finger comes away glistening with your juices.

“Even suspended in the air, the safety of solid ground ripped away to leave you victim to the whims of a madman, you are still as wet as a whore. Arousal and fear,” he quotes the familiar words, “you wear them both like old friends, the line between them indistinguishable.”

“Are you frightened of me, witty girl?”

You nod quickly, the truth of the nod fleeting as you would agree to anything just to have him return his finger to your aching sex.

“Liar. You are not nearly as afraid as you should be. I wonder what it would take to have that fear fully enter your eyes again, to flood your features as it does all my other little experiments.”

His toxin never too far from your thoughts, a genuine anxiety settles in your chest as you recall the effects that even the reduced dose wreaked on your body. How awful a full dose would be, particularly if administer while you were hung helplessly like this.

A shudder rolls through your spine as his fingers traces the outline of your ass, teasing the hole there as his other hand maintains a death grip of your thigh.

“Perhaps we will make that the focus of our next meeting. Besides, the Scarecrow has plans to use every inch of you, witty girl. We’ll start training this,” his thumb brushes across your asshole firmly, “soon enough and then we’ll see how anxious you can be with the correct motivations.”

The noise which escapes your throat is somewhere between surprise and agreement, the idea making you feel filthy in the most delicious way. It would be something new and the thought of the many ways he could utilise anal in your games is thrilling. A fantasy rises in your thoughts; your ass filled by him as his wicked fingers curl within your cunt, stroking those areas which drive you wild as he fills you from behind.

Shaking away the thought, you focus on his current ministrations as he prepares something unseen, his back tactfully turned to prevent you from seeing what is held within his hands. Whatever it is disappears into his pocket as he turns to face you once more before dropping to one knee.

A wretched noise screams free of your throat as his tongue stripes a cruel line across your throbbing cunt, flicking across your neglected clit to send a lance of pained arousal across your groin. His enthusiasm is terrible in its immediacy, his lips and tongue flooding you with sensation as he delves into your cunt with even more determination than when he had you splayed out on your apartment couch.

Your orgasm builds quickly, the ache of your abused nipples as they jostled around only adding to the pleasure of your cunt as he rolls his tongue around your clit, providing just enough sensation to have your breath coming in sharp pants as your toes curl against thin air.

However, just as quickly as it started, he finished; pulling away as your body chased him without thought, the restraints only allowing a few inches of movement. His hand falls into his other lab coat pocket to pull free his next toy.

From this position, you can barely make it out, but it almost looks like a thick plastic syringe with the tip neatly removed, leaving only the barrel.

His eyes flash from behind his wire-rimmed glasses as he brings the object closer to the dim light.

“A suction pump. Designed to isolate an area of skin and create a vacuum. Can be used for insect bites to extract toxins, but it has many other uses. Such as-”

Your tongue presses against the roof of your mouth as his fingers return to your cunt. However, their intent is decidedly more clinical as they spread your lips wide to allow him to find the target for his latest toy. A sharp gasp forces your chest to inhale deeply as you feel the smooth edges of the tube coat themselves in your arousal before trailing up to lock around the circumference of your clit.

An explosion of sensation rockets through your straining frame as he pulls the syringe tight, capturing your clit and pumping it roughly within the barrel. The intensity of the sudden pull, every nerve in your clit straining against the forced inflation, catches your breath in your throat and you splutter and whine through the feeling – pleasure and discomfort rolled into one as you jerk your hips against nothing.

The pain in your nipples forgotten, every slight movement within your body causes fresh waves of pained ecstasy to shudder through you. Your mouth fights against the dental gag as you gasp and whimper, unsure if you want him to remove the pump or pull it even tighter.

“You took that very well.” Crane praises, ignoring the obvious distress as his thumb casually wipes away a fat tear that you were unaware was rolling past your cheek. “I will let you decide if you consider it a punishment or a reward. Regardless, there is still another punishment to attend to.”

He disappears from sight, moving quickly past your head as he dips to the floor to retrieve something before standing upright once more.

Within his hands, lies the belt. The one you had so willingly handed him earlier as your game began.

“Seven days.” He muses, wrapping the buckle of the belt within his fist to prevent the metal from damaging your skin. “Your neglect of the Scarecrow lasted a whole seven days, little mouse.” Tutting with mock disapproval, he circles you like a hawk, clearly enjoying the fresh anxiety which has entered your features. “I think that warrants seven stripes of that beautiful skin. Do you agree?”

“Yes.” You try to answer, the word coming out slurred and messy due to the gag.

“Excellent. As always, you are responsible for counting along and if you lose count then we return to zero.”

A wash of euphoria skates across your skin, anticipating the pain of the belt even as your tits ache and your clit throbs in its isolation, and you loosen your frame as you await the first blow.

CRACK.

A howl snaps free of your throat as the belt wraps around your exposed ass, catching both cheeks as heat blossoms from the spot in an instant. The pain is sharp, different to the rest of the torments that afflict your body and your spine curves in place to avoid the next hit.

“One.” You cry out.

CRACK.

“Two!” It’s a pathetic yowl as his second hit connects across the exact same skin as the first- causing the heated skin there to explode into an inferno of discomfort while fresh tears spring into your eyes.

CRACK.

“Three.”

Pulling your head up for a moment, you catch his eye and the sadistic delight which reflects in his expression frightens you as much as it makes your cunt clench and drip with undeniable arousal.

CRACK. CRACK.

Blows four and five come in quick session across your spread inner thighs and you squeal out their numbers as these new areas burst to pained life. The skin there had remained mostly untouched until now and the sudden assault catches you off-guard while your ankles pull hard against their tight restraints.

CRACK.

An open scream followed by a sob drags free of your stretched lips as his fifth belt catches you across the tits, sparking white-hot pinpoints of pain where the leather catches your clamped nipples.

“Six.” You continued to sob, the pain slowly overtaking the rolling pleasures which had been making it bearable. “T-that’s six.”

“Well done. Despite your fear of the belt you’ve managed to keep up.” Crane growls. “And for our final strike.”

His fingers trailing down your slit for a moment before ripping the pump free of your clit in one rough movement. In an instant, your breath is stolen from you as the pain of your sensitive clit is immediately overshadowed by his final swing, which stripes along your cunt. Stars explode behind your clenched eyes as the pain flashes so intensely that you choke, the scream caught within your chest making you dry-heave instead as his hand ghosts along your wet cunt.

“Seven.” The number comes out with a pathetic squeak as you hear his belt fall to the floor once more.

His palm is cool against your heated flesh, but you sob in place as the calloused skin grazes your plump clit, sending an unbearable flash of sensation across your groin.

Lightheaded as your head hangs limply, the tightness of your bruised throat mixed with the gag makes breathing feel tricky and your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to gain some composure. Pain, tinged with that same euphoria from earlier, dances along your skin to alleviate the worst of your aches as you hang there. You briefly consider telling him to stop, of using that one guarantee that he promised, but something holds you back.

You flinch in place as his hands come to rest on your scalp, the surprise of his touch pulling you from your thoughts and a mild relief sweeps through your chest as you realise that he is removing the dental gag. As the metal pulls free of your mouth, you test your aching jaw, the muscles there feeling strained and uncomfortable while you wetten your dry lips with your tongue.

Still hanging loosely, you issue another low scream as he unlatches the clover clamps from your abused nipples and the blood returns to them like a strike of lightning. It’s a horrible pain, enough to overshadow the other aches for a moment, as Crane sadistically assists the process by rolling the nubs between his fingers and thumbs.

“Our examination is almost complete, little mouse.” Crane announces, his tone oddly breathless as he slips to stand between your hanging legs and his fingers fiddle with his zip once more. “Just one final test and then we’ll see if you have earned a reprieve.”

His hands comes to wrap around your hips, the thin digits digging into the skin there roughly. You offer a broken moan as you feel the head of his cock bump messily against your slickened hole and you spread your knees as wide as possible to invite him in further. He pushes in harshly, not allowing a single moment of respite as his left hand leaves your hips and instead moves to brush against your clit as he sinks himself fully, claiming his long-awaited prize.

So over-stimulated and close to your limits, his cock burying itself deep within you, hard enough to brush uncomfortably off your cervix, is enough to push you over the edge and you come almost instantly.

His thumb pressing against your pumped clit adds an unbearable pleasure to your release as you squeeze around him so tightly that you hear him grunt with the pressure.

Your entire body tenses as the waves of pleasure crash through you, bolstered by the pains across your abused flesh, and your moans are pathetic in their earnestness as ecstasy drives you to utter madness.

It’s overwhelming in its intensity, your mind immediately floating off into pure sensation as your lips move of their own accord to garble out a mixture of pleas and groans.

Crane, uncaring of your torments, does not let up on his brutal assault on your over-stimulated cunt and his utter disregard only causes your orgasm to prolong itself- every fresh thrust and rough rub of your inflamed skin making you mewl and pull him deeper as you clench around him desperately.

Lost in the sensations, you barely feel it when he comes; his release shockingly warm as it coats your walls, dripping free as he rides his orgasm out before pulling away. Through watery eyes, you watch him as he casually wipes off his cock with a handkerchief before tucking himself away once more. A few strands of his russet hair have fallen across his forehead, plastered to the skin by sweat, as a satisfied slackness courts his features.

You jolt in place as that same handkerchief wipes along your electrified cunt, cleaning up the mess from your combined release as you whimper and attempt to pull away from the fabric; the cotton feeling as terrible as sandpaper against your sensitive skin.

“Well done, witty girl.” Crane praises once more, his words as clinical as ever yet slightly slurred by his sated arousal. “You performed admirably, and I don’t think any of the recent trouble has impacted your ability to impress.”

His hand wraps around your feet, fingers making short work of the restraints there as he pins your right foot beneath his underarm until he has securely released the other. Both feet now freed, he lowers them slowly to the ground to allow you to gain a solid footing.

Standing on very shaky legs, you allow him to repeat the feet with your wrists – releasing them from the thick cuffs as his thumbs rub almost absent-mindedly at the reddened skin there.

Now fully righted, a wicked wave of nausea sweeps across your frame, and you slowly drop yourself to the floor, laying on your back to allow the linoleum to cool your skin and give you something to focus on as you fight the urge to vomit. Your chest throbs and your cunt aches with every slight jostle, the flooring providing a wonderful coolness against the heat of your belted skin.

Vision swimming, a dark shape above you alerts you to Crane’s position as he stands over you. Something like a sigh escapes his shape and you flinch as thin hands dip to wrap around your shoulders and the backs of your knees. With a solid grunt, he picks you up from the floor and you are immediately reminded that he is much stronger that his wiry frame would suggest as he pulls you flush to his chest as he carries you back to the main area of the basement and towards the familiar couch which typically housed your frame.

Wracked by a full-bodied shiver as you relax into the couch, your trembling fingers pull the thin fabric of your bra up once again, wincing as the lace traces over your reddened nipples. The worst of the nausea seems to have passed but previous experiences tells you that you’re still not in any fit state to be walking around and so you pull your legs onto the couch and lean heavily on the arm.

Having lost track of him after he deposited you, the reappearance of Crane as he thrusts a chilled bottle of water under your chin startles you for a moment but you take the water gratefully. Your fingers struggle with the cap for a few seconds before his thin digits take control, opening the bottle and pressing it towards your mouth to allow you a few deep sips.

Satisfied with your intake, he drops to the couch by your side and his hands pick up your feet enough to allow him to adjust them over his lap due to the lack of available space.

“Did you find your examination thorough enough?” Crane asks, his voice suspiciously disinterested as his gaze trails across your striped thighs.

“It was a lot.” You sigh. “My body is aching enough now that I know I’ll be in some state tomorrow. I liked the new restraints though; they make it easy to agree to whatever you want since I’m trapped mid-air.” A slight hint of teasing peeks through the tiredness in your tone and you can feel the amusement roll off him despite his expression remaining stoic.

“You are as responsive as ever. The fear of being fully restrained and vulnerable appears to heighten your sensations in a way that the gurney does not.” His fingers trail along your leg, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. “I am pleased that you offered to return here, with me. I doubt I would have been so kind if the tables were turned.”

“You don’t strike me as the vengeful type, Doctor Crane.”

