#This snake has no dignity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fangdokja · 2 months ago

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🔞When he says you're his treasure, he means it—he’ll spill blood, even yours, to keep it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped aboard a ruthless Spanish pirate's ship, your defiance ignites his sadistic obsession, turning every moment into a battle of submission and survival. He’s your captor, your tormentor, and dangerously close to becoming the only one who truly owns you.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Spanish Pirate Captain x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. #1 - El Capitán's Tesoro

♡ Word Count. 8,115

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, rape, blood play, gun play, degradation, humiliation, forced orgasms, sadism, BDSM, bondage, groping, overstimulation, gagging, forced oral, psychological torment, fingering, public nudity, public humiliation, objectification, forced handjob, mature language, fingering, choking / breath play, biting, slut shaming, bodily injury, physical assault and violence

You find yourself bound to the mast of a pirate ship, the salty sea breeze caressing your bruised and trembling form as you struggle futilely against the rough ropes that dig into your wrists.

His dark eyes, filled with a possessive hunger that sends a shiver down your spine, bore into yours as he approaches you with a swagger that screams of power and confidence. "Mi querida," he purrs in a thick Spanish accent, his calloused hand caressing your cheek, "you're mine now, aren't you?"

You spit defiance at his booted feet, the taste of his earlier punishment still bitter in your mouth.

The crew's leers and sneers are a stark reminder of your new reality. The pirate, a man whose very presence seems to command the sea itself, chuckles darkly. "Ah, so the little bird has fight left in her. That will make this all the more… entertaining."

His grip tightens, a silent promise of the horrors to come. "Now, let's see how much you're worth," he murmurs, a sadistic glint in his gaze as he lifts your chin to expose your neck to his hungry mouth.

The world around you blurs as his teeth graze your skin, and you realize with a sickening jolt that there is no escape from the dark, twisted desires of this scoundrel pirate with a penchant for pain and a thirst for your submission.

The pirate's rough fingers trace the line of your jaw, his hot breath fanning against your ear as he whispers, "You will learn to beg for mercy, to crave the very touch that brings you torment."

His words, spoken with a disturbing affection, make your stomach churn.

You've heard tales of men like him, those who find pleasure in the suffering of others, and now you're face-to-face with one. You clench your teeth and glare at him, your eyes filled with the fire of a thousand suns.

He smirks, amused by your spirit, and steps away, leaving you to the merciless gaze of his crew. The sea stretches out endlessly, a cruel and indifferent witness to your plight.

He barks an order to his men, and the ship's deck comes alive with activity. Rough hands grab at your bound body, stripping you of your stolen armor and clothing, leaving you exposed to the lewd stares and catcalls.

The pirate watches with a smoldering intensity, his eyes never leaving yours.

Each piece of clothing that falls away feels like a piece of your dignity being torn from you, but you refuse to let them see you break. Instead, you glare coldly in the face of the nearest pirate, the act earning you a vicious slap that sends a burst of stars across your vision.

The pirate captain laughs, his deep chuckles resonating through the air as he says, "Ah, she's a feisty one. I like it."

The crew drags you before him, your body trembling with a mix of fear and rage. He circles you like a shark, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed flesh. His hand snakes out, caressing your bare shoulder before sliding down to your chest, his thumb flicking your nipple.

You bite back a scream, your body betraying you by responding despite your desire to remain stoic. He leans in, his breath hot and moist against your skin, "You will call me 'Capitán'," he whispers, "and you will learn to obey, or suffer the consequences."

His hand trails lower, down your torso, and you feel his fingertips dance dangerously close to your most intimate places.

"No," you snarl through clenched teeth, your body a live wire of defiance.

He smirks, the gesture sending a chill down your spine. "We'll see about that." He steps back, his eyes never leaving yours as he gestures to his crew.

Two burly pirates step forward, each grabbing an ankle and wrenching your legs apart. The ropes bite into your skin as you're spread wide, your vulnerability on full display. "Take her below deck," he orders, his eyes gleaming with excitement, "and make sure she's… prepared for me."

The pirates hoist you up, their grip painfully tight as they carry you to the bowels of the ship.

As you're hauled away, you catch one last glimpse of the pirate captain, his eyes darkening with anticipation, tongue flicking put to lick his lips hungrily. He's not a man to be trifled with, that much is clear.

In the cramped, dimly lit quarters below, the pirates throw you onto a filthy cot, the stench of unwashed men and stale ale assaulting your senses. They tie your ankles to the wooden frame, stretching you out until you're taut and exposed.

You struggle, but your efforts are met with cruel laughter and painful slaps that bruise your skin.

One of them leers down at you, a gap-toothed grin splitting his face. "The Capitán will have you begging for his cock," he sneers, his voice thick with lust.

You grit your teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cower.

Your eyes dart around the room, searching for any means of escape or a weapon to defend yourself with, but all you find is a stale, dank mattress and a few discarded articles of clothing.

The pirates don't seem to care about your resistance, seeing it only as a challenge to be met with increased force.

They leave you there, alone with your thoughts and fears, the muffled sounds of the ship's activities above serving as a grim reminder of your new reality.

Minutes feel like hours as you lay there, the wood beneath you digging into your back with each roll of the ship. Your breaths come in short, sharp gasps, your heart hammering against your ribs like a caged bird desperate to flee.

The door creaks open, and you tense, expecting the pirate captain to make good on his threat.

Instead, a familiar young cabin boy, about your age, tentatively steps inside. His eyes widen as he takes in your naked, bound form, and he stammers an apology before setting a tray of food and water beside you.

"D-don't worry, miss," he whispers, his voice barely audible, "I'll come back to… to help you later." He quickly retreats, leaving you with a flicker of hope that is almost immediately extinguished by the heavy thud of the door closing behind him.

The food is barely palatable, but you force yourself to eat and drink, knowing you'll need your strength. Your thoughts race, trying to piece together a plan of escape or at least a way to resist the inevitable. The creaking of the ship's timbers and the distant laughter of the pirates above serve as a grim soundtrack to your growing despair.

Suddenly, the door swings open again, and the pirate captain strides in, his boots thudding against the floorboards with a confidence that sends a cold shiver through your body.

He's shed his outer layers, revealing a chest covered in dark, swirling tattoos that ripple with each step he takes towards you. "Ah, mi querida," he says, his voice a dark caress, "I see you've had some time to think about your new life."

You spit at him again, glaring coldly, the gesture one of pure spite and defiance. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, his smirk never faltering. "Such spirit," he murmurs, leaning down to trace your collarbone with a finger, "it's a shame it will be broken."

He reaches for the ropes holding your wrists, loosening them slightly before sliding his hand down to cup your breast. You flinch, your body arching away from his touch despite your best efforts to remain stoic.

"Don't touch me," you growl, your voice hoarse with rage. His grip tightens, his thumb brushing over your nipple, watching with sick satisfaction as it pebbles against his calloused skin. "You will learn," he says, his voice a dark promise, "to crave my touch."

