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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard.

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake.

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar.

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords.

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper.

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone.

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun?

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins.

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.”

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.”

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?”

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily.

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?”

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.”

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives.

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless.

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you.

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is.

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.”

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch.

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?”

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.”

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking.

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you.

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?”

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.”

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers.

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.”

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.”

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered.

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?”

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.”

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #opla x reader #opla x you #opla x y/n #opla!zoro x you #opla!zoro x reader

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lipglossanon · 2 months ago

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Day 17

Kink: Dacryphilia

Pairing: Cthulhu!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dacryphilia, monster!Leon, tentacles, tentacle sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, indifferent Leon, more horror than smut in this one chat, cut it short for time lol

Not proofread

The desert is cold at night. You knew it would be—not unsurprised by the drop in temperature. However, this coldness settling over you like a second skin feels unnatural. You run your fingers across the amulet a fortune teller gave you earlier.

“Your third eye will open yet, young Miss.”

You didn’t really think much of it, but after repeating the ritual from the book you picked up in her shop, you’re starting to worry a little about what she meant.

The small fire you built douses itself until complete darkness fills your vision; eyes adjusting, you can still see the blanket of stars dusting the sky—but as you keep your gaze trained on them, they slowly wink out.

One…

By…

One…

You shiver, pulling your thin jacket tighter around you, chills racing along your body and not from just the cold. A dark void rolls across the sky, your eyes stinging with the strain as you open them as wide as possible. No light to be found anywhere and in its place fear—so deeply rooted in your hindbrain that you subconsciously start to cry.

A deep droning sound, like that of a bell underwater, resonates across the desert. Your body is screaming at you to run and never look back, but the fear keeps you frozen in place. Legs tucking up closer until you’re a tight ball of nerves seated next to your dead firewood.

Something touches your shoulder and your eyes roll to the side like a spooked horse.

Empty inky darkness.

You blink and everything is as it was before. The fire crackles and pops as a piece of wood splits from the heat. The stars twinkle and shine like they always have, millions of miles away in the cold vastness of space. Your body, however, stays locked into place. Breath hitching in your chest like you’re about to hyperventilate, you squeeze your eyes shut and just listen to the stillness and the flame.

The amulet’s clutched so hard in your fist, its split open your palm like ripe fruit. Blood drips from your skin to stain the sand below.

“That little trinket won’t do much, I’m afraid.”

A voice slithers from the dark, from the void, from your eyes—

Blinking, you see a strange man sitting across from you—the fire a flimsy barrier against his cold, fathomless gaze. Your throat locks up, voice trapped as your heart races. Who even is he? What is he? How is he here? Did the old woman know this would happen? How—

“Your kind cannot pronounce my true name,” he grins and horror descends upon your mind, making your vision blur.

“You called for me, yes? And I answered,” he shifts and you can see something wriggling behind him in the dark.

You feel violently ill, stomach coiling like snakes trapped in your intestines. “What sh-sh-should I c-call you?”

A pressure against your cranium and you cry out weakly. He chuckles yet his mouth doesn’t move.

“Leon,” it spills from his lips like a dying man’s last breath.

Your thoughts unspool, a strange calmness settling over you, letting you relax. Humming dreamily, you smile at this… man.

“There we go, little one,” he grins wider, too wide, but it doesn’t can’t bother you.

A strange tentacle, at least that’s as close as your mind can come to understanding it, slinks across the cool sand to gently wrap around your bare ankle. The cold slippery feeling sends chill bumps racing across your skin.

“You are quite sweet, not my usual consort,” his voice rumbles, pleased.

The tentacle slips across your leg and up across your shorts to wrap around your hips. “Why did you summon me?”

Your mind tries to rebel against the lethargy of your thoughts, but it’s exhausting.

“I wanted to see if it could be done,” you murmur. “I needed to know if there is more outside of this.”

You gesture around at the open desert and his eyes flicker a multitude of colors before settling back on blue. His attention is focused all on you and it makes you break out in a cold sweat.

“Curiosity has always been a detriment to your kind,” he flexes the tentacle around your waist. “Is knowledge all you seek? No revenge on your enemies? Granting of wishes?”

Faces and names flicker through your mind’s eye along with hazy wisps of forgotten dreams. He hums in pleasure, but you quickly shake your head.

“No, I’m doing this for myself,” you affirm, voice wavering when he tilts his head.

“There is a price, little one. An exchange has been made and I intend to collect it from you,” he stands, and walks over to you—at least it seems like he walks; his body is rotoscope movements against the desert background.

Muscles wound tight, you can’t find room for anymore fear from this creature man. He settles down next to you, seeming to eat up more space than he actually occupies.

His hand hovers over your temple, fingertips barely touching your skin—

You’re weightless—sightless. Floating in the ether of darkness that makes up his mind. He’s everywhere and nowhere. It feels like a million hands touching your body before it morphs into that smooth tentacle you recall from earlier.

Crying out, your mouth is filled with one as another notches itself at your cunt, pressing into your hole and fucking you with shallow, rough thrusts. The pleasure thrums behind your eyes, fireworks going off in your brain to the point you weep with the ecstasy.

You’re suspended in this world he’s created; taking everything he’s giving you.

It’s too much and not enough; it’s infinite yet only happening to you at this exact moment in time. You’ve orgasmed so much, your thighs are saturated with slick. His tentacles continually fuck you, one pulling completely free before another is filling your clenching walls to the brim.

You’re openly weeping, wishing for an end to this sea of ravishment. Muscles shake and twitch as another orgasm is wrung from your overwrought body. His laughter fills your head, as cold as it is mocking. He speaks to you in tongues, a myriad of languages that your mind can’t comprehend.

Although you’re unable to speak, you beg him for an end, an out, anything but the paralyzing sensation overtaking you from your repeated orgasms. Your vision clears and you catch sight of too many eyes..

Then suddenly—

You jump, nearly falling off the log and onto the sandy floor.

The fire crackles and pops, wood burning brightly against the dark backdrop of the desert. The starry sky yields no answers as your mind runs a mile a minute, holding the amulet in a loose fist at your side.

You’re alone now…

and yet that brings no comfort.

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #lipglossanon kinktober 2024 #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #monster!leon #Cthulhu!Leon S. Kennedy #fem!reader #cthulhu!leon s kennedy x fem!reader

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ghostchems · 8 months ago

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infernal - terzo x f!reader - part four

art by the amazing @piaart!!

author’s note: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY @angellayercake!! GO TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

so sorry for the delay on this haha. i've been wrestling with this for a while but i'm pretty happy with it now! it is about 4.4k words. part one/two/three. ao3 linky.

Terzo’s house is different at night. The lights are dim and the shadows are long, every long, creaking corridor seemingly ending in a black void. You’ve never been here this late. In fact, you can’t remember what you were just doing… why are you working late? The hardwood floor rasps beneath your shoes as you turn a corner and see him inside the room at the end of the hallway, sprawled out across a plush purple couch. Terzo immediately perks up at the sight of you, propping himself on his elbows, the usual lop-sided grin sitting handsomely on his face. You feel like you float to him and you’re suddenly standing next to the couch, hovering over him. One of his hands crawls up your waist and then loops his arm around you to pull you down on top of him. It’s much more forward than the careful dance the two of you have been doing since the couch incident. You struggle to breathe in his lap, his hands firmly planted on your waist as he leans up to level his eyes with yours.

“This is what you want, si?” He purrs, his hands snaking up your back to hold you close to him, his face an inch away from you. His paint is sharp, more sharp than usual, and he feels hot to the touch, his fingers nearly burning through your shirt. Your heart flutters and you gasp, your mouth dropping open as his stuttered breath hits your lips. “You like me. You want me. You’ve wanted me from the start, haven’t you, puffetta?” You’ve heard him growl before but not like this, not in a low hum that sends a shiver down your spine. Words fail you but you manage to nod. And nod. And nod again before his large hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers knotting in your hair. You nearly moan in anticipation, wanting and needing this so badly, his lips just about to touch yours — so close to finally tasting him.

Instead, you wake up in a cold sweat, your fingers dug into the sheets and drool on your pillow. Your panting and your cheeks are flushed but you slowly start to cool off once you rip the comforter off of you, throwing it to the ground in frustration. Mostly frustration at yourself for continuing to watch videos of your boss performing. You can’t help it. Terzo let you in. He invited you to sit beside him and take a peak into his world. The memorabilia makes sense now, the posters, the photographs, the everything.

And you want to know more.

“Ah, it is really… coming along, eh?” Terzo sounds so sleepy, brushing the hair out of his eyes and gazing out of the kitchen window while his hip rests against the counter. You take a moment to look up from your laptop and out the window as well, silently taking in the improvements that have been made under your care. The grass is a lush green, a hammock underneath the only tree in the yard, now trimmed and shaped to actually resemble one. A patio with a stylish dark grey conversation set beneath a hardtop gazebo is just to the left of the window, nestled in a corner of the yard. The garden still needs some work but there are two small raised beds in the back corner, where the sun shines the most, and a few spots already reserved for jalapeno peppers at Terzo’s insistence. You turn back to look at him, unable to fight off the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“Do you like it?” There’s a lilt in your voice, lips pulling into a small smile. It makes him melt a little bit.

“Si, yes. It is much nicer than it was before…” He trails off as he slinks closer to you only to keep his gaze settled on the yard. “We must have spritz’s outside one of these nights.”

“Spritz?”

“Ehhh, it’s like rosso arancio — orangey **drink with ice cubes and, uhhhh, ah! Served in a wine glass.” His mannerisms make you smile even more. You feel like a fool and you’re sure you look like one but you can’t help it. Your dream intensified your feelings, making it nearly impossible to hide them at this point. Is it so bad? To have a crush on your weird, retired-rockstar boss?

“Oh, like in White Lotus?” You rest your chin on your hands and flutter your eyes at him. Terzo flashes a bright smile but you can see in his eyes that he has no idea what you’re talking about. Silence lingers with him hovering just above you, your eyes locked. The moment is interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. “Oh shit, the landscaper!” You grab your phone and hurry out of the kitchen and toward the backyard.