That gets a genuine laugh from him, the sound little more than a low rumble from his lips but its honest and it alights a satisfaction within you that you were able to get that from him.”

“You could afford to be more vengeful, witty girl. I suspect one day you will come to some brilliant moment of clarity and attempt to cave my skull in for my various crimes against your lovely skin. I also have no doubts that you could murder Roman Sionis in his sleep if you were provided the appropriate means.”

You wince at the mention of that bastard and the flinch does not go unnoticed as a slight furrow appears in Crane’s brow.

“I enjoyed your apartment.” He diverts the conversation smoothly, his hands pulling at your shoulders to guide you into adjusting your body the opposite way. A task which you follow, true surprise clutching at your thoughts as he encourages you to lay your head down on his lap. “If my offer of dinner were still to be taken up, then I don’t see why it wouldn’t suffice for a more relaxed atmosphere.”

You find yourself willing to ignore the fact that his offer of dinner had somehow bastardised itself into a self-invite for you to prepare something for him as his knees adjust to make a more comfortable pillow for your head as you gaze up at his still frame.

His expression refuses to change, stoic features only slightly softened by his obvious fatigue after your little session, and his gaze is as piercing as ever as it flits across your features, taking in your own exhausted state.

“Sleep, dear one.” Crane encourages, tilting your head away from his to face the expanse of the basement. “You’re clearly exhausted and will be unable to function without some rest.”

Unable to refute the fact, your eyes drift shut as something delightfully warm touches at your senses and it’s not until sleep quickly comes to claim you that you realise what it is.

Dear one.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Her breathing steady as he watches the rise and fall of her abused chest, Crane knew that his witty girl was asleep. She looked peaceful like this, a fact which inspired as much disappointment as it did amusement. Her features were so expressive, wearing arousal, fear, rage, and delight with such ease that he needed no prowess to detect her true feelings and it amused him no end.

He had called her ‘dear one’ and its use was not accidental. She had demonstrated a bravery, arguably a foolishness, by agreeing to continue their little arrangement and he felt that bravery deserved a reward. A recognition of something that perhaps he himself was not willing to face.

Brushing the hair which had fallen across her forehead away, he tucked it behind her ear in a surprisingly tender move. Something about her, the way she lay nakedly splayed across his lap, fully asleep and vulnerable to his presence sparked a terrible sensation in his chest; something that lived in the delicate space between protection and cruelty.

She trusted him, regardless of everything, and he could use that trust to do what he wished. To lull her into a false security which would be stripped away in an instant as those lovely features twisted in true rage before dissolving into fear as she realised the true monster which lurked within.

And yet, his hand stayed.

The appeal of such a betrayal was fleeting in its temptations as it would only provide one session of delights and he doubted that the discomfort which plagued him over his previous perceived betrayal would forgive him so easily.

Yes.

His little mouse inspired a terrible thing within him.

She regularly courted the temptation of a monster, one more than ready to tear apart the delicate prey between its teeth. However, her fire saved her. That fire which amused him so much and singed away those darker temptations as they would require him to snuff it out completely, something which he found himself loathe to do.

Dropping his hand gently to her chest, he spread his palm over the area which covered her heart and waited for the steady rhythm to thump its beat against his skin. He would not sleep, not like this, but he allowed the soft thrum of her heartbeat to lull him into something approaching peace, if only for the moment.

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x you #scarecrow smut #Jonathan crane smut #gotham rogues #whole day off #cillian murphy

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ethereal-maia · 7 months

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tagged by @musicals-and-mushrooms: 9 people you want to get to know better!!

tysm for the tag btw!!

3 Ships: drawenna, danya, vanja x emeric (can you tell I have a ship type. It’s pretty obvious.)

1st ship: like my first ship ever? one that wasn’t stupid obvious like Prince Philip and Aurora (bc that was one of them hehee) was probably when I was like 11 and OBSESSED with poldark was probably drawenna again lmao. OH WAIT. OH FUCK IT WAS PROBABLY HARMIONE AAA 😭😭

Last song: The Opera from great comet

Last movie: Descendants unfortunately

Currently reading: The Horse and His Boy by C S Lewis, Gilded by Marissa Meyer, The Wicked Ones by Robin Benway (reread), Lost in the Never Woods by Aiden Thomas (reread), Circe by Madeleine Miller (reread), aaaaand Flip the Script by Lila Lee (reread).

Currently watching: glee, awae (all the time bitch. All the time.), an animated The Little Princess movie I started as a joke but got too invested in once Minchin started singing about how money is her “Passion, it’s my HEro, it’s my kING! There’s nothing that I love more than sacks of Coins that JING!!”. Also finishing up rah cinderella 1965.

Currently eating: the dead skin off my lips. But earlier i had enchiladas for dinner and OUGH they were so good.

Currently craving: Raisin’ Canes!!!!! Oh my god all day long!!

npt: @bloody-mf-bsc @pealeii @morozovamaximoff @bookns @lighttupthiswholetown @swiftie-as-a-coursing-river @bicharliespring @recklessandyoung @mesmerizedmadeline ⭐️💛⭐️

#tag game

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carrotsnake · 6 months

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Botw/Totk headcanon: Sheikah NPCs beyond Kakariko

after impa being the Last of Her Kind for nearly 20 years, we were kind of spoiled with the era of wilds sheikah. still, kakariko is known for it's older population and botw makes a point to let us know paya isn't used to seeing people her age. this post is about asking 'where are they?' and filling in the gaps. being a peaceful farming village it makes sense the younger gens would want to leave as soon as they can for some adventure.

sheikah typically have hair on the grey-to-white scale (granté proves this isn't a requirement), and unlike the past games they have a greater diversity in eye colour. below is a list of hylian npcs that look too young to have greying hair that i hc are either from kakariko, or have some sheikah ancestry.

from left to right: lecia, letty, mina, her brother mils by proxy, teli, juney, and baumar. i'll go into more detail about each under the cut, comparing them from the 2 games alongside some more headcanons. some of them i haven't found in totk yet, so i'll edit when i do.

pic on the left side is them in botw, totk on the right.

Mina is a treasure hunter looking for loot with her brother by the exchange ruins outside the great plateau. the siblings also show up in the dlc. they're trying to steal a sheikah heirloom back from the yiga hideout, though they don't know it's purpose - they just wanna sell it. in totk she walks on the path between lakeside stable and lurelin. she says that even treasure hunters deserve some fun once in a while, so we can assume she's takin' it easy. Mils, meanwhile...

...joined the zonai survey team, and moans about what tough work it is. he walks through pagos woods to the zonai ruins. he joined in the hopes it would lead him to treasure, but he hasn't had his lucky break yet. most hylians travel from stable to inn and can be assumed not to have a proper home due to the lasting effects of the calamity. this is my bias but i like to think he's talking about kakariko when he mentions home. let him grow some pumpkins and wrangle cuccos. he wishes to live a quiet life.

i find it sweet him and mina are both in faron. maybe they decided to split up and cover more ground? with mina off sunbathing and sipping mimosas in lurelin, mils got the short end of the stick again.

Baumar:

'i hope you die': lazy, cliché, unrealistic. 'i hope your favourite botw npc gets mushroomed and bowlcutted': it's scary, it's possible, it's happening to me right now. such was the fate of our poor resident shield-surfer bro from botw. known for many hit quotes such as 'let's go bamboo! yahoo!', 'shield surfing is like, totally radical, dude', and my favourite:

in botw he rides his horse on the path between serenne and snowfield stable. in totk he's part of the fashion tour-group that run around hateno village. maybe he went to hebra to show his 'wicked' surfing moves to selmie and she said 'kid, if i let you out on the slopes you'll die. sorry'. his world was completely shattered beneath him like a broken shield, so he turned to cravats and puffy short shorts to cope.

his name is similar to the hills of baumer above deya village ruins. maybe he's a descendent of the few survivors. i wonder what his ancestors are thinking now, watching what he does with the gift of life.

Teli walks between fort hateno and hateno village. He sells ancient guardian parts and even mentions he trades them with Robbie. he has a high opinion of himself and tells you he's known across hyrule for his 'roguish good looks.' in totk he's one of the men in the 'Gourmets gone missing' Penn quest that gave himself food-poisoning by riverside stable. after which he scares away some cuccos and makes you wrangle them for a sidequest. just L after L for this dashing rogue.

Juney, now famous for her rupee grinding sand seal minigame, i instantly recognised as the epic divorce woman from rito village. her attitude is just as surly as ever but they gave her a soft side. i like that every minigame location could not be further from hateno. you'll find that school someday queen.

she was a newly wed mad at her husband, jogo, for choosing a cold place for their honeymoon. he begs you to give him flint to cook some baked apples for her to save their already failing marriage.

in totk they're not together, jogo inhabits a cabin in tabantha village ruins with another woman. he didn't give her enough baked apples.

Letty walks along the path between lakeside stable and lurelin. she gives you cooking tips and that's pretty much it. i'm pretty sure i've met her as a yiga disguise more often than i've seen the real her. if anyone has found her in totk, please let me know.

Lecia is a new character in totk. she's with the research team and plays a part in the foothill stable Penn quest. she kind of looks like a grown up Koko. maybe a distant relative? but maybe she's not sheikah. maybe the sight of all those pasty naked man nips traumatised her so bad she got marie-antoinette syndrome from the shock. i haven't seen her since.

thank you if you read to the end. to clarify i'm working on some fic stuff and that entails finding npcs across the overworld to give some more lore. it's a sheikah focused fic so i needed some characters other than the kakariko residents. it's also just fun fleshing out random npcs to make the world feel more lived in. again, i'm missing some details like what mina does before you save lurelin, so i'll edit this post in the future.

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strangesmallbard · 3 months

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VAALA'KIR was only a hatchling when Vlaakith ordered her crèche purged for losing a battle against the mindflayers. Before Vlaakith descended upon Crèche Vah'k'rel's nursey, her varsh sent as many youth as they could through dimension doors. Carried by the eldest youth, Vaala’s small group emerges a few miles from Waterdeep—far away from anything they knew. Or anyone.

After a harrowing encounter in the nearest village left the eldest dead and Vaala's face burned, the group fled into the Faraway Forest, relying on the moon's light to guide their path. That very night, the Moonmaiden sent the High Priestess in Waterdeep a dream; she awoke at dawn with a chill in her bones, an empty stomach, and the howls of a gnoll pack ringing in her ears.

When a group of clerics to search the woods, they came back with gnoll pelts and the remaining gityhanki children, shivering and clinging to each other. Only little Vaala could be soothed to sleep at all—by the healing spell cast on her burns and the moonmotes dancing above their heads.

This is the story Vaala knows.

Today, she is a devoted Knight of the Half Moon, an order of Selûnite warriors that serve the High House of Stars in Waterdeep. Her sister is an accomplished moonknight, her brother a celebrated scholar, if a bit too enamored with heretical apocrypha. Like them, Vaala wants only to serve Selûne. Fulfill the careful promises of her oath: protect the downtrodden, stay honorable, show mercy, and punish the wicked, all in her goddess' name. Prove to so many mistrusting eyes that she is no cruel daughter of gith, despite her origin.

Fulfilling her oath becomes complicated, however, when Sharrans murder her sister. It becomes even more complicated after Vaala volunteers for a mission in Baldur's Gate, wanting to escape the burning anger in her gut. When so many suspicious reports prove true and Vaala wakes up on a nautiloid ship. When one of Vlaakith's warriors—proud and ruthless and everything she swore she'd never be and real, real, real—declares her an ally.

When the woman she saves from the mindflayer pod asks "Why would you help me?" and Vaala only notices the mistrust in her eyes after realizing how beautiful they are. When a harsh red light suddenly illuminates the symbol on her chest.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3edit #bg3 tav #tav bg3 #dailygaming #gamingedit #gamingladies #videogamedit #steph gifs #vaala’kir #yell.txt #tried to write a condensed summary but the lore had me in its clutches. anyway meet one of my daughters <3 #she's having ethical dilemmas! she's having complex identity grief! she's looking at shadowheart's ass!#(and lae'zel's. but that won't be resolved until [REDACTED])

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xsapphirescrollsx · 1 year

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Bitch! Please write Demon Dr. Barber x plus size BLACK reader & Make it Nasty!!