He stands, his eyes never leaving yours as he strips off his shirt, revealing a body that is a testament to years of hard labor and ruthless living. His muscles are like chiseled marble, each flex and movement a silent threat of the power he holds over you.

The pirate captain, or 'Capitán' as you're now forced to think of him, moves closer, the scent of him – a mix of salt, sweat, and something darkly alluring – fills your nostrils.

You can't help but feel a flicker of fearful arousal, a treacherous response to his dominance that only fuels your hatred for him. He leans in, his lips hovering over yours, the stubble of his beard scraping against your skin.

"Call me 'mi amo'," he murmurs, the words a command and a promise of possession, "and beg for my cock."

He kisses you then, hard and brutal, forcing his tongue past your clenched teeth. You bite down, tasting the metallic tang of his blood, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, his grip on your breast tightens, his other hand tangling in your hair to hold you in place as he deepens the kiss, his tongue dueling with yours.

You struggle against the ropes, trying to push him away, but your body's response betrays you. Despite the horror of the situation, a part of you is drawn to the fire in his touch, the raw power in his embrace. He breaks the kiss, his eyes burning with a hunger that makes you feel both terrified and strangely alive. He smirks, knowing he's getting to you, and says, "You're going to be a delight to break."

He steps back, giving you a moment to breathe, to gather your thoughts and your dwindling resolve. He paces the room, his eyes never leaving you as he speaks, "You see, my sweet enemy, you are now my property. You will serve me, pleasure me, and do as I say, or you will feel the wrath of the sea in ways you can't even imagine." He pauses, stroking the leather belt at his waist.

"But first, let us get acquainted." He moves closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the harshness of his words.

You try to turn your head away, but he grips your chin firmly, forcing you to look at him. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes raking over your exposed body with a hunger that makes your stomach clench.

"And so very… delicate." His thumb presses against your bottom lip, pushing it down to expose your teeth. "But I suspect there is a feral creature beneath this pretty exterior, just waiting to be unleashed."

The pirate captain's hand trails down your body, his calloused fingertips leaving a trail of fire across your skin. You fight the urge to whimper, instead focusing on the rage burning in your chest. He reaches your bound wrists and loosens the ropes a bit more, his eyes never leaving yours. "Let's see if you can be a good girl for me," he says, his voice a seductive purr that makes you want to scream.

He takes your hand in his, bringing it to his waist, guiding your trembling fingers to the fastening of his breeches. "Undo these for me."

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes flashing with defiance. But the weight of his gaze is too much, and you know that resisting now would only bring more pain. You fumble with the fastening, your heart racing as the material falls away, revealing the heavy outline of his cock beneath his breeches. His smirk widens as he watches you, the anticipation in his eyes a stark contrast to the fear in yours.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with dark amusement. He takes your hand in his, guiding it to the bulge in his pants. "Now, stroke me."

His grip is firm, almost painful, as he forces you to explore him. You feel his length, his heat, his power, and your stomach turns. But you do as he says, your hand moving with a jerky obedience that feels like a betrayal to every fiber of your being.

His eyes never leave yours as he watches your hand move over his cock, his expression a mix of pleasure and sadistic enjoyment. The fabric of his breeches is rough against your palm, the evidence of his arousal growing more and more pronounced. You bite your lip, trying not to let the tears fall as you perform this degrading act. The cabin seems to shrink around you, the weight of his gaze and his grip on your wrist crushing you beneath their intensity.

"Faster," he commands, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver of revulsion down your spine. You try to ignore the way your own body responds, the traitorous wetness between your legs that you know he can feel.

"Show me how much you want this." You know it's a lie, but the need to survive forces your hand to obey. The strokes become quicker, your breaths shallower, as he watches with a predatory gaze that seems to see right through your soul.

But, the Capitán's patience wanes, and with a growl of frustration, he yanks you down from the cot, forcing your knees to hit the wooden planks of the cabin floor with a jarring thud.

"Too slow and tame," he snaps, the gentle facade of his earlier seduction gone, replaced by the cold, hard edge of his dominance.

His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until you're staring up at him with a mix of fear and anger. He reaches down, freeing his thick, swollen cock from his breeches, the tip glistening with precum. "Take it," he orders, pushing it against your parted lips.

The pirate captain's eyes narrow with irritation as you struggle to turn your head away from his advancing cock. His grip on your hair tightens, yanking your head back even further, and you feel his shaft graze your cheek, sticky with precum.

He grunts in frustration and leans over, using the weight of his body to keep you in place. One of his hands wraps around the base of his cock, aiming the tip at your mouth again, while the other grips your chin to force your mouth open. You fight against him, your teeth clenched and your body trembling, but his strength is too much.

With a snarl, he thrusts his cock into your mouth, pushing past your teeth and down your throat.

You gag, your eyes watering and your throat constricting around his intrusion, but he doesn't relent. "You will learn to take me, all of me," he grunts, his voice thick with lust as he starts to fuck your mouth.

You feel his cock hit the back of your throat, the feeling of choking panic rising as you struggle to breathe around the thick, pulsing shaft. Your hands come up instinctively, trying to push him away, but he's too strong.

His hand leaves your chin, instead gripping the back of your head to hold you in place as he starts to fuck your face with brutal, punishing strokes. You can feel the veins in his cock throbbing against your tongue, and the taste of his salt fills your mouth.

You try to resist, to keep from gagging, but it's no use. His grip is like iron, and your body is his to use as he sees fit.

"Swallow," he commands, his voice harsh and unforgiving.

You do as he says, trying to keep the bile from rising as he continues to pump into your mouth. The sounds of his pleasure, the wet, obscene noises of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, echo in the small cabin, mixing with your muffled cries of protest.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his praise a mockery as he continues to use your mouth. You feel the tension in his body, the way his cock swells even more against your tongue.

He's going to come, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Your eyes water, your throat burns, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. His grip tightens, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his climax.

"Look at me," he growls, and you force your eyes to meet his, the defiance in yours unwavering despite the fear and humiliation you feel. His eyes are wild, his pupils blown with desire as he watches you, his expression one of triumph.

As he reaches his peak, he pulls out abruptly, and you gasp for air, your mouth and throat aching. He grunts, and you feel the hot spurt of his cum across your face and neck, the sticky fluid mixing with your saliva and tears.

"Swallow," he commands again, and you do, the taste of him bitter on your tongue.

He releases you, his cock still hard and slick with your saliva and his seed. You fall back onto the floor, your body trembling with the aftermath of his assault.

But, it isn’t over.

The pirate captain's grin widens as he watches your reaction to the grisly 'gift'. He knew about the cabin boy's attempt to help you, and he's made an example of what happens to those who dare to defy him.

