#this looks better at a higher brightness I promise
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Warnings: branding (of reader), as well as typical yandere themes like abduction, mentioned murder, mentioned violence, and threats.
There are also slight spoilers for the main quest (Idk how the quests are organized yet HAKDHD I didn't pay attention. But I'm at the point where I have to get to union lvl 21 to continue the main quest, so no spoilers for those quests).
ALSO HI LADIES here's your yearly fanfic. The drabbles are in chronological order. Its nearly 2.9k words total. Goodbye now.
Scar is a busy man who, by the nature of his work, can't settle down in any one place for too long.
It's what is keeping you sane, honestly. You only have a certain dramatic, scarred, card-wielding bastard on your couch (or, as is becoming more frequent, next to you when you wake up) for a few days every once in a while. His visits are irregular and unpredictable, just like he is.
That doesn't make it much better, though. He seems to take pride in being a pest. Scar loves attention, and unfortunately, he's not above being annoying to get it. From monologues about the great Lament to asking you about tragedies that seem random, until he openly admits to being the culprit so he can tell the story, there's little he won't do to keep your eyes on him. None of it is anything that would be helpful to the authorities, of course, but there's not much to avoid talking about there. The Fractsidus has always made their ideals quite clear, after all.
One of the first things you do when you find him, relaxing in your living room like he owns it, is threaten to tell the higher-ups about him.
"Alright, then. Go right ahead!" With a seemingly carefree smile, he crosses his legs on your couch, feet on the table and all, and gestures towards the front door.
You narrow your eyes at him and back away, not tearing them away for a second. He snorts and gives you a small, sarcastic little wave and an ingenuine closed-eye smile.
Your back hits the door behind you, so you're forced to turn around to undo the deadbolt. Right as you do, though, a strange, bright red blanket of cards spreads up from beneath your feet, encasing you in a dome. You blink, and you're under a red sky on a desolate, floatibg island. Whirling all around you is a maelstrom of decimated buildings and pillars.
You whirl on your feet, and your eyes land on him, standing only a few feet away from you with one hand on his hip. A muted sense of anxiety thrums uneasily in the back of your mind. Your eyes meet his, one red and the other a dull gray, and you think you finally understand how a deer in headlights feels.
"Are you going to kill me?" Your voice is eerily steady and calm, belying the anxiety and adrenaline rushing through your veins. It sounds alien to your ears.
He outright laughs in your face and leans in close. "What reason would I have to lie?" he asked. "If I did want to kill you, I'd just tell you. There's nothing you could do to stop me." He places a hand on your head and ruffles your hair, undeterred by your instinctual flinch.
"Remember this. With the new Lament growing ever closer, nobody has the resources or time to spare to keep a simple civilian, like you, safe from someone like me." Scar's tone lowers towards the end with a dark promise, and his smile sharpens into a smirk.
He turns on one heel and walks away. With a snap of his fingers, the chaotic scenery melts away to reveal your simple living room once again. "Consider that a warning. Even if you did tell anyone, do you think they could do anything that would help you?" He looks over his shoulder at you, his dim, empty eyes flashing dangerously.
"Think about the price they would have to pay for your own desperation."
Night has long since fallen, but you're still out and about. It's not that you have anything left to do, it's just... when you go home, you're going to have to see Scar again. If you have to listen to another of his monologues, you might actually try to kill him. It's not because you're a little scared of him. Of course not.
(Your eyes still dart around nervously, jumping at any flash of red you see.)
You check your phone for the time, only to find it's just past midnight. Everything is closed, and you're really not sure what to do now. Maybe you should just suck it up and go home. The thought has you slumping your shoulders with a defeated sigh.
A hand clamps down on your mouth, and another strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against a firm chest. In a panic, you kick and flail and try your best to scream, but it's all futile. They drag you into the alleyway behind you anyway.
"Relax! It's just me," Scar purred, the hints of a laugh tinging his voice. His breath fans against your ear. "I've just noticed... You've been spending so much time out and about, it's like you’ve forgotten about me. Consider my feelings hurt."
Scar pulls the both of you into one of his all-too-familiar crimson portals. You try to pipe up with some snide comments or annoyed curses, but his hand only presses more firmly against your mouth.
"Ah-ah-ah." He moves his hand into your sight from your waist just to wag a claw-tipped finger at you before he places it back, securing you against him again.
It's only a few seconds before a wall in your bedroom comes into view and the red light of the portal behind you disappears. All of a sudden Scar falls backwards, pulling you helplessly along with him. You make an embarrassing, surprised little squeak on the way down, reflexively clinging to him until you both land on the bed behind you.
He lets out an amused little chuckle and rolls over, putting you both on your sides with his chest pressed against your back. He buries his face in your throat with a sigh and finally frees your mouth so he can hold you close like a plushie.
"I know what you were trying to do," he murmurs into your ear, a threatening undertone to his voice.
Your breath catches in your throat before you can stop it. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was just busy."
His lips dance across your skin, and you can feel his smile against your throat. "You don't think I'm gullible, do you?"
Well, dammit. So much for that. You try to look at him to gauge his reaction, but his arms only tighten around you. His face is hidden in your neck anyway, so it's a lost cause.
"I'm... sorry?"
"As long as you don't try it again, dollface."
For a few months, maybe a year (depending on the timing and your temperament) Scar doesn't think he'll need to kidnap you. You're somewhere safe, in a place where he can come find you whenever he pleases. Why bother? Besides, it's nice watching you go about your day.
Unfortunately, he slowly comes around more and more over time, making this outcome inevitable. There are two primary factors. The prophecy is the first; his free time dwindles more and more as it nears its fulfillment, and the idea of having you available at any given moment becomes a more alluring prospect day by day. Alternatively, you're too desperate to get rid of him, and he decides it would be easier to isolate you, away from any "pesky helpers," as he would put it.
Scar tosses the idea around in his mind for a few days before he makes his final decision. He won't even keep it a secret from you, either; he tells you this casually in the spur of the moment, in a bid for your attention. Maybe you seem disinterested, too busy paying attention to something else. Maybe you've realized his "weakness," as you might call it, and tried to give him the silent treatment. Either way, what you do can push him towards a decision a little early. He usually takes great care to reign in his impulses, but with you, he doesn't have to. An ordinary citizen like yourself would have quite a bit of difficulty getting away from him, after all. He finds your helplessness freeing, to a degree.
"I've been thinking lately," Scar trails off, clearly fishing for your response.
"You can do that?" It's out of your mouth before you can think to stop it. You almost regret giving him what he wants, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. At the very least, you can focus on the dishes you're washing instead of sparing him a glance.
He snorts, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge your comment. "I think it's about time we take our relationship to the next level. Don't you?"
Your head snaps in his direction. "The hell does that mean?" you demand. Your face twists in a mixture of confusion and slowly dawning horror, an expression the bastard revels in. His toothy grin widens, and with a flick of his wrist, he produces a card out of thin air to idly spin and flip between his fingers.
"It's been really nice spending time with you here, you know? But unfortunately, duty calls, and I can't always spare the time to come visit." Scar sighs dramatically with an exaggerated frown, resting both arms on the back of your couch. "It's such a shame. I'm sure you miss me, don't you?"
You uneasily turn back to the dishes, putting another on the drying rack and picking up a new one. "Not really. Don't you have any friends to talk to?"
"And there's the other point!" You refuse to look at him, but you can hear his footsteps as he leisurely saunters to the kitchen. You try to focus on scrubbing off a particularly stubborn patch of grease on your pan. "You can be so hard to deal with sometimes! It makes me wonder if all the effort I go through to keep you happy is worth it."
You furrow your brows, a frown tugging at your lips. The moment you move to speak, a red-tipped finger comes from behind to press against your lips in a shushing motion. "Now, now, dear. No need to tell me it isn't true." His face leans into view from over your shoulder with a smile. "Besides, I'm sure you'll be just as excited for this as I am."
"Excited for wh-"
Scar cuts you off without words, making the world spin as he turns you around to face him. Your pan falls with a clatter, and suddenly you're faced away from the window above the sink and looking up into his face, split by an ear-to-ear grin. His pupils are blown wide with excitement, lit up by a manic glint in his usually dull irises.
"You're coming with me. You have three days to write out your will and say goodbye to the people you care about," he spoke, his voice rough at the edges and trembling with suppressed amusement. His hands rest on the edge of the counter on each side of you, caging you in. "Try to run away or tell anyone, and I'll kill them all. Obey, and they can live."
Scar leans in so close that his nose brushes yours, with a stare so intense you would have thought his eyes were glowing. "We have a lot of things we can do with their bodies. Would you like to see what a Tacet Discord born of human flesh looks like?"
You can't tear your eyes away from his intense, bright stare for even a second. With slow, trembling movements, you shake your head.
"Now that's what I wanted to see." Scar leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips, only pulling away after a long moment. "Not so hard, was it? I'm sure you'll be alright, there's no need to be scared!" He brightens up in a flash, any trace of his previous threats gone. He licks his lips as he turns away from you.
"All that being said, I'm sure something similar will happen to your family in the true Lament, so it doesn't matter. But if it makes you happy, I don't mind leaving them be in the meantime." Scar looks up at nothing in particular, summoning another card to toy with idly. His spare hand rests behind his back.
"Isn't it boring how the world is stagnating?" Scar starts up again. "Chaos, as orchestrated by the great Threnodians, can create a form of equality impossible to achieve with our current status quo..." His voice turns fuzzy in your mind as you tune his droning out. Three days? Where is he taking you? What about your life?
You take a shaky breath, bringing a hand up to tug at your hair. Wasn't there anything you could do? All his talk of controlling one's own destiny flashes in your mind, mocking you. Would you ever see your family again?
You only realize that Scar has noticed your breakdown when he places a hand on your shoulder and pulls you close. "Aww, don't cry," he murmurs, wiping away tears you didn't even realize were falling with a thumb. "It's not so bad, I promise." His lips stretch into a facsimile of a comforting smile, and he strokes your hair in an attempt at comfort. He pulls your face into his shoulder, periodically shushing you.
You stay like that for a few minutes, and when he deems you suitably stable, he moves to lean on you with one arm on your shoulder, the other outstretched before the both of you in a grand gesture. "Don't worry, just imagine it. Wouldn't it be lovely, being safe and sound by my side in my new world?"
"Not at all. Are you sure you don't hate me?" You mumble, your voice rough and tired.
He rolls his eyes. "Darling, I could never. Oh well, I'm sure you'll come around." Scar shrugs it off. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers, and his eyes flash, as though he had remembered something important. "Oh, by the way, the rest of today is the first of the three days. Would you like to get a head start?"
Fuck.
One day, Scar returns from one of his excursions with a plan in mind. Without a word, he sits you down in the makeshift infirmary of his Fractsidus hideout of choice for the week. For once, he refuses to answer any of your questions, instead opting to gather a few medical supplies from around the room. When he's satisfied with the collection—bandages, ointment, and a bottle of painkillers—he sets them down on the table next to you.
"Did you get hurt out there or something?" You cross your arms and lean back in the uncomfortable metal chair. "Don't expect me to bandage you up." If that growing smile is anything to go by, he knows you're just trying to cover up your sense of unease, but he doesn't call you out on it.
"You wound me. But to answer your question, not quite."
The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. What could he have planned?
Scar isn't going to let you theorize for too long, it seems. He kneels in front of you, one of his signature ram skull cards held flat against the palm of his hand. He ignores you as you flinch away, tensing up, eyes darting between him and his hand.
"What are you doing?" you hiss. Scar chuckles in lieu of a response. His hand drifts up to the side of your throat, pressing his palm—and the smooth side of the card within it—firmly to the skin of your throat. As if reading your mind, his opposite hand lands on your opposite shoulder, keeping you in place before you can try anything.
With a wink, a sharp-toothed grin, and a faint flash of red from beneath his hand, he sears the card's image into your skin with a flash of white-hot pain. The rest is a blur. All you can remember are your cries as he presses your face into his shoulder, stroking your hair as he shushes you.
Now you sit on the couch, with a cup of (instant, but still) hot chocolate in hand and soft bandages around your throat. Scar crosses one leg over the other and slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close.
"Why?" you ask simply, with not even enough energy left to look at him.
He hums in mock thought, making a show out of considering his words. "Well, there's really not much to it," he shrugs with one of his characteristic smiles. "I was just thinking of something more... permanent, today."
#wuthering waves#yandere wuthering waves#yandere scar#yandere scar wuwa#yandere scar x reader#yandere scar wuthering waves#scar x reader#bro theres so many scars out there what all do i tag this#yandere scar x reader wuthering waves
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New friends on Halloween
It just needed something to eat...but it'll happily take new friends too~
Alone.
It was realizing that it hated that word, and this feeling.
It trouted out of their-...its cave at 5:55pm, claws shaking slightly, an awful gnawing at its center and the slash across its side wasn’t making it feel any better. At least the costume was doing its purpose, keeping the stinging wound protected from outside invasion and helping in the regeneration process, but the costume alone wasn’t enough.
It needed something, someone, anything to eat- it’s been too long since it gotten this stupid injury, too long since winfrey was taken from it, and far too long since it's even eaten an animal-
It was starving…in more than just the physical sense.
Its eyes still felt raw after all the crying was done- it hates crying, it hates feeling so incomplete…
It stopped at the edge of the tree line, hidden by the dense leaves of a bush and watched, blinking heavily and tail raised in confusion.
Had it gotten the time wrong? The sun was down, it was dark, but yet there were still so many humans out and about. It was a lot of the little humans too, and they were wearing…costumes? Since when did humans wear costumes???
It hesitated at first, glanced back the way it came, but the growl that raced from it made it look back to the oddity happening on the street. It just needed One human, one good sized meal, and then it could flee and heal.
It stepped out of the bush, straightened its back, and began walking about. It waited for screaming, for panic….but all it got was the occasional glance, and one human smiled at it.
“Dude, love the costume!” it blinked, tail twitched, and before it could respond that tall yet not mature- teenager?-teenagers- humans had walked off, laughing alongside each other. Did….were they not able to tell? They did smell weird, an awful fermented smell, so not good prey-it could not afford to get sick.
It walked a little bit longer, glancing around, sticking to the side of the street with less houses and less lights- awful bright things they are- and looked for someone separated, someone else Alone.
It tried not to focus on the fact that so many of these humans had a pair, tried not to tear up and blinked away the stinging in its eyes. Now is not the time-
“C’mon John!! Just a little higher, I can almost reach it!!” It blinked, glanced toward the darkened yard and crouched, claws digging into the damp grass as it snuck closer. That voice was little, and upset, and sounded tired. It peaked around the side of the…what do humans call these mini buildings again? Shed- yes, shed, it peaked around the side of this shed, all covered in pumpkin stickers and….broken eggs? It resisted the urge to lick them off, maybe later.
And standing before it, on top of each other's shoulders, were two little ones. Little boys, one dressed up in a brown hat and vest with boots that were too big and the other had his costume of white sheets and see through lace hung around his shoulders as he lifted the other up. The little cowboy was reaching up, hand outstretched and balance unsteady, grasping at a small orange and yellow bucket above them. Both their faces were red- they’ve been crying recently too- and teeth gritted.
“Jason I can’t get any higher!!”
“Well we have to get Ashley’s basket! We promised!” The little cowboy- Jason- shifted and reached a little bit closer while on his tiptoes-
Clyde didn’t have time to process what happened, one second it watched them, the next it stood next to them, Jason wrapped up in its tail upside down and both little ones staring at it in surprise. It blinked, letting the actions make sense in its mind- John had lost his grip, Jason had slipped, a fall from even that small of a height would have broken his neck, instinct had overtaken thought- and smiled slightly as it set him down.
“....Um- Thanks.” Jason coughed, cheeks tinted red and glanced away, rubbing the back of his head. It hesitated to speak…but smiled.
“WeLcOmE.” It was raspy, and not human like, and it waited for them to run…but it blinked at the sympathetic looks.
“You got that bug too?” John chuckled. “My brother and dad both got it and they sound just as raspy as you.”
Bug- cold, illness. It hesitated, glancing away before nodding. It looked up at the tree, at the little basket in it, and pointed at it and tilted its head. “WhY?”
“Oh- Some buttheads bully older kids!” Jason stomped his feet.
“They got mad that we saw them egging Miss Camper’s house and when we said we’d tell her, they threw Ashley’s basket up there.” John sighed. “We’ve been trying to get it down for her so she could trick or treat with us…”
Well that is just rude.
It glared slightly at the story-tail thrashed against the ground in shared frustration and moved over to the tree. The children made questioning sounds as it grabbed onto the rough wood-this tree was old, and sick, and if it had to guess it wouldn't be here come next year- and raised itself up. Those two didn’t have claws, they weren’t made to climb trees- it was. Up and up, spiral around that branch, knock down that old plastic toy with its tail, and onto the branch. Its tail hooked around the fabric handle of the little plastic pumpkin, and lowered the prize down the onlooking children- whose eyes seemed to sparkle in amazement.
Once Jason took it, it dropped itself from the branch- the ground made a quiet squelch sound as it landed hard onto the damp grass, and looked down at the two. It smiled. “ThErE.”
“That was Amazing!!!” John raised his arms up and bounced. “Oh you HAVE to teach me how to climb trees like that!!!”
It blinked and snickered, tail swinging in amusement, then blinked as a glove covered hand took hold of one of it’s fingers.
“C’mon, let’s go find Ashley!” Jason beamed and began to move. It could have pulled away- or it could have pulled this one closer, its inside gurgled angrily at the lack of substance within…but it followed, tail curled, head tilted.
It was…nice, to have this little bit of company right now. It waited a few weeks for its wound to heal enough to move, it can wait until they find Ashley.
“Oh, my name is John by the way!” John, now confirmed to be the little boy in the ghost costume, smiled up at it. “That’s Jason.”
“Yuuup!”
It smiled at those silly little ones…
“...ClYdE.”
“Nice to meet cha, clyde!” It squinted its eyes happily at that, tail swinging a little faster. It had to wonder why they hadn't noticed it wasn’t human yet…but then again, some of the costumes it is seeing as the trio walks down the path looked pretty similar to it.
“....WhY CoStUmEs?”
“....It’s halloween.” John smiled at it, and then blinked at it when it tilted its head. “.....You…do know what halloween is, right?”
The small gasp that came from him when it shook its head brought a grin to its face and a quiet snicker.
“Dude- Halloween is like- The best time of the year!!! You get to dress up, you get to see all the cool spooky stuff, you get to trick or treat and get free candy!!!” John shakes his arms up and down to add to his point, and Clyde couldn’t help but snicker a little louder at the action. “Jason we have to let Clyde trick or treat with us, this is an outrage.”
“Yeah- Ashley!!” Jason let go of its finger and raced forward into a small crowd. It hesitated, tail stopping dead mid swing, breath held- and then released as the small cowboy returned, a little girl in tow.
She wore a puffy dress that sparkled and a small gold crown on her head, her eyes were puffy and red and she held a small wand alongside her returned basket. She was smiling, tears in her eyes as the two came over.
“This is Clyde, they got it down!” Jason made a small gesture to it, and Ashley looked up at it- and then slammed into its leg, arms wrapped around it.
It froze, the entire body went stiff, tail raised….and it knelt down and patted her back. Careful to not touch exposed skin, thank Six she had long sleeves, and a quiet rumble came from it.
“T-Thank you so much.” She sniffled out, looking up at it with tear filled eyes but a large grin before stepping back and rubbing her eyes. Jason held onto her and wiggled side to side, and John sighed and poked her.