Terzo keeps his eyes on the yard, slipping his hands in his robe pockets as he waits for you to appear. You caught him off guard this morning, your dreamlike gaze and easy smile making it impossible for him to be anything other than endeared to you. He’s almost relieved for the interruption because of how close he was to breaking the tension, wanting nothing more than to shove his fingers down your throat and watch those bright eyes widen with shock. You come into view with the landscaper trailing behind you, looking over your shoulder with a smile as you use your hand to sweep across the landscape with your finger ending up pointing to some brush that needs to be cleared. Terzo has spent so much time just watching you operate and he hasn’t tired of it, which is a feat due to his relatively short attention span. In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

You’re a natural with people. You always have a cheery smile, a nice greeting and some banter to lighten things up. He’s been so shut-in, his only company either you or his own voice, that watching genuine human interaction makes him swoon hard for you. His mind drifts to the times when he used to be social and how it used to fuel him, how it used to keep him going even after his Papacy fell apart.

What fuels him now? His gaze falls to where you had been sitting and his attention is immediately captured. You left you laptop open.

Terzo has always been nosy, even during his days at the Abbey. He can’t help but allow his eyes to focus on your email inbox that you foolishly left open. How many secrets could be in your inbox? What could he find out about you through what’s there? Terzo resists. He truly does for a split second. But he just cannot help himself. He slinks into the wooden kitchen chair you are set up at and pulls his glasses out from his robe pocket. He clicks on the first thing he sees: Banana Republic and is disappointed that it is only clothes. One of the male models catches his attention, though.

His outfit, specifically. A henley and a cardigan, matched tastefully with a pair of sweatpants. Terzo wonders if this is the kind of style you like. He pulls out his phone and opens the Banana Republic website but freezes when he hears faint footsteps. Terzo scrambles out of your chair, only to settle close by, leaning against a nearby wall and pretending to be hopelessly distracted by his phone (aka, staring at cardigans).

You enter the kitchen and can’t help by eye him suspiciously, the look on his face perhaps just a bit too aloof. He keeps scrolling lazily and starts to lean backward, all too aware of your gaze. It lingers for a moment before you sit back down, knitting your brows together at the email open on your screen. Then, you see that it’s up to 50% off all items which could be combined with clearance items and you’re clicking the link, getting lost in the undeniable pull of online shopping. Terzo gives a dramatic huff and leaves the room, desperately trying to hide how tickled he is.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, unable to hide a grimace. This is silly. Today is date day. You ended up texting Dylan. How could you not? Something you’ve longed for since you were a girl was offered up to you on a silver platter. So — why aren’t you more excited? Instead, Terzo is on the mind. It feels like he’s consumed your whole life as of late, spending your days in his home working for him and now he’s seeped into your home time. You haven’t allowed yourself to fully go down the rabbit hole, sticking only with the videos he had shown you in his home despite your YouTube recommendations now being full of him but also… other videos of different singers and musicians under the same band name. Of course, you couldn’t ask despite your curiosity — it’s obviously something of a sore subject and he’s only just started opening up to you more about that time of his life. The last thing you want to do is press him on something so personal and painful to him.

But now you have to live with this knowledge.

You try to push the thought from the forefront of you mind, instead focusing on yourself in the mirror again. A black shift dress hugs your figure and you have your red scarf, your favorite scarf, loose around your neck. How are you supposed to dress for this occasion? A date after work? It’s impossible to put together an appropriate outfit for both. But also — who are you kidding? The idea of Terzo seeing you in a dress has you anxious in more ways than one. No one needs an excuse to wear a dress but for some reason you feel guilty. Guilty that this dress isn’t for him. Maybe… a little bit disappointed, too. But you should give Dylan a shot, right?

“Right?” Oh, you are anxious.

Something catches your eye in your mirror, your gaze slowly trailing toward it. Your red scarf. You hum in thought for a moment and then turn to snatch it off your dresser, quickly looping it around your neck. Immediate relief washes over you, something about the scarf soothing your nerves. Could be because it makes you think of the way warm knuckles brushed along your cool neck. A shiver runs down your spine and your cheeks flush from the thought. Fuck. You have to pull yourself together. Time to focus on work, on getting shit done to distract yourself from… well everything.

Meanwhile, Terzo is having a similar time looking at himself in disbelief. It’s the most put together he’s tried to be since his days as Papa. He sits on the edge of his bed, one hand on each knee, his toes tapping on the ground in front of him. The amount of thought that has gone into this outfit is silly, even though he basically bought exactly what the model was wearing. Now his thoughts have turned to how should he be sitting when you arrive? See? It’s silly*.* He almost ashamed of how **you’ve wormed your way into his cold, broken heart **when **that was not his plan. You’re supposed to be obsessed with him, waiting on him hand and foot while kissing the ground he walks on. Instead he’s fallen for you. How embarrassing. But how could it have been avoided?

Terzo rests his palms on either side of his bed as he leans back and spreads his legs, sharp eyes examining his position for a beat. Too forward? An amused grin flickers across his face at the thought of you reacting to him like this. Definitely too forward. He tilts his head and adjusts himself with care, back straightening out and he crosses his legs. Closer but not quite. Terzo stares at his own reflection, admiring his paint for the day. Every time he sees himself he wonders why he still applies it everyday. Perhaps it’s a comfort thing, makes him feel like he’s important again. Like he’s Papa.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear you call him that.

Terzo takes a deep breath and exhales with a rumble, his eyes falling shut. You would do anything he asked, wouldn’t you? His mouth splits into a grin as he runs his slender fingers through his hair. Eyes open slowly, gaze focusing on his reflection. Strands of hair had fallen into his face and his head overall looking stylishly unkempt. More giggles.

Perfect.

Some mornings it’s like you blink and you’re at Terzo’s home. Not this morning. You are hyper aware of every stoplight, every Dunkin Donuts as your commute drags out to the second. Too much alone time with your overactive brain plotting out kind of every situation where something could go wrong with the date or work today and coming up with attack plan after attack plan to fix the issue. Not fun. After what feels like an eternity, you pull through the eerie wrought iron gate and travel down the long, tree lined driveway. Tension fills your chest as you come to a slow stop. It’s just one weird day that you have to get through.

You got this.

Terzo is already in the foyer by the time you walk through the door which is unlike him, usually spending most mornings in bed or somewhere else dark and comfy until he can no longer tolerate his caffeine withdrawal headache. He’s balancing his coffee cup on his thigh, one hand resting behind his head while the other scrolls through his phone. Your feet come to a stop, blinking a few times to ensure what you’re seeing is real, having never seen him this clothed before*.* He’s still in sweatpants but they taper down to his ankles and he’s wearing a pair of moccasins, his hair expertly tousled and reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a white henley that is artfully unbuttoned to expose his thick chest hair and a cozy navy blue cardigan draped over his slinky shoulders. Only his eyes are painted — giving you the chance to finally see his bare face, smooth olive skin wrinkled with age. You stare at him silently. He looks like he’s come directly out of a magazine. Terzo head tilts to face you, his eyes still focused on his phone until they unhurriedly drag away from the screen to settle on you.

“Ammazza…” The word is an impassioned whisper. He’s stunned, eyes wide as he looks over your figure with such a deliberate slowness it makes your cheeks burn. Dark eyes settle on your scarf, a smirk tugging on his lips, then his gaze flickers to meet yours. He rises from his seat, one hand clumsily snatching his coffee from his lap to stop himself from spilling, trying to hide his clumsiness with a cough. “Buongiorno mio toppolino… eh, you are wearing a dress?”

“I am. You’re wearing a cardigan.”

“I am.” Terzo purrs and slinks closer to you as he slips his phone into his cardigan pocket. His clumsiness is now replaced by that irresistible lazy swagger you are so familiar with. He lets his eyes wander again, tilting his head while regarding you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest but it’s impossible to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “I do not think I can let you start work without a dance, not when you are wearing such a beautiful dress, puffetta.” There’s an undeniable heat in his words. It’s too early for this.

“It’s too early for this, Terzo.” You huff as you avert his eyes, a desperate attempt to not fall under his spell.

“Come now… I don’t want to pull the “boss” card but, eh…?” He sets his coffee down on the table as his other arm brazenly snakes around your waist. Your face is fully red now and your brain is in a deep state of fart but you manage to move with him. This is the exact opposite of what you wanted for today but you find your stress slipping away to focus on the warmth of his fingers from having held his mug of coffee. He guides your hand to his chest then slips his bare hand along your other arm until he laces his fingers in yours and raises them to lead the way. Terzo is taller than you, not by much but he still looms over you, those piercing eyes never leaving yours. He starts to slowly sway to imaginary music as your cheeks burn, your chest impossibly warm but you start to loosen up, especially as his movements grow more fluid. “There is always time for a little dance, eh?” Terzo leans in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips then rests his cheek against your temple with a hum.

And you thought cuddling on the couch was intimate. You feel every inhale and exhale, his humming gradually growing stronger in your ear. His cool lips and warm breath giving you goosebumps. Cirice. You recognize it from your be various videos you’ve watched but bite your tongue and enjoy him. This may not be a stage in front of thousands of people but it definitely feels like a demonstration of some kind. Or he could just be pushing the boundary like the creeper he is and you’re eating. it. up. The last time you slow danced was at your senior prom with your date who was on probation — unbeknownst to you at the time he asked you. Somehow this is far less awkward than that. His arm around your waist starts to shift upward, his large hand pressing up your back. He lifts his head but is still only a breath away, his smile lines deep as his gaze meets yours. Your heart stirs in your chest, air caught in your lungs but before you get swept up in the moment he changes the tone.

Terzo starts singing, more energetic and loud as he leads you from the foyer into the den. You nearly trip over yourself when he twirls you, picking up the pace to be more jaunty, more goofy. But even with the fun movements you are extremely aware of his hand on the small of your back, fingertips pressing against you every so often. He’s smiling so wide that it makes it hard for you to hold it together. All of your worries about the day are gone, though — replaced by being completely entranced by him. You know just how special this song is to him, the moments he had on stage with fans, holding their hands and kissing their knuckles. And now he has you in his arms.