────────────

The severed head strikes your face with a sickening thud, the weight of it heavier than you'd ever imagined. Sticky, warm blood splatters across your skin, soaking into your hair and dripping in thick, viscous rivulets down your neck. The impact forces you backward slightly, and the head bounces off your shoulder before landing on the floor with a wet squelch.

The cabin fills with the putrid stench of death—the cloying, metallic tang of freshly spilled blood mingling with the sour odor of decay. Chunks of gore and strands of sinew still cling to the ragged, torn neck, where the pirate captain’s blade had severed it with merciless precision. Bone fragments glint faintly in the dim light, jagged and exposed like a grotesque reminder of the brutality that birthed this grisly gift.

You feel the congealed blood smear across your lips, the taste coppery and nauseating as it mingles with your tears. A thick glob of something unidentifiable—a piece of flesh or fat—clings stubbornly to your cheek, while a splatter of crimson has found its way into your mouth, the taste of death an unwelcome invader.

The lifeless eyes of the boy, once filled with fear and determination, now stare up at you, glassy and unseeing. His mouth hangs open in a silent scream, blood caking his lips and teeth. A patch of his scalp, partially scalped during the beheading, hangs loosely, revealing raw, glistening flesh beneath.

Above it all, the Capitán's cruel laughter rings out, his grin widening as he takes in the horror etched across your face. "A fitting fate for a traitor, don’t you think?" he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He kneels beside you, his fingers reaching out to smear the blood across your face like some grotesque war paint. The sticky warmth clings to you, a visceral reminder of his control, his power, and his complete disregard for human life.

The distant sound of pirates outside the cabin cheer seems amplified now, their laughter a cacophony of depravity that fills your ears and fuels your anger.

"So, mi querida," the Capitán says, his voice low and menacing, "you thought you could escape me, did you?" He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes are cold and hard, the earlier playfulness gone, replaced by a steely determination to break you. "You see what happens to those who try to help you?" His grip tightens, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek, mingling with the blood and cum that already mar your skin.

You remain silent, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and fear. The cabin boy's sacrifice won't be in vain; you'll find a way to honor his courage.

The pirate captain seems to read your thoughts, a smug look crossing his face. "Ah, still so defiant. It's what I love most about you."

He releases your hair, letting your head fall back onto the disheveled pillow. "But fear not, I have something special planned for you tonight. Something that will truly show you who's in charge here."

The pirate captain's usually well-hidden jealousy flares like a beacon in the night, and his eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of the cabin boy's lifeless head on the floor. He wipes a stray drop of blood from your cheek, his gaze lingering on your tear-stained skin. "You see," he murmurs, "you belong to me now. And I don't share."

The Capitán's words are like a knife twisting in your gut, the realization of the cabin boy's fate hitting you like a physical blow.

Yet, you remain silent, your eyes never leaving his.

His anger and jealousy are palpable, a living, breathing entity in the room that coils around you like a snake.

He grabs the head by the hair, lifting it to your face so that the dead eyes seem to stare accusingly into yours. "Look at him," he says, his voice a snarl of possession, "he thought he could take what's mine, but now he watches as I claim you." He places the severed head next to the pillow beside you.

You feel his weight shift on the bed as he moves to straddle you, his cock still hard and demanding. His hands roam your body, his touch no longer gentle but possessive and bruising.

You struggle against him, trying to push him away, but your bound wrists are no match for his brute strength. "You will learn your place," he says, his voice a dark promise as he reaches down to spread your legs wider. "And if it's the last thing I do, I will make you scream my name."

The pirate captain's hand slides between your thighs, his rough fingers finding your clit and pressing down hard. You grit your teeth, trying to hold back the involuntary moan that threatens to escape as he starts to rub you in slow, deliberate circles.

His thumb circles your clit, each pass sending a bolt of pleasure through your body despite the horror of the situation.

"You're so wet for me," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, "even when you're crying for that worthless damn boy." His coldblooded rage is a living thing, a beast that feeds on your fear and humiliation.

You want to spit in his face, to tell him that you're not wet for him, that you'd never want a monster like him.

But your body seems to have a mind of its own, and the slickness between your legs is undeniable proof of your traitorous arousal.

He notices your struggle and sneers, his hand moving away from your clit to grip the base of his cock.

"Open your mouth," he commands, and you know what's coming next.

You do as you're told, the taste of his cum still fresh on your tongue. He guides his cock back into your mouth, his eyes boring into yours as he starts to fuck your face again, harder and more punishing than before.

The tears fall freely now, mixing with the blood and sweat that already coat your skin. You feel his hands on your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples, the pain a stark contrast to the pleasure he's coaxing from your pussy.

He's not even trying to be gentle, his actions driven by his need to dominate and control.

And as much as you hate him for it, a part of you responds, your body arching into his touch despite your silent protests.

The Capitán's eyes gleam with dark excitement at your silent rebellion, and he takes your refusal to acknowledge his dominance as a personal challenge.

He pulls his cock from your mouth, the wet sound of it leaving your lips echoing in the tense silence of the cabin. He stands up, his erection jutting out from his breeches like a weapon of war. You can see the pulse in the thick vein that runs along the underside, a testament to his desire.

"You're going to wish you'd been more obedient, my sweet," he says, his voice low and filled with malice.

He strides to his desk and pulls open a drawer, withdrawing a pistol that gleams dully in the candlelight. He checks the chambers, ensuring it's loaded, then turns back to you with a wicked smile. "This will be your lesson in obedience," he declares, striding back to the bed.

He cocks the pistol, the metallic click echoing through the cabin. You feel a cold bead of fear trickle down your spine as he presses the cold, hard muzzle against your clit. "Suck me," he commands, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine.

You know what he's planning, the horror of it all making bile rise in your throat. But you also know that resisting now will only make it worse.

With a resigned anger, you open your mouth and take him back in, the taste of his earlier release still coating your tongue. He groans in pleasure as he starts to fuck your mouth with renewed vigor, his hips rocking in time with the strokes of your hand. You can feel the pistol's muzzle moving against your sensitive flesh, the pressure building as he becomes more and more agitated.

"Look at me," he snarls, his hand tightening in your hair as he forces you to meet his gaze. His eyes are wild, a mix of anger and lust that makes you feel like prey caught in a predator's snare.

"You're going to swallow me whole, and then you're going to take this," he says, pausing to press the gun harder against your clit. "And you're going to beg for it."

You suck harder, trying to ignore the cold steel pressing against your sensitive flesh.

You know that if you don't give him what he wants, if you don't submit to his twisted games, the consequences will be dire.

And yet, a part of you clings to your defiance, refusing to give in to his sadistic desires.

"Look at me," he repeats, his voice a harsh demand. "Look at me when I fuck your whore mouth."

You glare up at him, the hatred in your eyes unmistakable.

But you don't look away.

You can't.

His cock fills your mouth, stretching your lips and jaw as he takes what he wants without mercy.

The pistol presses harder against your clit, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat building between your legs.

He's going to do it.