Demon Dr Barbar x Plus Size Black Reader

@titty-teetee Deffo rusty, lol but I tried! I hope you like it <3

Andrew Barber, Andy for short and Doctor Barber to his patients, tossed the razor sharp edged blade to the wood floor of your bedroom. He watched your hip writhe under his grip as the rest of your underwear fell away. On his knees, his fingers delicately unfolding you, spreading you open as a bible to a theologian. Andy’s eyes burned with hate but his heart, if you could call that black void a caring center, filled with obsession.

He licked long, tasting what was now his, the bushy hair of his chin tickled your skin in the wake his tongue and you shuddered. His long fingers glided over the curvy lines of your hips, he pushed his face in harder to your core and pulled you closer as he sunk his tongue all the way in. An unexpected shriek from your throat hardened his dick. The tortured squirming, the hurting and yearning panted whimpering he caused you to express exploded pride in his chest.

Andy felt his eyes cloud, he wasn’t afraid but he knew you might be as he rose from between your thick legs. It was time, he decided. He was was glad of the dim light shade, but as the darkness swirled inside him it pulled away the golden hue illuminating the room. He watched you now, laying there your skin glowing under what might be described as moonlight. You opened your eyes looked toward him as Andy slowly descended over your body.

His legs between yours, spreading you further open, he felt the jump in your heartbeat as your eyes met his now completely blackened orbs. He smiled down at you while grabbing your wrists in anticipation that you might try and fight back.

“It’s time to pay your due,” his deep voice whispered.

He watched you blink once, twice, and struggle to understand what you were seeing. And like he knew you would you did try move from him. Andy held you there, his hips pushed forward. This was his favorite moment, your eyes widen as he invaded your will, your body.

Wicked. If demons could love this was it. Pouncing on the woman, you, that he wanted to possess body and soul Andy began to ensure that you took every inch of him. And when your mouth fell open in a silent scream he put his mouth over yours. His devilish forked tongue, surprisingly warm and wet slid in. He jerked your hands over your head, picked up his thrusting pace and kept taking your breath away with every rub of his tongue over yours. Consuming you and feeling you give over your will to only him Andy promised himself this one would be different.

This human woman would live. Even as ghostly wisps of black shadow descended over and with every breath you strived for started to feel as if your lifeforce was draining. Andy held back and waited.

Your pained moans turned to yearning whispers after every kiss. You cinched around him the shorter his strokes became. Faster, more driven thrusts had your body shaking until you reached the pleasurable end. But Andy kept going. Once again devoting himself to holding back his instinct to send you into a delicious anguishing experience for his pleasure. He allowed another desire to take root, one that usurped the will of his human mother. The one his angel father used to conquer a mortal womb.

Andy let go, pouring sinfulness into you and the room went black.

#Andy Barber #dark!Andy Barber #Black Reader #x black reader #x black!fem!reader #x black!reader #black!reader x dark!#black reader x dark!

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

https://twitter.com/ricebug2/status/1605103602652962816?t=6hWF1bJDaq8YAmTBwlJ7SA&s=19

Just realized how massive König is and he can lift you up and just be at pussy until he satisfied

(This lighting he's in? WOOF)

---

There wasn’t even a hello.

You heard the chopper touch down on the airfield, the telltale whir of the blades slicing through the air with their wub-wub-wub slowing down into a low, distant drone. They had masked his footsteps as he made his way towards your secret meeting place- the one behind the truck garage, the shed with the dusty glass windows that fogged when he-

Well.

You feign innocence as the door opens, coquettish and sly, pretending to check the supply crates tucked with expiring MREs in the corner. Yet that bravado, that charade evaporates into thin air when you hear him approaching. His footsteps sound like thunder, like the impact of missiles against the surface of your thoughts. It’s unusual for him. You’re used to his gentle tread when he’s near you, his hands seeking and beseeching but never demanding nor aggressive.

When you turn you catch a glimpse of his eyes under his hood- electric, charged with something hungry. Primal.

You don’t even have time to question him before König is crowding you into the back wall, and you stumble backwards until your spine impacts the wood surface with a clatter. Yet he only presses further, advancing with no ground for you to retreat on. When his knee slides between yours, rises, it’s all you can do to gasp and let your fluttering reach land on his massive arms.

“K-König.” You manage, and even with him hardly touching you, your voice is a breathy gasp that climbs up your throat with a warm puff of air.

There’s a hand on your waist, tugging your shirt from your belt so his gloved hand can splay across your stomach. The sensation sends a murmur rippling low beneath your body, and automatically you grip at him a little harder, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his sleeves.

“Want you, Vöglein.” He returns, voice dipping dark. “Need to feel you.”

His hand traces higher, reaching under your bra to paw at your breast and you can’t help but arch into him, lightheaded and slightly overwhelmed by his sudden assault on your senses but wanting him, more of him to quench the dizzying temptation of your own desire.

“I- yes!” You manage when he gently rolls a pebbled nipple between the broad pads of his fingers. “P-please, König, missed you- I- Oh!”

He vanishes from you for a moment, but then his hands are there insistently, fiddling with your belt and then tugging so your pants slide down over the swell of your ass. You move to help him, but find yourself suddenly seizing on his wrist as his hand descends to your clit, pressing in insistent, firm strokes that makes your voice crack so suddenly you think it might ricochet off the walls.

He relents a little then, hands gentler at the sound of your voice, and his own words dip low with affection, concern as he presses the breadth of his form into you.

“Too much, little bird?” He asks, and you can hardly answer him, blinking up at him like staring into the sun, too bright. Intoxicating.

“S-slower.” You gasp in a reedy voice, and he hums deep in his chest, the sound grinding against his bones.

There’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder why he’s suddenly so insistent, why he seems to be charged like a lightning rod in the middle of a storm. The electricity dances off him, ignites under your skin, buzzes in the back of your brain like a magnetic hum. You can taste it across your tongue, sharp, wicked, something that stretches out seeking an outlet for his unrestrained desire. It hovers in the air, iodized and atmospheric, racing along the parts of your flesh where you two fuse.

You want him.

“Had a close call.” He murmurs abruptly, hiking his knee higher so you have to strain on your toes to accommodate him. “You were the only thing I could think about. Only you, Vöglein.”

Your mind races, trying to understand his words past the building throes of lust that drown your thoughts in a hazy, velvet caress. It makes sense then, why he’d instantly seek you out when he arrived back. He needs your reassurance, needs to touch you, feel you in his arms like honey dripping over scabbed skin. Needs to remind himself he’s alive, that he has you.

You try to reach for him in turn, fingers skimming against the fabric of his hood and trying to lift it higher- reveal the face that winds itself through your daydreams.

König sees the gesture, and he curses as his hands vanish from you, tugging his helmet, his mask, nearly ripping the fabric before his face is revealed. You see it for all of a moment before he’s cupping your cheeks, bending over you until his lips collide yours in a bruising, hungry kiss. This isn’t his usual gestures, gentle, almost shy at times, hiding his prowling, hungry eyed gaze between a careful restraint. No, König kisses you like a wild animal, sinking his teeth into you so your gasps and little needy moans fuel his starved instincts. The world feels like it’s spinning, leaving only his towering form to anchor you against the tides of his lust.

You gasp openly into his mouth when his hands push insistently at your pants, lowering them past your knees and pooling down to your ankles so the bare flesh of your is exposed. Yet then his hands slide upwards, roaming over your skin and leaving tremors in their wake before settling on your thighs.

König lifts.

You can’t contain a yelp as you’re hauled upwards, higher, higher as if ascending into the heavens themselves, until at last your legs sling over his massive shoulders and your back braces against the wall of the shed. It takes you a moment to blink, catch your breath from the vertigo of the abrupt motion, and when your vision settles one again it’s to the sight of his eyes gazing up at your from the apex of your thighs, his nose pressed against your slickened skin.

He looks like he wants to eat you alive.

When his tongue presses flat against your clit you instinctively buck against him. Yet König’s hands secure around your thighs, hauling them wider around his head when they threaten to close. Your voice stills in your throat, head thrown back and hands finding purchase in his hair to weigh yourself down.

You jerk when his teeth graze against your folds, but the sensation is quickly muted by the warm caress of his tongue licking a broad stripe up the center of you, gathering slick into his waiting mouth. König drinks you down like the nectar of the gods, ambrosial, heady, sweet, warm. You’re the elixir to his nervous heart, and with every heartbeat you can feel the breath of him, can hear his gasping groans as he buries himself into the core of you.

“Taste so good, little bird.” He croons into your thigh when he surfaces for air. “Wish I could just keep you on my tongue like this forever.”

You almost wish he would. Here, with his eyes gazing up at you, glinting with desire, his massive hands flexing over your thighs as they keep you in place, his cheeks flushed red and the edges of him soaked with your wetness. Yet here, he draws pleasure from you like it’s the force that fuels him, intent on your exhilaration, your affection, your need. He acts like he’ll suffocate without it, needs to be here between your thighs where your body muffles the sound of ricocheting bullets in his brain, of grenades threatening the shell of his thoughts.

Instead there’s just you, only you, your whimpers and gasps and the buck of your hips smothering him and every other thought into complete and blissful silence.

When you do climax, it’s to his name, like light spilling through an overcast grey sky just as the clouds part in his soul.

---

You wobble out of the shed 3 more orgasms later, bleary eyed, shirt untucked, and you give him a look.

He doesn’t notice, radiating smugness with your juices still coating his chin under his hood.

#König #könig x reader #König smut #König imagine #konig mw2 #18+#minors dni #18 +#smut #asks #requests #my writing

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kiraman · 3 months

Text

Killing Strangers PART III.

PART I & PART II.

JOHN WICK AU. death/grief/sex/gore/ extreme violence cw / Mizu x female oc

wordcount: 13,394 / soundtrack 1 & 2

disclaimer & a spoiler to put minds at ease about everything that is about to go down in this story, skip if you don't care to know, click here & for author notes if you want to know (you should. related to her romantic interest in the story)

“I who would love and be loved am hated loathed despised; I am the wound and the gun, the bullet and the slaughter; the monster and the bed; the blood in your mouth, the bitter, and the lonely, the body in your bed; i bring the Death and the Life, the ecstasy and the ruin. I am the victim and the guilty; the savage and the trapped. I am the bitter and the howling, the angry and the mouth that screams its rage between your legs. You ask me to look under your bed for the thing that haunts you, fills your throat with soundless cries; you fear it, you fear it; I do not want to but I do; for you I look; when I do, I find myself looking back at me, the hideous monster preying in the shadows. The atrocious loneliness of the monster.

Let my hands be filled with blood; give me the strength to kill them - or let me die and as I die I would find a better way for existing and ceasing to exist. I would find a better way to take and give and fill my empty body with fury; release me now from my soul-binding cage wherein I touch but never hold, find but never stay, join but never belong.”

Afterwards, it is all a blur, her blood pumping violently, a raging torrent that streams over her and pulls her down down down, drowns her in its dark depths; it's blood on her mouth and smoke in their lungs; it's the neon lights spluttering, the C of the Cabinet tearing off the signboard and crashing onto the street as the flames burst through the windows, glass shattering, and metal crumpling, all in less than a second, raining glass and splinters of wood, something metallic over their heads.

Afterwards, it's all a deep, violent silence that descends upon her, dark and inescapable, like a flood, filling every empty space inside of her with its fury; she can't see past the itch that rashes at her throat, the urgency, the flurry of smoke that swallows Geraldine, Geraldine, sank on her knees and screaming; she has never heard anyone scream like this, she thinks, and all her blood rushes to her throat, turns to ice, feeling the time, that small window of opportunity to crawl through and away from this and what is coming, ticking by; in the distance, a siren goes off, pulling her back to the reality of the moment, warning bells ringing. Somewhere near them, the sky explodes with fireworks and Mizu, suspended between the now and the end of the line that she can see in her mind, that perfect, frantic urgency that calls to her to fucking move, get away, do something, what must be done; through the shock that blurs her senses, she moves, grabs at Geraldine's shoulders, and drags her to the car, more senses than registers the sudden downpour that comes pouring over the city, fills the gutters and drains as Mizu drives furiously away; not looking back for those who come for them; those who will come; her mind goes blank, goes empty; she only sees what must be done; that clear, bright line that she follows through the blackness that swarms her vision, blood pounding, death on her hands and ashes in her mouth; she only sees the end of it— getting away and to safety.