“I am going to dip you now.”

“You’re going to wha--?!” You squeal as he dips you, your hand frantically gripping onto his shoulder. He doesn’t drop you though, instead pulling you back to your feet with his toned arms curling around your back. You stop breathing, your chests touching and a strand of his hair brushing against your forehead from how close the two of you are.

“Mm… you are a good dance partner, you know? Easy to lead.” Is he trying to kill you today? Terzo gives you some space but still sways with you, the dance feeling more like… more like standing very close to one another waiting for something to happen. “You spoiled me today with wearing this dress.”

And a punch to your gut. Extreme guilt builds inside you and you can’t stop the distress from being all over your face.

“Oh…oh, puffetta, I am sorry, am I making you uncomfortable or—?” You cut him off with a sigh and take a step away from him, your eyes closing to give yourself time to collect your feelings while his arms fall from around you.

“No, I’m sorry. Ugh, this is so weird. I’m… I have a date after work today. So that’s what the dress is for.” There is no air in your lungs. Everything is so strained. “But you… this…” A flutter in your chest. “I like it. I’m… sorry this dress isn’t for you.” Do you even need to be apologizing? The answer would be no if it was anyone else other than him.

His face is stone cold, so different than the joy that had radiated from him just moments ago. The smile is gone and his brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You think you’re going to, ummm, die? All you can do is stare back at him, eyes incredibly wide and worry etched across your face. What is he thinking? Why is he taking so long?

One of Terzo’s hands lunges forward and grabs you by the back of your neck, his thumb pressed hard right below your ear. A surprised yelp, grasping for his sleeve and his shirt as his grip on you only tightens. His lips crush against your mouth, tongue forcing it’s way inside. He tastes like spiced coffee. The kiss is ferocious, you feel like you’re disappearing into it, mind blank but fingers digging into the fabric of his cardigan. Terzo’s teeth graze your bottom lip as he pulls away, a fiery look in his eyes.

“Do not forget who you belong too.” A low, vicious growl with bared teeth, pointed fangs glistening in the morning light. He uses his strength to push you down to your knees by your neck, your legs now trembling beneath. Speechless, you can’t look away from him now. Silence stretches between you. And then… he leaves and doesn’t spare you another glance.

You think you are broken. There’s an ache, a primal ache between your legs that burns hotter than you’ve ever felt before. Your skin is on fire, your cheeks burning and numb. What the fuck? He kissed you. Your boss kissed you and then spoke to you as if you are his possession. And it makes you want him more than ever before.

How are you going to be able to think about anything else?

Lucky for you, Terzo is MIA for the rest of the day.

You work as if he is standing over you, watching your every move. You don’t want to disappoint him, not now. Not after he kissed you. But the date. Dylan. Oh, Dylan. Caught in the middle of something there is no way he will ever understand. You hover in your text chat with him a few times with intent to cancel on him… but you can’t. He’s the one who got away, the one who you pined for like an idiot throughout half your life. This date could close that book. Or it could be the prologue. You won’t know unless you follow through.

The end of the day rolls around and you can’t help but pause in the foyer on your way out. Your chest tightens. Such a pleasant start to the day only to spiral out of control. You’re almost happy he kissed you before you were able to tell him that your date was picking you up from his house. The front porch creaks beneath your feet, the rotting wood the focus of your work today. Dylan is already there, leaning against his car and he gives you a big wave. You smile and wave back, light on your feet as you head toward him.

“Ma che cazzo…?” Terzo stares in disbelief, watching from his bedroom window as your date opens the passenger side door for you. Rage boils up within him, his hands clutching at the hem of his cardigan. A ceiling light POPS! behind him, green electricity illuminates the room but only for a second. Flames light up the bottom of the curtains, slowly eating away at them until they are completely engulfed. He’s too angry to care. The shy smile you gave your date eats him up inside, churning his stomach and making his nerves spark. The car fades from view and he unleashes an anguished scream as his hands seemingly grow claws, tearing and ripping the cardigan he had so carefully styled that morning. He doesn’t stop until he’s shirtless and surrounded by shreds of fabric. A sloppy wave of his hand somehow extinguishes the flames, leaving him in his room in the dark.

The nerve of you. To flirt, to giggle, to flutter your beautiful, delicate eyelashes at him while entertaining the idea of another man in your mind. A whore for attention, aren’t you? Pain in his chest. He shouldn’t call you a whore. You don’t deserve that. But it hurts, puffetta. Is it because he slacked off? Or that he had gone soft on you? Terzo groans as he sits on his bed, lasting less than a second before he flops onto the mattress and sinks into the mess of covers. He has been too soft, fucking twirling you around the foyer like a lovesick puppy. A romantic at heart always, eh? It was worth it — seeing you smile and blush gives him life, a reason to wake up the next morning because he has nothing else to do. You’ve made this shithole the Ministry saddled him with into a place that actually makes him feel at home. So… maybe he could be somewhat lenient with your punishment.

Electricity crackles in his bones. He is going to spend the rest of the night here, he thinks, casting a glance at his ancient alarm clock. 5:30pm. What else could possibly get him out of bed at this point? Terzo huffs and swings one of his legs over his body to lazily roll over, dragging the covers along with him to successfully burrito himself with a scoff. Another instance in which someone stole the spotlight from him. At least this time it isn’t his decrepit father. He breaks into a wild chuckle.

That would be fucked.

#terzo #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus x reader #ghost fanfic #ghost band fanfic #ghost fanfiction

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just-a-creep-babe · 10 months ago

Text

Graveyard Shift - Part 6

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Commissioned again by @salixlantana <3 -- Thank you so much darling, I really hope you enjoy!! <33

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

She needs relief

It’s all she can think about as her touch moves further and further down her form

It’s been too long

The grueling hours at work, the stress of everything that’s been happening, the haze of paranoia seemingly always crowding her mind—it's been one endless void of anxiety and misery

She hasn’t been taking the time she needs for herself, and now that she’s opened up to the idea, the desire that crashes into her is sudden, intense and all too urgent

She presses a finger over her clit, a hushed breath escaping her as she does, and a flood of warmth spreads up her stomach, coiling into a knot of tension

Her thoughts wander, and she thinks back to the masked man—the pleasantly low hum of his voice, the sheer shape and size of him, the way he always seems to fixate on her—even despite his lack of eyes

She thinks back to his hands, rough and calloused and lined with dark veins, and she wonders what it’d be like if it was him touching her instead

She wonders about the warmth of his body, the firmness of his skin, the precision of his movements

Would he be rough, would he be hungry and impatient and eager to turn her into a quick mess?

Or would he be slow and gentle, pouring care and affection into every second of his touch gliding over her skin?

Her breath hitches in her throat, brows furrowing with concentration as she rubs herself over her underwear

Waves of pleasure shudder through her form, coaxing yet another breathless moan to escape her

Her back arches up, eyes fluttering closed and her lips parting as her empty sex clenches around nothing

She imagines she’s clenching around him instead of nothing; around his thick length, throbbing and pulsing with veins similar to the ones on his hands

And the more she imagines it, the more she can feel her underwear grow slicker with arousal

Her body burns for his touch

From outside, through the open cracks of the curtains, Jack watches the scene unfold

He’s mesmerized by the sight—fuck, he can practically smell her from where he's standing

He shouldn’t be watching

He shouldn’t be gawking through her window like some kind of creep while she’s doing something so personal, so private and so intimate

But it’s the first time he witnesses her do something like that—he didn’t even know if she had those needs in the first place—and he just can’t look away

He’s entranced—like she’s put some kind of spell on him

Her face contorts with pleasure, her brows furrowing as she pants and gasps, her chest heaving with every labored breath

Jack tries to absorb every minuscule detail he can see from where he is

God, he’s fucking aching in his pants

Acting purely on instinct, he brings a hand to his bulge and starts palming himself through his jeans

He can't see beneath those damn sheets covering her body, but he still tries to imagine it, tries to imagine seeing her fully naked

Soft, warm and malleable; what he wouldn’t give to be able to touch her

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to eat her out, to have her hips rocking against his face as she tenses up and screams his name as she cums

He makes a low, husky sound without meaning to, increasing the pace of his hand over his pants to match the speed she’s using on herself

She grows closer and closer to release, judging by her louder, more eager moans and the way her whole body seems to be glowing

But then, right as it looks like she’s about to cum, she stops abruptly, her eyes flashing open like something’s interrupted her moment of bliss

Jack stops as well, freezing in place

Did she see him?

Did she somehow sense that she’s being watched, and it pulled her out of the moment?