“We’ll tell Miss Camper about the egging tomorrow, for now let's have fun for the rest of the night with our new friend!”
It blinked, looking down at the three little ones. “....FrIeNd?”
“Well- yeah!! You helped get her basket and you’re cool!” John beamed at it, and it blinked a few more times.
Friend…friend is like partner, friend is companion…friend is someone to spend time with and enjoy, and to hunt and play and sleep-
But these are humans- these are little lives that will fade in the time it takes to blink, and can be snuffed out even faster. Human are prey, it was predator…but humans were also sentient, also had small souls-
It held onto sentience and souls within-
Its stomach growled, its pupils dilated- and it smiled wide.
“FrIeNdS!” it wrapped up all three into its arms and rose to its full height, moving them side to side as it turned on its heels and walked back toward the darker side of town. It didn’t want a crowd to see this, this was just for it and its new friends.
The three of them let out startled, then excited and giggling sounds. It curled them up, particular to keep a good grip on the wiggling things, and particular to see how Big they were….
…
It could fit all three of them in whole, Combined they were barely the size of its torso. It rumbled as it kept walking, and John stopped wiggling and looked around.
“Um…..Clyde?”
“Hm?”
“Where are we going?”
It giggled. “....TrEaT.”
“...Oh, you know a good house or something?”
“SoMeThInG.”
There, nice and quiet and dark- a few lights but for the most part, isolated.
Perfect.
They were looking around, pointing at the houses with lights on, wondering which of these houses were its special treat spot- None of them noticed it open its mouth. It wouldn’t chew, its teeth were sharp, that would hurt and it didn’t want to hurt its little pals….
John had glanced up- and didn’t even get to yell. One.
Ashley had gone to a door, banging on it, but it scooped her up before the door opened. Two.
It was surprised by how fast Jason was with those oversized boots, but it caught up just as fast. Three.
In the distant, it could hear people raising their voices, calling out little names.
-
It couldn’t stop purring as it slinked around the edges of town, its claw resting on its chest. They were trying to get comfortable, shifting and squirming, muffled sounds and voices. It felt so warm…
It should likely return to its home, to rest- but it wanted to keep experiencing this “Halloween”, it wanted to keep going- just for a little while longer. Maybe it’ll find itself more little treats. More little friends.
They were warm, and soon to be its friends forever more- but they were quite small. It could fit a couple more within-
Something latched onto its leg, and it jerked. Eyes looking downward, it blinked. A small boy, sniffling and rubbing his eyes.
“I’m sorry…” The little boy sniffled. “I did the one thing you told me not to do and I lost them…”
It blinked… and ruffled their hair slightly. The boy sniffled- and then yawned.
“I wanna go home, Alex…” He yawned, arms wrapped further around its leg and face pressed in a little. “.....I’m sleepy and I'm upset.”
It smiled and reached down, claws hooked under little arms and lifted him up. He certainly did seem sleepy, eyes squinted and mostly shut, slightly bags under them. This little guy needed a nap…
Surely he wouldn’t mind joining this little friendship, he seems like such a sweet kid- and it’d be so wrong to leave someone alone when they asked for help. It smiled, large and bright for him.
“Night Nighy~” Ah, it’s voice sounds so much better with its three little friends added to it, less like it had an awful cold.
He squinted and paled. “You’re not Ale-”
Four.
It stood there, a purr racing from it and tail swinging in glee, another warm weight tucked within, another new friend for it to keep.
“.........L-Lewis….?” It froze, and looked over its shoulder. Two boys, pale as the moon above, one holding a trembling flashlight in their hand and the other had dropped his basket, hands covering his mouth. Tears in their eyes, faces filled with dread.
Ah ...They must be friends with the sleepy one…
The air was silent as they stared at one another, the two boys frozen in place…And Clyde grinned brightly, teeth shown and mouth open slightly. Well, 6 Was its favorite number and it would be so wrong to separate such a cute little group of friends…
“.....Norman.” The one with the flashlight whispered as it turned fully to face them, taking a slow step forward.
“.....Y-yeah Sam?”
“Run.”
Oh how fun, they’re playing Tag. Clyde has to guess that it is It.
It Loves this game!
It caught Sam first, the boy was a slow runner, limping on his left leg and he seemed to know it. He had turned and grabbed onto it- and he went down screaming the whole time.
Five.
It slowed as it approached the tree, the sounds of panicked breath badly muffled behind hands. It grinned and lowered itself, the grass had dried, its tail slamming across the sidewalk so that the boy would look in the other direction…
His yelp of surprise when it tapped his shoulder had made him taste all the sweeter.
Six.
By now, the night wasn’t quiet, shrieks and yelling of little names and worried cries filled the air, but it didn’t mind. Afterall, it had its fill and it had its friends, it was as good as any time to return to the cave-
“I wanna go home” A muffled voice echoed from it, and it purred and wrapped its arms around itself, nuzzling itself with glee.
“Don’t worry, we’re going home now~” It purred, and entered the tree line at 7pm.
#silver rambles#silver writes#doai clyde#doai the six children#doai sitcom au#Promise unkept timeline#Long post#this was like- 7 pages in my google doc#no beta we die like men#Enjoy!#dreams of an insomniac
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HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤
ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka
pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader
summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.
warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 6.1k
a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡
i.
When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan.
Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor.
Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you.
You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.
Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty.
Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.
So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning.
But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat.
Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.
So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan.
“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach.
“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.”
“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor.
“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed.
Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat.
You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place.
Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?”
“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”
Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you.
“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”
You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?”
Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute.
You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”
You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.
“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights.
His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out.
That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.
But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin.
“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed.
“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”
Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs.
You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.”
Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face.
It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.
Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“
“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”
Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb.
He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you.
You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you.
His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting.
You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make.
Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank.
“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.
“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.
But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.
“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day.
Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.
Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating.
“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.
To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words.
Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.
You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand.
You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.”
Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.
“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration.
ii.
After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.
He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity.
But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”
Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in.
Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it.
By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him.
It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him.
“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form.
Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.
Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag.
It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.”
Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“
You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”
“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands?
“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”
Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.
“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”
With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”
Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something.
But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome.
At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished.
He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties.
There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments.
But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”
At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.
He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy.
Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one.
You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff.
“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”
Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss.
It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill.
But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him.
You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”
And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily.
Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments.
Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.
But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed.
He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend.
The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his.
It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft.
One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor.
Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met.
It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass.
With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now.
But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side.
After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear.
He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it.
He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.
Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments.
He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours.
But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch.
He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way.
You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness.
Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had.
“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!”
His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open.
“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips.
“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again.
“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.
“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”
You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.
“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.”
He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)
Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide.
Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy.
He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream.
And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.
One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still.
Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips.
You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”
“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway.
Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”
“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”
Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did.
iii.
Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you.
Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.
You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.
You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)
Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape.
But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night.
#wowee this has a lot of words and a lot of warnings#this is filthy i apologize#cillian murphy smut#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner x reader smut#red eye#jackson rippner
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RECOVERY
I spent a lot of my life depressed without admitting it to myself and then i spent a year so depressed i could hardly make myself do the bare minimum to keep my body alive, and now it's about 3 years since i got up from that lowest point and while i am still struggling with myself things are objectively a lot better.
and i just want to put a couple things i've learned, both to remind myself of how far i've come, and in case any of what i've experienced helps anyone else.
You can't run from the darkness
When you're super depressed it's easy to focus on how much you don't want to be depressed. When everything is darkness you tend to wish you could escape that darkness.
but you can't. The darkness is all around you. You can't run away from it without running deeper into it.
instead, follow the light.
don't think of it as escaping depression, think of it as seeking joy. Don't run away from the darkness, walk toward any lights you can see.
At first it will be very small things. The taste of a food. The way your favorite color looks. A smell you like. For me one of the first things i could find to remind me of joy was the way a warm shower feels.
I would just stand in the shower and lean into the tiny, tiny joy of that feeling. I would describe it to myself, how it felt good, what about it felt good. It didn't cure me, it didn't make me less depressed, but it was a little point of joy to focus on, to breathe into like a tiny candle flame in my darkness.
I would memorize that feeling, so that later, when i felt like nothing ever brought me joy anymore, i could think, no, that's your depression lying to you, you felt joy, however small, right there in the shower just yesterday. And, maybe there is more somewhere else.
Even today, it's been a hard week, i'm feeling a lot of hopeless and helpless feelings clamoring away at me, but... i have spicy soup. And spicy soup is a NEW joy. I found spicy soup joy as i was following any little light i could out of the deepest part of my depression.
I never put hot sauce in soup before then. But today i am drinking the broth of a very spicy soup and as much as everything else is complicated and difficult and scary and dark, there is a bright mote of joy in this sip of spicy soup. And in the next one. And the next. I enjoy it, i love it, all the more that it is new, and if i had given up four years ago, i never would have known this small joy, this new favorite tiny thing.
Who knows what other little joys i may find?
If you have come to a place in life where you have lost the knowledge of how to feel joy, it is important to remember that feeling joy is like anything else in life. The more you practice, the better you get, the more of it you can do at higher levels.
And there are only so many minutes in the day. The more of them you spend acknowledging what feels good, the less of them will be left for feeling bad.
you can't escape the darkness by fleeing from it, but you can find the light by moving toward it.
Chop Wood Fetch Water
Another thing i learned was a truth about the exercise advice you always hear.
For where i am in my recovery now, common exercise has very little impact. I don't really get the endorphins people talk about, and i don't tend to feel better about myself after i work out unless i already feel pretty okay about myself to begin with. i don't mean to say there is no point in me exercising, but, i walk about ten miles a day holding onto 8 energetic dogs and i do a fair amount of lifting and bending and stuff for my job, and it's fine but it's not, like, doing a whole lot for me at this point in my recovery (tho i do think more recreational exercise will come back into play a stage or two on in my healing process)
HOWEVER
There was a year there where i was only getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. When i was only able to force myself to eat just enough each day to stay alive because i'd made a promise to myself, and that promise was almost all i had left.
and the right kind of exercise is what pulled me out of that.
the RIGHT kind.
See, someone close to me needed help with a physical job. That was an important part and why this method is known historically as some variation of Chop Wood Carry Water -- it's intensely physical, which is important, but also, it helps the people around you. These days our personal communities tend to not need wood copped and water carried the same way. But you can get the same effect helping someone move all their furniture, doing all the yard work for your friends and/or family, volunteering for a charity that builds housing for homeless people, SOMEthing physically taxing that helps people.
In my case, my aging father needed help re-shingling the roof. So i promised i'd help.
So i got up every morning because he was expecting me. And i climbed the ladder because he would see me if i didn't. And i lifted and carried and hammered and worked hard. It took a week of six to eight hour days.
Right away, the fact that it was helping someone else made it not matter so much that it didn't feel like it was helping me at first. I couldn't deny that i was doing something good, that my existence had positive meaning, however small.
But very soon, it changed something fundamental in my state of depression. You can't do physical labor in the sun 7 hours a day without drinking a bunch of water. Without working up an appetite. Without getting very tired at the end of the day.
See, i had been struggling to make myself drink enough water, i was fighting to make myself eat even one small meal's worth of food each day, and i couldn't get a good night's sleep to save my life. And these things all made my depression much much worse. You think you get sad or angry from skipping a meal, consider being chronically undernourished. You think your mental state is worse after pulling an all nighter, think about what never getting a good night's sleep does.
But a couple days into this job with my father, and suddenly i was hydrated, i was eating full meals, and i was sleeping soundly at night.
THAT is what pulled me out of that deepest part of my depression.
So in a way, it was exercise that saved me. But not how people often say "have you tried exercising?" More like pushing myself physically to the point that my body demanded the things that previously i couldn't get it to want for itself.
Instead of forcing myself to eat i was craving food. Instead of staying up to all hours and then tossing and turning, i was physically exhausted and slept early and hard. (and, weirdly, being physically exhausted was somehow a relief from being emotionally/mentally exhausted)
Lastly
Healing often isn't noticeable while you're doing it
"healing is a process" is something you hear a lot, but i think it's more helpful to say something like
"Healing is like growing your hair out from short to long. You can look in the mirror every day and not notice it happening. And even when you can tell for sure it's longer than it was, you still can't really do anything with it, and it may seem pointless. But then one day you can tie it back in a ponytail and you realize how much it's grown and how many options are open to you now and you're really glad you stuck with it"
Now excuse me while i go meditate on the joys of my remaining spicy soup.
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Playing It Straight
“Roomieee. I need your help with something.” I hear the telltale high pitched cry from my twinky roommate Yuan’s bedroom. The last thing I need right now is his whiny ass distracting me.
“What it is? I have a date with this hot chick in half an hour. You better have clothes on this time dude.” My hand pushes the door to his room ajar and I see him laying down on the bed facing away from me. There was some upbeat trashy pop song playing on his sound system. Yuan begins to gyrate to the beat. “Don’t dance. No dancing.” I order bluntly, turning off his music.
There was being gay and then there was Yuan, who seemed to make it his whole identity. It was bad enough his room was colour coded in pastel purples to match his dusty lavender hair. But he had now painted the whole door too.
“It’s my big butt, I think there’s something wrong with it.” He announces with fake concern, rolling his hips on the bed sheet - revealing more of his smooth slim body than I ever dared wish to see. I make a internal note to ‘mace own eyes later’.
Yuan was not as innocent as he liked to make out and had on numerous occasions attempted to trick me into indulging in his fantasies. Gifting me a bright crop top and calling it a ‘fashionable tank top’ - it certainly turned heads at the gym the one day I wore it, or inviting me to a progressive club with the promise of scoring ‘lots of ass’. And the less said about ‘locktober’ the better, that was NOT a halloween costume. Only last week he had convinced me to listen to some gay as fuck audio tapes while I slept; obviously that crap didn’t work on a man like me. His justification always being ‘you’ll like it, I swear’. This one was a bit on the nose, even for him.
“Dude we talked about this, I’m flattered, really. I get it, I’m a gay bottoms wet dream. I can’t blame you for eying my superior meat.” I puff out my well built chest, barely contained in my tank top. “But fuck, it ain’t gonna happen.” I attempt to not make eye contact with him as he looks over his shoulder at me.
“No, like seriously. Something feels wrong, can you pleeease juth take a looksee. Pretty please.” He pulls down his shorts and moons me as I shield my eyes. It’s like the sun, you’re safe if you don’t look directly at it, right? Internal note: ‘buy more mace’.
“Serious like when you said we were in a ‘mandatory hand holding zone?” I hear muffled giggling coming from his pillow. “Bro it’s probably from all the things you shove up it.” I shudder, trying not to picture THAT in my head. “I’ll look but only if you promise me that you’ll drop that ‘I know you’re secretly gay bullshit.’ My friends at the gym heard that crap last time.”
“Hehe. Ooo thuch a manly jock. Geez, I pwromise. Meathead.” Yuan winks at me and I hated him for it. Hated the weird way it made me feel in my chest.
I sigh loudly for effect and bend down until the cleft of his…cheek is at eye level. I felt so self conscious, how on earth did he talk me into this? I look at my chiseled body just to remind myself, yes I am a man. A masculine man. God, here we go. My eyes briefly glance across his—ew—his raised butt before I quickly look away.
“Bruh I don’t see a thing. It’s a mans butt. Congratulations.” What the hell am I even looking for? I’m sat on the floor checking out a dude’s…posterior. And for what?
“Come on, look clother.” Yuan insists with a slight lisp, curving his back and pushing his rear higher.” Again, I look at my thick biceps, yes, still a man.
His hands pull at his buttocks and slowly part them, revealing his tight hole to me. Woah. One glimpse was all it took. I should have recoiled but instead I was fascinated. I’d never seen a man’s hole before, it was different…
I hear him say something to me but whatever it was, it didn’t seem too important. I couldn’t stop staring, it was like looking into a black hole, and the more I looked the more enraptured I became. It was distorting my worldview, it made me feel like I had been missing out on something all these years.
“Helloooo! See anything?”
“Uuhhh. Maybe.” I mumble, my head getting closer to his rear.
I pull away his hands and replace them with my own, laying my fingers across his round cheeks and spreading them wider. Wow, it was…dare I say, enticing? The rest of the room faded from my mind as my eyes fall deeper into his needy, winking hole. I lean in and my nose makes contact with his crack. I can’t help myself, I inhale and suck up his scent, it acts like an immediate aphrodisiac. My cock wakes up, poking against the edge of the bed.
“You have been lithening to your programming for me then. Good Meathead. Remember when you were the stuck-up clever one, going to college? That was thuch a bore.”
“Say what bro?” College? Did I…? Nah. That smart shit wasn’t for me bro, my head was like beef central. I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about but I was happy to be a good fucking meathead. Something in my mind told me I was supposed to be. It made me even more pumped about the gym session tomorrow, I gotta bulk up my pecs.
“Make sure to take lots of selfies tomorrow ‘bro’, I need to see your gains.” I continue to breathe in the sweet aroma emanating from his behind. What was I doing again? “So, anything there dummy? How about now?” giggle “Isn’t it likth so big.”
He wiggles his hips and pushes back into my face, my lips making contact with his boy pussy. My eyes go wide. Fuck, this was soo gay. I should be revolted, why am I still down here? I could get up and walk away whenever…whenever I wanted to. Suddenly my mouth felt parched, like I had spent a week in the desert. It became clear where this was going. I’m not sure if I could even stop myself at this point, one tiny thing could tip me over the edge and disintegrate my own self image. It was as If I was having an out of body experience, seeing myself pressed against him. I wouldn’t, I was stronger than this. I was straight. Straight as an arrow… straight as a…
“Eat up jock.”
F—fuck. My lips open and my tongue presses up against his rear, dragging up and down between his cheeks and then swirling around his inviting hole. It was like a dam breaking, once I started I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. He tasted too good. Ready for the main course, my tongue dives deep into him and begins to eat him out in earnest, my mouth sucking at his entrance like I’m slurping on a ice cream filling.
While giving him a very manly rimjob I think of a solution to our problem. I finish up indulging in his sweet cake and pull my face out, slapping his jiggly butt cheeks.
“So what’s the issue?” He asks impatiently.
“It’s empty for one. Huhuhu. But I can fix that bro.” I say confidently, rushing to remove my underwear so I can finally nut inside him.
I push his skinny back down against the bed and line up my monster cock with his lubricated hole. Yuan moans into his pillow like he should. I slide into him with ease and flex my arms, feeling proud at ‘conquering’ my roommates hole.
“Good Meathead.” He praises between loud panting. “Mmm. But I thought you were straight.”
“I am. Unff. Just helping a bro out. No homo. Though I do need to see if there’s anything wrong with your throat after I plant my seed in your hole.”
______________________________
The next day.
“Man that was a fucking lit workout.” I exclaim, marvelling at my bulging muscles. I tense my arms and see my veins pop, sweat dripping to the floor. “Though you losers sure focused a lot on your glutes today. Hey—aren’t you ‘queens’ gonna shower?” I turn as my gym bros stop behind me in the locker room.
“Well… we spoke to your roommate about your progress yesterday.” Xavier states, removing his damp muscle tee - his dark shiny skin reflecting the harsh lights from overhead.
Yesterday…for some reason my memories from the day before were a blur. For the life of me I can’t remember what happened. There was some strange taste lingering in my mouth that had been making my dick hard all day. My roommate was certainly in a suspiciously good mood this morning too and made some strange comments about me ‘being hungry for more’.