Geraldine is numb in her hands when she swerves the car around and drives down to the port, parks the car on the docks and gets out, gets both of them out, tosses their phones into the ocean; she is a dark shadow blotting out the light around her as she gathers her in her arms, shakes her into the moment, her hands rough on her shoulders, but Geraldine does not react, she does not see her and Mizu spits out a fuck under her breath, forcibly drags her away, down to an underground garage. When she enters, the man behind the parking booth looks up at her and stiffens, his lower lip twitching, nods stiffly; she nods back, hurriedly making her way to her bike, does not stop to speak to anyone, not even Taigen who emerges from the office in the back, but she can feel their eyes on her; she does not give a fuck; they know who she is but here, no one would dare touch them; not now; not Smoke; Mizu pulls her jacket off and throws it over Geraldine's shoulders, then swiftly pulls on her helmet, puts one on Geraldine, too, with sharp, swift, measured movements, fastens the straps beneath her chin; presses a finger against the soft skin of her jaw, tipping her head towards her. A kind of signal-flare: I am here. I mean you no harm.

“Hey,” Mizu says. “Hey! You with me?”

“I’m here,” she breathes, and Mizu thinks she’s imagining the little hitch in her voice, like she realized halfway through she is. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Mizu straddles her motorbike, holding Geraldine in the front, her thighs over hers, not trusting her to hold on. Like a bullet through a stomach, she hits the highway.

Her sight clears enough to see how Geraldine keeps her hands curled in tight fists all the way down the stairs and through the hallway that leads to her flat (more of a bunker, buried underground, all still, lifeless air and shadows). She watches her try to loosen them once, standing at her back as Mizu punches in the password to enter—but they’re shaking badly and she immediately curls her fingers back in, burying her nails in her palms. Lifts her chin, sets her mouth. Her expression is smooth and cold as durasteel when she catches Mizu looking.

Mizu looks away, wordlessly pushes the door open and hits a switch. The long row of acrylic led light bars overhead sputters to life, dousing them in cold half-light.

It's dark inside her flat— dark and cold and metallic, walls empty, white, too white, the static light reflecting off of them casting strange shadows.

Geraldine does not look around her; Mizu watches her as she staggers her way to the bed in the corner and lays her body down slowly, blinking at the world around her through the unshed tears that blur her vision, at the only painting on the blank wall across the bed, the coils of a monstrous snake, swallowing its tail. She blinks strangely at it, and Mizu wonders what she might be thinking, then lets her eyes roll up to the ceiling, blindly, like a ragdoll.

Unsure what to do— what she's supposed to say, she stands stiffly in the middle of the room, watches her pull the blanket up to her chest rigidly, not looking back at her when Mizu says you good? and immediately regrets the question—because how could she be; but Mizu has never had to do this, has never had to think of death as anything other than a necessity; this loss of hers should somehow strike a nerve - raw, naked, pulsing in her chest - but she can't feel anything past the pounding of her blood at her temples; can't let herself feel it, that pain, that ache that gnaws you to the bone, strips you clean; she doesn't know what's wrong with her but something must be. Involuntarily, her fingers twitch into a fist at her side, and she watches her roll over in her bed, turning her back to her.

Geraldine doesn't answer her, anyway.

She falls into a fitful slumber- and Mizu stands there numbly and watches the way her shoulders remain stiff and tight, even in her sleep. Then, she tears herself away and staggers into the bathroom, groaning, feeling the blood soaking her side as she stiffly removes her shirt, feels another thread in her stitches tear. She lets the blood flow, stands numbly before the mirror, lifts her eyes to her reflection. A ripple of shock floods through her but she does not visibly react to whoever's looking back at her through the glass; she does not recognize her face in the mirror; her face, a death’s mask of horror, and faint blood, streaked across her skin; it looks unnervingly... at peace. As though something inside of it has been fed; had stopped, only for one moment, to scream and howl for what it's been taken from it. Her hands are twitching when she curls her fingers on the edge of the sink, holding on as she stares at her eyes into the mirror, feeling that thing that lives inside of her, that soft dead thing that's been sliced open and bled out, rotting, pulse and tremble; her blood is pounding, pounding, and she inhales hard through her nose, feels her shoulders stiffen. Feels her body fill up with something bitter that she swallows back violently, she won't let it flood her blood; she can't, she won't; it's done. Something's changed, shifted; like something's being kicked into life, some thread long tight-knotted and tangled unspooling, unfolding. Something's begun.

Violet's dead. That's all that matters. He's dead, by her hand. She lifts it in front of her, looks at all the blood, black and dried up, coating her fingers.

She blinks at her face in the mirror, the cold, stoic, emptiness of it, feels her blood flow, feels that dark, half-choked whisper in her ear, screaming, like static humming in her head; tearing herself away, she grabs a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the shelf, unscrewing the cap. She is furious; exhilarated, angry; she is bitter and triumphant and enraged; dead and full and empty and thrumming with life- he's dead; she shuts her eyes as her fingers touch her side, sees him, there, sat at his desk, his head jerking back, splashing the wall with his blood; she growls, tearing the gauze off of the wound in her side, and she thinks of Geraldine on her knees in her room sewing it closed, thinks of her in her bed, her father hanging from the signboard; she flinches, buries the thought, and dumps half the bottle onto the open wound, half of it over her face, the tiny cuts from the shards of glass shattering all over her, the split in her cheek, gritting her teeth, a hiss spilling through them.

Mechanically, she starts the shower and steps into the spray of cold water, does not wait for it to warm, washes the blood off, watching as it swirls, thick and scarlet around her feet, watching the water sluice it away into the drain with the last of whatever dark guilt claws at that soft, dead thing rotting inside her.

Abstractedly, Mizu grabs a medical kit from the shelf and pads back into the room, water spilling off her wet hair, unbound, sticking to the back of her neck, her bare shoulders.

She hisses when the needle tears through her skin, cursing through her teeth. She patches herself up sloppily, tosses the bloodied gauzes out and then heats up some water, watches it, numbly, detachedly come to a boil, sits with her tea on the couch, sets the cup on the table before her. She kills the lights and sits back as though laying in wait for something. There are tables and monitors blinking in the open space to her left, casting her in strange light. She sets her hands upon her thighs and for the first time that night, breathes.

The phone on the table lights up, rings once and she swiftly grabs it, answers the call; she does not speak; Ringo speaks first, says, "You are alive!" as though surprised, a strange, bright under-current of relief in his voice; Mizu grunts in agreement. Indeed. Alive.

Silence. A clock ticking. Geraldine stirs in her bed, under her sheets.

"and him?" a breathless question,

"what do you think?"

"I knew it! I knew that you would—"

"Goodbye, Ringo—" she cuts him off, and he protests, desperately scrabbles for her attention; she says, "I'll call you later... I'll have to..." and the way she says it must sound strange to him because he gasps, but whatever comes next, she does not hear, ending the call.

Hours go by; the tea in her cup goes cold; she dozes off, numbly on the couch; the back of her neck aches, stiff and rigid, slumped over the back of the sofa; the wound in her side is throbbing; she flits in and out of sleep for hours; does not know how long she lays there. She must have lost more blood than she thought she had; when she jerks herself upright, blinking through the darkness that engulfs the room, she feels her bones shatter under her own weight and groans, touches her hand to her wound in her side, cursing. The stitches have not torn, but it feels like white-hot knives are piercing every inch of her skin. Her mouth is dry. Instinctively, her eyes sweep over to the girl in her bed, her face now turned towards her, soft in the half-light pouring over from the low led lights flickering in the kitchen. Her throat tightens up at the sudden memory that rips through her; the flames and the fire; her father hanging in the air, dead and gone. Mother screaming her name; the bathtub slick with blood. Geraldine on her knees, her hands on her wound, her fingers crimson with her blood.

She gasps, a short of a shallow, sharp gulp for air.

She does not know how but somehow she falls back into sleep. When she awakes again, the hurt in her side has escalated from a dull throb to burning, glaring pain – faster than a lightning bolt. She groans, blindy reaching for her phone but it's out of reach and she does not want to move.

She stares at the wall, looks at the snake in that painting, coiling darkly, swallowing its own tail.

She feels eyes on her, her eyes, dark, carnelian, hungered, gleaming in the darkness, all that fire, snuffed out; when she darts her gaze askance, there is Geraldine laying awake in her bed, staring at her. Something shifts deep inside of her, something she does not have a name for, but she does not shatter under her gaze; she stares back, a silent, fevered apology for something she can't feel sorry for in her gaze (her eyes, too, gleam; like shards of glass; like the glint of a knife; cold, unforgivable) she wonders how long she's been awake for; if she's been watching her sleep, and the thought makes that something growl, makes her look away. Lets her watch her as Mizu falls back into sleep.

Mizu jerks herself awake with a groan, hissing as she moves, her side burning. There's a strip of light pouring in through the small window in the kitchen, it must be day again. How long have they been out for? With sudden realization, she looks for Geraldine and sees her bed empty.

Confused, she sits upright, looks around for signs of her, her own jacket, coated with dried blood on the floor before the bed, her purse on a chair; she sighs, through her nose, feeling her bones creak and ache as she moves, mutters a fuck, under her breath. She reaches for the shirt tossed to her side, clean, white, and shrugs it on, but doesn't button it up, leaves it open. She forces herself on her feet, and walks to the kitchen, sees Geraldine stood at the small window, her face blank. She spares a fleeting, cool glance toward her, then looks away wordlessly, and Mizu stands at the door stiffly, a little out of her waters, a little annoyed, a little confused, irritated, in pain, and to her shock, a lot troubled, worried, concerned—for her— stares at Geraldine's back, her dark hair, gathered up off her neck, the way the light spills over the nape of it, soft, delicate. (She was still wearing it long, in those days, a cascade of black curls around her small shoulders.) Her own hair, she realizes, a little too late, a little too disinterestedly, can't bring herself to give a fuck or think that she does, is still unbound.

You okay? Mizu hears herself ask, you need something? glass of water?

She thinks she sees the very corner of Geraldine's mouth twitch.

She does not answer for a while, then, as Mizu reaches for the bottle of Vicodin on the counter, swallows two pills dry, Geraldine comes back from wherever she has lost herself in, turns around, says I don't need anything, and looks at Mizu for a moment, stares through her, wordlessly, an ache behind her eyes that will not go, even when Mizu nods, fills a glass of water for her anyway. She looks so tired; fragile, like the slightest touch could shatter her into a million pieces. Her hair is so long, the thought, strange as it is, suddenly cuts through the static filling her mind; so dark against her skin; her lower lip is split, she must have bitten it open while she dragged her from the fire, screaming for her father.

She watches her drink the water, then feels her shoulder as she brushes past her and back to her bed.

Mizu stands at the sink numbly, thinks about last night; the fire; Violet.

Fowler.

Sudden, piercing fury rises to her throat; she must do something, there are people after her, after them both; there's a bounty over her head, the world on her back, dogging her every step; but she's so tired, she feels as though she's burning, still burning, her blood fire under her skin. She should call Ringo, should find Madame, track them down- should go after him; should find a way; should... should. Time's ticking away, but she is achingly tired; sick with it; she can't think clearly. Irritated, she refills the glass and gulps the water down, takes another pill, tosses the glass in the sink. It cracks.

She will; soon.

She sits down on the couch heavily and sighs, sinks her face into her hands. She will. Always does. For now, she sleeps.

This time, she does not sleep the day away.

She wakes up at her phone going off on the table and rubs at her eyes, blinks the fatigue away.

It's Ringo, and before she can answer it, her phone dies. She gets up and plugs it in, then calmly, methodically, as though already on autopilot, getting things done, reaches for her laptop.

She goes back to her couch and tries to work soundlessly, lets Geraldine sleep.