He swallows thickly, trying to slink further back into the shadows

Guilt knots in his chest as he pulls his hand away from his needy cock

He shouldn’t stick around to see if he’s been caught—fuck, he shouldn’t have been peeking through her window in the first place

But despite his best judgment, he doesn’t leave

He stays rooted in place, curiosity getting the better of him

And then he watches as a mix of guilt and confusion flash across her face, not too dissimilar from what he’s feeling right now, and then, with a worried look, she stands and makes her way to the bathroom

He can’t see anything more when she closes the door behind herself, so he’s ultimately left with two options; either stay there like a sick kind of perv with an obvious boner, or call it a day and retreat home

He votes for the latter

Try as he might to forget about what happened on his way back to the mansion, he just can’t

She’s all he can think about

Those sounds she made—just barely audible through the window, the perfume of her arousal, the look of bliss on her face—he can’t—he doesn’t want to forget

He tries to act as inconspicuous as possible when he walks through the double doors of the mansion, and then he's quietly making his way through the various corridors of the haunted building

When he’s finally back in his room, he shuts the door behind himself and thinks, Fuck

He doesn’t know what to do

He’s so pent-up

His sight drifts to his bed, and he considers finding relief the most obvious way he can

But with the memory of her touching herself firmly locked in his mind, he’s worried it’ll trigger a heat—something he actively tries to avoid as much as possible

Hunt

He hasn’t eaten in a while, and it’s probably aggravating his instincts

He should go for a hunt

Not wasting a second longer, he grabs the few things he needs, and then he’s going back down through the mansion and heading out through the same doors he walked in through

The whole way to the nearest big city, he can’t stop replaying the scene over and over again in his head

She looked so divine—she smelled so delectable

His mouth salivates at the memory, and he silently prays eating will be enough to satiate his hunger for her body, even though it’s starting to seem like a long shot, at this point

As usual, he maneuvers his way to the wealthier neighborhoods, then follows his nose to the most appetizing scent

While there are usually more meats to choose from in the slums of the city, he could never forgive himself for taking from people who already have so little

The wealthier, he’d decided long ago, could probably more easily afford healthcare for whatever damages he does to their systems

His instincts lead him to a decently-sized apartment complex, which he manages to slip in with relative ease

The interior is a wide open space with carpeted floors, beige walls, and an elevator at the front and center of it all

He spots a few cameras here and there, but with his hood thrown up over his head to cover his mask, he isn’t too worried about raising alarm—if there even is someone up so late to watch the cameras

And after the many, many years of sneaking into places he shouldn’t be allowed in, getting caught isn’t something he worries about anymore anyways

Opting to stay away from the elevator, he instead takes the stairway at the far left of the building, and lets his senses guide him all the way up

He reaches the fourth floor, where the scent seems to be the strongest, then makes his way through the hallway until he comes across the right door

With a simple credit card trick, he unlocks the door, slips inside, then quietly turns the lock behind himself

Even though it’s completely dark inside, he can still see perfectly fine, so he has no trouble maneuvering around the kitchen and to his victim’s room

Door left wide open, he can see the shape of a woman’s body under the covers, her breathing slow and steady in her sleep

He steps through the threshold of the door, then gently makes his way to her side

He’s about to administer the sedative, when he notices her hair is the same length, color and texture as (y/n)’s hair

He pauses in his tracks, taking a closer look at her

Fuck, even the shape and size of her body are similar

For a split second, he almost wonders if it’s somehow her

It’s not possible, and he knows it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but he wants it to be real

He wants it to be her so that he can pull her body against his and press his mouth to her skin before tasting her—tasting all of her

The idea snaps him out of his hunter’s trance, but he quickly tries to shake the thought away

He shouldn’t get distracted

He presses the needle in, piercing through her skin, and she makes a low, quiet noise from the back of her throat in an unconscious response to the intrusion

Crap

Immediately as she does, he’s flooded by a wave of perverse desires

What if he made (y/n) moan like that—moan so much louder than that?

Coupled with the view he had of her just a very short while ago, it’s enough for him to lose focus and fuck up the injection

It’s just a split-second mistake, but it’s more than enough for the woman to wake up

He hasn’t fucked up in so long, it actually surprises him just as much as it surprises the woman that there’s a masked figure standing over her bed

When he manages to gather himself, so does she, and while he’s panicking between either talking her down or restraining her to finish the injection, her survival instincts kick in

He doesn’t expect her to act so quickly

He especially doesn’t expect her to grab the lamp from her nightstand and smash it into him

With a grunt, he stumbles back, dazed by the impact, and it gives the woman the perfect chance to scream, throw something else at him—a book, this time—and then jump out of her bed and make a run for it

He can’t reach her before she rushes through the door because of the bed acting as an obstacle, and when he manages to catch up to her, she slams the bedroom door against him

He stops it before it can knock him into a daze again, but doing so grants her just barely enough time to get to the kitchen and pull out a knife

Great

Between fight, flight or flee, it seems she’s chosen to fight—the most tedious instinct to deal with

Both hands tightly clutching the knife in front of her, she stands in front of him, courageously blocking him even despite the way she’s shaking

He can smell the fear and adrenaline pumping through her system

“What—what do you want?”

Her voice is uneven, panic clogging her throat, and there’s a wild look in her eyes, like that of a trapped animal

He doesn’t bother answering

He simply takes a menacing step forwards

He, again, doesn’t expect her to mimic that step and then try to violently slash the knife into him

Her movements, however, are clumsy and inexperienced, so it isn’t difficult for him to catch her wrist and block her attack

And with one final step closer, he jams the needle into her neck and finishes the injection

She croaks, making a horrible choking sound as he drains the remaining sedative inside her veins

Her body goes limp as she slowly loses muscle control, and he finally drops his guard, letting himself relax as the situation returns under control

He catches her before she falls to the floor, and holding her in his arms like that, so up-close and personal, gives him as much time as he wants to properly inspect her features

She’s, admittedly, pretty, but she doesn’t nearly hold any of the subtleties or fine details that make (y/n) so appealing

She doesn't even compare to (y/n)'s perfection

Still, the whole thing has him thinking about what it’d be like if it was (y/n) he was holding instead of just some random woman

If (y/n) was in his arms, her face just inches away, what could really stop him from pressing his lips to hers if he wanted to?

He, again, imagines her taste, her body flush against his, her moans and whimpers and expressions as he touches her, as he pleases her

He gets too distracted again, too lost in his fantasies, and he doesn’t even think to consider that the syringe might not have been as effective with only half of it properly injected

Because with one final struggled breath of effort, the woman reawakens, jerks her arm up, and the knife still clutched in her hand plunges into Jack’s ribs

He hisses, letting her fall to the hard wooden floor as he stumbles back

Pain bursts through his chest, knocking the wind out of him

He reaches out to the hilt where blade meets flesh, and he grunts as he feels the familiar warmth of blood rush to his wound

Shit

Even though he desperately wants to yank the damn thing out, he has more than enough medical knowledge to know that he shouldn’t

He looks at the girl, now fully passed out in a heap on the floor, and debates whether or not he should even bother to extract her organs at this point

Fuck it, it’s not even worth it

His hands won’t be as steady as usual, and he could very much so risk injuring her—more than he otherwise would’ve

He’s caused enough damage as is

He looks back at the wound again, debates the chances of his body healing faster than the risk of major blood loss if he pulls it out all at once

But she really didn’t miss her target, and the wound is deep

Blade buried all the way to the hilt, the damn thing must be at least five to six inches, and he can’t really tell if it punctured any crucial organs

Relax, he thinks, just relax and think things through

He needs to get out of here, he decides, it’s his first priority right now

This whole thing is bound to get even messier if he waits too long

With a grunt, he pulls himself together, standing and straightening himself out, and then he makes for the door to the hallway

He closes it behind himself, praying he won’t run into anyone on his way out, because he just can’t imagine they’ll have a positive reaction to seeing some guy wandering around with a knife in his gut

But, of course, just his luck, as he turns a corner down the hallway, he nearly bumps directly into someone

Jack tries brushing past them before they see anything, but despite his best efforts, he can’t conceal the injury, and he hears them gasp as they notice his predicament

The stranger’s about to rush forward to help, but when Jack looks up, the sight of his faceless mask and dripping eye sockets make them scream

In a heartbeat, the stranger turns and runs, leaving behind the all-too-familiar scent of stress, fear and adrenaline in their wake

Great, just fucking great

He tries to move faster through the building after that interaction

The pain is, thankfully, manageable, thanks to his body’s natural resilience, but by the time he's made it back down to the first floor, his rushed movements have only further aggravated the wound

And it’s starting to hurt like hell

Still, even once out of the building, he doesn’t give himself a chance to rest

No doubt that guy called the police by now

He doesn’t have time to waste

He slinks into the shadows of the neighborhood, thankful for the fleeting cover of nightfall, even as the horizon begins to turn pale

And then he makes it to the one place he can think of going

(Y/n) wakes up to the sound of rasping at her door

She opens her eyes, and lays there for a second or two, wondering if she just dreamt up the noise or if it was actually real

And, without fail, the sound returns, like something grating against the wooden framing of her door

She gets up, tentatively pushing her covers off, then makes her way to the front of her house

It’s in the very earliest hours of the morning, maybe around five or six, so she can’t imagine whatever’s behind her door is anything but trouble

A lump forms at the back of her throat at the thought

Again, the sound reverberates in her house

Her heartbeat spikes, nerves jumping to high alert

She tries to take a peek at what’s behind her door by craning her neck to look out the window

But the angle just isn’t right, and she can’t properly see anything

Again, the noise rings out, but it almost sounds quieter, more hesitant, this time

(Y/n) tries to swallow down her anxiety

With a shaky hand, she wraps her fingers around the doorknob and slowly turns it open

Even though, at this point, she should probably expect it to be him, she’s still surprised when she comes face-to-face with the person at her door

“Jack?”

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #crp

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oc-ask-bloges · 2 months ago

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I had.

Thoughts.

Pressure infection au. But it’s gas based.

I’m thinking something like the sirens from mlp (don’t ask why) not like something that affects you physically beyond like… eye color or smth.

More mental. Making who ever breathes it uncontrollably aggressive.

RAMBLE ALERT RAMBLE ALERT!‼️‼️‼️

So unless you had a gas mask on before the outbreak (for whatever reason, maybe like Allo from @creator-of-creativious) or use some type of filtered breathing like gills (external or filter gills like an Axolotl.) you would be effected.

Sebastian would be basically a “big bad” with his size and power. And the fact he has GUNS.

So saying that:

The ocs that would be aggressive:

Jixy (hiding away in some back room, probably heavily injured.)

Dani (small n feisty, more prone to bloodlust as well.)

Elena (justice god. Aka “oh no.”)

Lori (she has no lungs, is not effected, but it more aggressive for sake of survival.)

Ocs who are not aggressive:

Rose (@drowning-thistle. Has lungs, but the vines in her lungs pump a constant flow of fresh oxygen. Her head would be a big foggy though, causing some of her actions to be a bit brash. (Still a sweet heart, but still dangerous considering the VINES are effected. Her infection is sped up.).)

Navi (poor thing is completely harmless and helpless wether effected or not! She’s sticking to Rose’s side for the most part.)

Nebulon (no lungs. They’ve slinked back into the void mass controlled hallways. Doors have been blocked off.)

The Non Accountables.

Jix (hasn’t come up from the bottom of the ocean.)

Rain (trying their best to find an escape route from the outside. Horribly worried for Sebastian. (Gay.))

Safe houses.