“About what bro? That Yuan can kiss my ass. Huhuh. Come on, stop checking out each others dicks and let’s go!”
“Uh see, he thinks you’re now ready to be our…” I’d never seen him so unsure of himself before, I roll my eyes at him and slam my locker closed.
“Y’all acting like a bunch of girls.” I swear if Yuan is back to spewing his gay bullshit again…
“Go on. Say it.” One of the others insists, nudging Xavier’s shoulder.
Xavier hesitates and then looks away from me, his cheeks flushing red. “There’s uh, there’s something wrong with my…butt…so could you?” The others fail to stifle a laugh.
I do a double take as Xavier turns and points his toned ass at me, his jockstrap framing it like a wrapped gift. “What the fuck? Bruh what are you doing? Put that shit away.”
“Be a good Meathead.”
I see a flash of my roommates butt cross my minds eye. Uhhh. My cock throbs at the image. Before I know it my legs are kneeling behind my friend, what am I doing? My body certainly seems to be one step ahead, my hands grab at his muscled legs for support. “What the actual fuck. Guys…” I’ve never felt so embarrassed, how am I ever gonna live this down?
A hand pulls on the strap hugging Xaviers left buttock and lets go, letting it snap back into place, a slight jiggle vibrates over his firm rear. Was it my hand? I couldn’t even tell.
“Holy shit. I can’t believe those tapes actually worked. He’s come a long way since he was that scrawny nerd, thinking he was above everyone. Now he’s dumber than all of us. We just need Yuan to join us next. Damn someone make sure to record this” It was hard to take in what they were saying, my mind was fixated…elsewhere. One of them leans down to my side and points their phone camera at my zoned out face. “Dude, we stink…I’m next after you.” Someone pats my back as another hand holds my shoulder in place. “Nothing more manly than licking the salty sweat off a bro’s butt.”
No….
Xavier bends forward, his pert dark cheeks pulling apart - sweat glistening on their surface. And then I see it. What my body craved. His hole. Everything falls into place, my mouth watering at the sight, my eyes entranced. I could no longer deny what I wanted, deny the inevitability of what I was about to do. The depravity would be immortalised on camera too, my dumb face shoved in a mans ass. Oh fuck.
The perfect black void nestled between his tight buttocks seems to suck away my shame as I lick my lips. “So manly.” I repeat to the crowd that had gathered around me. Mmm. Rimming a man’s ass was almost as good as fucking it. I wanted a taste of all the guys, their shiny sweaty bodies, their musk. It was my place in the group, I was their meathead after all. My cock was already throbbing at the thought. Maybe Yuan was onto something with this whole ‘gay’ thing. Yeah, let’s try going full homo. Huhuhuh. Anything for the bros, bro.
Looking down at me confidently, Xavier grips the back of my head.
“Clean my hole bruh.”
_____________________________
A few days later I check in on Yuan to see his progress after a few nights obliviously listening to his ‘jocking’ tapes. Dude, I’m going to enjoy watching him slowly bulk up and dumb down. He’s sat up in bed casually tugging at his cock, mouth agape. The heavy thumping bass of trap music is blaring from his speakers. His room is a complete mess.
“How’s it hanging lil bro?”
“Just…mm—wanking.”
“Can see, Meathead. Hung and dumb, nice. I think you’re about ready to join us at the gym.”
“Hmm. Roomie, I—I need your help with something. It’s my big dick…”
“Huhuhu, there’s something wrong with it, let me be a bro and give you a hand with that stick.” I climb over him and wrap my lips around his cock.
“Thuck…ahem. Fuck yeah brooo!”
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Salvation
pairing: sagau!Dottore x Reader
summary: When you die, the whole world collapses for Dottore, but maybe there is still hope?
warnings/tags: gn!Reader, religious + cult themes, description of the execution, description of injuries.
word count: 2.7 k~
note: I'm here again after all this time. (ーー;)ノ Brought you some Dottore, enjoy. Maybe there will be a second part, but I don't promise anything.
Scarlet blood spurts out and a severed head rolls down. Empty eye sockets are directed to the heavens, a happy smile frozen on your face, anticipating the end of torment, now sealed on your face with an eternal mask. Dottore feels his fingertips go numb, he stares blankly at your head and hair, matted with blood. The mechanical heart, which has never failed before, either skips beats or beats quickly.
His ears feel like they are filled with cotton and he hears no sound, the emptiness fills his heart drop by drop, leaving no space for anything else. What is this feeling called? Dottore tries to distract himself from the picture before his eyes and frantically tries to remember the right word, but his thoughts move slowly like flies stuck in honey. A flash of insight and a bitter taste appears in his mouth. Despair. A drop of blood runs down his chin; he didn’t notice when he bit his lip with his teeth. It seems that only ten seconds have passed since the execution, but to Dottore they seem like an eternity.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices tears running down the Tsaritsa’s face. There is no trace left of her usually cold personality. The harbingers look no better, for each of them there has long been no one left more important than you, and to lose you like that was terrible. More painful than the worst wound they received in life.
The one whom the archons call the Creator begins their speech with an unpleasant grin, full of self-satisfaction. They talks about the impostor and how proud they are of their dear followers for capturing you for him. He is sick of looking at the other archons; the proud appearance of Morax and the other archons makes him rage. It spreads like hot lava from the heart to the hands, convulsively clenching in impatience, the desire to strangle this ancient reptile overwhelms Dottore.
Your most loyal follower huh? The fool who fell for the fake sent by Celestia. He was the first to accept this abomination without doubting it even for a second. You were so different, your auras were completely different. A liar or a pathetic fool, whichever was true, Morax was disgusting.
When the fake finishes their incredibly pathetic speech, it will be their turn: Tsaritsa, the harbingers, the ordinary Fatui, they will all have to lose their lives.
Mentally, Dottore estimates the distance to the platform where Celestia’s puppet stands. Even though his delusion had been taken away just like the rest of the harbingers, that didn't mean he was going to give up. Dottore runs his tongue over teeth, checking their sharpness and squints with satisfaction, feeling the salty taste of blood appearing in his mouth. There is nothing worse than an animal driven into a corner, knowing that there is no chance of salvation, but still intending to resist.
When he is led past the platform to the guillotine, he will take the chance and take revenge. Although it would be more correct to call this the restoration of justice. You were innocent, You were their god.
When the fake solemnly spreads his hands and orders the executions to continue, the sky of Teyvat darkens, anyone could feel the fury of the elements. Dottore exhales in amazement, drops of your blood slowly rising into the air and changing their color from red to gold. The crackling of electricity, the smell of burning, strong gusts of wind, the temperature drops lower every second, plants are spreading across the entire area, bright and screaming about their toxicity, the earth trembles underfoot, on the horizon he can see the sea rising in waves, each of which is higher than the previous ones, threatening to flood the whole harbor.
The fake looks at what is happening in shock, but does not have time to say a single word. Lightning falls from the sky and strikes Celestia's puppet, one after the other in an endless stream, they follow each other. Dottore's heart is filled with gloomy triumph and at the same time unbearable bitterness. If Teyvat could have intervened directly, why didn’t he save you, their Creator? Why didn't the world prevent your death? Or was it your desire to reveal the truth only when nothing will it be impossible to fix it, leaving them all with eternal regret?
When the lightning stops falling from the sky, the fake turns into a smoking piece of charred flesh. The Archons look in surprise at the one they praised as the Creator, understanding slowly appears on their faces. One by one they helplessly turn their heads towards your body. Morax is the first to fall to his knees in front of your head, Dottore sees how his fingers tremble as he hesitates to touch your blood-stained cheek.
Tsaritsa looks contemptuously at each of these traitors. Dottore knows that now she would with great pleasure impale each of the archons on ice spikes if only the shackles did not block her powers.
In a half-strangled voice, Morax orders the Millelith to release all of them.
After being released, Dottore and the rest of the harbingers follow Tsaritsa as she goes to the archons and… your body. Standing next to it is unbearably painful, his eyes cling to every scratch on your face, his heart falls into a cold empty hole, now that he can clearly see your empty eye sockets.
As far as he knew, the Electro Archon was to blame for this; he would have broken every bone in her hands, and then lowered her into a vat of acid and watched as her flesh peeled off from the bones.
Tsaritsa's voice is cold and gloomy when she speaks to the rest of the archons.
"There is no punishment that can atone for your sin and death will not be your salvation. You will live the rest of your eternity in pain, I promise you all that."
A drop of your golden blood slowly moves in the air, Dottore follows their movement with his eyes. Was there a chance to save you, why did everything turn out that way? Why he, Tsaritsa and the other harbingers turned out to be so weak and useless? They too were sinners, those who did not save and they will bear this sin until the end of their lives.
Dottore could still feel the remnants of your aura, faintly, but he could, and he closed his eyes, absorbing this feeling, which was soon to dissipate. Or not? Dottore's eyes widened, an arrow of hope piercing his heart. Your spirit was still here, weak, fading, still existing, attached to drops of golden blood.
"The Creator has not left us yet, his spirit is still here."
The face of Tsaritsa and the other archons lit up with faint hope, their gazes were directed at him, all-consuming, unwavering attention emanated from them, however, such a gaze was directed at Dottore from everyone who was present in the square.
"Collect all the blood, not a single drop should be lost; the soul of the Creator is attached to it. I can try to save Their Grace, but we must act quickly before their spirit dissipates."
Dottore is determined. He will succeed, he cannot fail, he will not make mistakes, just not in such an important matter as this. Despite the mental pep talk he gave himself, Dottore's palms become treacherously cold and he begins to nervously tap a rhythm with his fingers on his thigh.
He needed a workplace, his laboratories would be ideal, but he was not sure that your spirit would survive the trip to Snezhnaya. He had to act quickly, Dottore could feel the grains of time slipping through his fingers.
When he and the clones find themselves in the silence of the temporary laboratory provided by Qixing, Dottore allows himself only one nervous sigh before taking control of his emotions. The time for all the emotions will come later, when he successfully returns life to you.
He begins to give instructions to the clones, who are preparing everything necessary for Dottore's most important work. It’s good that he managed to drive out all the traitors of the archons and other personalities who tried to be present, even Tsaritsa, nothing should distract him, the price of a mistake is too great.
The punishment of the archons was temporarily postponed, Tsaritsa said that when you become alive again, you yourself will determine the punishment for these traitors. It's when, not if. Now the whole seven had to destroy Celestia, which had committed the unforgivable.
Your headless body lying on the operating table looked foreign, wrong of all places, you should never have ended up here. You should have enjoyed the balls held in your honor, the gifts offered to you by your followers.
To begin with, it was worth understanding whether it made sense to try to restore your human shell or was it already in a completely unusable state? A severed head is a big obstacle to the restoration of your body, but Dottore had no guarantee that your soul could take root in a synthetic body, and the ability to create it in a short time, so there was only one possibility left. It was necessary to attach your head back to the body, check the body for damage to internal organs and, if there were any, heal them. Before you begin the process of returning your soul to the mortal coil.
The test results showed, although not the most comforting results, but everything was not so bad, of course, with the exception of the severed head. General severe exhaustion of the body, which will be corrected by the correct diet after your resurrection, which will definitely be successful. It couldn't fail. After all, if he failed, would there be any point in his existence, in the existence of nations, in Teyvat? Without you, nothing made sense.
Dottore shakes his head, driving away bad thoughts and returns to work. In order for the head to subsequently work as it should, each nerve and blood vessel had to be connected correctly. Painstaking work that requires a lot of patience, well, Dottore never complained about its lack.
Hour after hour, the clock ticked peacefully in the background, measuring time, while Dottore and his clones painstakingly put everything back together as it was originally. The last batch of stitches signals the end of such a complex operation. The muscles of his back ached in protest against the same position for hours.
Dottore looked at his work satisfactorily, touching the stitches and then immediately pursed his lips in regret. This is not how it was supposed to be. He walked over to the table and gave himself an injection that instantly banished any fatigue and made his mind crystal clear again. In a day he will definitely feel very bad when the kickback comes, but you were definitely worth it. In fact, if he were now offered to give his life in exchange for yours, he would agree without hesitation.
It was time to start the second stage, it was necessary to do something with your eyes. Unfortunately, all he could offer you now were temporary prosthetics, not as advanced as those he and the clones used. He will definitely replace them later with better ones.
One of the many things he regretted was that he didn't get to see your eyes, they should have been gorgeous. In legends they were described as unearthly, as if entire constellations and the endless night sky were reflected in them.
As gently as possible, Dottore cleaned your eye holes from dirt and blood, carefully stretched the wires to the back lobe of the brain, to which the optic nerves are attached, and finally inserted the prostheses. Dentures you should never have. The color looked inappropriate, too artificial, alien, wrong, Dottore swallowed dryly.
He sits down on a chair nearby and wearily hides his face in his hands. Fatigue, not physical, but moral, covers him in a wave and the heaviness in his chest does not allow him to breathe. He knows that it will only disappear when you take your breath and your heart beats again.
Dottore was never particularly religious in his youth, he was interested in the story of the creation of the world and definitely admired you, but there was never any real reverence in his feelings then. Everything gradually began to change when he joined Fatui. Every year he learned more and more about you and his devotion to you only grew, gradually completely capturing his heart until there was nothing left in him except you.
All the humanity that was in him, no matter how little it was, was intended only for you. All his achievements were dedicated to you. He all belonged to you, only you. And at the moment there was nothing he could want more than to see you alive. The same desire burned with a passionate flame in the eyes of his clones standing nearby.
The last stage is the most important. Dottore carefully inserts a needle into your vein and begins to pour your blood back into your body. He feels your spirit waver, as if you doesn’t want to return.
He looks over your body; bright blue veins stand out on your pale skin, there are various bruises and scratches on your body, which he, of course, treated, but to his regret the healing was not instantaneous. This picture breaks him into fragments, leaving a cold emptiness instead of his mechanical heart, his inability to correct what happened. Was there any point in all his knowledge that he had been collecting for centuries if now it was almost completely useless at the most important moment of his life. All that Dottore can do now is pray, pray to you, to the elements, to Teyvat. Please come back, please, please, please…
He knew it was a selfish desire, this world wasn't worthy of you, they weren't worthy of you, not after what happened. But hope, a feeling that had not come to him for a very long time since the time of the academy, flared up in his soul. The last drops of blood poured back into your body and deathly silence fell in the laboratory. Those few seconds when nothing happened seemed like an eternity, frightening, cold, hopeless to Dottore. The claws of the unknown tore his heart apart, did he succeed? Would you like to return?
Your trembling breath and wide-open eyes bring Dottore into a state close to euphoric. You were alive again, relief fills him and makes him dizzy with happiness. He feels something wet rolling down his cheek and wipes it away in confusion. A tear. A lot of time had passed since the last time he cried, and he had definitely never had tears of happiness until that moment. Well, you always made him feel an unusual amount of different emotions.
When you go into a coughing fit, one of the clones instantly brings you a mug of water and looks at your face with concern. You take a few greedy sips, and then turn your confused gaze on him, gradually filling with fear. Dottore's heart clenches unpleasantly, this is not how you were supposed to look at him. Not what he wants and not how it should be.
You try to say something, but again break into a cough. Dottore instantly approaches, he wants… to console you, to assure you that you are safe, but the words lie like dead weight on his tongue. He carefully reaches out to your hand, but freezes millimeters from your skin. He felt confused, useless. You will probably be uncomfortable with the touches of a sinner like him.
You carefully peer into his face, by the way your gaze moves along the features of his face, it seems to him that you are looking for an answer to some very important question for you. And after a few moments, the answer seems to satisfy you, a relieved sigh escapes your lips and you reach out with your hand to his, carefully placing your hand in his.
Dottore swallows dryly, warmth rising up his arm from where you touch.
"Everything will be fine, Your Grace. Now everything will be fine, I promise."
Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ
#genshin impact sagau#genshin sagau#sagau#genshin impact sagau x reader#genshin x reader#sagau x reader#sagau cult au#sagau dottore#theabysss writes
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Elaborating on robot!König. He was a man, once, he believes - or that’s what his fuzzy memories tell him. He’s unsure, but he knows that this is his reality now. And he’s built to love it, to love the attention he gets When he walks onto the battlefield, and the praise from his superiors from time to time when he successfully destroys an enemy base with just a flick of the hand. His wrist opens, splitting his forearm and Hand apart, revealing a hole - and a second later, a rocket heads straight for his targets.
Within the destroyed enemy base, someone manages to escape. A frail little being, könig notes, when he scans her from afar. He chuckles to himself, seeing her run around like a lost fly hitting a window over and over again, because one second she’s running this way and the other she’s running that way. She has nowhere left to go.
He decides to kill her. He’s her enemy, and his sensors are going crazy noting that the target is trying to run away. But it all soon quiets, as he hears a voice through the earpiece built into his head. “You noted a target escaping, are they strong?” König stands on the battlefield, unharmed, talking to his superiors as if nothing particular is going on. “Ach, nein, very… weak. Not suited for war. She will to die by exhausting herself, running in circles.” He laughs loudly, making heads turn towards the 208 cm tall crazy metal-man.
“Then get her for questioning.”
“Jawohl.”
He simply walks over to her, not rushing one bit. He loves the terrified look on her face when she turns around and sees him. She doesn’t even try to run away. “Stupid girl, not even trying to escape me?” You don’t answer and he grins, “A smart decision. Jetzt komm schon, hopp hopp!”
He flings her over his shoulder like it’s nothing. His mouth curls slightly upwards at the “oof!” Sound she lets out. He grabs her steadily by the back of her knees and one large hand over her butt. On his walk back to the helicopter, he experimentally squeezes a few times and decides he likes the feeling of it. He sits her down in his lap, ass on one thigh, and he bounces the other every now and then. He wants to stare at her, but he doesn’t want to scare his new little prey off.
Back on base, they keep you for questioning. You know better than to give information away, but you suppose it’s either that or you’ll leave this place in pieces - as they heartily promised to send könig to blast you away into the night sky like a firework.
When they don’t let you go, you’re still confused, but just as you’re about to speak up to the leaving soldiers, two men walk in. You recognise one as König the war machine, and the other must be in a higher position with the way he holds himself. König meets your eyes and grins toothily, not that you could see it because of the mask. But you shudder at the bright blue shining on you.
“She’s all yours, König” the older man pats his back, “we don’t have any use for her, and I could see the way you looked at her. I guess even those like you happen to to want to keep a war trophy, yeah?”
“Ja… jawohl” he keeps staring at you, eyes scanning over your body. Quite literally. The older man nods and tells him that he can take you home, “have a good time, you’ve deserved it.”
He props you up on his shoulder again and leaves to his apartment, built right beside the base to make it easy for him to come and go as commanded. He slaps your ass, and grabs a cheek through your pants, smiling and your soft gasp.
“I’ll show you a good time, trophy girl.”
(Proceeds to show you the 30+ modes he has on his vibrating dick)
WHO ARE YOU?!? Can I marry you…? 👉👈
I mean do I follow you here anon? And if not then wtf?! Give me your blog now if you’re pushing out stuff like this! Gimme! I beg of you!
(I had to collaborate to the awesome bleakness of this: here, have this as a ty gift!)
She literally prayed that some other veteran would have taken her as a “trophy”, just anyone except this machine.
It claims it was once a man, but seems to have forgotten what it is to be human, walks in and out of his apartment that’s really just an old container, disturbs your only moments of peace in the “bathroom” where you’re trying to wash yourself clean, under a bucket shower with a small bar of soap he found for you somewhere.