Sometimes she murmurs something under her sheets, and Mizu will look her way over the monitor; sometimes she will look a little too long, look at the slope of her neck, so very fragile, as she gasps for breath in her sleep- she must be dreaming, must be having a nightmare; she puts her glasses on, and gathers her hair up in a bun the way she usually wears it. The wound in her side is still throbbing, but she must know, must see what's going on out there while they hide away. She reaches for the phone and calls Ringo, who's sighing in relief again the moment he realizes she's okay, in that stunted, strangely too bright, too warm way he's got about him, cuts him off when he asks too many questions ( of course he knows; he knows she would have had something to do with the fire, with Skeffington's death- he does not know she's got his daughter, shattered to pieces but alive in her bed) says I need the Madame. Find Kaji.

He understands.

A little after 8 in the evening, she finds herself dozing off, slipping in and out of it, but she's waiting for him to call again, waiting for him to find her, so she forces herself to stay awake, gets up and feels the wound in her side throb violently, tearing a groan from the back of her throat. Annoyed, she sits back down and peels the gauze back to look at he wound, wheezing as the ache biting into her side flares up. It looks a bit too swollen, the thread biting into the torn skin. She's half-botched it, she thinks, annoyed, and reaches for the med kit again, splashes more antiseptic onto it, hissing at the sting.

She covers it again, and haphazardly tosses the empty bottle of disinfectant aside, sits back and buttons her shirt up.

She blinks, startled to see Geraldine come to stand at her side, wakeful and clear eyed, a frown lining her face. She must have been in the kitchen, getting water. She sets the glass down on the table.

She looks down at Mizu, asks, bluntly, "why were you making those noises?"

and Mizu says, shrugging her concerns off, "It's nothing. You awake?"

"No, I'm still sleeping." she shoots back in that familiar way she has that is both full of exasperation and something achingly tender at the same time, and, "sure sounded like something... come on. let me take a look. last I remember you were bleeding in the back of the car"

"well, Im not." Mizu reaches for her phone, but Geraldine does not give up, reaches for the medical kit thrown onto the floor at Mizu's feet, and comes to stand near her, looking down at her with something strange and burning in her eyes, like the flare of a match struck lit, flickering.

"Let me help."

"You wanna help, you go back to bed until you're better." Mizu says, and she flares up at it, as though she's being insane, unreasonable, as though she's been slapped across the face.

"I don't think I'm the one that needs to get better." she says, and there is nothing wrong with me; I am here; I'm here— I am me— awake, alive; I lost a father not my mind— goes unsaid, dies in her throat, and, indignant, annoyed by her callousness, her coldness, how she dismisses her like she can't bother to look her in the eye, the way she puts on that mask as though it's not been cracked beyond repair, reaches for Mizu, anyway, reaches for her shirt, wanting to see, make it right, make something right, but Mizu shoves her hand away, says, coldly, too coldly,

"You don't fucking know what you are doing." shrugs her off.

Geraldine blinks, taken aback by the sharpness of it, and all that light in those eyes gets snuffed out, again, but something else lights up inside her, something furious, with teeth; Mizu does not see it, but she can hear it when something else inside her shatters, when she pulls away, taking the air with her.

She walks off in a swirl of anger and regret, but before she can go Mizu wordlessly reaches for her hand, curls her fingers around her wrist and pulls her back. She does not say anything, but slowly looks up at her; Geraldine's eyes are cold, empty, the edge of a blade held to her throat; she's breathing faster now, her cheeks red with anger, and Mizu somehow manages to say, "I didn't mean that. " To the point. Her voice staccato, low. Her hand rough on her wrist.

Geraldine shrugs her off, tries to pull her hand away, but Mizu firmly holds her in place, clutches at her hand tighter, pulls her closer, her wrist swallowed up by her hand. " I didn't."

In the moment that follows their eyes lock and something shifts in the air.

The light pouring over Geraldine from the ceiling is low, flickers, on and off, on and off—the world around her seems sort of blurry, darker around the edges. But it’s enough to see when she steps towards her, and it’s enough to know where to put her hands, when Geraldine presses herself against her.

This would be an easier story to tell if she had been drunk. If they’d stumbled together in the frantic aftermath of the night, hungered for something, anything that could make them feel alive, untouched by all the death swarming their world, take that edge off. It would have been easy, too much fury in her blood, too much fire, and a beautiful girl she doesn’t deserve, flushed and wanting, looking at her, at her; one night of pretending she was worthy of her. Pretending she was worthy of touch and want and desire, of her soft, soft mouth on her throat, the kiss, the wild, savage delight of it. That she can want her; want, and take and not feel sick for it.

When she kisses her it’s violent, all teeth, sloppy in trying to forget too much in her mouth. Mizu lets her — and her mouth is very soft and warm and slack, startled— lets her push her back against the back of the couch, lets her crawl onto her lap, keeps her hands chastely at her waist; Geraldine's are shaking where they touch her, curling into her clothes, her hair, down the column of her neck as though scrabbling for purchase, something to anchor herself to.

( Mizu's never been anything but a comet, an object in constant motion, but if there’s anyone she wanted to drag through space with her— )

She is warm in her arms, grinding down into Mizu's thigh desperately, making those little breathless mewling sounds that fan her blood to fire, and that’s dangerous; the slick, perfect cant of her hips, the way she’s looking at her. Like Mizu's something that can be owned. That can be held. Used for more than a fuck or a quick job, like she can keep her there all to herself, between those thighs, with a quick hot press of her mouth, and god— maybe she can.

She does not know if it's the fever, the fatigue, that dark, senseless, aching emptiness that howls to be filled, but Mizu’s already delirious with her; she’s gone, her pulse shattered in her throat. She cradles the back of her head and kisses her right back, sinks into the slick heat of her mouth, her tongue joining the prowl of teeth and lips as she chases after her lips, licks her mouth open, and it's agony then, it's desperation, it's Geraldine's moans filling the air between them, and furious, frantic kisses, pulling her closer, growling at the feeling of her, slick and wet and hot, rubbing against the apex of her thigh. The sensation is overwhelming, sending what feels like shock waves through her body. She lets herself be greedy, her hands wandering down her shoulders and brushing the sides of her breasts through the silk of her dress. Her fingers curl around her waist, trying to pull her even closer, trapping her between her arms, pressed flush to her chest and holding her there, feeling the slick glide of her cunt against her thigh, filling her mouth with those frantic keening sobs of pleasure that tremble in Geraldine's throat.

And although it's Geraldine that's come to her with a hunger, it is Mizu who takes control of the helm of the beast. With her mouth pouring against her neck, she lets her teeth rake across the now-raised flesh of her throat and down, until she is coveting the hard line of her collarbone. Geraldine turns her head to the side as though she’s trying to find something to mask the noise that pours from her lips. It’s a trembling sigh, punctuated by a moan that’s more breathlessness than sound, a sobbing cry of pure, violent pleasure as Mizu sinks her teeth into the swell of her breasts, mouthing at the skin, a low breathless moan in her throat.

Her hips feel small and round in her hands, spanned by her fingers. She’s trembling, Mizu can feel it against every place they touch.

She kisses her, again, palms her stomach, feeling it swell and flatten with every furious breath. She’s so fucking warm; warm and wet, especially when her hand slips down, past the folds of her black dress that's ridden far past up her thighs, and into her panties, properly.

Geraldine jerks forward when she touches her, a howl caught in her throat. “god—,” she snaps, enough that Mizu feels the press of her teeth against the shell of her ear. “god please, please—" she is frantic, desperate, pouring her mouth all over Mizu now, kissing her everywhere, her lips, her nose, her throat, her neck as Mizu growls helplessly, the ache in her pussy unbearable as she sinks her fingers into that heat, feels her pulse around her finger, feels her tremble above her.

She's terrified by the smallness of her, how much of her throat fits in her palms, her wrists waiting to be swallowed up by her hands. She makes a little noise when Mizu digs her thumb into her clit, and Mizu almost misses it, that’s how loud her own pulse is in her ears, matched by her half-sobs and ragged breathing. Everything feels outsized; her and this girl, with her being cold and sharp like a knife and horrible, needing the press of her skin even if it’s wrong in her fever, and her so fragile, fine. A feral, wild creature handling china, except the china is breathing, and hot, and when she drops her head and sucks at her throat she makes the sweetest noise Mizu’s ever heard, something high and sharp and needing, without knowing how or why.

(I could fall in love with you, Mizu thinks, and is horrified by it, tucks it away quick in some place in her head she never ventures, where she keeps the tragedy and trauma, and this too, how much she wants this, craves its softness, its affection, but even the mere thought of someone caring, wanting this- with her - wanting her, makes her stomach turn.)

“I want you to fuck me,” she mumbles against Mizu's jaw, and the air leaves Mizu's lungs like she’s been shot.

It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, those words out of her kiss-bruised mouth, sounding so small, so fragile, like glass— delicate, powerless in her hands. Mizu's imagined this a hundred times, dreamed of it even in her cold, perpetual denial, but it had always been her, burning and laughing and sure. Not whatever this is, whoever she’s trying to be instead of scared and aching, with bruises at her throat and death on her hands.

“—No... Stop.” she gasps, gathers her hands in hers and pulls them away, very gently, firmly, trying for 'we cant, we mustn't , not now, like this— ' in fewer words.

She freezes, feels the slick press of Geraldine's mouth under her ear, her sweet breath tickling her skin. “yes...yes. I want you. ” she whispers in her ear, and Mizu slips in and out of that pulsing, hot heat of them together, how she wants wants wants this; rips her hand away and stiffens, says, desperate, because this is wrong; it's all wrong; Geraldine does not know her; she knows Smoke, she knows Ghost, the Onryo- she thinks she's him, something else.

"I don't think you know what you are saying."

“Mizu...” she gasps, "It's okay. I know... I know." she whispers, pulls back only an inch to look at her, meaningfully slipping her hand between Mizu's legs, pressing her palm against her. "I don't care. God — I want you." and Mizu gasps, then with a flood of understanding, blinks at her, all of her blood rushing, and she can feel again the violent thumping inside of her, the rushing, burning blood, Geraldine's mouth slick, hot on her throat, her hand trembling between her legs. She feels her mouth on her neck, feels her dark curls stream over her skin as she unbuttons her shirt, licking a fiery path down the swell of one breast, the sudden, violent savagery of her want, pulsing, throbbing.

She gasps, her blood thickened, her eyes blind, her ears filled with humming,

"No... this isn't right..." she protests between kisses, and her voice comes out breathless and shattered, a soft moan, her mouth slack and wanting- god, she wants her; she has to tear her mouth away, has to crawl her way out of that heat, the shuddering delight of it that she wants but can't have, won't have; they can't... she can't, must not, she shouldn't.

her hands shoot out and gather Geraldine's wrists in them, rips them off her burning skin, says, stop. you are out of it.

and when she won't pull away, it's like she can't even see her past whatever unhinged, ravenous, violent, aching need has sunk her in its darkness, Mizu has to push her back, make her look her in the eye, faint, scarlet lipstick stains slick on her neck, between her breasts, her jaw,

"your father fucking died and you wanna fuck? - what's wrong with you?"

and it's cold and cruel and careless, and yes- this is who she is; this is who I am, she thinks through the fever in her blood, see me; have me; bitter and resentful and detached, untouchable and heartless, smoke, smoke, smoke.

All of a sudden, death is fully present in the room with them, settling darkly between the two of them and can't be ignored any longer.

Geraldine does not flinch away from her, does not fall apart at her callousness, but her hands slip from her grip and she sits back in her lap, blinks at Mizu, startled, her eyes gleaming darkly, sharpened knives.

"he did not die. My father did not die. " she snaps. that is not the word for it, goes unsaid but hangs in the air between them- to die is to die in your bed, in your sleep, in a hospital bed, cleanly; to die takes just a little while and then it's out of sight- done, gone, ended. What happened to him had been something else; and Mizu thinks she can hear the accusation tremble in her voice, and her body goes rigid under her, stiff, violent with her fury, her breaths coming out heavy as she snaps back, "well he did", half anger and half whatever else is between them.