Any space that’s blocked by water on all sides is safe. But the water isn’t. The gas can’t travel through the water, but it can get into it.

Most of Rose’s cafés. The over concentration of oxygen doesn’t allow for the gas to get in. It’s still dangerous to stay for a long period of time for normal breathers.

( @trepans-apprentice @faefrosting @birbisanon @corb1n +anyone you’d think would like this stupid idea.)

#RAMBLE #BIG RAMBLE!#au ideas #infection au #??? kinda #more like #effection au #haha.#get it?#roblox pressure #pressure #sebastian solace #pressure oc #ocs PLURRAL #pressure ocs

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year ago

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There’s not much to see in between the minute slits of the burlap sack thrown over her head, but she still strains to see anything and everything that she possibly can. The men holding onto her arms dig their fingers into her arm, a bruising grip that is in part her fault as continually digs her feet into the ground and struggles with something fierce. Ghost is behind her, can feel it, even if he hasn’t said a single word. She on the other hand hasn’t stopped spitting fire every chance she gets, venomous threats and cold warnings.

It’s only until she’s shoved down onto a seat, arms tied behind her back with her legs bound too that the hood is harshly yanked off and she shuts her eyes at the bright light above her, much like driving on the road at night and being blinded by powerful LEDs. As her vision clears, she sees the captors who’d managed to get the jump on her and in turn, capture Ghost as well, and he’s in the same position as she is, but there’s definitely more rope around him than there is her. She snarls at them when they come close, baring her teeth in a way that says, “touch me and lose a finger.”

“What do you want from us?” she gripes, voice devoid of any emotion but annoyance.

“Answers,” the leader asks. “You know where the resistance is hiding out.”

The second one crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell us where their headquarters are.”

She spits down at their feet. “Suck my dick.” A moment, a pause before a backhand sends her careening to the side, chair tipping slightly and she growls, turning back to face him with blood dripping down her split lip; she licks it, the wound stings but it burns in a way she likes. “Your dad hit me harder than that last night,” she cracks back, and the man grabs at her chin, hauling her upright until they’re nose to nose.

“I will make you scream in ways you’ve never imagined.”

“That’s what I told your mom before I—”

His other hand reaches for her combat vest, and she thrashes as he undoes it and yanks it open; he’s centimeters from the thin tank top she wears and only then does Ghost make a single noise, the scraping of a chair, fingers clenching white on the arm rest as he snarls, “Touch her and I’ll fucking smear the goddamn walls with you.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a fucking warning. One not to be ignored.

The man pauses, looks to the side, sees Ghost’s golden eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His breathing isn’t labored. It’s calm. Deadly calm. And the man, taking in the sunken nose of Ghost’s full-face mask, the raised skeletal plates, decides perhaps this isn’t a fight he really wants neither then nor later.

He lets her go and she sinks back into her chair, but Ghost’s eyes don’t leave the man even as he slinks behind his commander. The ropes at his wrists strain under Ghost’s flexing forearms and she hums low in her throat.

“Easy,” she murmurs. “Not here.”

This time Ghost eyes both of the enemy captors, and he answers, a barely-contained, seething rage in his chest and out of his throat, “I’ll fucking kill any bastard that touches what’s mine.” He snarls beneath the mask, and she feels it deep in her chest, the sound reverberating through her. “I’ll fucking rip your guts out through your back. Touch her again. I dare you.”

This time, even the commander shifts nervously on his feet, and he clears his throat in an exaggerated fashion to ease whatever fear is ebbing in his stomach as he turns to the second and says, “We’ll come back with more questions.”

“Don’t keep us waiting long,” she retorts, watching them leave and as the door shuts and locks, she reaches out, brushing her fingers against Ghost’s knuckle and all at once, he relaxes his grip. “Easy, Simon,” she calms, and he lets out a single deep breath.

“I don’t like people touching you.”

“You can’t kill everyone who does,” she jokes, and he looks over at her, his eyes glinting in the light, a solid ring of gold around a deep pit of a void; her throat dries up at the beastly hunger in them, but no fear is in her heart, in fact, quite the opposite.

“I’m the only one allowed to fucking touch you.” He looks down at the silver necklace on her chest. “You’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.”

She swallows thickly, the S dangling at the apex of her throat feeling like a branding, but it doesn’t hurt, she loves the burn, craves it, wants to drown in it—in him. “Yeah, Simon,” she breathes, heart pounding in her chest. “I’m all yours.”

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gyutopia · 5 months ago

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worls of sinners ii | sim jaeyun

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: your parents are the head of one of the nation’s most lucrative syndicates and your older brother is heir to the throne which leaves you free to leave this world of evil behind. you’ve been waiting for this day for twenty years of your life, you can practically taste the freedom. what will you do, however, when your parents arrange a marriage for you to bind together their empire with the Lee’s to stop a full on gang war?

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: sim jaeyun x f!reader ft brother!sungchan

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 8.0k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: dark themes, mentions of drugs, mentions of violence, vulgar language, mentions of death, forced marriage, corruption, consumption of alcohol, possessiveness, mentions of blood.

| masterlist | previous | next |

The reception was just as beautiful as the wedding. The soft procession of violins and cellos filled the hall as your guest roamed about the spacious room talking amongst themselves. You secluded yourself to the high table and refused to leave your position to meet any new faces.

You could clearly see the distaste written across your new father-in-laws face as you made it your goal to avoid his business associates but you could’t find it in you to care. While the mobsters scattered around the room drank away their inhibitions and partied like no tomorrow, you sat alone nursing a flute of sparkling cider mourning the loss of your freedom.

Jake tried his best to play the role of a doting husband but gave up an hour later when you did nothing but give him the cold shoulder, you said nothing as he slinked off to go congregate with his close friends, you watched them talk amongst themselves, feeling biter at how easy it was for Jake to let loose and enjoy himself. You bring the flute glass up to your lips and finish it off before placing the glass back onto the table only to be met face to face with Heeseung who stands on the other side. You raise your eyebrows curiously, “May I help you?”

He smirks and scans your face, “I'm sure you can doll.” Your face remains passive, even at the pet name he bestows upon you, you watch him with a blank face as he rounds the table to sit beside you. “Why do you look as if you’ve been shot? Shouldn’t you be happy, it’s your wedding day afterall?”

You scoff, “I’m sure you know why.”

A puff of air escapes Heeseung’s parted lips as he leans back in his seat and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Jake won’t hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking, that boy couldn’t even harm a fly. I have no clue why our father chose to hand over the clan to him. Besides, you have far more pressing matters to worry about”

An eyebrow shoots up at that, “such as..?”

He smirks over the rim of his glass, “producing an heir.” You cringe at the reminder of what is expected of you. You can’t stand even being in Jake’s presence for more than an hour let alone letting him bed you. “I don’t know how things are run over at Jung Empire but the Lee clan is quite old fashioned, the women are expected to look after the children and make sure there is peace between the mafiosos while the men control the bigger things such as the business aspect. Think of it as a game of chess, you may be the queen and Jake is the king but you hold the power on the board, he is nothing without you.”

You frown at his analogy, “I'm not sure I understand.”

Heeseung’s face is void of any emotion as he looks away to stare intently at the back of his younger brother's head, seemingly calculating “I’m sure you will soon.” He turns back to you and offers you one last vibrant smile before standing and walking away.

You watch him walk away, lost in your own mind that’s working in overdrive. You sigh and stand to walk towards the bar to get yourself a glass of whiskey.

As you pass Jake, the song draws to a close and your mother-in-law starts tapping her butter knife against the rim of her cocktail glass, the chatter around the room abruptly dies down. Your eyes locate her by the end of the hall, near the live band with her burgundy nails wrapped around a flute of a dark red wine.

“May I have your attention for a moment please,” she asks, her voice delicate yet firm. Jake makes his way over to you after excusing himself from his friends, he places a warm hand on your shoulder and leans over to place a kiss on your cheek.

You can’t decide what you hate more; the way Lee Yerin stares at you with her hawk-like eyes, scrutinizing your every move or the way Jake slides his arms down to grab you by the waist to assert his claim on you in the presence of his men.

It bothers you how comfortable he seems to be getting with you already but you know better than to brush him off. In your world, possession is everything. It wouldn’t be wise to send a message of strife so early in your marriage.

You’re barely listening as Yerin goes on about how proud she is to finally see her youngest son become a man. You wonder if she means her words, with Jake being the living breathing proof of her husband's infidelity you can’t help but wonder if she harbors any hate for the male. She finishes by thanking the guests for their attendance, before turning back to the two of you with a red-lipped smile that reaches her eyes.

As her speech draws to a close, the room erupts into polite applause, but the tension in the air remains palpable. Jake's grip tightens around your waist, his touch possessive, as if daring anyone to challenge his claim over you. It's a stark reminder of the role you've been thrust into – a pawn in a game of power and ambition.

You glance over at Yerin, her smile still plastered on her lips, but there's a glint in her eyes that sends a shiver down your spine. She may be putting on a show for the guests, but you know better than to underestimate her.

As the crowd begins to disperse, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. But before you can slip away unnoticed, Yerin's voice cuts through the air once more.

"____," she calls out, her tone sweet yet commanding. "A moment, please."

You exchange a wary glance with Jake before reluctantly stepping forward to face his step-mother. Her gaze is piercing, her scrutiny leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"I hope you're settling into your new role comfortably," she says, her voice laced with thinly veiled authority.

You force a polite smile, nodding in response. "Of course, Mrs. Lee. I'm doing my best to adapt."

Yerin's smile widens, but there's a hint of something sinister lurking beneath the surface. "Good," she says, her tone dripping with insincerity. "Because there's much expected of you as Jaeyunie's wife."

You swallow hard, the weight of her words sinking in. You're well aware that your position comes with its own set of expectations and obligations.

Before you can respond, Jake steps in, his voice firm but gentle. "Mother, perhaps this can wait for another time. ____ must be tired from the festivities."

Yerin's gaze flickers between the two of you, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Of course, my dear," she says, her tone saccharine sweet. "We wouldn't want to keep you from your rest."