Doesn’t respect your privacy at all actually, stares at your breasts when you get up and get dressed, scans your body up and down when you hesitantly crawl to him at night. He has a body warmth feature which he uses to lure you in and to his arms because the metal casket you live in with this war machine is horribly cold, night and day. Of course you seek warmth from the giant radiator so that you wouldn't freeze to death.
Due to the many upgrades – or that’s what he calls them – made to his body, he has inhuman stamina. Gets his pleasure out of edging and studying your body, clearly trying to remember what human women were like... How they writhe, what makes them quiver and cum, what forces them to moan.
He wants to know how many orgasms can be pulled out of your weak body, how many times can you take his dick that’s a bit too hard and unforgiving compared to the smoother human cocks, he's especially curious whenever you start to beg for him not to stop.
You feel like you’re more like a guinea pig to him when he returns to probe and experiment on you at night. Asks why you look sad when you curl into a fetal position after the three peaks he just tortured out of you. When you explain to him that you’d like some skin-to-skin contact and cuddling after sex, the automated breathing behind you stops for a moment.
“Ah... Post-coital procedures... Ja, I remember, ganz sicher.”
He settles down next to you and draws you into an embrace, a bit too cold and rough. There’s no heartbeat, but he breathes steadily behind your back, the steady thrum of his inhales and exhales supposed to make you relax. He could probably turn his body heat system up if you asked, but you’re too shaken to even speak.
“You feel good now...?” He asks as if it’s in his protocol to do that these days. That it’s his job to make you feel nice and he must not fail…
“Yes, much better,” you lie as you spend another night with this war-torn but highly functioning cyborg, trying to cuddle and comfort you like a human man.
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request idea: fake dating troop for max v xreader, they can’t stand each other maybe she supports Ferrari or smt but secretly admires his talent but he doesn’t know and is kinda of and ass to her and a lot of drama for them to get together idk, maybe there was an wedding and max needed a partner — I’m sorry of this is a lot but I would absolutely love to read something like this 💕
Media Relations
Max Verstappen x Leclerc reader
Genre: a mix of everything?
Summary: the Redbull and Ferrari PR teams think it would be great publicity if you and Max have a relationship. With the promise of your brother getting a better race engineer (and the hint of a crush already) you accept. Max does too, but he hates you for some reason.
Warnings: Max is a jerk, hints at lestappen if you really squint, jos verstappen, not edited
Notes: I felt maniacal writing this tbh.
Masterlist
“No. Absolutely not.”
You stand there watching Charles pace. You can’t tell if your older brother is mad at you or the situation. Maybe both?
“I already signed the contract and so had Max.”
“Why would you do this to yourself? I trust Max, but not like this.”
It had originally been intended for Charles to sign the contract. The teams thought this type of media would be good for them. Neither Max or Charles agreed to it. They don’t want to portray something there not where there are thousands who want to be themselves but can’t. It felt unethical and just generally wrong.
That’s where you come in. If they couldn’t do it with Charles, you’re the next best option.
The contract didn’t offer you anything, other then a possibly happier brother and he knew that. When you did your time, they’d have found him a new race engineer and some better strategists.
He knew you’d give up everything to help him get his dream. That’s why he’s frustrated, not with you, but himself.
“Do you know what Max is getting out of it?”
“He mumbled something about his father but that’s all I got.”
“Just don’t get attached, please, I’m begging you.”
“Don’t worry Charlie, I’ll be fine.”
~
It was a lie. You knew it was going to be difficult. Mostly because you’d already had a crush in him, it he despises you with a passion,
Regardless, you two walk hand in hand together through the paddock. The fake smiles you give each other gone as soon as your tucked away from the cameras.
“You can go out the back.”
Then he disappears, leaving you stranded in the Redbull hospitality.
Most of the weekend was like this. You had to carefully divide your time between your brother and fake lover. On the bright side, everyone was raving about it. You’d already grown used to toxic fans since you’d been around racing with your brothers your entire life.
You and Max got together a few times a month to stage Instagram photos and go on fake dates.
You were somehow falling for him while he seemed to have a growing dislike for you.
Tonight, you are having dinner in Monaco. Your attempts at starting a conversation are nothing short of pointless.
"Can I ask you a question?" He grunts and doesn't look at you. So you ask anyway. "What was on your contract?"
"Why do you need to know?" Stone cold eyes pierce right through you body.
"I was just wondering. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want."
"I'd rather not talk with you about anything?"
Letting the embarrassment take over, you shift your gaze downwards. You knew what was on the contract. It was all about Jos.
Max was willing to do anything neccecary to please his father. Including getting his father into a higher position of power within the team.
Jos had been messaging you throughout the week with reminders that you're just another step for his son's success. This led to multiple arguments with the older Verstappen because you're not one to back down when defending those you care about. The slander had turned more aggressive recently, and you wanted to talk to Max about it. Too bad he hates you.
~
"Charlie, I don't think I can do this." You sob to your brother over the phone. "Jos is refusing to leave me alone, and Max hardly spares a glance in my direction if he doesn't have to."
"You can always break things off. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
“No, this will help make your dream come true. It just doesn’t help that I was crushing on Max before we started this.”
Charles sighs heavily. “Chéri, If it comes down to it and Jos doesn’t stop then I will have words with Max.”
“Thank you, Charlie.”
It was nice having a brother that you could rely on. Lorenzo is the oldest and cares, but he has his own family, and Arthur is the youngest, so he had a tendency to steal attention.
With you and Charles both being middle kids, you two stuck together. He was your protective big brother then, and he still is now.
The next morning, you wake up to a shock. The sound of your ring tone echoing through the room.
You lazy grab it off the nightstand and look at the caller ID.
"Max?"
"I'm going to a wedding and need a plus one." He says matter of factly.
"Okay?"
"Come with me? Please? I'd rather go with you than show up alone." The sincerity in his voice sends your head into a mess of thoughts. This stupid Dutch makes no sense!
"Yeah, sure, okay."
"Great, I'll come puck you up tomorrow before noon."
"Wait, Max!" You definitely didn't mean to shout but maybe this is your opportunity to figure this whole thing out.
"Yes?"
"Why do you hate me so much?" Your voice gets quiet again as the anxiety takes over. "I just thank that if I know why then maybe I can change it."
You can hear Max's breath hitch. "It's nit that I hate you. I actually really like you." He sighs out finally. His words don't register in your brain. "I just hate the reason why we're doing this. I didn't want to get my feelings involved"
"I like you too." You say without thinking.
"Really? I thought you were just doing this for whatever is on your contract?"
"I was... but I've liked a certain Dutch with pretty blue eyes and a winners smile for a few years now."
"So what was the contract for then?"
You wonder if you should tell him. Wonder about Jos and how he might have your head later for distracting his son. But you don't care. "A better team for my brother."
"Well, that's selfless of you."
"And you? What is your contract for?" You ask, turning the subject away from yourself.
"My father wants more say in the team."
"Do you want him to have more say?"
There's a pause, and you can hear Max's mind working from the other end of the phone. "Not necessarily."
"Then why do this? Even if you liked me before why take this on?"
"Because my father wants it and I want to please him." You can hear his voice start to break. It hurts to hear him like this. "It's not a big deal though, I'll survive." He downplays. Something she's grown used to with Charles.
"We should probably get some sleep." He follows up with after your lack of response. Your thoughts still moving miles a minute.
"Yes, sorry, your right. I'll see you tomorrow Max."
"See you tommorow."
~
Just as he says, Max shows up right before noon hits. Knocking of your door in a nice suit.
"Wow." Is what you greet with and your face flush with embarrassment.
"Ditto."
The car ride is too short for your liking. The two of you catch up on life and simply enjoy eachothers company.
The wedding is more of the same. You are tailing Max while he talks to those he knows. It's weird seeing him genuinely smile at you. Finally, he feels like he can let himself give into his heart.
It's sunset now, and you and Max are on a balcony enjoying the view. Secluded from the rest of the guests.
"Thanks for coming with me."
"Thanks for inviting me." You turn your gaze upwards at him. The sun illuminates his skin with a warm glow.
His eyes flick nervously between your eyes and your mouth. He wants to do it but can't get the courage. The intimacy of this is far to much for him.
So you do it instead, and he lets himself relax in the hold of your lips.
"You have no idea how much I've wanted to do that."
~
Max and you weren't pretending anymore, and both teams could see it. Which is why you sit in a cramped conference room with your pr teams and team principles.
You feel out of place since you're not a driver. You don't belong here.
"Your contracts are null now."
"I'm sorry, what?" Your taken aback. How had you violated your contract?
"You two are actually dating now, so the contrat no longer works. We wanted to stage a breakup at the end of it, but we can't do that now."
Max is avoiding the gaze of Jos and plays with your fingers for comfort. His mind boggled with how that has turned from great to shit and five minutes.
After sitting through what the contract being void now entails, you and Max find a quiet spot to talk things out.
"I wanted to help Charlie so bad. Worse is that I don't remember that being in the original contract."
"I think something is definitely wrong here. I may not have liked my end of the deal, but yours was for good reason."
You tear up over thoughts of having to endure another season of Charles getting frustrated with his team after every race.
Max holds you close and wipes your tears away. "Whatever happens we'll figure this out, we're in this together now remeber?"
His words bring a warm feeling to your body. You and Max are a team now even without the contracts. Somehow, that Max you feel even more connected to him.
~
Part Two? 👀
#x reader#fanficion#f1 fic#formula one#formula 1#racing#angst#max verstappen#f1 fanfic#charles leclerc x reader#lando norris#max verstappen x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc#formula racing#lando norris x reader#redbull racing#mclaren formula 1#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen x you#mclaren racing#charles leclerc fic#fluff#f1#max verstappen fanfic#redbull#red bull f1#redbull f1#oscar piastri#mv1
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Left Your Mark
Loki lets you put lipstick on him so you can kiss if off right after.
~900 words, heavy petting-ish?, no use of y/n
A quick drabble drafted up in my carpool home last night. We love coworkers who enable you :)
“Stop squirming," you chastised.
Loki glared up at you. You hovered over his chest, balanced with your hands on his shoulders. His waist was bracketed by your knees on the comforter, your thighs spread wide to accommodate his body under you.
The game you were playing was balanced on a precarious edge; you were never quite sure when Loki's mood could snap, but you loved to test him to find out. Both of you knew that he could overpower you if he wanted. Today, despite the flicker of annoyance in his light eyes, he seemed particularly docile; beneath you he glowered, but continued to play the part of your domesticated little villain as long as it meant he could worm his hands under your ass, his long fingers spread wide to palm the backs of your thighs. He squeezed for good measure, fingertips edging dangerously close to the hem of your shorts. A petulant sound withered in his throat as he flopped, dejectedly, back against the pillows.
You leaned across him and rummaged around inside your bag on the bedside table. You returned triumphant a moment later, a shiny black tube of lipstick in your hand.
“Is this really necessary?” Loki grumbled, watching you uncap the offending thing.
“You said I could do whatever I wanted to you,” you replied breezily. “This is what I want.”
“When I promised you anything you wanted, I had expected you to be sitting a bit higher than my chest, darling.” His expression twisted; the pout on his face betrayed his centuries of being waited on hand and foot, a petulance so cleverly honed to get him whatever he wanted from courtiers and kitchen staff alike. Luckily for you, the gallows weren’t an option if you denied him, so you could ignore his moodiness and enjoy the simple pleasure of watching him squirm.
(Though there was undoubtedly a punishment waiting for you after this - you hoped, anyway.)
“Maybe later, if you’re a good boy.” You raised the tube of lipstick and steadied his face with one hand. “Now stop talking.”
You traced the shape of his cupid’s bow carefully, watching the way his skin yielded under the slightest pressure before bouncing back. You filled in his narrow pout with a bright swipe of cherry red, the finish not quite matte, just shiny enough to catch the light in an alluring way. Despite his earlier complaints, Loki went willingly when you pulled on his chin, parting his mouth slightly for better access. The bullet tugged on his bottom lip just slightly, the malleable flesh rolling before coming away with a dark flush of colour.
You wiped away a smudge just under the fullest part of his bottom lip. With one hand under his jaw, you tilted his face up just a hair to look at you. “You’re so pretty, baby.”
His hands tightened around the backs of your thighs, urging you just a breath higher up his body. The bed shifted; with the windows closed, the room was stifling in its silence, so quiet you could hear the sound of the blankets rustling as his shoulders flexed. The cap of the lipstick tube snapped into place. You tossed it over your shoulder, where it disappeared with a muffled thump on the carpet. Loki’s eyes lingered on your mouth, pupils blown wide to soak in every detail of your expression.
You leaned your weight on one hand beside his head and pressed your mouth to his. A sigh escaped him, punched out through his nose when you rocked forward slightly to get a better angle. One of his hands shot out from under you and closed around the back of your neck like a vice, fingertips heavy against the soft hairs at your nape.
You squeaked when his hips rearranged, lifting you up from the bed momentarily. Taking advantage of your surprise, Loki pushed down on the small of your back, encouraging you to lay your full weight on top of him. He tilted his head to the other side, closing his lips around your bottom one; you felt the sticky drag of fresh lipstick under the swell of it, smearing across your chin with purpose. His mouth opened just slightly, plying yours apart to swipe his tongue teasingly across yours, and his top lip brushed the corner where your cheek and upper lip joined.
You pulled away with a slick sound. Loki followed you with a whine, half-lidded eyes still fixed on your bottom lip. The hand on your neck managed to wrestle you back to him, though he missed your mouth by a heartbeat, smearing more lipstick on the corner of your mouth before he managed to slot against your top lip. The faint taste of vanilla, powdery and a little chemically, lingered on your tongue when you licked into his mouth.
“Loki,” you murmured against his mouth. Then, with a sigh as his hand slid back down to palm your ass, “Loki.”
He let you pull away, but not without a great sound of discontent. His chest heaved under yours. His fingers flexed against the meat of your thigh while his thumb dug meanly into the crook of your hip, massaging in circles.
Both his hands rose to close over your cheeks. His thumbs traced the ring of red around your mouth, lingering with a hunger you knew well. His voice, broken, breathless, rumbled through the quiet space. “Pretty.”
His darkened eyes flickered up to meet yours. Something smoldered behind them, a well of want so deep you felt as though you could drown in it. He drew you down until your mouths were just touching, the barest pressure of skin on skin, so your breaths mingled in that tiny space. He pressed the softest of kisses to your upper lip. “Let’s see what else we can stain, shall we?”
#loki fanfic#loki x female reader#loki x reader#loki x y/n#loki x you#for the record the header is a painting of mine from like a year ago because I was too lazy to surf Pinterest#based off of that one photo of MGG. you know the one.#reader insert#x reader
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PLEASE HURRY LEAVE ME.
gojo satoru/reader
cw: angst no comfort
word count 819
satoru seeks you out even after you leave.
he comes uninvited and unannounced in the middle of the night, and you can’t find it in your heart to tell him to leave. not when he sets a bag of your favorite snacks on the table and you can see the slight tremble in his grip. he engulfs you in a hug before you can even utter a word at him, digging the dull tips of his fingers into your sides tightly until you slide your hands up to his chest to push him away.
“i missed you so much,” he whines, finding his spot beside you on your bed. he pushes your laptop away from your lap and replaces it with his head instead. with his sunglasses and blindfold absent, you could clearly see the bright eyes peering at you, contrasting with your dim room.
sensing that you weren’t going to offer a response, his much larger hands find yours and he brings it to his chest. he continues talking, “did you know nanami came back a few days ago?”
that came as quite a surprise. though the blonde man and you weren’t on the best of terms, you still kept in contact occasionally. after all, you worked together during your high school days and he followed your decision to leave. you were the first person he talked to when he decided to leave the sorcerer community to become a salaryman. you were there when he got his first promotion, and the many more that followed. and the nanami you knew? he was extremely firm on his decision to leave, refusing to hear any persuasion from anyone no matter how close they were.
“why?” your eyebrows furrow, subconsciously running your thumb over satoru’s thumb.
he shrugs, “who knows?”
he didn’t voice out his thoughts, but you could see right through him. when are you coming back? do you ever plan on coming back?
satoru never approved of your decision to leave. the two of you were so close to being together–officially together–when you suddenly announced your ‘retirement’, opting to spend your days in normal human society instead of being a jujutsu sorcerer. at the early age of 18, gojo satoru found his world crashing down. the two most important people in his life had left him, and the promises you and suguru made to him were long crushed and forgotten. the image of him showing up on your doorstep in the middle of a starless night was still clear in your mind.
“didn’t you say that we could be together after you graduate?! you intentionally lied to me, didn’t you?” his fists were tightly clenched. he couldn’t control the poison seeping through his lips, nor the stray tear that slid down his pale cheek graciously hidden by the pouring rain.
your upbringing was more than humble when compared to satoru’s. you weren’t from a powerful clan; you were born to an ordinary civilian couple who barely got by and happened to be blessed with a curse technique. the promise of a guaranteed job and high salary brought you to the gates of jujutsu high. you didn’t mean to lie when you promised the man that you would accept his confession after you graduated and become a full-fledged sorcerer. it was the only way his clan would acknowledge you, after all.
in no time, the man’s breath evens out as his eyes flutter shut. the crease between his eyebrows that he himself probably didn’t even notice, disappears, and a bit of drool lands on your comforter. he had never looked more at peace but you knew better than to think he was asleep.
“satoru,” you call out. he doesn’t move an inch and you pull your hand out of his vice-like grip.
“i know you’re awake.” you took a deep breath, chest burning with a pain that had become way too familiar for your own liking, “don’t come here anymore.”
It’s for the best. he could find another lovely person to call his. who he doesn’t have to fight tooth and nail with his clan and all the higher-ups to be with; and you can find someone who can actually make it to all the important events in your life. who you can share every exciting detail to with an enthusiasm that has yet to expire with time. a love that you didn’t have to share with the rest of humanity. and he shifts, his head and body turning away from you. a resounding snore travels through the room.
“please,” you finish, “leave me.”
your eyes trail to your nightstand. a moth landed on the rim of your lighted candle, its appearance casting a shadow in the light that illuminates your dim room.
“leave.” you wanted to say to it. shame that it couldn’t understand you, and it flutter its wings to get closer to the light–right into the fire.
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo angst#satorugojo#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami kento#gojo imagine#jjk drabbles#jjk
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A SOUVENIR FROM SATORU
warnings: pussy eating, soft dom! Gojo, use of toys, lots of cursing, office sex?, fucking on the floor
a/n: not my best work, but have fun!
Your boyfriend Satoru, always, as in always brings a souvenir, edible, keychains, expensive or not he will always bring you something, after his business trip or missions but this time..it was not what you expected.
"I have a souvenir for youu~!" Your boyfriend says as he runs to you with a bright aura, holding the gift bag from behind,
"It better not be expensive Gojo Satoru" you glared
"wwuu, scary as always! anyways, here just take it, you'll love it I promise~ hehe~!" he tries not to chuckle as he hands the gift bag to you.
"open it loveyy!" he said beaming with energy,
you once again glared at him as you opened the gift bag, and boy... it was a rampat bunny..you looked at it in shock, and with flustered cheeks as you looked back at him, you were confused, chuckling you asked him,
"What am i going to do with this?", he leans closer to you. "I'll be using that later" he response, and leans back out, and smiled like nothing ever happened.