He's going to fuck you with it while you suck him off, and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

With a snarl of triumph, the Capitán pulls back, the head of his cock popping free of your mouth with an obscene sound.

He lines up the pistol with your entrance, the muzzle slick with your juices from his earlier touch. "Beg," he says, his voice low and demanding. "Fucking beg for it."

You don’t. You’ve had enough of this torment!

The moment you try to fight back, thrashing and squirming like a cornered animal, the cold steel of the pistol is replaced by a searing pain in your thigh.

You scream around his cock, your body arching in agony as the bullet tears through your flesh.

The cabin boy's headless body beside your pillow seems to mock you, a silent reminder of what happens to those who dare to defy the pirate captain.

"Ah, such a spirited little whore," he chuckles, his voice thick with sadistic pleasure.

He digs his fingers into your injured flesh, making you scream in agony, the vibrations making him moan in triumph. He then slowly pulls the pistol out of you, the sound of your blood and juices mixing with a wet pop that makes your stomach churn.

He wipes the blood from the muzzle with the corner of the bed sheet, his eyes never leaving yours. "I told you I wouldn't kill you. Yet," he adds, a warning in his tone that sends a fresh wave of fear crashing over you.

He leans in, his cock still rock-hard and slick with your saliva. His free hand wraps around the shaft, stroking himself as he watches you squirm and cry out in pain.

"Now, let's try this again, shall we?" He presses the gun back against your clit, the threat of another shot clear in his eyes.

You're trembling, the pain from your leg radiating through your entire body, but you know that submitting is the only way to survive this nightmare.

"P-please," you manage to croak out, the word sticking in your throat like a shard of glass.

His smile widens, and you feel the pressure of the gun increase. "Beg for it, bitch," he whispers, his eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight.

With a shudder, you do as he commands, your voice hoarse and filled with pain. "Please, fuck me with it," you murmur, the words barely audible.

The pirate captain's chuckle is the only response before he lines the pistol up with your entrance, the cold metal pressing against your bruised and swollen flesh.

You feel your body clench and jolt away in reflex, but his hand on the back of your head keeps you in place.

"That's better," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal as he starts to slide the pistol into you.

You bite down hard on your lip, trying to hold back the screams that threaten to tear from your throat.

The pain is unbearable, a white-hot agony that makes your vision swim as the barrel stretches you impossibly wide. His eyes never leave yours, the triumph in his gaze making it clear that he's enjoying every second of your torment.

You feel his hand move to the base of the pistol, his thumb pressing against your clit as he starts to fuck you with the gun. "Look how much you want it," he says, his voice a low purr that makes your skin crawl.

"How much you need me to fill you up, to make you scream." The pain is unreal, but so is the pressure building inside you. Your body betrays you once again, your hips moving in time with his thrusts despite the agony.

The Capitán's smile broadens into a sadistic grin as he watches you succumb to his will, your body betraying you as it responds to his depraved advances. He thrusts the pistol in and out of your pussy, the wet, obscene sounds of your forced submission filling the cabin.

His thumb continues to tease your clit, his movements becoming more insistent and rough. "You're such a good little bitch," he murmurs, his voice a caress that sends shivers down your spine despite the horror of the situation.

You bite your lip hard to keep from crying out as he continues to fuck you with the gun. Each thrust sends waves of pain and pleasure through your body, a toxic mix that you know will only serve to further ensnare you in his twisted game.

The blood from your leg soaks the bed, a stark crimson against the white sheets, but he seems unfazed by your pain.

If anything, it seems to excite him more, his strokes becoming harder and faster.

As the pirate captain continues to fuck you with the pistol, your body reaches its breaking point.

The pain in your leg is a dull throb compared to the agonizing pleasure he's wringing from your body, and you can't hold back the screams anymore.

You arch your back, pushing the gun deeper into yourself, desperate for the release that you know is coming. Your cries of pain and pleasure mingle, the sounds of your body being violated by the cold, hard metal echoing in the cabin.

The Capitán's eyes light up with victory as he sees you give in to his control.

He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a brutal kiss as he continues to use the gun on you, his tongue invading your mouth as his cock does the same.

He licks the tears from your face, his own passion mixing with your pain as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

"Mi vida, mi tesoro," he murmurs, his voice a dark symphony of lust and possession.

You moan against his mouth, unable to stop your body's reaction to the mix of pain and pleasure.

He pulls away, a smug smile playing on his lips as he watches you squirm and beg. "Look at you," he says, his voice filled with a sadistic glee. "You're mine now, body and soul."

He continues to thrust the gun into you, the rhythm growing more erratic as he nears his own climax. "You're going to come for me," he commands, his voice low and intense. "You're going to scream my fucking name."

Your eyes squeeze shut as the pressure builds, the pain from your leg forgotten in the face of the overwhelming sensations.

You hate him, you want to fight him, but your body responds to his touch like it's been programmed to do so.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and you know that when you fall, there will be no turning back.

With a final, desperate effort, you push against the pistol, the muzzle sliding into you one last time before you shatter, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm and screams.

The pirate captain laughs, his voice a dark, triumphant sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He pulls the gun out of you with a wet, obscene sound, his eyes never leaving yours.

"There it is," he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. "My beautiful little slut, coming for me like the breeding bitch you are."

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture almost tender, a stark contrast to the horror of the situation.

"Look what you've done to yourself," he murmurs, his voice a silken threat.

He pulls out the gun, your cum mixing with your blood, and wipes the barrel off with the bed sheet. "You're so eager to please me, aren't you?" He slides the pistol back into his pants, the metal still warm from your body heat.

You lie there, trembling and broken, the agony of your leg and the overwhelming sense of violation washing over you in waves.

The pirate captain leans over you, his breath hot and rank as he whispers in your ear, "Now, let's see if you can scream for me without that pesky little thing in your pussy."

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back until you're staring into his triumphant gaze. His other hand snakes down to your clit, pinching and twisting it with a cruel precision that has you crying out in pain.

"That's it," he coos, his grip tightening, "scream for me, mi vida. Let them all hear how much you love it."

His fingers continue to torment you, the pain unbearable and yet, your body's traitorous response is unmistakable. The pirate's eyes gleam with excitement as he feels you growing wetter, the slickness of your arousal making his movements easier.

You fight against the ropes binding you, the need to escape this nightmare overwhelming.

But with each painful stroke of his fingers, your body responds, your hips bucking involuntarily.

"You like it rough, don't you, slutty bitch?" He laughs, the sound echoing around the cabin, sending chills down your spine.

His hand moves to the wound in your leg, the blood sticky under his calloused touch. He squeezes, and the pain is like a knife twisting in your flesh.

You try to scream, but it's muffled by the gag he's immediately shoved into your mouth.

He's enjoying this, the sadistic glint in his eyes growing brighter as he watches you suffer.

"You're going to come again," he promises, his voice dark and seductive. "And this time, it's going to be for me, and only me."