With a final nod, you and Jake make your escape, the weight of Yerin's words lingering in the air like a dark cloud. As you slip away into the mass of people, you can't help but wonder what other secrets and challenges await you in this new chapter of your life.

As you and Jake make your way through the crowd, the weight of Yerin's expectations hangs heavy in the air. Despite the celebration, a sense of unease settles over you, casting a shadow over the lavish celebration.

Jake's grip on your waist remains firm, his touch a silent reassurance amidst the chaos. You steal a glance at him, finding a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a stark contrast to the confident facade he wears for the world.

"Are you okay?" you ask softly, your voice barely audible over the din of the party.

He offers you a tight-lipped smile, his expression guarded. "I'm fine," he replies, his tone lacking conviction. "Just... adjusting, I suppose."

You nod in understanding, knowing all too well the weight of expectation. It's a burden you both share, a burden that threatens to consume you if you're not careful.

As you reach the outskirts of the crowd, Jake’s grip loosens slightly, allowing you both a moment of respite from the suffocating atmosphere of the reception hall.

"Thank you," you say softly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "For stepping in back there."

Jake offers you a small, genuine smile, his eyes softening with warmth. "Of course," he says, his voice gentle. "We're in this together, ____. No matter what."

As you and Jake navigate through the dispersing crowd, a sudden hush falls over the room, drawing your attention back to the center of the hall. Your heart skips a beat as you see Heeseung striding confidently towards you, his presence commanding the attention of everyone present.

With a flourish, he raises a glass high, the tinkling sound cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, his voice ringing clear above the murmurs of the crowd. "I believe it's time for our esteemed mafia leader to take his beautiful wife home."

A ripple of laughter and applause erupts from the guests, their cheers mingling with the strains of the fading music. You feel a flush of heat rising to your cheeks, a sense of discomfort settling in the pit of your stomach as all eyes turn to you and Jake.

Jake's grip tightens around your waist once again, his jaw clenched in irritation at the spectacle unfolding before him. You can sense the tension radiating off him, a silent warning to Heeseung to tread carefully.

But Heeseung pays no heed to Jake's silent threat, his gaze fixed on you with a predatory gleam. "Come now, my dear brother," he continues, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. "Let's not keep your wife waiting any longer."

You feel a surge of resentment bubbling within you, disgusted with the way Heeseung chooses to carry himself and address you as if you’re nothing more than a prize Jake has won to bed.

"I'm sure your wife is eager to get home and enjoy your company in a more... private setting," Heeseung drawls suggestively. This is met with a drunken roar of approval from the men in the room, a few of whom lift their glasses in Jake's direction and laugh salaciously. Yerin observes you carefully over the rim of her cocktail before stepping in. “The car outside is ready to go when you are, my darlings." she adds in, arching a perfectly-shaped eyebrow before raising her glass to you with a smirk. "Welcome to the family, ____."

A lick of ice runs through your veins.

In the next moment, you find yourself flanked from all sides by your bridesmaids, giggling as they pull you from Jake's clutches and shove you towards the exit. Jake groans as his friends do the same to him, trying and failing to get them to stop.

The cool night air hits you like a slap to the face when the double doors are flung open. A black SUV awaits you outside, the suited driver standing to attention on the curb, and the bridesmaids shove you into the back seat.

Next thing you know, Jake is being wrangled into the seat beside you. He sends his best man one last glare before the car door slams shut behind him. The car engine hums to life, and a heavy silence falls upon you as the driver pulls away.

You gaze out of the window for the entirety of the ride to your new residence.

When you finally turn in through the large automated gates of the Lee/Sim residence, you don't even wait for the driver to come around and open the door on your behalf, all but throwing it open in a bid to drag some fresh oxygen into your lungs.

You hear Jake's murmured thanks as he exits the car behind you; however your eyes remain fixated on the modern-style mansion that looms ominously before your eyes like a great, architectural monster.

Wordlessly, he moves past you with keys in hand. He knows you'll follow. After all, what other choice do you have?

The journey upstairs to the bedroom is a quiet one. Several of Jake's maids bow at ninety-degree angles as you pass, their hushed greetings of “Welcome, Mrs. Sim" directed at the expensive carpet beneath your feet, but given no indication that you should acknowledge them, you carry on in silence.

The master bedroom is pristine. So much so that it looks unlived in. As you step inside, you inhale the faint scent of fresh linen, a stark contrast to the lingering perfume of the evening's festivities.

Jake's voice breaks the silence, his tone surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos of the night. "This is your space," he says, gesturing around the room. "I'll be across the hall if you need anything."

You meet his gaze, gratitude mingling with the exhaustion etched into his features. “Okay, thank you.”

He stiffly nods before promptly exiting your room. Once he’s out of sight you huff out a sigh of relief before throwing yourself onto the large mattress. You know you should begin to get ready for bed but you feel drained in every sense of the word.

Just as you’re about to stand to remove your reception gown you feel your phone buzz on your bed. You look up from your seated position to find an incoming facetime call from Haru. You perk a bit, noting you hadn’t seen her or Anton on your way out of the reception.

You quickly answer and prop your phone up against a nearby pillow, adjusting it so you can see the screen while you start getting ready for bed.

“Hello.”

Haru smiles brightly and then turns the camera a bit to show Antons face before they both brightly answer you, “Hi!”

You smile at your two friends. “I miss you guys so much,” you say, letting out a tired sigh. “It feels like ages since I saw you.”

“We miss you too,” Haru replies, her voice filled with genuine concern. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Anton nods in agreement, his expression serious. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call. We’re always here for you.”

You start to unbutton your gown, feeling a bit more relaxed. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it. Things have been... intense.”

As you step out of your gown, Anton's voice comes through, a bit hesitant. “How are things with Jake?”

You shrug, momentarily forgetting they can’t see you. “We haven’t really spoken. We’re sleeping in separate bedrooms.”

“At least he isn’t a creep who expected you to sleep with him on the first night,” Haru says, trying to lighten the mood.

You let out a small laugh, nodding. “True. That’s one thing to be thankful for.”

You slip into your pajamas and pop back into the frame, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “But something is off. I don’t know what it is yet, but I can feel it.”

Anton leans closer to the camera, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

You take a deep breath, deciding to tell them everything. “I was cornered by an FBI agent at the engagement party. He hinted that they know about the dealings of Jake and his family and they have a solid case. I’m going to find out what’s going on and use it as leverage to get out of this marriage.”

Haru and Anton are silent for a moment, processing your words. Finally, Haru speaks up. “Are you sure about this?”

“I have to do something,” you say firmly. “I’m not going to be a pawn in this game. I need to get out of here and join you guys in Paris. My father would have never agreed to this marriage if he knew that the FEDS have a solid case against Jake. I’ll snoop around his office tomorrow and see what I can find.”

Anton’s face is filled with worry. “Please be careful. If he catches you...”

“I know,” you say, nodding. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

There’s a moment of silence as your friends exchange worried looks. Then, Haru smiles softly. “Just remember, we’re always here for you.”

You feel a surge of gratitude for your friends. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

After a few more words of encouragement and promises to stay in touch, you finally say your goodbyes and hang up. You place your phone down, feeling a bit more at ease after speaking with your friends.

You lie back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, you’ll start your investigation. You’ll get yourself out of this, it’s you against everyone else. Nothing new.

The next morning, you wake up feeling surprisingly well rested. You dress quickly and make your way downstairs, the quiet of the house almost unnerving. As you enter the kitchen, you find your new husband sitting at the kitchen island. He’s engrossed in his iPad, looking over company spreadsheets while sipping on his coffee.

A maid appears, her presence soft but attentive. “Good morning, ma’am. What would you like for breakfast?”

You offer a polite smile. “I can make myself a bowl of cereal, thank you.”

Jake glances up from his iPad, his expression firm. “No. I’m paying them to take care of you, so you should have a proper breakfast.” He turns to the maid. “Make her some waffles, please.”

You don’t put up much of a fight, knowing it’s not worth the effort. As you try to leave the kitchen to head to the massive dining room, Jake stops you. “Why don’t you take a seat beside me?”

Reluctantly, you sit down next to him. He looks at you, his eyes softer now. “I had all your art supplies moved into the studio down the hall. Thought you might want to get back to painting.”

You’re taken aback by the gesture. “Thank you, Jake.”

He nods, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I have to go to the company for a meeting with the shareholders, so I’ll be gone most of the day. But once I’m back, we can discuss the creative department I plan on opening for you.”

Surprised, you thank him again. This side of Jake is unexpected, you didn’t think he was being serious when he offered to open up a creative department for you when he proposed. You thought it would be yet another empty promise, his kindness leaves you momentarily off balance. He gets up to leave, grabbing his briefcase from the counter. “See you later.”

As he exits, the maid places a plate of waffles in front of you. “Anything else you need, ma’am?”

You look up at her, suddenly curious. “What’s your name?”

“Rose, ma’am,” she replies, her tone respectful.

“Thank you, Rose,” you say warmly. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

Rose shakes her head, a faint smile on her face. “It’s not proper, ma’am, but thank you for the offer.” She then moves off to clean the kitchen, leaving you to your meal.

You eat the waffles slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. The house is quiet, and the sense of isolation is almost tangible. Once you’re done, you make your way to the studio Jake mentioned. It’s a spacious room with large windows that let in plenty of natural light. Your art supplies are neatly arranged, and a blank canvas stands on an easel, waiting.

You sit down, picking up a paintbrush, but no inspiration comes. The paintbrush feels foreign in your hand, and you find yourself staring at the canvas, lost in thought. The events of the past few days swirl in your mind, making it hard to focus. You remember the FBI agent’s warning, Jake’s unexpected kindness, and the looming uncertainty of your future.

Minutes turn into hours as you sit there, the paintbrush hovering over the canvas but never touching it. Your mind is too cluttered to create, and the weight of your situation presses down on you. You think about Haru and Anton, wondering if they’re almost done with their preparations to leave Korea, wishing they were beside you now.

Eventually, you set the paintbrush down, realizing that you won’t be able to paint today. Instead, you decide to use the time to start your investigation. You remember Jake mentioning that he would be gone for most of the day, which gives you a window of opportunity.