"Is it for me or.." you asked, he laughs at your response, "See you later y/nieeee! the higher ups are looking f'me." he squishes your cheeks and left a peck on your lips, you watched him walk away, you looked down on the gift bag, making sure if it's really a rampat bunny,
"what the fuck.." you reached the item from the bag, and observed it, it's black, and you estimated that it was 5-7 inches long, out of curiosity, you pressed a button, with made the vibrator move,
"Oh my fucking-! what the fuck?" you screeched, when the item moved like a worm.
✧LATER THAT DAY✧
"nnn~ 'T-Toru, gahh- s'too much" you whined, as Satoru has you on his lap with spread legs, his left hand spreading your wet folds.
"Baby, it's only on level 2" he says chuckling at your pathetic aroused state, running his finger up and down to tease your abused clit, your brain was practically a mush with how much pleasure you were feeling, with the vibrator moving and hitting your g-spot you knew you'd cum in a minute, you knew you're close, so Satoru was quick to notice that, so he held the end of the vibrator using his right arm and shoved it deeper in your pulsating cunt hitting you g-spot, your body shivered and arched with the immeasurable pleasure you've received,
"Nghh~, so fucking gooodd 'Toru." you moaned as you released your orgasm, Satoru removes the vibrator from your gaping hole and set it aside, and had you limping and standing on the desk,
"Bend over baby," he says as he guides your waist to bend over
"Satoru- wh-what are you doin~" you babbled as for, Satoru he's already running his nose to your exposed pussy, overstimulating your delicate body,
"hwuu~ S'toru f-fuck, im still sensitive there, oh good god, baby-!" you tried to warn Satoru, who's inserting his middle and pointing finger in your hungry cunt,
"Try to keep still baby" he says, groaning in your pussy, sending a tingling sensation to your core.
All clothes on the office floor, pussy juices was dripping on the floor too, as Satoru messily eats your cunt like it's a five star meal,
"Satoru s'too much" you mewled trying to support your body, your knuckles was already white on how tight you were gripping on the desk, your nails leaving scratches on Gojo's desk too!
"Satoru, baby i'm s'closee!"you said, giving your warning, as you orgasm on his pretty face.
"So sweet, did you ate pineapple baby?" he jokes, as he pumps his cock on his palm, he then turns you around to face him, you saw his throbbing, angry, pink tip releasing beads of pre-cum he catches his breath trying to control it, as he gave you a passionate kiss, slowly entering your pussy,
you can feel him throbbing cause of the long neglecting, and finally he's in you, you pussy was quick to suck him in as soon as he enters his dick bulges on your tummy which means he's reaching your cervix, you're still high from your orgasm but Satoru seems to be enjoying to overstimulate and fuck you dumb,
"Satoru it's too much baby, ha-!" you broke the the kiss as you squirmed beneath him scratching his bare back and neck,
"Baby please I'll let agh- rest hmm s'good! when im done" he stutters bearly making a sentence cause of how you suck him in, he was having a hard time to go back and forth in your pussy causing him to whine even more.
A few minutes go by, when someone knocked on Satoru's Office,
"Gojo, Principal Yaga is looking for you." The voice was familiar, it was Shoko,
You heard it too despise being fucked dumb, you're not deaf, so to get back at Gojo you purposely clenched your walls tighter, causing him to stutter,
"O-oh ngh, Yeah be ha-! right there, S-Shoko hng" Satoru responds,
"Yeah, ok come quick" Shoko response, and walks away, "have a good fuck too" she mumbles on her way out.
"Oh- yeah be right there shoko nyenye" you laughed mocking him, in which he responded with a hard slap on your breast, "Hghh" you whined, as he slams you on the floor bucking your hips forward his cock pounding raw in your pussy, "You like that hm?" he grabs your hair, you couldn't respond cause of the pleasure, the stinging pain from the slap, and how hard he's grabbing your hair, you had your eyes crossed to the back of your head and tongue lolled out with saliva dripping out of your mouth,
"Satoru ah! ah! ah! hgh!" you screamed, with every scream it was punctuated, you swear you saw cloud nines with how good he's fucking you,
"Mmnh, 'bout to ohh god!- bout to cum, y/n baby" he says thrusting in you with no remorse.
"Fuck-!" he tries to hold his moans back as he shoots thick, creamy white threads in you.
"I'm so sorry baby ha- i just missed you sooo fucking much.." he says as he snaps his hips deeper in your pussy, making sure there were no cum spilling out, with his final thrust you came, you cum and his mixing together, you kissed him, "It's ok baby, i missed you too" you uttered, as you kissed him once again on his forehead.
"Okay that's enough you two, Gojo Sir Yaga is looking for you." Geto says behind Satoru's office door.
a/n: as promised 👻
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König x 'Maus' F!Reader
(Part 6 of "Little Mouse" Series)
Word Count: 4.5k
Rating: Teen and up
Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Angst, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Found family, Hints of yandere König, Canon bending
Warnings: General dark romance themes
A/N: A bit of a longer chapter, and no Maus + Konig, though some desperately needed plot/character development. We will be going back to our hunter/prey vibes with the next chapter.
He rises from the shadows of the cliff.
You see him, see the way his body unfurls from where he crouches. The silhouette of him plucks at the veins of your heart, winding a song that feels ancient in its origin, primordial. Instinctive, bathed in a touch that seeps a crimson so dark and deep you think you might drown in it. It soaks you to the bone, dyeing you in a wash of terror that spreads outwards as his body towers higher, higher-
A monster.
Something from fairytales, the thing that would haunt your nightmares as a child and yet exists even now. Older than your deepest fears, the horror of the thing before you seems etched into your very marrow, an intrinsic instinct to run, run away from the massive form before you. You can only make out the outline of him as he moves, the edges of him wavering in the darkness like a supernatural entity. A poltergeist. One that stretches out with phantom limbs and whispered voices, promising sinister prophecies.
"What made you think we were done, Maus?" He murmurs into the shell of your ear, his massive arms snaking around your front, secured there like bands of steel.
"I'll take better care of you." He promises, and his hand catches yours, smoothing his thumb into the soft, sensitive skin of your wrist.
"Hello, little Maus." He purrs from where he stands, far above, backlit by the waxing crescent moon.
"I'll see you again." You hear his voice all around you, surrounding you, within you.
"Soon."
Now that same creature, that cryptid looms above you, and when he moves he seems to blur at the edges, the darkness of him shuddering into nothingness. A void. You can hardly make out the details of him. When he shifts it leaves an incandescent aftereffect that sears into the back of your eyelids. Too bright and too dark to trace. Red pulses there behind your vision with every drumming heartbeat.
He turns to you, and you can see the bleach tears that pool across his hood, draining down into lasting marks that you think will burn into your soul if you stare too long. You see his eyes then, and they glint when his eyes focus, when he reaches a hand towards you that drips of shadows-
Yet he doesn't touch you. Doesn't extend his hand to grasp at your shivering form.
Instead, there's light.
Soft, glowing, it radiates like sunlight through dappled trees, where dust hovers like glimmer dust. Enchanted, gentle, warm.
Edelweiss.
Delicate pale blossoms that spill from his fingertips, their bright centers twinkle with soft whispers of peace, an entreaty you can't fully comprehend. They sing out to you, against that terror that seems so inherent, so primal it almost pains you to struggle against it. Yet even when the scarlet of it thrums and groans in your veins it's muted by the brightness, the strange, hesitant words of the shadow that offers them to you.
"I won't hurt you, Maus."
When you look up, it's not a monster.
It's him.
---
"Rookie."
You awake fighting, instinctively throwing out your limbs in a sloppy offense that's easily deflected by broader, calloused hands. The gesture does nothing to calm you, not when the world is an enigmatic amalgamation of movement and dizzying, blurring sensations. Squirming, you try to raise your voice, arching off the thin padded cot where you lay and blindly grappling with whoever is trying to subdue you.
"Rookie!" The voice calls again, and now your wrists are caught in a steel grip as you buck, try to yell-
Light floods your vision, and there's another voice now, murmuring a question you can barely make out, startled and concerned. You blink against the brightness, stilling long enough to clear your vision, allowing the hovering face of Gaz to float into view.
"K-Kyle." You manage, and your eyes trace over the still fading scar over his brow, the one he earned on that night all those months ago, when you'd been stolen away into the darkness.
Kyle's eyes are concerned, shocked at your violent awakening. He hunches over your prone form, leaning his weight down so he pins your hands to either side of your head, his shoulders blotting out the crackling fluorescent light above you.
"You're okay." He tells you almost instantly, voice softer now. "You're safe. Take a breath."
You blink at him for a few moments, thoughts rapidly trying to process his words and your hazy surroundings. Yet you follow him when he inhales, holding the air in his chest before releasing it. The sigh whooshes from your lungs, curling up between you and draining the coiled tension from your still drowsy form.
"That's it." Your sergeant smiles at you, brown gaze wrinkling at the corners. "Just had a bad dream. You're okay."
You swallow, feel the dusty, dry air crack against your throat before you speak. "Y-yeah. I'm okay."
"Good." Kyle declares, and his fingers flex around your wrists, loosening. "I'm going to let you go, try not to punch me again, yeah?"
You manage a nod after a moment, mind still churning with the unknown waters of confusion. Yet when he releases you, you keep still, wait for him to pull completely away before trying to sit up.
You cradle your brow in your hands as you do, dragging your palms over the planes of your face in an attempt to reorient yourself. Gaz turns from you, allowing you a few moments to gather yourself before you at last turn to him. There's a pinched, worried look on his face, arms crossed as he leans against the wall.
"You good?" A voice asks from the doorway of the bunk, and it's Soap, his muscular forearm arm braced on the doorframe as he regards you skeptically.
"Yeah...yeah. I'm good." You tell him, even when he quirks an eyebrow at you. "Just...sorry. Had a nightmare."
Soap merely shrugs, but averts his eyes from you as a frown tugs at the corner of his lips. Before you can ask, he focuses back on Gaz.
"Briefing is ready, Price is expecting us."
Gaz nods, eyes looking down in thought for a moment before they refocus on his comrade.
"Give us a minute, we'll be there." He replies, and you blink at the tone in his voice. Grim, contemplative. He regards Soap with a look that conveys a meaning you can't decipher.
Whatever it is, it's enough for Johnny, who gives a single nod before vanishing, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
There's a silence that lingers after him, stretching long and tense between you and Gaz. You cast a glance at him, but his gaze is focused downwards, towards his boots. He doesn't speak.
"...We should go." You offer, standing and moving towards the doorway to follow Soap. You're stopped, however, by Gaz's hand that catches across your bicep. You blink, turn to him, brow furrowed in worry. Yet Gaz's expression is dark, serious, intent on your skittish, frightened eyes.
"He hurt you, didn't he?"
The question feels like a gunshot. You feel the impact before you hear the sound, your body tensing automatically, coiling under the blow. It's a blatant reaction, one Gaz takes it with narrowed eyes and a tightened grip.
"Who?" You manage, but it's a bluff Gaz sees straight through.
"König." He answers instantly, and you only wind further into yourself, feeling panic rise at the intensity of his accusation.
He sees it then, sees the sudden flash of alarm that glints across your gaze. Almost immediately he blinks, face softening as he realizes he's startled you, watched you poise to flee under his touch.
"...Sorry." He offers, gaze averting, hand releasing your arm and dropping back to his side.
You don't speak, trying to summon the words needed to answer his question, to grapple with the strange, forbidden secrets in yourself he can't be allowed to see.
"It's just-" Gaz tries, then stops, swallowing before he faces you once more. His eyes are sincere, open and bright as they regard you. "I can see it. We all can."
When you don't speak, Gaz takes it as an indication to continue.
"You won't talk about what happened that night. I mean, we know from your report, but you won't...won't talk about it. You try to act like it didn't happen, try to just ignore it."
"Kyle-" You try, reaching for him. He pulls away.
"Even then, when you've seen him again, anytime he's spotted over comms you get this look in your eyes, like you're trying to figure out what to do with yourself."
Kyle's fists clench at his sides, his brow knotted. Yet his gaze is unwavering, staring straight at you and almost pleading.
"You keep saying he didn't hurt you, but every time you hear his name you tense up, go all stiff like you're scared. It...it makes me think he hurt you, and you won't tell us."
"No!" You try, voice rising quickly, trying to step towards him. Yet the sudden pitch of your voice betrays you, and Kyle's eyes widen then darken at the tone of your voice. You cut him off before he can say more.
"Kyle I swear to you, he didn't hurt me."
Yet Kyle seems unconvinced, lips pursing into a thin line as he stares at you, his eyes trying to uncover the secrets hiding below the surface.
"You don't have to hide it." He offers after a few moments of tense silence. "Nobody is going to judge you for it. I just..."
You see it then, the flash of something across his gaze that looks upset somehow, poisonously guilty.
"I need to know if it was my fault."
You blink, lips parting as Gaz's gaze shifts away.
"Kyle." You ask gently, and when you step forward this time he doesn't retreat. "Why would it be your fault?"
Kyle doesn't answer straight away, nor does he move when your fingers skim across his arm. He allows the touch, even as he avoids your gaze.
"I was your partner." He murmurs at last, and his voice drips with hurt that's self-inflicted. "I was supposed to keep you safe, and I failed. I'm...I'm sorry."
In the silence that trails after Gaz's words, you hear the sound of your heart cracking.
Frozen where you stand, hand outstretched and skimming across his arm, you feel the weight of your secret weigh down inside you. Like a taboo, forbidden gravity, the truth of your answer, of the reality within you drags you downwards into yourself. The pressure of it threatens to fracture outwards, cracking along your sinews, your spine, the shadowy depths of you.
What do you even say?
It's true. König never hurt you. He's saved your life more times than you care to count by now. He was your captor, your abductor, and yet his touch to you has never been anything other than firm, guiding, grounding against the conflict of mystery that churns within you.
You see him even in dreams, your mind conjuring visions of bleach-streaked tears and shadows, only to douse it in his gentle entreaties, the lulling warmth of his words. He ripples across your thoughts, a massive, hulking behemoth that you should be terrified of, and yet somehow find that fear within you absent.
No, you're not afraid of him. You're afraid of the truth, the raw jagged breadth of it that threatens to slice your heart from the inside out.
You don't want him to be your enemy.
You...you want him.
The realization comes so sharp and fast you jolt, flinching away at the exact moment Gaz turns his gaze to face you once more.
Silence, stillness between you both.
Then, blooming deep and wounded across Gaz's face: Hurt.
"N-no, Gaz." You try, voice cracking in your throat as his expression changes. "It wasn't your fault, you were injured too, I-"
Yet Gaz seems to have found whatever it was he was looking for inside your eyes, wild and panicked as they are at the revelations he can't see. His face sours, mouth dipping and brow furrowing as he turns from you, shrugging off your hand.
"I get it." He tells you, and even with his terse tone you can hear the pain there, the aching sensation of regret that clings to his skin. "Just...don't blame yourself. Please."
You don't dare to breathe, and it's within that absence that Gaz brushes past you, makes his way down the hallway to the briefing room. His footsteps fade, and you're left behind, hands clenched at your sides, trembling as you try to hold back the warmth that pricks against the corners of your eyes.
Don't blame yourself, he said. All while his own guilt growls, gnaws at his bones, hidden away in a place you couldn't see until it was too late.
You're such a fool.
Too obsessed with your own guilt and shame over the conflict of your feelings, you didn't notice how much he was hurting, how he watched every expression flicker across your face and betray you.
If you just told him, confessed to him the truth, then surely he wouldn't harbor this hurt, this pain inside him over his supposed mistake. How were you supposed to do that though when you could barely accept the truth yourself? What would he even think? To realize you...might have feelings for the man who hurt him?
"Rookie!"
Price's voice echoes gruff and loud down the hallway, calling out for you.
You wipe your face dry on your arm, swallowing down your bitter regret and turn to follow him.
The team murmurs amongst themselves, but when you step into the main area with the table full of maps and supplies they hush, turn to you.
You see Soap's hand fall from Gaz's shoulder quietly, tucked back to his side.
When Price clears his throat you all turn to him, with his hands planted on the table, body leaning forward and head raised to return your gaze.
"Our enemy is KorTac." He states grimly, taking a pause to fasten his eyes around the members of his team. "An elite private military company composed of international operators that are highly skilled and extremely well-armed."
You watch as Price's hand smooths across a number of manila folders scattered across the creaking metal table.
"We don't have names of every agent listed within this company, but Laswell has managed to compile a number of reports on some of their members."
When Price looks up, you see his brow is pinched, his lips a tight, severe frown.
"Many of our allies died to obtain this information."
There's a current of unease that ripples through the team around you, unspoken and yet sinister as the reality of your captain's words sink in.
"These are all operators that have gone rogue from their government and have been privately enlisted in KorTac. They operate outside any government and with full discretion. However, we were able to compile certain information on their previous training and deployments, which allows us an idea of what they're capable of."
Price's hand lands on the first folder, his voice rising as he announces its contents.
"Tor Eriksen. Callsign 'Aksel'. Former Norwegian Maritime special forces. He's a utilitarian. Knows everything from HALO Jump to bomb disposal."
"Jack of all trades." Soap offers, thick, brawny arms crossing.
"Exactly right." Price replies, looking up sharply at the sergeant. "Laswell is certain he's KorTac's specialist. He's highly trained, extremely intelligent, and adaptable."
You watch as Price's hand drifts to the second folder, plastered with a grainy picture of a soldier in full camouflage, his face obscured by a matching mask and sunglasses.
"Kim Hong-jin. Callsign 'Horangi', the 'Tiger'."
"Why do they call him that?" Gaz interjects, and when you look at him he stubbornly avoids your gaze.
"We don't know." Price replies bluntly. "What we do know is that he's former RKAF, sniper training." Price's eyes briefly raise to you, and you try your best to return his even stare. "He's been recorded as the executor of several high value targets on the CIA counter-terrorism wanted list. Highly effective and very dangerous."
"Another sniper." Soap mumbles, and his elbow bumps against your side. You manage to shoot him a nervous smile, but the expression feels forced, hollow.
"Rozlin Helms." Price continues, pointedly drawing your attention back to him. Yet before he can go on it's Ghost who interjects.
"Helms?" He questions from where he leans against the wall, outside the reach of the overhead light. "Thought she was with Shadow Company."
"She was." Price returns. "After the clusterfuck in Las Almas it seems she jumped ship, ended up in KorTac. Now she's their munitions expert and weapon procurement specialist. MI6 has tagged her name attached to several illegal weapons sales moving through Eastern Europe."
"Might explain where that one grenade came from." Gaz mumbles, and you feel his eyes dart to you for all of a moment before they vanish from your form. "Maybe."
"Laswell is arranging an information swap with MI6 regarding her whereabouts. If we can pin her, we may be able to pin where the company is currently operating from."
"We're going on the offense, Cap?" Soap asks, his voice dipping, leveling into a harsh, rough grain at the seriousness of his query.
"I'll be covering that in just a moment, MacTavish. Hold your tongue until then." Price replies, voice smooth and yet managing to convey his annoyance for the repeat interruptions.
"Yes sir."
"Good." Price nods. When his hand drifts to the next folder, however, you see him pause, glance at you.
There's no photo.
"König."
The room stills.
"No real name that we can gather. Former German Special Forces Command. Extremely skilled, extremely dangerous."
You feel them, the eyes of the team sliding over to your stiffened form. When your hands shake, you curl them at your sides, refusing to meet their stares.
"Failed enlistment as a sniper, was assigned as an insertion specialist under the first platoon. His former comrades describe him as a human battering ram. He's recorded as single-handedly eliminating an AQ cell in Berlin, all twelve fighters KIA. He's a weapon's specialist, but besides that we know he has a preference for flash bangs and frag grenades."