"this is not on me! I do not need this-" her eyes flit across Geraldine, and her voice is still breathless, but it's colder now, that low, dark growl, "I did not ask for your help, you gave it to me. I would have found him either way." matter of fact, sharp, clean-cut. ( I did not need you; I did not need this; there's no room for hesitation, guilt or weakness and I will not explain or regret this- you do not know what I have done to find him; what it means... What it means. )

Geraldine freezes, looks up, expressionless. Her eyes are pale. She stares at her blindly for far too long, long enough that Mizu wants to hide from it, that empty, pained expression; she would have taken fury over this a hundred times over, wishes she would explode at her, hit her, anything but whatever this is. This... this she does not know what to do with, but kill between her hands with a snap of her wrist. So she does. “I did not blame you, Mizu.” she drawls back horribly, evenly, trying to control the tremor in her voice. It’s not angry or cold, just wounded, shattered, something hard and bitter, pained.

Every action has consequences. But sometimes you have to make a choice. "I made a choice...not you. I made a choice and have to live with it, and I will. You don't have a monopoly on making bad calls."

Mizu stiffens, stares right through her, not knowing what she's supposed to say. Consequences.

She doesn't say it.

"Consequences." Geraldine more laughs that says the word, instead, and it's dark and wet and terrible, but she does not crack, does not shatter under the weight of it, although her eyes are dark and wet. When she moves to pull herself off Mizu, Mizu's hands fall to her waist, momentarily tighten, but she does not hold her, does not pull her back. When she stands, she takes all the warmth away with her, stripping her naked, leaving only that empty, hard cold shell of her, sat numbly on the couch.

Geraldine picks up the med kit off the floor again, says, let me look at it, and Mizu does not know what else to do so she does, she unbuttons her shirt and lets it spill down her shoulders, hisses when she feels her hands on her wound, scowls cooly, when Geraldine says you've messed it up, and nothing more, watches her calmly, too calmly use her lighter to heat up the gauze and clean the wound, peel off the stitches and sew it up again, slowly, tenderly, as though she somehow deserves this softness, the careful press of her fingers, wet with her blood. She dresses the wound wordlessly, and there is no meaness in her hands, no anger. It's only in her eyes, the coldness, and it feels like the sun is pulling away from her, drowning her in its shadow as it does. There. All new. Geraldine says curtly and gathers the used needle and gauzes and threads, tossing them out, does not even wash her hands before she sits on the edge of Mizu's bed and fishes a pack of cigs from her purse, lights one up. Mizu, grunts a thanks, as she does so, reaches for the Vicodin, something for her fever. She watches as plumes of white smoke swirl around Geraldine, watches her exhale, staring at the snake in the painting on the blank wall. It'll kill you, she reminds her, and that last one earns her a baldly unimpressed look and a yeah, okay... shut up.

Geraldine puts her cigarette out, anyway, says "I need something clean to wear. I wanna shower, and maybe something to eat. Won't be all up in your business for too long, I just-" and Mizu cuts her off sharply, says, "don't be stupid. I didn't say you gotta go." not now, like this.

She does not answer her, just gets up when Mizu does, and trails after her, does not say thanks when Mizu hands her over a pair of her jeans and a black top, takes them in her hands expressionlessly and walks away.

Mizu sits on her bed as she showers, and stares at the snake, too, its dark mouth swallowing itself.

When she gets out of the shower, wet and dripping water over the floorboards, Mizu stands up, too quickly, says, "I'll... leave you to it."

"You do that."

Later, they will argue over the bed; Mizu won't take it, insists that she sleeps in it, she is still in grief, lonely, in pain, she does not say that, not to her face, does not even think it, it's primal, needing to offer this... some sort of comfort.

In the end Geraldine wins (she will not back down, doesn't want scraps of sympathy, which makes Mizu roll her eyes, does not want sheets that smell like gunpowder, she'll be fine- fine...) she takes the couch, and Mizu the bed, and when she awakes in the middle of the night from a nightmare to her sobbing quietly in her sleep, under the sheets, does not say anything, spares her the pain of having to talk about it.

In the morning, before she disappears, Mizu leaves a glass of water near her for her to wake up to.

You come here thinking there is a way out of this world for you. There is not.

Primal, feral obsession sinks its teeth in every last part of her; Mizu can't think about anything but Fowler; his voice on the other end of the line, the cruel, bitter laughter in it, taunting, threatening her. It makes her anger swell and explode, throws her in this violent vortex of vengeful rage; she loses herself in it; shrugs her jacket on every morning and rides down to the Continental, laying in wait for Kaji, or any sign that could lead her to her or to Fowler's men and past them, to him.

She's got Ringo working his magic, but there's been no sign of her anywhere for days now; weeks, even, long before Violet's death.

She grows impatient and bitter, and when she comes back home empty handed, it's dark, way past midnight but she does not stop, does not know how, pops Vicodin dry and chugs black, bitter coffee all night, runs through databases, in spite of Ringo being hot on their digital trail; she must do something with her hands, must keep going, keep looking, find something or she'll lose it.

It's a dark, black blur, the world around her in the days that follow.

Geraldine does not speak to her much most days; she holds a dark brow aloft at her once, watching her toss one of the monitors off the desk in her rage, her frustration at her lack of any real lead that could show her that line, that bright, sharp point she must follow but can't, not if she can't see it.

Geraldine smokes, and she wears her jeans, and blinks at her blankly once when she catches her chugging coffee straight out of a bowl because she's broken most of her glasses and can't be bothered to replace them; asks her for a phone, to find her people, she says, and no more. Mizu wakes up to her screaming in her sleep most nights; leaves glasses of water on the table for her. She's half a ghost, plumes of smoke and that sharp, dark glint of her eyes, watching her when she shrugs on her leather jacket, tucks her gun into her jeans, says they're after you. you are being reckless going back out there so soon. you'll get caught and Mizu says I won't.

Their shoulders touch sometimes as they brush their teeth side by side in her bathroom, and Geraldine shoves her away with her elbow, complains, you're hogging the mirror, and Mizu says, annoyed, incredulous, you've got to watch yourself brush your teeth? and yes, I have to.

but it’s easy to stay here, some nights, with her, when her grief is not a gun held to their throat, and her presence not a threat, a constant reminder that she's let herself be weak, keeping her here, close, (she chose to help her: Geraldine did; she made this happen, her choices, her stubbornness, her self-indulgent delusions; it's not her responsibility to keep her safe, there is no room for distraction...but she does-she's here, and it's what it is; she's real, with her, like the way she takes way too much sugar in her tea, is real, or how she sets the edge of a curl on fire smoking a cigarette, over breakfast and Mizu snorts on her tea ) but it's easy, when she softens, smokes her cigarettes, lazing in the low light of her room and teasing Mizu scathingly, mercilessly for how serious she looks, bent over her laptop as though she'll find her enemies in there. I wouldn't like to earn your anger, she scoffs, pretends to shudder in fear. Geraldine sits, facing away, trying to track down her own contacts. Occasionally, she reaches for something on the desk; instinctively, because she always looks up when she can’t find it, shakes her head as though chasing away a thought.

Mizu wonders what used to sit on her desk in her room under the Cabinet. She wonders if she can ask, or if that’s impolite, reminding a girl her life is gone.

Really she just likes watching her, the graceful economy of her hands, the way she touches her mouth sometimes, checking on her lip. (Her little wound—she’d worried at her lower lip all through that night, bitten it as she watched her father burn, torn it open. She wonders if it would bleed if she smiled.) She’d tell her she’s beautiful, but she gets the sense that she’s heard it before, though maybe not quite the way she means it. She imagines someone like her gets called ‘beautiful’ like paintings or a shard of diamond, something sharp and hot and alluring, not ‘beautiful’ like women, like her, like the nape of her neck and her lip, bleeding.

She looks up from the laptop on her knee one night, and watches that nape, how she gathers her hair off it, pulls them up in a ponytail.

“Stop looking at me like that, Smoke,” she says then, like she can hear Mizu thinking it.

Mizu makes a sound, a huff, a snort, letting her head fall against the back of the couch.

“And how exactly am I looking at you?”

She doesn’t think she’s heard her laugh in such a long time, it startles the breath in her throat. She should do that more often.

“You’re funny, Mizu.”

“I am breathlessly hilarious. you haven’t answered my question.”

She scoffs. “I wasn’t raised in a covent. I know what that look means.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Oh, suck my dick.”

The laugh is startled out of Mizu, and she can’t help looking—she’s smiling too, or as good as, her eyes warm and on Mizu. Mizu swallows. “I’m impressed... that was almost a real curse.”

“Almost?” Geraldine protests.

“Yeah, almost. Now…” she makes a show of considering their options. “‘. Go fuck yourself.’ That would have been a real curse.”

She lifts her chin imperiously, and it’s dangerous, how much Mizu likes it when she does that, the way her eyes go hooded. “Okay. Go fuck yourself. ” she says, slowly and carefully.

There’s got to be at least a yard between them—her behind the desk, Mizu on the couch, maybe a yard and a half—and there’s something new and trembling in that space, warm in the air. Mizu's a little worried to mess with it or even look at it straight.

She does not have to worry too long; Geraldine forces herself to look away, but she can see her hand fumble a little when she reaches for her smokes.

"Seriously? Again?"

"Addiction is tricky." Geraldine drawls as she lights up a cig, takes long drags of it as though it might cure some disease growing inside of her. Her lips (soft and sweet with her lipstick) purse around the flute, and she inhales, closes her eyes for a moment. They are burning when they meet Mizu's again, and her mouth dips up. “I only smoke when I’m nervous.” she tells her, shrugging. “It’s a terrible habit.” Mizu says back, and Geraldine bites her lip, thoughtful to her, seductive to Mizu.

“you are a terrible habit.” she says it like it's something normal to say; the casual, soft drawl of her voice running through her like a knife.

Startled, Mizu blinks, does not react to it.

"Come here." Geraldine moves to sit on the edge of the bed, crosses one leg over the other, and as she does so, Mizu's eyes darken, follow her skirt as it rides up her thigh. "I'll show you," and Mizu stares back at her.

She can't deny her, and why not? it's late, fuck, she doesn't know how long she's been awake for, and she's been watching her play with her hair for too long. Suddenly, she wants her close. A beat, and then she gets up and sits next to her on the bed, says "show me what?"

"Magic tricks," Geraldine taunts, brushes Mizu's hair back from her eyes absently, that little curly strand.

"What bad habits do to you — Lean in, relax. God knows you need it." she adds then, sucks in the smoke and holds it, watches Mizu lean in close, her blue eyes dark, her nose brushing hers, a strange smirk on her lips as understanding sets in — she presses her mouth to hers and blows the smoke out slowly, and Mizu takes it, feels the heat of it drip in her lungs and sputters a little, coughs, which makes Geraldine laugh at her, a quiet, breathless sound; come on. it gets easier. she sucks in the smoke from her cig (mint and something strange, bitter, like overripe plums) touches her lips to Mizu's; they pass the smoke between each other’s open mouths, like this, and Mizu feels her blood turn to fire under her skin. Mizu holds her throat in her left hand chastely, sweet, mint smoke sprawling out of half-open lips. She's silk beneath her hands, Mizu thinks dizzily, her mouth tastes like sugar and liquorice, and she sucks the smoke from it hungrily, feels her tongue brush against her lower lip— she's the pulse in her throat, this girl, the hitch of her breath, that languid, that sinuous, that electric, that girl.

Enveloped in smoke, Geraldine draws back, slack-jawed and soft, her lips wet where she's licked them, curled in a coy smile, and Mizu, cold, stoic, unyielding Mizu who has been distant and cold and detached, chases after that mouth, that heat, cradles the back of her head in her hands and forces her back close to her, presses her forehead to hers, as though unsure of what she wants, traces the fleshly curve of her lower lip, like it's the sweetest thing she's ever touched, not like she's waiting for something else, like her hands beneath her shirt or her skirt or tangled up in her bra straps. She dips her fingers into her swollen mouth, inhales her sigh.