He reaches down and unbinds your legs, tossing the ropes aside. You kick out at him, trying to connect with any part of his body, but he's too fast, too experienced in the art of subjugation.

He catches your ankle and pins it to the bed, his grip like iron. "You want to fight me, baby?" he purrs, his free hand moving to trace the bullet wound in your leg. "Let's see how much you can fucking take."

With a sadistic smirk, he presses his thumb into the fresh wound, making you gasp and buck against him. He uses the leverage to push you down into the mattress, his weight crushing the breath from your lungs.

"Beg me for more," he whispers, his hand moving to cover your mouth, muffling your screams.

You want to bite him, to make him feel the same pain he's inflicting on you, but all that comes out are muffled cries of agony.

"Say it," he growls, his eyes burning with an intensity that makes you feel like you're staring into the abyss. "Beg me for more, and I'll give it to you."

His hand moves from your mouth to your throat, squeezing just enough to cut off your air, making you panic.

Your eyes widen in terror, and you feel your body respond again, the sickening mix of pain and pleasure sending you spiraling towards another climax.

You try to shake your head, but the pressure on your neck doesn't allow for much movement.

The world starts to go dark around the edges, the pain from your leg a distant memory as the need to breathe overwhelms you. "P-please," you gasp through the gag, the word barely a whisper, but it seems to be enough for him. He releases his grip just enough for you to drag in a lungful of air, his smile never leaving his lips.

The pirate captain's sadistic smile widens as he pulls the gag from your mouth, tossing it aside with a wet slap.

His eyes are dark with desire, and he leans in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss that leaves no doubt about his intentions. You can taste the salt of your own tears on his lips, the bitter tang of fear and despair mixing with the sweetness of his victory.

His hand moves to your throat, his thumb stroking the spot where he'd just been choking you, a gentle caress that feels almost loving despite the cruelty of his actions.

"You're going to beg me to fuck you, my sweet little bitch," he murmurs against your mouth, his breath hot and heavy with lust. "You're going to scream for it, like the promiscuous cum dump you are."

His hand moves from your throat to your clit, his thumb pressing down with a firmness that's just shy of pain. You whimper, your body betraying you as it responds to his touch despite the horror of what's happening.

With a growl of triumph, he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock nudging against your bruised and swollen entrance.

You try to close your legs, but he's too strong, his hands pushing them apart with ease. "Look at how eager you are," he says, his voice thick with satisfaction as he pushes into you. "Fucking soaking all for me."

You whimper as he fills you, his thick cock stretching you in a way that's almost too much to bear.

He's rough, his movements punishing as he fucks you with a ferocity that matches the storm raging outside. His teeth graze your neck, nipping and sucking as he whispers degrading names into your ear.

"Mi puta," he murmurs, his voice a dark symphony of lust and possession. "You're going to come for me, aren't you?" His grip on your throat tightens, the pressure increasing with each thrust.

The Capitán's cock slams into you with a ferocity that seems fueled by his possessive rage.

Each brutal thrust sends waves of agony through your bruised body, making your injuries from the pistol's earlier assault throb in time with the pounding of your heart.

You feel your body stretch and accommodate him, despite the pain, your pussy clenching around his thick length as he fucks you with a primal hunger that's as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

The cabin seems to shake with each impact, the headboard slamming against the wall as if it's trying to break free from the depraved scene unfolding on the bed.

With each powerful thrust, you feel your body giving in to the inescapable pleasure that he's wringing from you, despite the pain and fear.

Your eyes meet his, a silent scream of defiance trapped within them, but his gaze is unyielding, a stormy sea of lust and jealousy that seems to consume everything in its path.

He grunts, his muscles bulging as he fucks you harder, his hips slapping against your bruised thighs. You can't help but whimper, your body a canvas for his depraved artistry.

The cabin's walls seem to close in around you, the air thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and sex.

"Look at me," he snarls, his grip on your neck tightening, his eyes boring into yours. "Remember who fucking owns this tight little pussy. Me. You’re my fucking bitch. Damn mine!"

His words are like a whip cracking in the air, cutting through your thoughts. You want to hate him, to fight him, but the need for release is too strong.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the screams that threaten to spill forth as much as you can. But he knows, he can feel it in the way your pussy clenches around his cock, in the desperate way your body arches into his touch.

The pirate captain's cock stretches you to your limits, his relentless pounding pushing into you with a ferocity that borders on savagery.

The pain is a living, pulsing thing, a beast that feeds on your fear and despair, but the dark, twisted part of you that you hate to admit craves his touch.

He grunts and growls above you, his eyes never leaving yours as he fucks you into the mattress, his massive cock driving deep into your trembling body. The cabin walls seem to pulse with the force of his thrusts, the candlelight casting flickering shadows across the room, painting the scene in a hellish, erotic tableau.

"You're mine," he whispers, his voice a mix of lust and possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. "Mine to use, mine to fuck. Mine to fucking destroy."

His hand slides down your body, his fingers finding your clit and beginning to rub it in quick, sharp circles that have you moaning despite the pain. "You're going to scream for me," he says, his voice a dark promise that you know he'll keep.

You feel your body responding to his touch, your pussy clenching around his cock as he fucks you deeper, harder. He's relentless, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm that steals your breath away.

You try to keep your eyes open, to maintain that semblance of defiance, but the pleasure is too intense, the pain too great. You close your eyes, your head falling back against the pillow as he fucks you through another orgasm, your body convulsing around him.

The Capitán's rough, skilled fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, the painful pleasure pushing you to the brink of sanity.

With every cruel stroke, he whispers degrading names in your ear, his voice a dark symphony of lust and ownership. "You're just a set of holes for me to use," he murmurs, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "A good-for-nothing cumslut who's only good for taking cock."

His words are a brand, searing themselves into your soul, making you feel filthy and used.

And yet, your body responds, your pussy clenching around his thick shaft as you're forced to endure wave after wave of involuntary orgasms.

Each one feels like a betrayal, a surrender to his will.

You feel the warmth of his cum spilling into you, filling you with his seed as he groans in victory, riding out both of your orgasms. After a while, he pulls out with a disgustingly wet squelch, leaving you feeling empty and violated, your body still trembling from the onslaught.

He wipes his cock on your stomach, smearing your own blood and combined juices across your skin with a satisfied smirk. "Look what a mess you are," he says, his voice mocking as he stands up, adjusting his pants. "A filthy little slut who can't even keep still when she's being fucked."

The pirate captain licks his lips hungrily as he grabs your chin, forcing your gaze up to meet his. "You're mine now," he says, his voice low and menacing. "You're going to do everything I say, when I say it, and you're going to like it."

He lets go of your chin, the sting of his grip lingering. After putting on his clothes lazily, he turns to the door with a cocky and mocking grin. "If you're a good girl, maybe I'll let you clean up. Or maybe I'll just leave you here to marinate in your own filth."