You hear Gaz shift where he stands, the hostility radiating off his form, poisonous and acrid.
"I don't need to emphasize that this man is dangerous. Given his...history attacking one of our own, you have full execute authority should you encounter him."
You freeze.
Yet Price doesn't notice your sudden stiffness, like a doe caught out in the open, seeing the glint of a rifle from the trees. Instead, he focuses on Ghost's voice that growls from where he lurks.
"Who's their commander?"
Price pauses, takes a drag of his smoldering cigar caught between his fingertips. The ashes spill downwards onto the reports below.
"Declan O'Conor."
"O'Conor?" Soap exclaims abruptly, arms falling as he takes a step towards the table. "Of the Irish Defense Forces?"
"The same." Price responds gravely, and this time he doesn't bother trying to correct Soap, likely allowing Soap's outburst due to his own sense of shock.
"I thought he was dead! They said he was KIA during that raid in Mozambique two years ago!"
"…They never found his body." Ghost adds in the tense silence that follows, voice deep, cutting as he absorbs the information Price has laid out.
"No, this doesn't make sense." You watch as Gaz shakes his head, stepping closer to look at the clear photo attached to the commander's profile. "I knew Conor. He's a good man. Why would he defect? More than that, why would he go so far as to fake his own death?"
You look between the group, watch as their faces morph from surprise to confusion to anger. Yet when your eyes land on Price, you stiffen at the cold, unflinching weight of them, gazing past you, into the possibilities you don't yet see.
"The agent who compiled this report was found dead at her safehouse last night, just outside of Minsk."
You suck in a breath, feel the air in the room drop several degrees as the men around you straighten, stiffen in surprise.
"Wait." You try, and when you raise your voice for the first time during the entire briefing, four sets of eyes turn to you. "Are you saying that...O'Conor had her killed? For just finding out who he was?"
Price is silent, doesn't respond. Yet the grim, fatal glint in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.
"Creepin' Jesus." Soap breathes beside you. You shiver.
Price straightens then, looming above the table as he fixes his gaze on each of you.
"From what we can gather, KorTac has been mobilized against the 141. We don't know from where, and we don't know by who. What we do know is that they've already proven they can strike anywhere, anytime. This puts not only us, but also our allies at risk, and that is something we cannot allow."
Your allies, you realize. Farah, Alex. Alejandro, Rudy. Nikolai. All them, walking with targets on their backs. Because of this.
Because of you.
"Your company, Maus." He insists, voice lowering. A hand flexes on his knee.
He won't hurt you. He said he wouldn't hurt you.
"The 141." You murmur, and something stabs inside you, guilty and hurt over your own betrayal.
"One four one." König echoes, accent turning over the numbers in a low rumble.
Something changes then. You feel it. There’s an energy that seeps from you, coiled in anger, in determination. It unspools from your veins, spilling loose so the threads of it graze against the men around you.
Ghost straightens from where he leans against the wall, and you catch his eyes as they blink open. Dead, empty, cold. Yet there's an energy there, primal, instinctive, calculating and premeditated. When he steps forward into the light his mask catches the fluorescent glow from above. Not a halo, but a radiance that burns dark at the edges. Mesmerizing. Fatal.
Beside you Soap straightens, rolls his shoulders back and you hear them grind, crackle with years of strength built into his bones. The curve of his jaw grits harsh and unrelenting, eyes piercing. Like a live, sparking wire Johnny oozes raw energy, motion, a durability you can only dream of.
When your eyes move to Gaz, you find him already staring at you. There's a clairvoyance there, an insight you know only him to possess. Gaz divines the shifting currents of events like he's tasting the wind and summoning rain. Now that same acumen seems to extend to you, peeling back the layers of your thoughts and exposing the vile, verboten interior of your mind.
You close your eyes against it, try to blot out despite the howling gale of treachery inside your chest, seeping dark and oily into your bones.
You can't tell him. You can't tell any of them. These men, your brothers, who have fought by your side and come to your aid, who have stemmed your wounds and been the shield for your spear, they should never know the horrific, undeniable truth inside you.
You can't deny it now, the fatal secret exposed in the light of your own realization. The outline of him, of König lurks in your mind, turning as you watch, offering his voice in a double edged greeting that seeps of gentleness, of a sinister threat.
"Hello, Maus."
He haunts your daydreams, your nightmares. He stalks you across the battlefield, keeps you safe, only to turn around and reach for you, threatening to drag you under into his beckoning embrace.
"I'd never hurt you, Maus."
He refuses to kill you, choosing instead to poison you, the drip of his curiosity treacherously sweet and sour against your tongue. It winds through your veins, tinting the color of your blood into something you can't discern, a syrupy intoxication that leaves you breathless, reeling from his onslaught.
It will kill you.
You'll kill him first.
You turn to Price then, see your conviction reflected in his knowing, piercing stare.
"When do we start?"
----
As the sun sets over the Svislach river, and twilight oozes from dusk to darkness, the stars in the heavens above Minsk twinkle distantly. Here, in the metropolis, the lights of the city drown out the constellations above, obscured by wispy trails of clouds. The lingering taste of snow clings in the air, blank and frigid, a clean slate of which to start anew. Yet the stars shine, pinpricks of light against the dome of growing midnight that stretches gently against the horizon.
A set of eyes watches them from atop the warehouse in the center of the city. Crouched, hidden by the shadows, a single breath fogs, curls away from him, up into the sky. Beside him, a weapon missing a single round chills against the nighttime air.
König’s eyes open under his hood, staring out across the river, to where the lights of the city gleam and glitter like midnight lanterns. The freezing air bites at his bones, but he ignores it, seeking instead to set his sights upwards, into the empyrean atmosphere, lost in thought.
The sound of a single gunshot still echoes in his ears, the crack of thunder, loud and brilliant. It electrifies him, sends a familiar, addictive energy coursing through his veins.
Yet the excitement, the rising crescendo of feverish passion feels dulled now, obscured just as the stars by the veil of something else.
"Hmm."
The sound gusts, billows like steam, floating higher. König’s dark eyes take it in silently, mind twisting, churning with contemplation.
"It's boring." He decides at last, mouth forming the words under his hood. Even then his tongue grazes against a familiar taste, a memory.
The AQ fighter before him jerks, and there's a violent, grotesque spume of blood that erupts from his head. It sprays against the concrete wall to his left, an abstract of violence. Yet his hands remain clean, and after a moment König realizes the origin of the shot came not from him, but up from the sky.
He turns.
Backlit by the sun, he catches the shadow of your form eclipsing the light that peeks over the rooftops. The glint of your scope shines in the afternoon light, even as it points down to him, to the waiting target of his body.
You saved him.
The realization sends a pulsing, intoxicating electricity through him, rising into a wild, untamed smile hidden under his hood.
You saved him.
He sees you tilt away from your scope to regard him, blinking in the brightness, and König feels the desire to reach out, to touchyou rise sharply inside him.
Within him, a memory of a memory, one that glows against his thoughts, bright and soft with hallowed light.
"Your name, Maus."
Then, the sound of your voice.
König blinks, shifting now to try and rid himself of the cold beginning to bleed into his bones. Drowsiness pulls at him, fed by the bite of winter and the many sleepless hours spent hunting his quarry.
"Hmm." He echoes again, the sound dragging in his chest, close to a displeased whine.
"I miss Maus."
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#König#König x reader#König x you#könig imagine#König x y/n#konig x reader#konig x y/n#konig x you#mw22#mw 22#cod mw22#cod mw2#cod konig#my writing#my fic#reader insert#fic: little mouse
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ah i’m loving your writing~!! i would like to request something where reader is a trainee on a survival show, since swf dancers often become judges, bada being a judge/mentors, and maybe reader gives her secret love letters? or flirts with her off camera because she has a crush. it doesn’t haven’t to be a whole oneshot or something headcanons would be cool too ! ty~
✎ To My Secret Admirer
A/N: Hey babe! Thank you for the compliment and the ask 🫶🏽. I hope you’re doing well. This is like super short and rushed I’m sorry :(
Warnings: Swearing. It’s all just fluff.
Bada Lee x fem!reader
Word Count: 1.2k
Who am I?” Those are the first thoughts you had when you saw her. She was beautiful. Absolutely fucking captivating. Her tall stature made her seem unapproachable, but Bada was really just a giant puppy. Who were you? A contestant who was hopelessly in love with this woman. You were somebody that couldn’t have her, right? You pondered on that thought until you were reminded of the way her face would light up when she found your notes towards her. Your notes, not anybody else’s. Of course, she didn’t actually know it was from you, but let’s be honest. You’re way too obvious when you’re around her.
Tripping over nothing? Are you serious? Stuttering when you’re trying to impress her? Lord. Even if she was blind with no sense of anybody taking a liking to her, she would still know it was from you. Might as well write your name on them too. It wasn’t long until you remembered that did actually know.
The little glances towards you, along with the way she’d take any chance to be in contact with you…it made you keep going. You were glad you did, because you started receiving notes too. They weren’t much, but every single word that was written on them really brightened your day.
It would be stuff like “You look so beautiful today,” or funnier ones like “Your hair looks so good! (Please kiss me)” and “Tbh you shouldn’t let others perceive you in my honest, humble opinion that is not biased :)”
You especially loved those ones. Communicating through notes was good at first, but you craved her direct attention. You wanted her eyes on you, wanted her to smile while talking to you.
You’ve been recently feeling very courageous, sending more bold things her way. You’ve even left your lipstick mark on your newest letters. You figured since she basically already knew, might as well go up to her.
Your eyes were glued onto her as you walked up, ignoring the conversation she’s having. Which was a bit rude, but who knows when you’ll be this brave again. You took a deep breath as she turned to you, and swallowed harshly.
“H-“ Your voice cracked, embarrassing you even further. You both just stared at each other after that, with Bada trying not to laugh and you trying not to run away while looking at her blankly.
You didn’t try to speak again, but Bada thankfully spoke up. “Hey..” She smirked, holding in her laugh. Your voice was cute, and it still sounded cute with your voice crack. You were adorable. “How’s your routine going?” She asked, still smiling bright while trying not to laugh.
You swallowed again, threatening whichever higher being that existed to not let you embarrass yourself again. “It’s good…uhm it would’ve been better if you were there to help..” You coughed awkwardly.
Bada looked at you, slowly letting her smile brighten even more, if that was even possible. “Was that your attempt at flirting?” She said with a giggle.
You just looked at her and pursed your lips. “Anyways..” You said, turning your body around and walking away.
You heard Bada’s laughter behind you as it slowly got louder the closer she got. “Don’t run!” More laughter followed. “I thought it was cute, I pinky promise.” She grabbed your arm, turning you around to meet her twinkling eyes. “How about I teach you some stuff later? My studio is just around the corner.”
You looked up at her, letting a shy smile take over your face. “Are you sure that’s even allowed? You’re gonna get me kicked off this thing.” You say jokingly, avoiding her stare.
“I won’t let them. Don’t tell anybody but…you’re my favorite.” She leaned in to whisper jokingly, before she giggled.
Swallowing harshly, you finally met her eyes. “Okay..” You mumbled, still a little bit unsure. You felt her pat your head, subtly messing up your hair and running away as you noticed. “Hey! Bada??” You yell out, hearing her giggles down the hallway.
Sighing, you fixed your hair as you felt your heartbeat increase. Would she actually take the time out of her day to teach you? Are you guys just going to ignore the fact that you’ve been sending letters to each other? You laughed at that, not realizing how weird it sounded out loud.
You sat on the ground next to the set, realizing you don’t have her number nor do you have the location of her studio. “Am I a dumbass?” You laughed at yourself, probably looking crazy as hell. You were about to get up and wallow in your self pity as you walked home until you heard a motorcycle in the distance. It rolled up to you before slowly stopping. You were about to tell them to fuck off before they took their helmet off, revealing Bada.
“Are we in a movie?” Was the first thing you said. “This is the most cliche thing ever.” You continued saying, looking at her in disbelief. Her smile graced her face as she laughed. “Just get on, I promise it’s not that far.”
She handed you a helmet as you looked at her in even more disbelief. “Girl…” You mumbled, putting the helmet on and sitting behind her. She started off going slow before revving her bike and going faster. “How do you even know my head size? That’s very weird of you.” You yelled so she could hear you over the wind.
Silence followed, and you guess she might’ve not heard you. “…Next question.” You finally heard her mumble. You laughed, the arms holding her waist securely started to hug her tighter as you rested your head on her back despite the helmet. It was quiet the rest of the way, both of you just basking in the comfort of each other.
It wasn’t long before you made it to her studio. She was fast as she got off her bike, taking her helmet off before pulling you off too. You giggled despite yourself, loving how unnecessary that entire act was.
Bada played it cool after that. “Yeah I’m like super strong and stuff. I workout occasionally…you know.”
You looked at her. So much for playing it cool. You tried really hard to keep in your laugh, your face turning red and your eyes looking anywhere but her.
“Interesting…” You said while giggling subtly. “Yeah..” Bada said with an awkward cough. “Anyways, let’s go in.” She hurriedly switched the subject, ushering the both of you inside. Once you both settled your stuff, you looked at each other. “Soooo…” You looked around.
Bada looked at you sheepishly, looking kind of guilty. “To be honest, I only did this so I could spend time with you..” She mumbled, looking like a kicked puppy as she looked around.
Smiling, you sat on the floor facing the mirror. You patted the spot next to you. “So let’s get to know each other some more..”
Bada giggled again, looking like she just won a million bucks as she sat next to you. The night went on, as the both of you talked about anything. From favorite colors, to wondering if aliens exist, to theories about the multiverse.
“Do you think we’d meet in every universe?” You questioned. Bada looked at you, her eyes sparkling brightly as she took in you, your soul…your existence in her life. “I would hope so…I think you’re the only one I’d want to meet in every universe.”
She held your hand, interlocking your pinkies together as you guys giggle. “You're actually probably stalking me in every universe” Bada says jokingly.
You look at her with wide eyes and an offended expression. “Way to ruin the moment dummy..”
A/N: Tony Ann is so perfect to listen to whenever I write. Def check him out
#bada lee#bada x reader#bada lee swf#bada lee x reader#lee bada#bada lee swf2#bada lee fluff#bada lee x fem reader#anon ask#fem!reader
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Say Yes. [M]
Genre: ABO, SMUT, ROMANCE, READER X MEMBER
Warning: Unprotected sex, SMUT, oral, dirty talk, profanity, some horror (?)
Summary: You are offered a choice that would change your life as you know it.
Word count: 5.2k
Currently playing: Lips- NCT 127
A/N: Jaemin brainrot has led me here. Can you believe??!? He is working so hard to climb higher on my bias list and it's working!! fhjdgjkdshgkja Please enjoy and interact. I will now retreat and continue working on my ongoing stories.
“He’s been staring for the past 20 minutes. What a creep.”
“They always get like this around this time of year. God, I hate this so much.”
“This is supposed to be our busiest day. I won’t make rent if we get our hours cut again”
“Customers keep leaving. We are about to be in some deep shit. It will be a dog’s fault, once again. I like them better when their muzzles are shut. Fucking mongrels.”
“Shhh, he can hear us!”
You stared back at the very obvious Alpha seated in the booth near the entrance of your family’s restaurant.
He finally stood and started to walk to you. He was incredibly handsome. He couldn't be older than 25. He stood at about 5’10 with silver hair. He wore the widest smile you’d ever seen on any male. Human or werewolf. You took a step back, flashbacks of what an Alpha’s fangs could do….started to play in your head.
“Hello.” He said. His voice was nothing like what you were expecting. And his eyes.... They lit up once he noticed that he had all of your attention, the wide smile never leaving his face.
“I didn’t mean to scare you or your coworkers.” He looked past you, to the concerned women behind you with worried expressions on their faces. “I come in peace.” He looked back at you and raised both arms.
You shook your head and took another step back.
“Please leave.” You said in a quiet voice and nodded towards the door. “You’ve scared all of the customers away.”
His smile drained from his face but he made no attempt to leave. He frowned and stepped closer. You, along with the rest of the staff, gasped in unison.
He chose to ignore them and kept his focus on you. “I can pay everyone for the week.” Your eyes widen. “But only on one condition..”
The smile returned as his eyes turned a fiery red. “You come with me.”
“Do not go with him!” Your younger brother said from behind the counter. Nobody dared to come any closer but your brother was always the bravest out of the bunch.
The young alpha looked at your younger brother and tilted his head.
“There’s no need to worry. I promise to bring her back. Alive.” He said as his gaze shifted back to you, his jaw now clenching. You couldn’t see any other reason for that other than him gradually losing patience.
“You guys. It’s okay. I’ll go.” You said as the Alpha put his hands in his pockets and flashed a smile at you.
“Payday is this Friday.” You told him in a low voice.
“Just give me the bank information and I’ll have one of the Betas take care of it.” He said with a smirk. “Now. I think it’s time for us to leave. Don’t you agree?” He nodded towards the door.
You nodded in response and walked around to the back to grab your things. You came back to the front and left the front door keys on the counter.
“Please close up and go home. I will be fine.” You said as you walked to the door where the Alpha held the door open for you. He watched your every move and bit his lip as you passed him and went into the bright, spring day. He followed you outside and let the door close behind him as the chimes collided into each other.
You turned around to look at him, but said nothing.
“Yes?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Who are you and what do you want with me?” You asked him.
He stared at you and began to laugh.
You looked at him with a look of confusion. Did he think you were joking?
“I don’t know if you know this, but you’re supposed to get the guy’s name before you leave with him.”
You wanted to slap that ridiculous smile off his face. Of course he found humor in your panicked choices. Alphas never have to worry about their safety. The perks of being at the top of the food chain. You had six employees that would’ve ended up dead in an instant had you made one wrong choice. Finding out the Alpha’s name was last on your list of priorities.
“I am sorry but there were more important things for me to worry about…” You said as you folded your arms.
The Alpha reached out and gently unfolded your arms with both hands. Your jaw dropped as he placed both arms at your sides. He let his hands linger on your wrists before fully letting go..
“You really shouldn’t do that. It makes you look very unwelcoming.” He then said, his eyebrows meeting together in the middle of his forehead, paired with a crease. “My name…My name is Jaemin.”
He then slightly nudged you to the brick wall to your right as a sudden influx of people started making their way onto the sidewalk. The daily lunch rush.
“Okay, Jaemin. I’m assuming you already know my name.” You started.
“Yes, I do.” Jaemin responded. He was towering over you and simply observing your features but you felt as if the air was being pushed out of your lungs.
“O-Okay, so what do you want from me..” You finally got out. You had a very strong feeling deep in your gut about what he was possibly after. Coming to a human infested city when he could be enjoying his time with his pack somewhere deep in the woods..
Jaemin didn’t respond. Instead he grabbed your hand and led you to his car. You scoffed underneath your breath as he opened the passenger door to the very expensive sports car. But you got in and waited quietly as Jaemin entered through the driver’s side and started the car.
You said nothing for the entire drive and Jaemin allowed it. You watched in the rearview as the skyscrapers became smaller by the minute. You could pinpoint the exact spot in which the land turned into werewolves territory. The trees were healthy, the houses were huge, and the roads were lonely. You said nothing as Jaemin pulled into the driveway of the biggest mansion you’d ever seen. Made of…wood.