When she crawls on top of her and crowds her back against the mattress, Geraldine gasps, says her name in that breathless, rapt way she's got about her, asks what are you doing? Mizu does not answer, does not know how to make words for this. She straddles her hips and pins her down, licks her mouth open with hers, and her jaw is as sharp as cut glass, her eyes ocean depth, dark and ravenous; the cigarette burns a hole in her sheets, sizzles out; she swallows the soft, desperate moans that spill from Geraldine's mouth, feels her body shudder under the weight of her, grinding up against her, already half shattered with how much she wants this, wants her, and it's all heat then, sweet smoke and tongues and frantic, spit-slick kisses. Her thumb in her mouth, her nails on Mizu's back, that right there, that fire, that want, that starvation is what she wants. Mizu scrapes her teeth across her neck, feels the pulse point in her throat throb against her tongue as she licks her neck, buries her hands under her t-shirt (one of her own, loose around her shoulders and black.) She is breathless and unhinged, her body hot to the touch with every nerve firing off a spark of sensation, but still, she pulls back an inch with a dark smirk on her lips, asks, no bra? and Geraldine gasps at the sensation of her hands roaming over her chest under her shirt, says "mine are in the wash, and yours are tiny."

Tiny?

"Fucking brat." her eyes flash, and her hips jerk against Geraldine's, hard and slow, teeth snagging her own bottom lip as she struggles against the growing tension between her thighs. Everything is white-hot and pulsing, prickling her skin with a sheen, light sweat. Her fingers curl beneath the hem of Geraldine's shirt to peel it deftly up and off of her to let it fall to the side, and Geraldine is pulling her furiously back down to her, shifting until she can wrap her legs around her, kisses her mouth hot and slick and furious. While the ache between her legs is unbearable, and her skirt has ridden up far past her upper thighs, she doesn’t break the kiss when Mizu slips a finger into her panties, strokes her slow, taunting, toying with her. Her teeth, instead, become involved when she’s breathless, nipping at her lower lip in an act of hungry desperation. "fuck..." Mizu moans into the kiss, and Geraldine says yes, sucks at her throat, sending a shock of sensation through her skin that escalates to every vein and artery strung throughout her body. Mizu's lips part with a hiss, her tongue melding against Geraldine's in a teasing opposition. She holds her wrists above her head, pins her down, says I want you, clasps both hands in her palm as her other hand furiously delves into her panties again, slipping her middle finger inside her. She buries her face into the curve of her neck as she fucks her with only one of her fingers, feels her warm breath tickling her ear as Geraldine sucks sweet, deep kisses over the curve of it, quivering through a series of thrusts, each deeper, each tearing a little more at her drenched heat until her finger's as deep inside her as it could ever be, and Geraldine thinks she will surely die, she'll fucking die, biting into the muscled peak of Mizu's shoulder, trying not to scream; her body is crying out for completion, it is starvation, agony, and she tries to speak through her shallow gasps, to beg her for more, but it comes out a sobbing whimper, and she whispers her name in a slurring, wet drawl, her delicate hips rocking in time with her muffled moans as Mizu quickens her pace, and she would have given her more, she would have bitten and licked and fucked her every way she would have let her, but a furious pounding on the door stills every last muscle in her body to complete motionlessness, gasping in her open mouth as their foreheads press together. Geraldine breathlessly reaches for her, says, no, don't stop, pulls her back.

But Mizu's automatically reaching for the gun under her bed, cocking it, already on edge, blood pounding. Her movements are precise, perfect, controlled. She gestures for her to keep quiet as she lifts herself off the bed.

She does not get too far.

Ringo's voice comes through the door, saying, I found her and something very akin to shock rips right through Mizu, and her eyes must have hardened, her attention violently snagged away from the heat of the moment, because she's moving to the door and prying it open to let him in and Geraldine is left scrabbling at the bed for her shirt, tugging her skirt down over her thighs.

Ringo comes in like a typhoon, stands under the cold, harsh led lights, and is about to say something when his attention is caught by the girl in Mizu's bed, and his jaw slackens in confusion.

You are not alone! he sounds surprised, and Mizu has to shove him in the shoulder to get him to look at her again, snap her fingers in his face.

"You were saying you found her?"

Ringo blinks, and his eyes grow wide, startled by her stepping between him and the bed, demanding answers.

"uh... yeah. I did. Told you I would!"

A beat. Silence. Sheets rustling as Geraldine reaches for the cig on the floor and re-lights it.

"—and?" her patience is running thin, but then again so is time.

"She's home now... She's back home."

The Continental. A muscle in Mizu's cheek spasms.

"And where has she been?"

Ringo shrugs. His voice changes a little, drops.

"I don't think she ever left it."

Huh.

Mizu does not physically react to any of it, but already, she's gone, her mind racing; she's the only one that might be able to tell her where Fowler is; the only one that would.

She shrugs her leather jacket on, and pulls her loose hair up in its usual bun, and Geraldine, who's been watching them blankly, leaning against the wall, blows out the smoke, says,

"where are you going?"

"If she's heard what's happened, she'll be waiting for me."

Geraldine blinks, then, with a flash of understanding, "Kaji? The Madame?"

Mizu just looks at her, reaches into a drawer, finds a snub- nosed .38, and checks the chamber for bullets, metal clicking, slick, cold in her hand - tucks it in the back of her jeans.

"You know every-fucking-one out there wants you dead right? Must have something to do with ten million dollars hanging over your pretty little head or, I don't know! The fact you went all fucking gung go insane on Violet." Geraldine snaps, horrified at the idea of Mizu meeting with Kaji.

"Relax. It's the Continental. No one will do shit. I'm not going to my death."

"Let me come with you, then," Geraldine says and her voice is breathless, cold, frustrated, her hand shaking in anger as she snubs out her cig.

"No." Mizu rasps, tosses her keys to Ringo,

"Both of you stay here, out of my way and let me do what I have to." she pulls her boots on and tucks a knife in one of them.

"You know his daughter's dead, too, right? And his wife." Ringo's voice cuts through the air like a bullet, and Mizu's hand stills for a moment over the zipper of one boot, but she does not say anything.

Geraldine looks absolutely murderous, hands on her hips and head thrown back as she turns around, willing herself not to scream. fuck- is all she says, fuck fuck... and it's a panicked sound in her throat; because fuck- this is bigger than Mizu, bigger than her and Violet and whatever other storm she's got raging under her skin. They are viscerally, bitterly, and thoroughly fucked.

Ringo just stares between them, the metal of his prosthetic hands clinking as he taps a finger against a wrist, nervous, worried,

Mizu glares over at him and he stops.

"Doesn't matter. Her dad's dead. Her home's gone. I've got hundreds- "

"thousands," Geraldine bitterly cuts in,

"thousands of people on my back because someone's afraid I'm coming for them next, and it's not Fowler, and it's not Kaji or Violet or his fucking daughter."

"They say Fowler had Harkan cut Skeffington's throat open. They say the Adjudicator said he hired you to kill him and The Father." Ringo offers, unsure of what it means,

"The Father?" Mizu mutters, frowning

"I don't know, Mizu... But they said it like it meant something to them..." he says, and Geraldine steps in, says, "Harkan? That fucking pig?"

and "Mizu, I've got to talk to him. I've got to know."

"Know what? You betrayed their trust and they know you or your father did because you were the only ones outside his little clique who knew where to find him. The only reason you are not dead's because you were with me and not with your Father that night." Mizu drawls coolly, not sparing her the cold, hard facts of the reality they're facing.

This isn't a game, and she can't let anything go wrong because she let her guard down, let her walls be cracked open, enough for her to somehow slip through and under her skin...

Like a twig snapping, Geraldine goes still; her eyes hard, and her mouth thinned, pinched and white. Her nostrils flare when she breathes.

"So what." she demands,

and Mizu exhales through her nose, not angrily, touches her chin, gently, like it's something fragile— precious to her. It's only scraps of attention, Geraldine thinks, something to keep her from exploding; Mizu's already gone.

"so nothing. stay here. You're safe here." out of my way where I don't have to be dragged down to keep you safe. goes unuttered.

She does.

When Mizu steps outside, Ringo turns to her, blinking blankly, his mouth slack, a strange smile flitting over his face.

Geraldine measures him with a piercing stare, grits her death against the flood of anger that threatens to upend her, says. Okay.

Okay.

Mizu enters the room through a pair of velvet drapes, the overhead lighting haloing her head, gleaming and pooling over the leather of her jacket.

She's Smoke here, everybody knows him, and as she makes her way through the room between the tables, everyone turns to look at her, offers a handshake, or a simple sharp glance.

On the stage sprawling along one side of the room, the singer sways behind the microphone, singing an old jazz standard, her voice strong, tender, like the wind. Her eyes grow wide at the sight of Mizu, but she never wavers from her tune. In the corner, swathed in silks and velvet, a crimson kimono tied tightly around her slender waist, sits Kaji, the Madame, the manager of the Continental and knower of all; lean, well- dressed, glasses, tailored, precise- she sits with a worn, paperback copy of The Great Gatsby in one hand and a dry sherry in the other. Mizu does not wait for her to invite her to her table, sits down across from her, says, "Kaji."

She lowers the book, and glances across at her with a blank -yet warm- look, the corner of her mouth tucking into a faint half-smile.

"Ghost," she says it in japanese, she always does; then, "my, oh my- will wonders never cease!" and then, sharper, meaningfully, " I'm glad to see you with your head between your shoulders still. it's been a while. "

Mizu's mouth twitches. "That, it has."

a beat, then, she pours herself another drink, calls for another glass with no more than a flick of her wrist and before Mizu can blink, it's there on the table, the waiter walking away as she pours sweet dry sherry for Mizu too. I don't drink, Mizu says plainly, but she pays her no mind says, her voice a low whisper, "what have you done?"

"that's not what I am here for."

"I am not asking you why you are here and frankly, Mizu, I do not wish to know. You highly miscalculate the heights of my position or how much I am willing to risk in the name of my affection for you. "

In Japanese, her voice, is somehow darker, still, but soft, like a girl drowning; a woman held underwater, screaming. "Neither will I try to calculate it. I'm hardly far gone enough to try my hand at your arithmetic. You owe me." she reminds Kaji, calmly, coldly, and Madame stiffens, smiles, that smoky, sharp smile of hers, lips exceedingly narrow, thin, lupine. When she smiles, her teeth gleam like blades.

"You know where he is, I know you do. he's been here three times, crawling like a worm under my nose while I hunted down Violet—”

"lower your voice." Kaji warns, looking around, and Mizu goes on, does not falter, says "you know where he is and you will tell me where he goes when I can't see him."

Kaji sits back, exhales. Under the light sluicing over her, she looks like a statue, cut out of porcelain, immaculately pristine.

"I see... " she does not ask her why she wants him; she straightens the cloth on the table and smooths her dress. She brushes a nonexistent speck from her velvet sleeve. She straightens the ruby necklace on her throat, says, her tongue sharp around the vowels, "you have murder in your eyes," and Mizu sits back, stoic, unaffected, bright blue eyes glinting like shards of ice melting under the candlelight. “he deserves to die.” her voice thickens in her throat, a menacing growl.

Kaji smiles, but it is hollow. She readjusts the bottle on the table, brings her glass to her thin lips, swallows, elegantly, softly.

"Very well," she rises, silks rustling, "Keep your ears pricked and your eyes open, Ghost."

"Done," Mizu drawls back, tips her glass, still filled to the brim with sherry, towards the Madame in salutation before she joins her in her drinking.

"there are eyes on you...from here to the ends of the world, everyone knows what it means: getting their hands on the Ghost." Kaji warns, a meaningful toss of her dark, black eyes towards the bar, and Mizu pretends to smile, as though she's told her something worth a smile, her eyes unerringly stealing a glance at the half empty bar. He's got her back on her but Mizu instantly recognizes him. Vlad. The pig's driver; Harkan's right hand.

"Come, I'll walk with you to your car..." Kaji offers, and as she moves her slim hand, the silks of her kimono flutter, catch the light,

Mizu hesitates, but only for a second; and then, something's snapping inside her, like a vein torn, gushing; she can't walk away from here with him still breathing, and the thought tears through her like a knife, hungered for blood, blood, blood.

"My bike." Mizu corrects her, tosses her head back and slams back the drink, swallowed in a single gulp. "And I am not leaving yet."

Kaji watches her as she stands up and walks to the bar, sits at the very edge of it, not sparing the world around her a second glance.