You leave the studio and make your way to Jake’s office. The door is slightly ajar, and you peek inside to ensure no one is around. Taking a deep breath, you step into the room and begin your search. You open drawers, sift through papers, and check the computer for any clues. But the office is meticulously organized, and you find nothing out of the ordinary.

Just as you’re about to give up, you notice a locked drawer in Jake’s desk. Your heart races as you consider your options. You could try to find the key, but that would take time. Instead, you decide to try picking the lock, a skill you picked up in your younger, more rebellious days.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually, you hear a soft click. The drawer opens, revealing a stack of documents. You quickly skim through them, and your blood runs cold as you realize just how cruel your husband can be. You thought your father was bad, but Jake seems to be the devil himself.

As you read through the documents, you uncover records of people Jake has killed, debts he plans on collecting, and bribes that go all the way up to the president. Each piece of paper details horrifying acts—the ruthlessness with which he eliminates anyone who stands in his way, the meticulous planning of each murder, and the extensive network of corruption he maintains. Your hands tremble as you come across a supposed hit list with names of people from Parliament.

Just then, you hear a voice outside the door. Heart pounding, you quickly put the documents back in place and lock the drawer just as Heeseung walks into the room. He looks surprised to find you standing behind Jake’s desk, a smirk curling on his lips.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with suspicion.

You straighten up, refusing to let him see your fear. “I was looking for a ballpoint pen to sketch with,” you lie smoothly.

Heeseung’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “Is that so?”

You nod, “And what are you doing in my home?” you ask, deflecting the attention away from yourself.

He scoffs at your use of the word “my” and steps closer, his smirk widening. “Your home? Has Jake fucked you well enough for you to be content with being his trophy wife?”

Your eyes narrow in anger as you slap away his hand that was reaching for a stack of papers on the desk. “If you came here to insult me, you can see yourself out. Otherwise, you’ll have to answer to Jake.”

Heeseung lifts his hands in mock surrender, his eyes sweeping around the room as if looking for something. “Jake doesn’t scare me,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “And neither do you. I’m not like Jake. I play rough, so you should watch where you put your hands.”

You glare at him, trying to keep your composure. “I’m not afraid of you, Heeseung. Now, if you don’t have any business here, I suggest you leave.”

Heeseung takes a step closer, invading your personal space. “Or what? You’ll run to Jake? You’re just his pretty little plaything, and you don’t know the first thing about the business we’re in.”

Your pulse quickens, but you refuse to back down. “I’m not just a plaything, and I won’t be intimidated or undermined by you. If you have any respect for Jake and me, you’ll leave now.”

Heeseung smirks, reaching out as if to touch your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” you snap, your voice steady.

Heeseung chuckles, clearly enjoying the power play. “Feisty. I like that. But remember, Jake isn’t always going to be around to protect you.”

You take a step back, putting distance between you and Heeseung. “I don’t need Jake to protect me. Now get out before I make you.”

Heeseung’s smirk fades slightly, and he seems to reconsider his approach. “Fine,” he says, lifting his hands again. “But this isn’t over. I’ll be back to talk to Jake.”

“Goodbye, Heeseung,” you say firmly, watching as he finally leaves the room. The door closes behind him, and you let out a shaky breath. The encounter has left you rattled, but you can’t afford to lose your nerve now.

You sit back down at the desk, trying to calm your racing heart. Jake and his family truly do rule the underworld, it’s no wonder your father was so quick to wed you off. They’re involved in crimes that go far beyond anything you could have imagined. But this information is also your ticket out of this nightmare. If you can find a way to use it, you might be able to escape and start a new life.

For now, you need to act normal and keep up appearances. You leave the office and head back to the studio, your mind racing with plans and contingencies. Once inside, you pick up a paintbrush and stare at the blank canvas, hoping to appear absorbed in your work should anyone come looking for you. But your thoughts keep drifting back to the documents and Jake. He seems nothing like what those papers claim. He’s been nothing but sweet to you, to think he’s touched you with the same hands that have taken the lives of others makes you want to get up and shower.

Minutes turn into hours as you sit there, pretending to paint. Eventually, the sound of the front door opening and closing signals Jake’s return. You take a deep breath and put on your best calm demeanor, ready to face him.

Jake finds you in the studio, and his face lights up with a smile. “There you are. How was your day?”

“Good,” you reply, forcing a smile. “I spent some time in here, trying to get inspired.”

He nods, walking over to you and placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that. Let’s have dinner, and then we can discuss the creative department.”

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. Dinner with Jake means more time to play your role and gather information. As you follow him out of the studio, you can’t help but glance back at the canvas, the blank space mirroring the uncertainty of your future.

At dinner, you sit across from Jake in the dimly lit dining room. The table is set with fine china and a sumptuous meal prepared by the household staff. Jake starts the conversation, his tone light and conversational.

"How did you spend your day?" he asks, cutting into his steak.

You take a sip of your wine, trying to maintain your composure. "I spent the day in the studio."

Jake nods, chewing thoughtfully. "I'm glad to hear that. I've been thinking a lot about how to integrate your talents into the company."

You raise an eyebrow, interest peaked. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"

He leans back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. "We could start by setting up a small team to work on special projects. Maybe some unique advertising campaigns or custom artwork for our high-profile clients."

You nod, your mind racing with possibilities. "That sounds wonderful, Jake. Thank you for considering my passion."

He smiles, seemingly satisfied with your response. "I think it will be a great addition to our company. Plus, it will give you something to focus on and keep you busy."

You force a smile, trying to hide the unease that bubbles beneath the surface. "I appreciate that. I've always wanted to use my art in a meaningful way."

Jake takes a sip of his wine, his eyes studying you. "I want you to know that I won't hurt you," he says softly, his voice sincere. "We were both forced into this marriage, and I understand how difficult that can be. I won’t take any anger out on you. I want you to be comfortable here, to feel safe as my wife."

You’re conflicted, Jake’s words sound comforting but the papers hidden in the depths of his office scream otherwise. “Okay.”

Jake sets his wine glass down and looks at you with a seriousness that makes you lean back in your seat slightly. “I want to make something clear, though. I didn’t choose this life because I wanted to. My father chose me to take over even though it was Heeseung’s birthright.”

You frown, genuinely curious. “Why would your father choose you over Heeseung? And why would you even accept? You seem so different from him. Why would you want to be involved in such horrid crimes?”

Jake hesitates, clearly not used to talking about his family dynamics. After a moment, he relents. “Heeseung wasn’t ready to take over. He abused the fact that he was the heir. He partied, made reckless decisions, and endangered our entire operation. I thought stepping up would show our father that I was capable and might even fix my broken relationship with Heeseung.”

He pauses, his eyes distant. “I’ve always been undermined because I’m the bastard son. People are finally starting to take me seriously now that my father has given me full reign.”

He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “You must find me pathetic, doing all of this because of daddy issues.”

You shake your head, empathizing with him. “Not at all. I understand more than you might think. Growing up, I was always in my older brother’s shadow. No one took me seriously because I was the youngest and a girl. I did everything I could to get our father to see me, to recognize my worth. But eventually, I gave up. It wasn’t worth all the pain I inflicted on myself and others.”

Jake looks at you with a newfound understanding, a bond forming between you. “I guess we’re not so different after all.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, processing the vulnerability you’ve just shared. Then, you remember the FBI agent from the engagement party. “Jake, what do you plan on doing about the case the FBI has opened?”

Jake shrugs, his demeanor calm. “I’ll deal with it.”

“How?” you ask.

Jake pauses, then looks at you intently. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Yes,” you say, taking his hand. “That’s all I’ll ever want from you—honesty.”

He nods. “I’ll have the lead investigator, the one who threatened you, killed. We’ll make it look like a suicide. Then I’ll pay off the president to close the case.”

You nod slowly, having expected such a response. “I figured as much. Thank you for being honest with me.”

Jake squeezes your hand. “I promise, I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.”

You return the squeeze, feeling a complex mix of emotions—relief, fear, and a strange sense of solidarity. “Thank you, Jake.”

With the heavy conversation behind you, you both return to eating your dinner. The atmosphere between you has shifted; there’s a newfound understanding and mutual respect. As you finish your meal, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you and Jake might find a way to navigate this treacherous life together.

After dinner, Jake stands up and reaches for your hand. “Let’s go to the living room. We can talk more about the creative department there.”

You nod and follow him, feeling a bit lighter. Once you’re both settled on the couch, Jake starts outlining his vision for integrating your art into the company. You listen intently, offering suggestions and ideas, and for the first time in your life, you feel a glimmer of hope that you might be able to carve out a small piece of this world for yourself.

As the evening wears on, the conversation shifts back to more personal topics. You find It isn’t hard to relate to Jake the more you talk to him, surprisingly finding yourself enjoying your time with him. You’re more similar than you expected, and it dawns a new sort of appreciation for him. It was like this entire marriage would seem easier than you thought, especially with an understanding partner like Jake.

Jake shares stories from his childhood, and you find yourself laughing at some of his more outrageous ones. In turn, you share some of your own, and by the end of your last story, there’s a comfortable silence between you.

Jake looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Are you tired?”

You shake your head and sip on your wine before answering. “Not really. Why?”

He grins, looking almost boyish. “How about a movie night? It’s been a long day, and I think we both deserve a break.”

You nod, feeling a sense of relief at the normalcy of his suggestion. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

You begin to get comfortable on the large, plush couch while Jake turns on the tv and scrolls through his streaming service before deciding on ‘10 Things I Hate About You’

You raise an eyebrow, amused by his choice. “Seriously?”

He defends himself, his grin widening. “It’s the best movie ever made. Don’t knock it until you’ve watched it with me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

Jake hits play and sits down beside you, draping a cozy blanket over both of you. As the movie starts, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in days. The lightheartedness of the film and Jake’s occasional commentary makes you forget, even if just for a while, the dark reality of your lives.

About halfway through the movie, you start to feel your eyelids grow heavy. You fight to stay awake, not wanting to miss any part of the film or the rare moment of peace. But before long, you find yourself leaning against Jake’s shoulder, the warmth and comfort lulling you to sleep.