Jaemin stopped the car and the two of you looked at each other in silence. He smiled as he unbuckled your seatbelt. You then opened your door and he exited the vehicle, as well. You shut the door just as Jaemin appeared by your side. He grabbed your hand and led you to the front door. He opened it without unlocking it and brought you inside. You gasped and quickly put a hand over your mouth.
There were so many of them. Were they all Alphas? No way. They all looked at you as soon as the door opened but said nothing. There had to have been at least twenty of them. You involuntarily squeezed Jaemin’s hand, out of fear.
“Easy. Your heart is going to stop beating at this rate.” Jaemin pressed his ear as he spoke to you.
“A human?” A voice said from your left side. You quickly turned to see a very tall male walking towards you. “This is what we have been smelling?”
The look on his face was complete bewilderment. He ran fingers through his hair and chuckled to himself. “Do you know how much danger you’d be in, if it were any other Alpha that got to you first?
“Alright, Johnny. That’s enough.” Jaemin motioned for the taller male to cool it down. “I haven’t told her anything.”
Johnny mouthed “O” and stepped away slowly. The others in the house made no attempt to speak with you. Instead they returned to their previous conversations. Jaemin shook his head as he brought you to a spacious and beautifully decorated room. He closed the french doors and looked back to face you.
“Spill.” You said without missing a beat.
“I chose you as my mate.” He looked at you with a straight face.
“Come again?” You asked him, unsure of what you’ve just heard.
“You heard me right the first time. I really don’t like repeating myself.” Jaemin replied with an eyeroll.
“And how exactly are we supposed to mate?” You asked him.
“Oh….. I don’t actually know. Maybe you can tell me how babies are made.” He shot you a mocking smirk with a raised eyebrow.
You nodded as a subtle smile formed. Just for a brief second, you’d forgotten Jaemin was an Alpha, but he reminded you quickly.
“I see..” You turned your back to Jaemin and walked towards the regal bed in the middle of the room and sat down at the edge. “What does this mean for me?”
“It means you are receiving an opportunity that many humans can only dream of.” Jaemin slowly walked over to you, his boot heels thumping against the wooden floor.
You watched Jaemin as he slowly made his way to you. He was calm and alluring, but above all, he was a mystery.
“Do I even have a choice here?” You asked Jaemin as he sat next to you.
He bit his lip and tilted his head but you could still see the smile form on the side of his face. He truly had never experienced a single worry.
“Oh humans…” Jaemin began. “Of course you have a choice. I can’t mate you without your consent. But I know you will choose me. You see….There are some factors that are in my favor.”
“Oh?” You could feel yourself falling deeper as he continued to talk. There was something about the way he enunciated his words and the tone he used to speak to you. It was much different than when he spoke to the Johnny character downstairs.
“Tell me. How much success have you actually had with human males? Can’t be too much, because I know you haven’t been touched in months. Your scent is all female. Not a single trace of male.” He stopped and sighed deeply. “I would never neglect you. I would never leave you. And I would make sure you never lacked anything you truly wanted. Now….does that sound so bad?”
You gulped at his words and he finally looked over to face you.
“You should also understand something about how we Alphas operate. Usually….among werewolves…The Alpha picks up the scent of an Omega and that Omega eventually becomes his mate. But things are a bit different with humans. If one Alpha has picked up on your scent, well that means so have many others…”
“Excuse me?!” You blurt out. “What do you mean by that?”
“It means exactly what I said. It was only going to be a matter of time before you found yourself with quite the werewolf problem.” Jaemin laid on the bed with an elbow propped to keep him on his side.
“So basically it’s you or whatever the fuck is out there looking for me right now.” You said, beginning to bite your nails.
“Hey.” Jaemin shook his head and pulled your hand away from your mouth. “There is no need for the nerves. Let’s just be grateful that it was me that found you.”
“I am never going back to my family, huh?” You ask quietly.
“Being an Alpha’s mate isn’t a prison sentence. My goodness.” Jaemin rolled his eyes. “You’ll be able to see your family as much as you please.”
“Oh.” You said, a bit embarrassed. Maybe you’d read one too many books about Alphas.
“I am getting really tired of being patient with you.” Jaemin muttered underneath his breath.
“Excuse me?!” You responded to his sass, unsure how anyone else dealt with him.
Jaemin said nothing but instead, began to lightly stroke your arm. His fingers were hot. They weren’t that hot when he touched you a few minutes prior. His eyes were focused on your skin and you could see him bite his lips in admiration.
“Jaemin?!” You said as he started to trail kisses up your arm.
“So pretty…” He finally reached your neck and began to suck as he pulled you closer to him by your waist.
You froze as you felt your panties become soaked. Jaemin hiked your skirt up over your hips and let it bunch on your waist before lifting you up and placing you on top of him.
“I need to be inside you.” He half groaned. “I need it.”
He then grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you deeply. Tongues fought for dominance as you began to leak through your panties. A deep growl grumbled in Jaemin’s chest once the scent reached his nose. He finally broke the kiss and looked at you with lust crazed eyes.
Jaemin was now breathing heavily. His hold only grew tighter around you as he started thrusting up.
“You’re so wet. I can feel it on my thigh.” He said reaching into your shirt. “You’re just as much of a cock slut as Omegas, aren’t you?” He said into your ear as he massaged a nipple between two fingers.
“Oh my…” You breathed as you felt a hard bulge at your core.
Jaemin kissed your neck and hummed. You felt him smile as he inhaled your scent once more. “Gonna fuck you so deep.” He started to rip your blouse open, the buttons flying in every direction.
You squealed as he shoved his entire face into your cleavage.
“God, you feel so fucking good.” Jaemin’s eyes fluttered and closed as he took a bud into his mouth and started to suck on it gently. You moaned softly and finally gained enough courage to touch him.
Sharp ridges could be felt underneath the silk button up he wore. You let your hands roam to the smooth skin on his collarbones and to his chest until you reached to the point where his shirt held together with three buttons.
You hesitated for a second but started to undo his shirt. Jaemin noticed and let the nipple slip out of his mouth with an obscene slurp. He looked up at you with red eyes again and gave a toothy grin.
“You’ve been nothing but skeptical since the moment we’ve met but now look at you.” He let you continue to undress him and pulled his arms out of the sleeves once you were finished unbuttoning his shirt.
“My Alpha is calling out to you. He’s very excited. Gonna fuck you until you’re begging me to mate you.” Jaemin rubbed your thigh as he hummed. He smiled when you slightly trembled at his touch. “Are you scared?” He said with a smile as he lifted you and placed you on your back, letting you melt into the soft pillows.
You shook your head no, afraid you’d only confirm Jaemin’s theories. “So it’s not fear that I’m hearing.” Jaemin said as unbuttoned your skirt and pulled it off of you.
Before you could respond, he took both of your legs and spread them and pushed them towards your shoulders. He lowered himself until he was facing your core.
“Jaemin, no!” You screamed.
He paused and sat up with a confused look on his face.
“You said you couldn’t do this without my consent. Well..you don’t have it.” You sat up and grabbed the blanket to cover yourself.
Jaemin placed both hands on his thighs and sighed. “You are truly something.”
“I’m not- I’m not ready.” You stutter.
“For sex..” Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Or for sex….with me.”
You threw him a look of indifference and he moved off the bed. You didn’t know why but you felt a pang of disappointment as he put on his silk button up and started to button it up.
“Here.” He opens a door and you can see that it is a walk in closet. “Change into something. Dinner should be ready soon.”
“At 3pm?” You ask him.
“We are werewolves. We eat once a day.” Jaemin said before walking out the door and shutting it behind him.
You sat in silence as you tried to gather your thoughts. Was he angry? He sure didn’t seem like it, if he was. Your stomach started to growl, so you quickly got up and half ran to the closet.
“No way.” You gulped and walked deeper into the closet. The closet seemed to have belonged to a woman. A woman that wore your size. A woman that had your same exact style. You pulled a maxi dress off a hanger and pulled some underwear from a built-in drawer.
Within minutes, you emerged from the closet feeling brand new. You had on a pair of dry underwear and you were out of your work clothes.
The aroma of a feast filled the entire hallway as you made your way to the circular staircase. The entire house was booming with bass filled laughter from Alphas and it only grew louder as you descended down the stairs. Once you reach the bottom, you hear someone clear their throat. Jaemin is waiting for you at the side of the staircase and he’s wearing the warmest smile.
He reached out his hand and for the first time that day, comfort led you to take it. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” You said softly, a bit intimidated by the amount of eyes on you.
Jaemin wrapped an arm around your shoulder and squeezed. “I can’t be mad at a human for experiencing human emotions, now can I?” He said into your ear before giving you a peck on your cheek.
Truth was, you were terrified of going all the way with Jaemin. How much of your life would change once you fully immersed yourself into a community full of werewolves? How likely were you to be accepted? What would truly become of your family?
“Still can’t believe you really turned out to be a human.” A deep voice said from behind you. You turned and saw a new alpha eyeing you and Jaemin. You froze, afraid this meeting would take a turn for the worse.
The Alpha looked at Jaemin and then looked at you. “Nevertheless, you are beautiful. Jaemin has always had a tendency to follow beautiful things.” He took a swig of his beer and stepped closer. “Just so you know, we all know just how scared you are. You don’t have any reason to be. You’ll find out soon enough.” He tapped Jaemin on the shoulder before leaving.
“That was Jaehyun.” Jaemin said as soon as the Alpha disappeared. “He’s very friendly. As are the rest of us. Here, let me show you around.”
You felt your mood change as Jaemin held your hand and led you through the numerous lively bodies in the mansion.
When you arrived earlier, you only saw males but now there were also females as well as young ones. One of them ran to you and sniffed your hand without warning.
“Oh!” You exclaimed, completely surprised.
“Jisung, we talked about that!” An older Alpha came running after the young child.
“Sorry, dad! I just wanted to say hi.” The child said. He looked very apologetic and reached out both hands and lowered his head.
You looked at Jaemin and the Alpha with a confused look on your face.
“Grab both of his hands, if you forgive him.” Jaemin said into your ear.
You instantly grabbed the child’s hand and told him it was okay. He jolted up with the most adorable smile you had ever seen. Was he? Was he already an alpha? He looked like nothing more than a young boy.
“In case you were wondering, he is just a regular boy. The only difference between him and a human child right now is that he has more strength and a stronger sense of smell.” The Alpha, who you assumed was the father, said while seemingly reading your thoughts.
“Oh. I-uh.” You started to say.
“My name is Doyoung.” The Alpha smiled and extended his hand. You quickly shook his hand and told him your name.
“So nice to finally meet you. I hope you enjoy the dinner.” He gave you a warm smile and rubbed Jaemin’s shoulder before walking away with his child.
You immediately searched for Jaemin’s hand and he laughed. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jaemin had only shown you the first floor of the mansion when you told him you were hungry.
“I guess I should feed you, huh?” He said, leading you to the kitchen. You weren’t sure how you even lasted so long.
You reached the dining room and felt your nerves go haywire. All eyes turned to you once you entered the room.
Some of the werewolves smiled and waved and it calmed your nerves a bit. Jaemin pulled out a chair and you sat down quietly. You were moved by his gesture but you tried your best to not let it show.
“Everyone seems so much nicer now.” You whisper to Jaemin.
“They weren’t sure who you were before, but they are now.” Jaemin said calmly.
“Oh…” It dawned on you that you were the only stranger in the entire mansion. You hadn’t taken into account how the others viewed you.
“Well how do they know so much now?” You asked him as the serving dishes began to get passed around.
“Oh, I told them while you were changing.” Jaemin said as he poured some wine into his glass.
“What did you tell them exactly?” You looked at him with widened eyes.
“I told them that you were the human I chose as my mate.” Jaemin responded nonchalantly.
“Oh wow.” You said. “And they just accepted it?”
“Of course.” He looked at you with a confused look. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“I mean….I’m not one of you.” You said in a soft voice.
Jaemin sighed. “That doesn’t matter. We are more alike than you think.”
“Well I am seeing that now…” You trailed off.
“Eat up. You said you were hungry. I don’t want you to starve.” Jaemin said, now digging into his food.
-
Thirty minutes later, you were finished with dinner and people were leaving the house.
“I thought everyone lived here?” You looked at Jaemin.
He looked at you and laughed. “Now, what would make you think that?” He asked.
“Everyone was here when we came earlier. And this place has like ten thousand rooms!” You said in a hushed whisper.
“That is true. But they only come to keep me company. It'll only be me and you most nights…” Jaemin said with a smile.
“Oh… I didn’t realize. You actually live alone.” You said, feeling a bit embarrassed. It all started to make sense.
Jaemin lived alone in a community where being alone wasn’t the norm. Word spread that he had found a potential mate and everyone decided to show up and see who it was. Your introduction as well as your presence was important to them. Jaemin wasn’t the enemy that you made him out to be. He was just trying his best to not make this any more nerve wracking for you then it already was.
“Can we go upstairs?” You asked Jaemin.
“Are you okay?” He said, his voice laced with concern.
“Yeah, I just want to be alone with you.” You tell him as you wrap an arm around his neck.
Jaemin stood up and waved to the few guests that were still sitting at the table. You did the same and they smiled back. On the way to the stairs, you saw Doyoung holding a sleeping Jisung in his arms, while talking to a few other Alphas.
Once in the room, you walk a few steps and then turn to face Jaemin.
“I’m sorry.” You blurt out. “I passed so much judgment. I don’t know anything. You have such a beautiful community standing behind you. Your home is amazing. There is nothing that you lack. What I am trying to say is…. let’s do it. Jaemin, let’s be together.”
Jaemin looked at you in awe. The smile slowly formed and by the time it reached his eyes, he was directly in front of you and you reached out to caress a cheek.
“I was sure you’d choose me.” He covered your hand with his own and bit his lip as he looked down at your own.
You felt your breath hitch as he lowered his face and pressed his lips onto yours.
“Do you want to try again?” Jaemin asked once he pulled away.
You nodded a few times and Jaemin kissed you again. This time he removed the straps from your shoulders and let your dress fall to the floor. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked you both to the bed.
He laid you down and started to unbutton his shirt. He practically ripped off his shirt and threw it across the room. You wrapped your arms around him as he lowered down to kiss you again. He pushed his clothed boner into your core and you gasped.
“I know it feels really big but I can make it fit, I promise.” Jaemin said seductively in your ear. He rose again and this time he started to undo his belt.
“Jaemin, wait.” You stopped him again.
He froze and looked at you. But he didn’t say anything.
“Let me.” You sat up and went for Jaemin’s belt. He let you undo his belt as he softly rubbed your neck.
“I love how eager you are. We are going to have so much fun together.” You smile at him before you pull his hard cock out from his jeans. It was huge. Your mouth watered simply by the sight of it and you quickly became mesmerized by the birthmark on the side of his shaft. Determined to show that you were cut out for the job, you kissed him deeply.
“Shit...” Jaemin said, but then whimpered softly as you swiped your thumb across the tip, spreading his precum around. You hadn’t a clue how you were going to manage his entire length but you started with the tip and gradually worked your way down, opening your mouth wider so your teeth wouldn’t get in the way. You felt him successfully slide down your tongue as his abs flexed from his sudden intake of breath.
You opened your eyes to meet Jaemin’s, only to find him already gazing at you. He smiled widely and bit his lip once your eyes met. “Deep-throating on the first night…hmmm. What am I going to do with you?” He then held your head in place as he thrusted further down into your mouth, making you take his entire length. You gagged as tears formed in your eyes and spit spilled from your mouth.
“You look even prettier with tears in your eyes.”Jaemin chuckled. “Now keep that mouth open wide. I wanna fuck your throat so more.” You obeyed and he thrust in deeper with an elongated grunt. You continued to gag as you felt tears stream down your cheeks, his hardened, thick cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. You gasped loudly once he finally pulled out his entire length.
“Awww, you poor thing.” Jaemin tsked as you wiped your mouth in a frenzy of heavy breaths. “Let me make it a little easier for you.” He got off the bed and stepped out of his pants and briefs, before coming back to you and laying you on your back. He traced a finger along the outside of your soaked panties and mouthed a slow “Wow.”
You tried to close your legs, too consumed by the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment. Jaemin stopped you from closing your legs with his hand and smiled at you as he laid on the bed and rested between your legs. His face was right at your core and he draped one of your legs over a muscular shoulder. “You can’t hide that mouth watering scent away from me, pretty.” He said before kissing the inside of your thigh.
He slowly peeled the panties off of you and threw them across the room.
Jaemin looked at you and smiled once your eyes met his. He held eye contact with you as he dragged his tongue from the bottom of your wet folds to your already throbbing clit. You covered your mouth with both hands before any sound escaped as Jaemin began to suck on your bud. He removed your hands from your mouth as soon as he noticed what you were doing. “I want to hear.” He said before bringing his attention back to your glistening core. Within moments, you were a screaming, withering mess as Jaemin started to make out with the most sensitive spot. A familiar sensation started to boil in the pit of your stomach and you grabbed a fistful of the Alpha’s hair.
“I’m close! I’m so close!.”Jaemin immediately stopped and pulled himself away. You groaned in disappointment but instantly stopped once you felt Jaemin line himself up, readying himself to enter. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he pushed himself in. A half lidded smile appeared on his face as he went in deeper. It wasn’t long before tears formed in your eyes again.
“They say pain is pleasure, baby.” He said, wiping a tear from your cheek. “You must love this cock.”
You nod rapidly while gasping as you struggle to accommodate his entire shaft. “Yes, Alpha! I love it so much.”
Jaemin’s smile grows wider as he finally finds his rhythm. He lowers himself to your ear and licks the outer shell. “Rub your clit while I fuck your tight hole.” He mutters in your ear. You follow his order and start to rub on your bundle of nerves while Jaemin continues to plunge into you. He quietly chuckles to himself as he watches your eyes flutter close, leaving only the white showing, as you moaned loudly.
Jaemin watched as your face scrunched together and admired the soft breaths you let out before taking a breast into his mouth and gently sucking again.
“Alpha!” You screamed, the overstimulation becoming painfully unbearable.
“My princess, you are just so sensitive…” Jaemin groaned in your ear. He took both of your hands and locked them above your head in one hand, his thrusts going deeper than before. You felt your legs begin to shake as he slowly but surely began to near your spot.
“Do you like the way my cock stretches that pussy?” Jaemin asked, looking deep in your eyes once you opened them.
“Yes!” You blurt out.
“Can I mark you as my mate?” He asked, his eyes now glowing red.
You gasp but only mutter a strained “yes” as Jaemin finally hits your spot.
Your heart stops for a split second as you see fangs appear in the place of Jaemin’s human-like teeth. Before you can say anything, there is a splitting pain in the side of your neck. A blood curdling scream can be heard through the entire mansion as Jaemin sinks his fangs inside of your skin.
“That took much longer than expected.” Johnny said to Jaehyun as they finished up the last of the dishes.
“And they say humans aren’t a challenge.” Jaehyun chuckled and opened the front door for him and Johnny.
They locked the door from the inside and went home to their mates, leaving you and Jaemin to enjoy the mansion alone on your first night as official mates.
#na jaemin au#jaemin smut#jaemin x reader#member x member#nct dream#nct dream imagines#nct au#nct smut#nct dream smut#jaemin au#kpop fanfiction#kpop fanfic#kpop au#abo smut#nct abo#nct dream abo#omegaverse
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Horse Trainer!Gale x Veteran!Bucky AU
Part one of my headcanons for this AU is here!
Some warnings to get us started: slight mention of alcohol abuse, references to gun violence, war, death, PTSD and a car accident.