He opens the door, the light from the hallway spilling into the cabin like a beacon of hope that's quickly extinguished as he steps out, leaving you alone with your despair.

The sound of his booted footsteps recedes, leaving you shaking and sobbing on the bed, your body a canvas of bruises and pain. The door slams shut, the finality of the sound echoing through the cabin.

You feel a warm trickle of blood seep from the wound in your leg, mixing with the sticky wetness between your thighs. The bed creaks beneath you as you try to move, the ropes still binding your wrists to the headboard. You pull against them, the leather biting into your skin, but it's no use.

You're his, to do with as he pleases.

────────────

The Capitán strides out of the cabin, his steps heavy and confident as he makes his way to the dining area of the ship. His crew members look up from their plates of roast chicken and hardtack, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of their captain's flushed face and swollen, satisfied expression.

His shirt is unbuttoned, revealing his broad, sweat-slicked chest, and there's a smear of something dark on his cheek that could easily be mistaken for a smudge of ink.

The smell of sex and sweat clings to him like a second skin, a potent scent that seems to hang in the air around him.

"Capitán," one of the crew members says, his voice tentative. "You seem…different."

The pirate captain smirks, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. "Aye," he says, his Spanish accent thick and smoky. "I've had a bit of an…adventure."

He runs a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat from his encounter with you. His gaze lingers on the door to his cabin, the grin never leaving his face.

The crew exchanges glances, whispers of speculation passing among them. They know better than to pry into the Capitán's personal matters, but the change in his demeanor is palpable.

Usually, he's a man of few words and fewer smiles, his mood as tempestuous as the seas they sail.

But tonight, there's a lightness to him, a hint of amusement that makes the air around him crackle with a tension none of them dare to name.

400 notes · View notes

daemour · 1 month ago

Text

MDNI

➳Pairing: mafia boss! Wooyoung x f! nightclub owner! Reader

➳Genre: Mafia au, angst, hurt/comfort, some fluff, smut, E for explicit

➳Summary: The line between hate and love is thin. You're aware of this, and yet you can't help but love Wooyoung, no matter how badly he treats you.

➳Word Count: 15017

➳Warnings: Violence, toxic behaviour from a romantic partner, guns, death, murder, minor injuries, Wooyoung can be read as yandere-he's extremely possessive, manipulation, language, coersion, sexual innuendos [smut warnings under cut]

This was written for @sanjoongie's Year of the Villains: Year of the Snake collaboration! It was extremely fun to write for, despite all the emotion rollercoasters I went on (mostly of my own doing)

This is indeed a chonker of a fic, so I'd like to formally apologise >v< but please enjoy! It's got very dark themes, so please make sure to read the warnings amply!

A big thank you to @thelargefrye for helping me out with the plot!

➳Smut Warnings: Public touching (no intercourse), slight drunken sex (do not do this), some breast play, praise, degradation, dom/sub (Wooyoung dom, reader sub), unprotected (do not do this without prior discussion), oral (m), deepthroating, fingering (f), riding, !! UNDERNEGOTIATED GUN PLAY !! (do not do this)

➳Please Note: Some scenes will appear dubcon. In one, YN is tipsy, and in others, she has been in fear of Wooyoung prior. Please read at your own risk.

!! If I've missed any, please let me know !!

“C’mere, doll,” Wooyoung purrs. His lips pull into a wicked smile he has reserved for you, devoid of any softness. His eyes glint as he rakes his gaze up and down your body, every bit the kingpin of the drug scene in his city.

You step forward, your heels clicking with every step you take. You don’t remember how you ended up in this position, starting as a measly nightclub owner. But you hadn’t realised your club ran right in the strip he controls, and one day you were late with rent.

When he came personally, infamous drug lord Jung Wooyoung, something about you just caught his favour. And you can’t refuse his favour, not unless you wanted your club burnt to the ground.

As you move to take a seat next to him, Wooyoung tsks, raising a hand. “Not there,” he instructs, and you hesitate, your false confidence wavering.

“Where would you like me to sit?” you ask, although you know what his answer is going to be.

A smirk plays on his lips as he takes notice of your hesitation, clearly amused by the way you’re trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “On my lap, doll,” he commands, patting his thigh expectantly. His eyes gleam with a predatory intensity, making it clear this isn’t a request but an order from the man who holds your livelihood in his hands.

The air seems to thicken with tension as he waits for you to comply, the weight of his dominance palpable. It’s a subtle reminder of just how much power he wields, and how helpless you are against it.

You hesitate ever so slightly before moving towards him, your movements stiff. As you carefully settle yourself on the edge of his knees, you cross your ankles to try and keep some semblance of your composure.

Wooyoung narrows his eyes, displeased with the minimal contact between you two. Before you can do anything else, he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against his chest, his fingers digging into your body.

“Now, that’s better,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear as he presses a light kiss to your temple. His hand slides up your side, splaying across your waist possessively. “You look even prettier when you’re squirming under my touch.”

Your eyes flick nervously towards the other crime bosses lining the table. Although none of them are as influential as Wooyoung, you still never would’ve expected to see them so close. As Wooyoung’s hands continue to roam your body, you try not to flinch or squirm so much, not willing to hear lewd comments or see the leering from the others.

“Your rings are cold,” you mutter in Wooyoung’s ear as you lean away from his touch ever so slightly. It’s a bid to get him to focus his attention elsewhere, although you know it’ll be in vain.

At your quiet comment, Wooyoung chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “Oh, they’ll be warmed up soon enough,” he retorts, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your skirt to brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is deliberate, meant to break your fragile attempts at appearing demure. “If you’re truly feeling chilly, maybe we should find a way to heat things up, no?”

With that, he pulls your head towards him, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss that leaves you breathless with no doubt about his intentions. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming it as his own.

Fidgeting, you turn your head to whisper to him, “There are men here…” You turn your eyes down, avoiding meeting his gaze.

“Let them watch, doll,” he purrs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment before shifting to the assembled men. “They all know who you belong to.” Despite his words, he does have business to attend to, and he reins in his affection, though his hands still wander your body possessively.

As the meeting progresses, as much as you try to pay attention, he leans in to murmur something in your ear, reminding both you and everyone else that you’re his plaything.

When a particularly heated discussion arises, Wooyoung’s grip on your thigh tenses, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin in a twisted comfort. It’s a silent message—stay close, stay quiet, and remember your place in this world.

You keep your eyes trained on the wall, although you can still feel the stares of everyone on your body. Wooyoung’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. The unspoken warning is clear; keep your eyes and hands to yourself, lest he shows exactly why he’s the kingpin.

As the meeting winds down, Wooyoung rises to his feet, pulling you up with him. He keeps a firm hold on your waist, guiding you through the crowded room, the men parting for him. Once outside, he releases you abruptly, stepping back to light a cigarette.

“You did well tonight, doll,” he remarks, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Remember, you’re mine to flaunt or hide, whenever I please.” With that, he turns to leave, expecting you to follow without question.