Jake glances down at you, a soft smile on his face. He gently shifts his arm to support you better, careful not to wake you. “Pretty,” he mumbles under his breath, almost to himself. He reaches up and softly caresses your cheek, his touch tender and protective.

As the movie continues to play, Jake finds himself more focused on you than the screen. He watches you sleep, marveling at the trust you’ve shown by falling asleep on him. The weight of the day’s revelations and the growing bond between you settles over him, and he feels a strange sense of contentment.

Eventually, the rhythm of your breathing and the comfort of the moment lull Jake into sleep as well. The two of you sit there, wrapped in the blanket, a small bubble of warmth and peace in the midst of a tumultuous world.

In that quiet, shared slumber, a tentative connection begins to form. It’s fragile and new, but in the darkness of your lives, it shines like a small, precious light.

You wake up the next morning wrapped in Jake's arms, his steady breathing a comfort against your shoulder. As you gently shift, his eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you both just stare at each other, unsure of what to say. This closeness is new to both of you.

Jake clears his throat and slowly separates himself from you. "Good morning."

"Good morning," you reply, sitting up. "I’m sorry for falling asleep on you last night."

Jake waves off your apology with a soft smile. "Don't be. What else are my arms for if not to support my wife’s head?"

You laugh softly, appreciating his attempt at humor. "What are your plans for today?"

He stretches and then looks at you, his expression turning serious. "I have another meeting today. It’s for our... other business."

You catch on immediately, realizing he means the mafia. Nodding, you decide to take a bold step. "Can I tag along?"

Jake looks hesitant. "I don’t know if that’s a good idea."

"Think about it," you reason. "It would be a good look if we showed up together. It might help if no one thinks there’s any strife in our marriage."

He considers your words and finally relents. "Alright, but stay close to me. It’s not the safest place."

As you both stand from the couch, Rose enters the living room with a polite smile. "Good morning, Mr and Mrs. Sim. I'll take care of the living area while you get ready."

You nod and head to your room to shower. The warm water helps clear your mind, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Jake and the strange new dynamic between you two. After your shower, you find a dress laid out on the bed—a tasteful yet elegant piece that you can tell Jake picked out to match his own attire.

You dress quickly, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. When you walk out, Jake is waiting, he gives you an approving nod. "You look perfect."

"Thank you," you reply, feeling a bit flustered under his gaze.

Jake leads you to the car, opening the door for you.

The car ride goes by smoothly and in no time you arrive at the outskirts of Seoul. The warehouse you pull up to is surrounded by extravagant cars, a testament to the wealth and power of those inside.

Jake places a protective arm around your waist and guides you into the building, and you’re met with familiar faces—associates of Jake’s clan and big-time mafiosos. He takes a seat at the head of the table and pulls you onto his lap, a clear display of possession and protection.

Sunghoon, Jake’s right-hand man, stands to give his report. “The situation with the baggie boys is getting worse. They’re stealing cuts of our product, and now men from the Lee and Jung borders are going missing.”

You tense at the mention of your family name but stay quiet, tuning into the conversation with more interest.

Jake’s frustration is evident, but he lets Sunghoon continue. “Also, the FBI knows about the illegal acts, not just the corruption within the government. This investigation might be harder to navigate.”

Jake hums in thought. “Have we spoken to the president?”

Sunghoon nods. “The president is keeping a close eye on the case, but it will take time before he can act.”

One of the mafiosos, Byun Baekhyun, speaks up, his tone accusatory. “Is there a rat amongst us?”

Jake’s eyes flash with offense. “You dare question my men?”

Baekhyun doesn’t back down. “It’s a fair question, Jake. How else would the FBI know so much? Someone must be leaking information.”

Jake’s grip tightens on your waist, his anger barely contained. “My men are loyal. Perhaps you should look at your own house before making such accusations.”

Baekhyun leans back, smirking. “I’m just saying, it’s a possibility we can’t ignore.”

The comment lingers in your mind, you make a mental note to discuss it with Jake later.

The meeting continues, filled with more bad news. Sunghoon informs the group that the police are cracking down on the remaining baggie boys, and they’ll likely need to pay another visit to the police lieutenant.

By the end of the meeting, you can tell Jake is out of it. Instead of heading straight home, you suggest, “Would you like to grab lunch with me?”

Jake agrees, and the drive to the restaurant is filled with conversation. “That meeting was intense,” you start.

He nods, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “Yeah, things are getting complicated.”

“What about the possibility of a mole?” you ask carefully.

Jake sighs. “It’s something I’ll have to keep an eye on. Baekhyun’s comment wasn’t completely off-base.”

You nod, sensing his frustration. “How’s your dad handling all this?”

“He’s not thrilled,” Jake admits. “He’s been cracking down on me, questioning my decisions. This new info Sunghoon mentioned is definitely going to make him question my leadership abilities even more.”

“I’m sure he knows you’re doing your best,” you offer, trying to comfort him.

Jake glances at you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Thanks but my dad doesn’t care about effort.”You frown, trying to think of something to say. “What about the rest of the team? Do they support you?”

“For the most part,” Jake replies, his expression thoughtful. “But there’s always someone ready to step up and point out your mistakes. It’s a competitive environment.”

You nod. “Yeah, I get that.” sielcne settles between the two of you for a moment before you add, “how’s Sunghoon holding up with everything?” trying to shift the focus slightly.

“He’s stressed, but he’s handling it well. He’s been a great support, especially with all the new information coming in.”

“That’s good to hear,” you say. “It’s important to have someone like that on your side.”

Jake’s expression softens. “Yeah, it is. I’m lucky to have him and the rest of the team.”

The car ride continues with a mix of silence and small talk until you reach the restaurant. As you step out of the car, you look at Jake and say, “Let’s try to forget about the meeting for a while and just enjoy lunch, okay?”

He nods, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Sounds like a plan.”

As the two of you get out after he parks, Jake surprises you by taking your hand as you walk down the street. The gesture feels almost normal, like you’re a real couple. You blush but indulge in the rare moment of intimacy.

Seated outside with Jake beside you rather than across, you tell Jake to surprise you with the order. While he speaks to the waiter, you glance around your surroundings, trying to absorb the peaceful atmosphere. Across the street, a familiar figure catches your eye—your brother Sungchan. He’s sitting at an outdoor bar with another man, engaged in a heated discussion. You recognize the man as the chief of police.

Sungchan slides an envelope across the table before standing and leaving. You shrug it off, assuming it’s just work, and turn back to Jake.

He’s placed the order and looks at you, curious. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile. “Just saw someone I know. It’s nothing.”

Jake nods, accepting your explanation. The conversation shifts to lighter topics, and by the time your drinks arrives, you feel more at ease.

The waiter, a young man with a charming smile, returns with your meals. He seems overly attentive to you, his eyes lingering longer than necessary. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asks, leaning closer to you than Jake finds appropriate.

Jake’s jaw tightens. “We’re fine, thank you.” He subtly points to your wedding ring, hoping the waiter will catch on. “My wife and I are just enjoying our lunch.”

The waiter doesn’t seem to catch the hint and continues to hover, making small talk with you. Jake lets it go, expecting you to shut him down. But when the waiter comes back with the bill and you still haven’t said anything, Jake’s patience snaps.

He grabs your chin and kisses you sloppily in front of the waiter. The kiss is possessive, a clear statement of ownership. You’re embarrassed yet turned on, feeling a mix of emotions.

The waiter clears his throat awkwardly and leaves. You pull back, looking at Jake with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “What was that about?”

Jake’s expression is calm, but his eyes are intense. “He was hitting on my wife. I don’t like sharing.”

You nod, understanding his possessiveness but also feeling a strange sense of comfort in his protectiveness. After lunch, you head back to the car, and the drive home is filled with a comfortable silence. As you approach the house, Jake breaks the silence. “Thank you for today. It was nice to have you there, despite the circumstances.”

You smile, “I’m glad I could be there for you. Besides, think of it as a thank you for yesterday.”

Jake parks the car and turns to you, his expression serious but warm. “We’re in this together now. I want us to be a team.”

You nod, feeling a newfound sense of partnership. “Me too, Jake. Two’s better than one, no?”

Jake gives you a small smile, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. "Who knows, maybe one day we can be more."

Taking a deep breath, you offer him one last smile before saying, "I'm going to head to the studio and try to paint for a bit. It helps me clear my head."

Jake nods. "That sounds like a good idea. Do you need anything before you go?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks." You give him a reassuring smile before heading towards your studio.

As you walk down the hall, your mind buzzes with the events of the day. The meeting, lunch, Jake's protectiveness-all of it swirls together, pushing you towards your creative sanctuary. When you step into the studio, the familiar scent of paint and canvas immediately calms your nerves.

You set up your easel and prepare your paints, letting your mind drift. The blank canvas in front of you feels like a challenge, urging you to pour out everything you've been holding back. You start with broad strokes, not fully aware of what you're creating until the image starts to take shape.

Hours pass as you lose yourself in the process. You paint with a fervor you haven't felt in a long time, each brushstroke a cathartic release. The image that emerges is raw and intense-a naked girl on a bed, covered in blood and semen, her eyes shut in pleasure. A male hand tightly grabs her right breast, the possessiveness and violence palpable.

As you step back to examine your work, your breath catches in your throat. The hand you've painted is unmistakably Jake's. The realization sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of embarrassment and arousal flooding your senses. You can't believe how deeply he's affected you, invading not just your thoughts but your art as well.

Feeling flustered, you clean your brushes and put away your supplies. You need to clear your mind, to stop thinking about Jake in such a sexual manner. Deciding it's best to get some rest, you leave the studio and head towards your bedroom.

Once in bed, you can't help but replay the day's events. Jake's protectiveness, his vulnerability during your conversation, the way he held your hand so confidently—it all stirs something deep within you. As you lie there, staring at the ceiling, you wonder what the future holds for you and Jake. You turn off the light, allowing yourself to drift into a restless sleep filled with dreams of paint and passion.

taglist: @dreamiestay @sumzysworld

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