Something bright and cheery for your Wednesday, eh? I promise it gets cute later down the line, just not today! Today we mean business. So here we go!
Bucky couldn’t remember wanting to be anything other than a pilot when he grew up.
His ma used to draw all kinds of aircraft: jets, airliners, gliders, helicopters, even a seaplane once. John would tuck himself into her side and watch, mouth open and fascinated as she drew smooth confident lines.
She explained to him why the nose was this shape, and how the wings and tail needed to be in balance, why the placement and size of the engines mattered. She went to school for it, before he and his sisters came along. Well, before his dad came along, really.
He didn’t take much of it in, he'd be ashamed to realise later, but he did absorb her obsession with aviation. Just not for the design. He would however, try to encourage her to go back to school to finish her degree.
Mama Egan took him to his first air show when he was eight, and she had to scruff him by the neck to stop him from taking off like a shot towards the real, live WWII B-17.
Instead, he thrashed at the end of her hand, jumping around like an eel as she walked him towards it anyway, and accepted the boost inside once his ma had convinced the pilot to let John take a peek inside.
He never looked back.
He enlists when he’s eighteen, and rockets up the ranks quickly. By the time he becomes Major - and a very young Major - the new recruits look at him like he’s some kind of maverick, some kind of legend.
The higher-ups see the natural born leader he is, and the boys in his squadron know him as brave, quick thinking, and with instincts that couldn’t have possibly all come from training. He could read situations in the air like most of them read books. When John Egan had a feeling, or ordered you to do something out of the blue, you did not ask questions.
Although he joined up out of pure enthusiasm and desperation to be a pilot, he quickly sees his time in the air force as an opportunity to help people. But, almost as quickly, he realises that he and the Brass have different views on how to go about that.
He dislikes combat missions the most. Sometimes it’s pretty black and white, and John can feel pride when he sees enemy targets crumble into dust. Or when he’s lost one of his men and he feels a thrum of vengeance he knows he shouldn’t and tries to suppress but sometimes can’t quite help on the darker nights.
But mostly he learns how devastating combat missions are. He much prefers supply drops and recovery missions, but these are so few and far between, that he gives up that privilege to those in his squadron to help keep up their morale. Their morale was his responsibility, after all.
John takes to drinking, just a little bit. Never enough to affect his work. But on days when he can’t shake the anger or the gloom, the glow of whisky helps him hide it better.
Somewhere along the line, his passion burns out and he starts to want out. He’s still one of their best pilots, still a role model for all the pilots, navigators and serving men and women on base - that is to stay, he still acts the part. He signs up for his second eight-year contract, but two years into it, he can’t stomach the thought of the remaining six.
He admits as much on a tearful phone call to his ma, who promises him he doesn’t owe anyone anything, and if he needs to he better get his ass into that doctor’s office or she’ll come and drag him by the ear and drop him at the counsellor’s door herself.
“Don’t you go doing anything stupid, now, John. I didn’t raise a fool.”
And John doesn't. Do anything stupid, that is. But someone does.
Because the mission fucks up, and fucks up in a big way.
It's a recovery mission his squadron all but forces him on, all of them insisting it's his turn, and what did he do to deserve those guys and dolls, huh?
But Ken hadn’t given him the run down of his plane, because he’s taken some PTO, and his replacement ground crew chief was nowhere to be found. And from then on, John just has a bad feeling about the whole thing.
Afterwards, he can't ever remember much, but what it boils down to is two bullets in his shoulder, a dead co-pilot, a murdered political attaché left behind on enemy ground, and a package, called Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal, safe back on American soil. And his superiors patting him on his good shoulder, telling him what a good job he did.
A good fucking job. Like some green kid hadn’t died choking on his own blood, staring at Bucky like he could do something. And a fella in his late 50s, who’d been harping on about his first grandkid, was never going to meet him because his body was never going to make it home.
So, when the doc tells him the physio isn’t working and his mobility is compromised, he barely feels a thing.
Major John Egan. Honourably discharged at twenty-eight.
He’s been warned he might feel a little lost at home. But no one warns him that he’ll mistake a framed photo of his old man as that dead attaché and it would start talking to him: “You left me behind. Who’s going to teach my grandkid ball, now?”
No one tells him he’ll scare the life out of his ma coming home from ladies' brunch, to see John, who’s been standing there God knows how long, still heaving in ragged breaths surrounded by smashed glass with blood running down the hand that holds a sizeable shard of it.
So he agrees to therapy.
It doesn’t go well. Crank sets him up with a friend of his experienced in medically discharged vets, but Bucky can’t disassociate them from the military. They get all mushed up as part of the problem in his head, so he stops going and avoids Cranks calls for a while.
And the dreams get worse. And the sleepwalking hits him like a freight train, although it only happens once. Once is enough.
He ends up on a back road. It’s the only reason, Bucky thinks, he didn’t die. He veers between the grassy verge and the road. It’s dark and he’s wearing all black, and the car doesn’t see him before it’s too late. They weren’t going too fast, but they clip him all the same and he wakes up in a hospital.
And the docs have evidently spoken to his ma, because whilst they’re treating his physical wounds, someone comes for a psyche eval and he gets a stern warning that either he gets proper counselling voluntarily, or he’ll legally be forced to. A much less pleasant experience.
And he meets the driver who clipped him. A shorter guy called Curt who walks in rubbing the back of his neck and not quite able to look John in the eye until he says, “Irish, huh? That how you didn’t hit the bullseye? Too short to see over the steering wheel?”
Curt cackles and the two of them talk easy after that.
In fact, John finds it easier to talk to Curt than anyone else since he left the air force. He tells Curt about the disillusionment of it all, the anger, the dreams, all of it. And Curt understands because he used to be in the medical corps and he knows there are things you can’t unsee. Some things a man just can’t reckon with himself.
But, Curt also tells him about the horse ranch he goes to, that helped him when no shrink or medication could.
Cleven Ranch he calls it, and tells John that when he’s up and ready, he’ll take him there.
#clegan#buck x bucky#horse trainer!gale#veteran!john#mota au#alternative universe#headcanon#john egan#gale cleven#curtis biddick
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Dick groaned as soon as he registered the flash of orange-and-black on the rooftop, automatically changing his trajectory to engage. It had been a long night, two gang busts and several muggings foiled, and he was not in the mood to fight with Deathstroke until the mercenary gave up on his objective.
Unfortunately, the mercenary was peering through a sniper scope and Dick wasn’t about to let anyone get assassinated on his watch.
A couple of wingdings and Deathstroke abandoned his position, twisting up to face the new threat. Dick drew his escrima before he landed on the rooftop, and went on the attack. “You know, we really should stop meeting like this,” Dick said with the flash of a smile.
“I don’t know, I definitely appreciate the view,” Deathstroke said, dodging a strike and somehow managing to stay still long enough to do a leering scan over Dick, obvious even through the mask.
Banter was good, banter meant that Deathstroke was not in a bad mood and Dick had a significantly higher chance of escaping without injury.
“Really? I think you’d appreciate it a lot better without that mask,” Dick said breathlessly, dropping underneath Deathstroke’s guard and lashing out with an escrima, straight at the mask. “And in better lighting, too.” It connected with a crack and Deathstroke stumbled back with a grunt, hand raising to his broken mask.
Dick took the opportunity to spin towards the sniper setup—with one kick, he sent the whole apparatus crashing off the roof and to the ground several stories before. He looked back up and gave the mercenary a bright smile.
“Oops,” Dick said.
Deathstroke regarded him for a long, stretching moment, ice blue eye narrowing as he tossed the mask aside, before exploding into movement.
Dick backpedaled, but there was only so long he could outlast a superpowered mercenary and Dick wasn’t surprised when he ended up pinned against the wall, his escrima sticks having followed the sniper rifle off the roof, staring up at that snarl.
“Someone should really teach you a lesson about how to treat other people’s stuff,” Deathstroke growled, fingers squeezing around Dick’s wrists.
Dick licked his lips, grinning when Deathstroke’s gaze dropped to the movement, and tried to stomp down on the mercenary’s instep. “You want me to ask nicely?”
“I want you to beg, little bird,” Deathstroke said darkly, leaning down until their faces were scant inches apart. “I want you to scream and cry and wail until you finally give in and promise to mind your own business.”
“Make me,” Dick retorted.
That was normally his cue for wriggling out of Deathstroke’s grip, throwing back a few more quips as Deathstroke’s faux flirting stalked deep into the territory of sexual harassment, and stall until the police got here from the tip he’d called in, but Dick was aching all over and not really in the mood to gain a few more bruises before Deathstroke cut his losses.
So instead he pushed up on his tiptoes to close the scant distance between them, and pressed his lips to the mercenary’s.
As a distraction technique, it worked. He felt Deathstroke grow rigid in surprise before kissing back, grip loosening slightly on Dick’s wrists. The mercenary deepened the kiss, pressing Dick back against the brick, so close that Dick could feel the seams of his armor.
It was a damn good kiss and Dick felt breathless and dizzy when Deathstroke disengaged, only to have to bite back a sharp moan when the mercenary sucked at the curve of his jaw, stubble scratching against his neck. Slade chuckled, diving back in for a kiss, and Dick could feel parts of his body perk up in interest.
The distant sound of sirens faintly registered and Dick couldn’t help the smile curving against the kiss. Deathstroke withdrew, giving Dick a suspicious look. “What did you do?” he growled.
“Me?” Dick blinked his eyes innocently. The effect was hidden by his domino, but Deathstroke still narrowed his eye.
The sirens got closer.
Deathstroke cursed and abruptly released Dick, stalking to the edge of the rooftop. Dick followed him and peered over the edge. A pair of police cars was already there, and there was an officer shining a flashlight over the pile of gear that lay in pieces on the ground.
Both of them ducked back before the officer could look up.
“Don’t worry,” Dick grinned, “I’ll make sure the BPD takes very good care of your toys.”
Deathstroke merely snarled at him. Dick rocked on the balls of his feet, ready to jump back if the merc decided to lash out, but Deathstroke spun around and walked away, grabbing his broken mask and heading to the other edge of the rooftop.
“We should do this another time!” Dick called after him, still smiling, and stretched in satisfaction at a job well done. He hadn’t even gotten punched.
It was a good night.
~#~
The next time he ran into Deathstroke, it was by complete accident. Dick was sneaking into a warehouse when he caught sight of someone else moving in the rafters and it didn’t take more than a glance to identify what their target was.
Starting a fight up here would alert Deathstroke’s target, true, but it would also alert them that Nightwing was here, and Dick hoped for a little more discretion tonight. So instead of barging forward, escrima out, Dick kept his weapons sheathed and slinked forward more quietly.
Of course, there was no such thing as quiet enough when it came to Deathstroke the Terminator, so Dick was still a few steps away when the man growled, “What do you want, Grayson?”
“Ideally, for you to stop taking contracts in Bludhaven,” Dick hummed, watching the merc tense up as Dick moved closer and finally sidled in front of Deathstroke, blocking his view of the meeting happening on the warehouse floor. “But I’ll settle for a kiss.”
Even through the mask, Dick could feel Deathstroke’s unimpressed look. “Get out of my way, kid,” he said tersely.
“Rude,” Dick pouted, letting Deathstroke back him up against a cross beam. The mercenary loomed above him, a hulking figure in the semi-darkness, and Dick felt something skate across his nerves.
“Don’t test my patience,” the man growled.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” Dick said, grabbing hold of a crisscrossing strap on Deathstroke’s armor to prevent the merc from turning back to his target. Deathstroke snarled and yanked off Dick’s hand, but Dick had already jumped up, wrapping his legs around Slade’s waist before his grip was removed. Dick smiled at the mercenary, face-to-mask, like he wasn’t currently holding them together with the strength of his thighs.
“What the fuck are you doing,” Deathstroke said flatly. He didn’t move to tear Dick off, but Dick was under no impression that it wouldn’t be ridiculously easy for him to do. Dick just moved forward with the half-ridiculous plan he’d formulated.
“We left things a little unfinished last time,” Dick said, dropping his voice as he slowly, gently placed his hands on the mercenary’s shoulders. The mask was an obstacle, and he lifted his fingers to the knot, loosening it carefully, heart hammering in his throat as he did his best to keep his movements slow and unthreatening.
Deathstroke let him slip the mask off, standing stock still on the rafter beam. Beneath them, the meeting was beginning to finish up. Dick looked into the mercenary’s impassive expression and smiled, trying to ignore how everything was fluttery from trepidation. “It’s not nice to leave a guy hanging.”
The mercenary made some kind of snort, but Dick didn’t let him get anything more out, cupping one gloved hand against that strong jaw and meeting his lips. Deathstroke let him set the pace this time and Dick took his time in exploring, curling the fingers of his other hand in Deathstroke’s hair as he lost him in the kiss.
He didn’t even realize that Deathstroke was gripping his ass until the man gave a deliberate squeeze.
“Is this what you want, little bird?” the mercenary murmured as Dick broke the kiss with a muffled gasp. “Do you get off on playing cat-and-mouse with villains?” Nightwing’s armor was made of high-quality kevlar fabric, but it felt like tissue paper right now—he could feel the slow, deliberate movements as Slade kneaded his ass. “Did you want the big, bad mercenary to hold you down and make you scream?”
Dick rolled his hips forward, re-wrapping his legs tight around Slade’s waist. “I don’t know,” he said, voice breathless, “you tell me.”
He dove back into the kiss, feeling arousal spike higher with every press and squeeze, his suit becoming uncomfortably tight. Dick was so consumed that he almost forgot what he was here for, but he remembered when he heard the quiet slide of a gun slipping out of its holster.
Dick broke the kiss but kept his forehead pressed to Deathstroke’s, reaching out to grab the gun before the mercenary finished aiming it. He didn’t try to wrest the gun away, just curled a hand over the muzzle and waited.
“You truly are a pain in my ass,” the mercenary grumbled.
“In your ass?” Dick said pointedly, wiggling against the tight grip Deathstroke had on him.
The mercenary merely huffed, not engaging as he let go. “Get off of me. They’re gone, anyway.” Dick darted a quick glance to check before he let go of the gun and unwrapped himself from Deathstroke.
~#~
~#~
“I trust you,” Dick said with a smile. It didn’t sound like a lie. He was too exhausted and injured, and maybe it was true. Maybe this was what trust felt like.
Slade’s face closed down, slipping straight into Deathstroke’s idle efficiency. Shit. That didn’t seem like a good sign.
“Okay,” Slade said, “Go to the bedroom. Take off your suit. Kneel next to the bed, hands on the blankets. Now.”
Dick was already regretting this. This wasn’t going to be gentle. But there was no point in protesting. Dick did what he was told, and knelt, bruised knees pressing painfully against the ground as he laid his arms out flat on the bed. He buried his face in the blankets, and let out a ragged breath.
Slade’s footsteps were deliberate, and Dick heard him walk to the closet. He didn’t look to see what he was doing, but he heard the harsh swish of something long and thin whistling through the air.
It’s worth it, some part of his mind attempted to soothe, it’s all worth it if it saves lives.
Slade had never been this rough before, but he was clearly trying to prove something. Dick hoped that he didn’t break skin—that wouldn’t be fun to deal with, or to try to explain to nosy siblings.
Slade walked back to him, and Dick could feel the long, thin stick press against his back. A cane. Or a staff, maybe, it was too dense to be a walking stick.
“You’re sure about this?” Slade asked, voice emotionless.
Dick pressed his face further into the blanket, and nodded, a quick jerk of his head.
“Say no,” Slade said, “And I’ll stop.” The cane pressed deeper against his back, before Slade drew it back.
Dick quickly calculated how hard Slade could hit, and bit down on the blankets. The agonizing part would be enduring without begging Slade to stop. Dick really hoped that this satisfied Slade, that he got whatever he was looking for, that this wasn’t going to be the tone for the rest of their encounters—Dick had enjoyed himself before, but this was only going to hurt—
He couldn’t stop the tears spilling out, and he tried to keep them silent. As long as he didn’t say no. That was all he had to do. Just keep his mouth shut.
The floor creaked, and Dick fought not to flinch. He waited for the whistling strike, the snap of wood against skin, the growing burn, the—
The hand on his shoulder, drawing him away from the bed, and Dick had to unclench his jaw before he pulled the blankets off the bed. Slade was crouching next to him, staring at him with a blank face and a narrowed eye.
“You don’t want this,” Slade said levelly, and the words felt like a death sentence.
“No,” Dick breathed out, because he could recognize that glint in his eyes—Slade was pissed, and Dick had no idea who he’d take it out on. “No, Slade, please, I want it, I—”
“Dick,” Slade said, cutting him off, “Stop.”
“Slade, I do—I trust you, I swear—” Dick could feel the tears streaming down his face, and he tried to wipe them away, but his hands were shaking, and Slade was angry, and—
And now he was sobbing into an expensive shirt, strong arms around him, careful to not put any pressure on his ribs, and Dick couldn’t stop crying. “I’m sorry,” he hiccupped, feeling the despair clawing at his heart, because he’d failed, because Slade had set up a test and Dick couldn’t pass it, and he abandoned that line of conversation entirely. “I’m sorry—don’t—don’t kill them, I’ll do anything, Slade, please—”
“I’m not going to kill them,” Slade said, something pained in his tone, “I told you, my job is over.”
“I—I’m sorry, I—just give me a minute, I’ll s—stop—”
A heavy sigh. “Kid, you don’t have to stop crying,” Slade said quietly, and Dick instinctively tightened his grasp on Slade’s shirt as the man stood up, carrying Dick fluidly.
~#~
“I know what consent is,” Dick said irritably—he wasn’t an idiot, and Bruce had been thoroughly obsessive in designing powerpoints to cover the Talk. “No means no.”
Slade observed him, his expression placid. “Yes,” he said levelly, “But consent means saying yes.”
“I said yes, Slade!” Dick snarled, unsure of what picture Slade was trying to paint but knowing that he didn’t like it. He knew that Slade would stop whenever he told him to. That had never been an issue.
Slade continued to stare at him silently. “If I held a gun to your head and told you to beg me to fuck you,” Slade said quietly, “Is that consent?”
Dick had absolutely no idea where he was going with this. “Of course not.”
“What if I held the gun to your brother’s head, whichever one pops up in your mind first,” he said, and Dick couldn’t help the shiver at the mental image of Deathstroke training a gun on Robin. “And told you the same thing?”
“It’s not consent.”
“How about a random civilian off the street? A drug lord? A cop? A—”
“Forcing someone to say yes isn’t consent,” Dick said through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” Slade agreed, “And what if I didn’t force you? What if I had a gun trained on a target and a thirty-second window to shoot, and you knew that dropping to your knees and blowing me would distract me?”
Dick went still. Slade’s face was no longer expressionless.
“Having sex with ulterior motives doesn’t automatically mean it’s not consensual,” Dick said slowly.
“No, it doesn’t,” Slade agreed. “But everyone draws the line somewhere, kid, and you’ve crossed mine.”
Dick felt that strike through his bones. “Slade,” he said, unsure of what he was going to say but desperate to say something, “I don’t—”
“You were ready to let me beat you bloody,” Slade said flatly, “Not because you enjoyed it, not because you thought it might be fun to try—both answers I would’ve accepted, by the way—but because you thought I was going to murder someone if you didn’t.”
“You—you didn’t say that you would kill someone if I didn’t have sex with you.”
“No, I didn’t,” Slade agreed. “But it’s clearly what you heard.”
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