Before you can move to follow, a hand grabs your wrists and yanks you back. You come face to face with a face you’ve seen on papers Wooyoung leaves out rarely—an up and coming drug lord, one new enough to not realise exactly how damning it can be to cross Wooyoung. You quickly yank your arm out of his grip, holding back from striking the man in his neck. “Now, hold on,” he grins like a cat waiting to swallow a bird. “Why don’t we share?”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow to slits as he spins around, his expression deadly calm. “Sharing isn’t exactly my style,” he drawls, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. “Especially when it comes to what’s mine.”

His gaze flickers to the man holding you captive, a silent threat hanging in the air. After a tense moment, you’re released, the man stepping back with a sheepish grin.

“I was just joking, kingpin. No need to get testy,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Wooyoung watches him for another beat before nodding curtly. “See that you keep it that way,” he warns before turning back to you. “Let’s go, doll. We have business to attend to.”

As we start to leave again, the man mutters under his breath, apparently just wishing for death, “Why bring your plaything along if we can’t use it? Might as well ask us to lick your ass.”

Unfortunately for him, Wooyoung’s hearing is sharp.

His expression darkens further at his subordinate’s crude remark, his grip on your arm tightening almost painfully. “You want a piece of my action, huh?” he sneers, spinning to face the insolent man once more.

Before you can even react, Wooyoung’s fist connects with the lord’s jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. The sound of cracking bone echoes as he delivers a vicious kick to his ribs, pinning him beneath his boot.

“You forget your place, fool,” Wooyoung snaps, his face contorting with fury. “My ‘plaything’ is off-limits to every last one of you. Touch her again, and you’ll wish for death before you even have time to blink.”

With a final, brutal stop, Wooyoung lends down and presses the butt of his cigarette to the lord’s forehead, branding him with shame before flicking the ashes onto the floor and straightening up.

“Apologies for the interruption, doll. Let’s get out of here before someone else decides to try me,” he hums, his voice softening until it’s almost unrecognisable.

He leads you away from the scene, his pace quick and purposeful. The silence is heavy, the tension from before still simmering in the air. As you reach his car parked a block away, Wooyoung finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “That was a mistake, letting him get under my skin like that. But you saw how quickly I dealt with him, right? Don’t worry, no one touches you without my permission.” He glances at you sidelong, his eyes intense.

You nod shakily, legs trembling from the biting winter wind. “I know…I just wish you wouldn’t lose your temper like that,” you mutter. His bursts of anger always scare you, but Wooyoung’s still riled up and your timing was wrong.

His grip on your elbow tightens, his knuckles whitening as he pulls you closer. “You think I enjoy losing control?” he snarls, lips curling. “I do it to protect what’s mine, including you. It’s my responsibility as the kingpin. How do you think you’ve remained safe? If you can’t handle that, maybe you should find somewhere else to be.” There’s a challenge in his tone, daring you to defy him.

You stumble a little, heels slipping in the ice as you shake your head quickly. You can’t afford to lose his favour. “I meant nothing of it,” you squeak out, shivering at both his intense stare and the wind blowing through your bones. You regret forgoing a coat. “I’m just worried for you.”

Wooyoung heaves a sigh, his expression softening slightly at your words, some of the aggression draining from his stance. He reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your chilled skin. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Just focus on staying by my side, and let me handle the rest. You care too much about people, with disregard for yourself.” Oh, how false his words are.

He steps closer, enveloping you in his warmth as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, get in the car and warm up. We need to head home to get you out of the cold.” He guides you forward, his tone reassuring, but there’s an underlying edge that suggests he won’t tolerate any further dissent.

You try to keep yourself from tripping as you hurry forward to slide into the passenger seat. Your face is warm from his touch, but your heart is twisted at his sweet words. The back-and-forth of his actions always confused you, and today is no exception. A constant question in your mind is why he keeps you around.

As Wooyoung slips into the driver’s seat, he pauses for a moment, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

“Get comfortable, doll. We’ve got a long ride to the apartment,” he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the air.

Once you’re settled and the car is heated up, he pulls out of the parking spot, merging seamlessly into the late-night traffic. The silence between you stretches, punctuated only by the hum of the tires and the occasional blare of a horn.

Your hand twitches as you debate whether to indulge yourself and reach out to hold his hand resting on the console. It’s not wise to entangle yourself further into his web, but as much as you know you shouldn’t, you crave his touch as well.

Wooyoung notices your hesitation, his piercing gaze flickering to your hand before returning to the road. A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as he senses your inner turmoil.

“After all these months, you still can’t decide whether to bite or run, hmm?” he muses, his tone laced with amusement and a hint of something else you can’t place. “It’s cute, really.”

Without looking away from the road, he lifts his free hand, extending his fingers invitingly. “Come on, doll. Go ahead.”

Tentatively, you reach out to interlock your fingers with his, enjoying the warmth his hand brings to you. As soon as your hands connect, Wooyoung’s thumb begins to rub gentle circles, applying gentle pressure. “There you are, doll. Just relax,” he coos, his voice dripping with honeyed persuasion.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, the sensation both soothing and electrifying. You can’t help but lean into his side, craving more of his comforting heat.

As the miles fly by, Wooyoung continues to play with your hand, his caresses gradually becoming bolder. His fingers dance across your palm, tracing intricate patterns that leave goosebumps in their wake.

Despite the intimacy of the gesture, there’s always a quiet reminder in the back of your mind that he’s a dangerous man, and that in his world, you belong to him. Both body and soul.

Weeks pass, and the nightclub is hosting a private party for Wooyoung’s closest associates. Instead of attending as an owner, you’re Wooyoung’s guest. It’s almost embarrassing to be seen as this by your employees, but there’s enough liquor in your stomach that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.

Wooyoung stands beside you, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as he surveys the crowded room. The dim lighting casts a flattering glow on his features, making him look every inch the powerful kingpin he is.

You’re doing great, doll. The place looks amazing tonight,” he praises, his lips curling into a smile. “My boys are enjoying themselves.”

He nods towards a group of suited men, their clothing a stark contrast to the colourful lights and their wives’ pretty dresses. They’re clearly mafia men, and the way they watch the room with calculating gazes makes it clear they’re always on high alert.

Wooyoung leans in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers, “And don’t forget, you’re my doll tonight. So behave yourself and make sure everyone knows it.”

You nod happily, the alcohol in your system making you more responsive to his commands. Although you usually do end up bending to his will, there’s always pushback at first. Tonight, however, you’re content with being a good doll.

Wooyoung smiles fondly, chuckling low in his throat as he pulls you closer. “That’s more like it, sweetheart. I like seeing you happy and compliant,” he purrs, his fingers trailing lightly down your arm.

As the night wears on, Wooyoung keeps a possessive grip on you, ensuring everyone present knows you’re his. He introduces you to his associates as his “wife”, the endearment rolling off his tongue with a casual ease that makes your stomach flutter.