Something inside of her, too, snaps, and when she walks up to the lobby of the hotel, Kaji whispers to her concierge to keep an eye on the ghost that haunts their bar. "Keep an eye on him;" what she does not say is keep him safe; from himself; from what he might do. He understands, anyway.

Mizu drinks in silence for a long, dark, brooding time, grunting when the bartender tries to make small talk; the silent, stoic mask of her face, almost unsettling. She slips a gold coin to her, leaning over the bar and whispering into her ear, her mouth tickling her cheek when she pulls away, and to the world around her it seems like Smoke's found a girl he likes enough to keep him company for an hour or two; not that she has asked her to keep refilling her glass with water and juice and not a drop of alcohol.

She can feel his eyes on her, Vlad's and his man's, whoever the fuck he is, like tiny teeth pinching her side, like wasps snapping at her fingers, begging to be crushed; after midnight, she drags herself to her feet and staggers to the bathroom. They lift their glasses in salutation to Smoke as she passes, grin, and it's grotesque, how their teeth shimmer, how their mouths slant, ugly-bright things, that make her sick. Mizu pretends to stagger sloppily towards them, loops her arms around their necks and hugs her close to her, laughing darkly. "Smoke," one of them chuckles, says, "it's been a while, prizrak. Good to see you showin' your face 'round here."

"Yeah." Mizu rasps, "you must have missed me something terrible, mm?" she asks, squeezes their necks tightly, more a threat than a hug. "Tell you what..." she slurs, and it comes out like a warning, a dark growl, the words tumbling from her mouth in a rush, "next round's on me." she staggers back a step or two, and without a warning, slams her fist so hard against their table, their drinks spill over, sloshing vodka all over both of them, glass shattering. She uncurls her first and places two gold coins on the table, neatly atop the shards of glass. "Enjoy." she says, and her voice is pulsing, cold, numb, like static humming. She doesn't look back as she walks away, but out of sight, she hastens her steps, tears the door of the bathroom open and pours into one of the stalls, unzips her jeans, and with a hiss of pure frustration, she removes the pistol from her back pocket and slips it between her legs, tucking it in her underwear. They'll never look for it there.

Exhaling through her nose, she ambles back to the bar and dons her jacket, pretends to struggle with the zipper, tosses a coin to the bartender. Goodnight, she slurs, leaning over to pinch her cheek. She pretends to forget her phone on the bar, takes three steps and comes back for it, laughing hotly, rum soaked and loose. She nods towards Vlad, then turns around and makes her way to the lobby and out into the cold night air.

Mizu, purposefully ducks into an alley, the opposite way from where she's supposed to be going, walks down towards the port.

It does not take long for them to come for her.

A car slows down near her, and Vlad rolls the window down, says, "Hey, Smoke. Come on, man. It's late. We'll give you a ride."

Mizu's step falters, and she blinks at them slowly, turns to leave, but hesitates.

"Don't bother, I'm good. I'm okay." she waves them away, but just like she's expected, the bait lures the prey, they insist.

"Come on! you bought us vodka, brat. we give you a ride. Only fair." Vlad howls in laughter, his accent made thicker and rougher with the drink.

"I'm walking." Mizu slurs, and quickens her step, hears one of them say, Pull over here.

They kill the engine and step out of the car, spit something in russian through their teeth and follow her.

"What you doing, walking? Come on, let us take you home. It's colder than my dick in cunt made of ice out here. Get in the car. "

Mizu keeps on walking, pretends she does not sense it when Vlad's hand shoots out, grabs her shoulder and spins her around, laughing, splashes of spittle in her face; she shoves him off, eyes darkening, and he lifts his hands up in the air, says, "Okay, easy; easy..." as they grab her shoulders, pat her down, looking for her gun. "We're gonna have you home in no time, blyat."

Check his boots, Vlad growls in Russian and Mizu pretends to sway in her feet, pretends to flare up in anger when they dig out her knife, sneer about him being unarmed.

"That's mine." she growls, and Vlad says she doesn't want him slicing a vein open now huh, brother? Come on.

She comes on.

She follows them to the car, lets them pour her into the back sit, arms stiff at her sides.

The drive is slow, there's traffic, and Mizu pretends to doze off; they hand her a beer, and she takes a sip, laughs at their jokes, the forced, hollow familiarity. Some russian song is playing on the radio and the beer is sweating in her hand, she can feel the wetness of it trickling down her wrist.

One of the russians asks her incredulously if he's got a woman stashed away somewhere; you smell like pussy, he grins, sniffing the air like a dog, Geraldine's perfume still clinging to her.

''probably in a freezer...'' Vladmir, comments, laughing.

Mizu does not answer. She does not smile. Apathetically she slowly pulls her leather jacket on, unzips her jeans.

He makes a left and shifts gears, turns the car toward the Red Circle; he must be at the club, then, Mizu thinks; they must operate right out of that shithole. The Red Circle. Right under her nose.

We getting him to Harkan? one of them mutters, confirming her suspicion, and the other says, in russian, where else?

The bounty? the first asks,

fuck the bounty. They park the car in a dark alley behind the Circle, and Mizu groans, her head rolling to the side. She hears the low beeping of a phone, static filling the car.

Help me get him out of the car.

From the half open window in the front, she can hear a car driving into the lot, rear wheels smoking as they struggle to grip the road.

She swallows; her new understanding tells her there are too many swiftly compressed decisions in this fight hanging in the air before her, for any clear channel ahead to show itself. She must move. So she does.

Hey, she slurs, and as she sways forward in her seat, the russian looks back at her snaps, what? just as she shoves her gun into Vlad's head and fires a shot right through his skull, splashing him with his blood, and he screams, eyes wide with horror, scrabbles for the door, but Mizu's rage incarnate, she's angry, blood pounding in a blind fury, and both hands going with every ounce of power she can muster; she's on him within seconds, grabs his hair and pulls back his head, shoving the mouth of her gun directly beneath his right eye, growls, "where's Harkan?"

"You'll never find him." he spits through his teeth in Russian. Mizu answers by slamming his head against the dashboard , breaking his nose, and he howls, blood streaming down his face, into his mouth. Unflinchingly, she lowers the gun and grabs at his arm, twisting so viciously that her throat vibrates with her howl; she's angry; she breaks his shoulder clean off the bone, breaking his arm with a dry snap and he's roaring in pain, choking back howls, but she keeps holding his arm painfully in place, growls, "where the fuck is he?"

Outside, she can hear boots on gravel, another car ripping through the lot, wheels skimming violently as it comes to a stop.

"you are out of time, Mr Ghost," he howls in russian, "tik-tok, tik-tok," wet, shallow gasps, and Mizu's trembling in rage, eyes unblinking; she grabs his head and slams it into Vlad's crushed skull, shattering his face into the torn bones that stick from his skull, over and over again, until her hands are crimson with blood and he slumps over, limp and heavy in the passenger seat. Grabbing her knife from his pocket, she swings the door open and shoves Vlad's dead body out of the car, blind with fury; she can only see that line again; that bright, straight line that leads from A to B, from here, to then. Perched behind the wheel, she shifts gears, and furiously slams her foot down onto the gas, hitting a long patch of gravel, shifting, spinning the wheel, and skidding -while remaining in full control- as the wheels skim over the earth.

The gunmen pouring out of the second car react to the sound of the engine's roar, the wheels smoking, the two nearest it's approach dropping to a knee, aiming, and firing. Bullets crash into the windshield -a round slashing into the headrest, clipping her ear- and Mizu slams her foot down harder, barreling down towards them; she is angry; furious; she feels another bullet slam into the car, half shattering the engine block before the front left tire blows. She loses control of the jeep, which fishtails wildly, but she regains it, growling, shifting, slamming into a sedan, crushing two gunmen before it cartwheels through their midst, killing three more before coming to a violent stop on its side.

Groaning, she fishes around for her gun and drags herself out of the car through the shattered window, feels the stitches in her side throb. Mizu growls; she is furious.

She is on her feet and on them within seconds, shooting anything that moves, spilling blood, furious, enraged, screaming; each target receives two well-placed bullets to ensure incapacitation. She never slows, never misses, and will not stop; she is furious. The men scatter in a panic, fleeing towards the club - a number of whom are shot in the back- while those choosing to shoot back are cut down in a blink. Once emptied, Mizu drops the clip of her pistol, kneels, sweeps a fallen gun , levels, fires, again and again, always moving;

and then she sees him, Harkan, skin blotched and jaw scraped raw, cut open, he must have been in one of the cars, his suit is scarlet with blood; and she can't see past him, the terribly grin of that mouth, teeth yellow, glinting; Geraldine on her knees, screaming (she's never heard anyone scream like this.) The distance between them grows smaller, the passengers of two of the sedans parked around him emerge with semi-automatic weapons but before either of them can fire, Mizu fires off four shots, killing them each with a pair of bullets before firing until empty, teeth snarling, she's blind with rage, screaming Harkan's name, wanting him to know, she's coming for him, killing two drivers, and one passenger, leaving one driver barrelling towards her, covered in his passenger's blood, eyes wide with horror as the car crashes into a wall and explodes into flames.

Screams fill the night, and she watches as more of his men pour out of the club, as he disappears into a car, and Mizu's cocking her gun and running after it, firing shot after shot into every part of it that she can reach, shattering its windows; but they drive away, and she's left trembling in silent rage, blood frothing at her mouth, her lip torn from a shard of glass. Gun empty, she tosses it aside, lunges for one of the rifles laying on the ground, snatches it up, points the hot end at the back of the car furiously driving away, and empties it into the backseat, blindly, unflinchingly.

Bullets easily punch through the doors and windows, riddling the dash. Blood spatters the seats but she can't tell who's dead, and she is hissing, panting, tossing the gun aside and running for the car at her left, the lot's swarming with Harkan's men now, and she is diving behind the wheel within the blink of an eye, unerring, unstoppable, turns the key, revs the engine, slams her foot down on the gas and crashes through the parking lot gate of the building, tires squealing as the jeep pulls a one-eighty, righting itself before leaping out onto the street, furiously gaining momentum, as a trio of heavily-modified skylines appear and take chase. Collected, focused, Mizu glances into the rearview mirror, takes the pistol in her left hand, shifts, and viciously spins the wheel turning to face the oncoming vehicles. She cocks the gun and shifts again, crushes the gas pedal underfoot, rear wheels smoking as they struggle to grip the road and she empties the gun into the cars ripping down the street towards her; one bullet, two, three, four shots through the windshield and a skull, a throat, tearing a chest open. She groans, exhales through her nose, shifts gear and as she swerves the car around with one hand, she fires a shot right through the skull of the last driver that comes crashing into the side of her car.

She revs the engine and violently shifts the car around, comes to a screeching halt before she hops out of it, runs down a dark alley on her left. She zips up her jacket and makes her way down to the other side of the street, shoves her way into a taxi, growls out an address.

When morning comes, no one's sure who's ripped through the Red Circle.

When morning comes The Pig's dead, his throat shattered, torn open by a bullet. His car washes up on the banks of the river; his driver dead.

Something tells the world that it was him, anyway.

When she comes back, her flat is dark and empty, the bed made. She calls out for Geraldine, but she does not answer.

In the bathroom, she finds her hair, fistfuls of her black curls in the trash, cuttings of it into a Ziploc, and a used up dye bottle and gloves, smatterings of red dye, ruby fire, carnelian, like a flame; the scissors on the sink.

In the kitchen, a bowl of ramen gone cold, the ones she silently watched her make right out of a package from 7/11 one sleepless night, and somehow burning those too. She had not laughed to her face, but afterwards Mizu had heard her snort to herself when she stepped out of the kitchen in cool, composed frustration at her failure.

Next to her bed, on the night table, a glass of water and a note sticking to it. It's got a lipstick stain on it, a parting kiss, rouge and pink and velvet like her.

It reads,

Consequences.

The snake on her wall is gone.

#IM IN TOO DEEP TO STOP NOW #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu #bes mizu #john wick tag.#killing strangers.#I AM DONE. im insane about this story UNFORTUNATELY but if i have to look at this in my drafts one more time i will scream and delete it #writing tag.

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