When a particularly bold associate approaches, thinking he can steal your attention, Wooyoung’s reaction is swift and decisive. He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him with an eyebrow raised and a sharp statement on his tongue. “Hands off. She’s mine.”

The man backs off, and Wooyoung turns his attention back to you, a smug grin playing on his lips. “See, doll? No need to worry, or fight for yourself. Just remember, I’m always going to protect you.”

He guides you towards the bar, ordering another round of drinks for you. As the bartender prepares the cocktails, Wooyoung’s hand finds its way to your hip, squeezing gently. “It’s a successful party,” he informs you, his tone businesslike despite the gleam in his eye. “But after this, we’ll celebrate in style…privately.”

His words leave no room for argument, not that you want to. He’s been in such a good mood since the last investment meeting with the other mafia families, and you’d like to try and take advantage of this rare occasion.

You nod agreeable, face flushed warm as you lean in to press your cheek against his. “Okay,” you hum, a slur to your words. “Want me to clear a room here or go back to th’ apartment?”

Wooyoung’s expression morphs into a quiet amusement at your state, a glint sparking in his eyes. “Leave the club to my people. We’ll head back to the penthouse,” he instructs, his voice low and husky.

As he steers you towards the exit, Wooyoung’s hand never leaves your lower back, guiding you with a firm yet gentle touch. Once outside, he flags down a waiting limousine and helps you inside before sliding in beside you.

During the short ride, the tension between you builds, the air thick with unspoken desires. As soon as the car pulls up to the building, Wooyoung opens the door and assists you out, his strong arms wrapping around you to support your weight.

Inside the lavish penthouse, he hands you a glass of water, sobering you up a little more before leading you straight to the bedroom, closing the door behind you with a resolute click.

You smile dopily at him, the alcohol flushing itself out of your system but the high of a party still lingering in your bones. Wooyoung’s gaze rakes over your dishevelled appearance, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Looks like someone had a bit too much fun tonight,” he teases, his voice laced with amusement.

He starts to undress you slowly, his fingers deftly working to free yourself of the dress. As the fabric falls away, revealing your body, he lets out a low whistle of approval.

“You look delicious like this doll,” he murmurs, his hands skimming your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. “All pretty and pouting for me.”

With deliberate slowness, he peels off his own clothes exposing his chiseled physique to your eager gaze. Once naked, he pulls you into his arms, pressing his hardening length against your lower stomach as he claims your mouth in a searing kiss.

Happily, you let your mouth drop open for him to take from, whining quietly as your hands tug lightly at his long hair. He groans into the kiss, his tongue diving deep to claim every inch of your mouth. As he deepens the kiss, he walks you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed, before gently lowering you into the plush mattress.

Straddling your hips, he breaks the kiss just long enough to trail his lips along your jawline and down the column of your throat. “I’ve wanted you all night, baby,” he admits, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

His hands roam your body, mapping out every inch of you with a reverent touch. His cups your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, coaxing needy moans from your parted lips. His touch is gentle, and you crave it.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” Wooyoung demands, his voice rough with desire. “Tell me you’re mine, completely and utterly.”

“I’m yours, completely and utterly,” you parrot, before mirroring his title for you at the party. “Please, ‘husband’. I want you so bad, Wooyoung.”

A triumphant smirk plays on Wooyoung’s lips as he hears your plea. “Good girl,” he praises, his words tinged with dominance. “Now, be a good wife and spread those pretty legs for me.”

As soon as you do so, he settles between your thighs, the tip of his erection teasing your slick entrance. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, mingling with your own feverish arousal.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t remember your own name,” he promises, his voice a husky growl. With that, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. A guttural moan escapes him as he savours the wet heat enveloping his cock.

You moan in tandem, back arching as he stretches you out so well. “Ah– please,” you whine.

Wooyoung sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping forward with each powerful thrust, smacking against your cunt with wet sounds. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his deep groans.

Leaning down, he captures your mouth in another bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you with increasing intensity. One of his large hands grips your thigh, using it as leverage to drive himself even deeper.

When he breaks the kiss, he nips and sucks at your neck, marking you as his. “Look at me, baby,” he commands, eyes blazing with hunger. “Watch me while I claim this pussy and mark it as mine.

His gaze locks onto your face, the raw lust in his expression sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

You slowly raise your eyes to meet his as your hips stutter and your eyes well up with tears from the please. “Wooyoung– ah–” you moan his name repeatedly like a prayer on your lips.

The sight of tears glistening in your eyes only spurs Wooyoung on, his thrusts becoming more erratic and forceful. He leans down, his forehead resting against yours as he pants heavily.

“That’s right, baby. I’m your ‘husband’, your master,” he growls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his impending release. “This cunt belongs to me, understand?”

To emphasise his point, he reaches down and rubs tight circles over your clit, the added stimulation pushing you closer to the edge. His movements become more targeted, hitting that spot inside you with each snap of his hips. “Come for me, doll. Let me feel this sweet pussy clench around me,” he demands, his thumb pressing insistently against your sensitive bud.

It doesn’t take much before you come easily with a shriek, creaming around his cock as you squeeze around him like a vice. It’s almost like you’re sucking him in deeper, and it triggers his own release. Wooyoung throws his head back with a guttural moan as he presses his hips against yours impossibly close. His cock pulses and throbs, shooting thick ropes of searing hot come into your cunt.

“Fuck– take it all, you perfect, pretty wife,” he snarls, grinding against you to prolong your pleasure. Wave after wave of pleasure crash over him, his body shuddering with the aftershocks.

As he finally relaxes, he leans on top of you, careful to not crush you with his weight. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses along your sweat-dampened skin between heavy pants. “Thank you, doll,” he murmurs, his voice still rough but a hint of gentleness in it.

You hum, turning in his arms to smile at him. The alcohol is almost out of your system now, and it’s been replaced with a warmth in your belly from his sweet treatment. Your hand moves to cup his cheek gently as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“I wish you were like this all the time,” you hum, more to yourself than anything. Maybe it would’ve been easier to love him.

Wooyoung stiffens slightly at your words, a flicker of something—Guilt? Regret?—passing over his features before it’s quickly masked. He rolls off of you, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“You know I can’t be soft all the time, doll,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. “The world I live in, it requires a certain ruthlessness. But this…” he gestures between the two of you “this is real. You’re the only one who gets to see this side of me.”

His words shock you, a sincere admission of the feelings he hides. He turns his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ask for things you don’t fully understand, doll. My love may not be conventional, but it’s not false. I protect what’s mine, even if I have to do it in ways you don’t always like.”

You nod slowly, hurt flickering in your eyes, although it mixes with an understanding. “I know, Wooyoung. Just…grant it to me in private. Please.”

Wooyoung sighs deeply, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. After a moment of contemplation, he sits up and pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

“Alright, doll. I’ll try,” he agrees softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “But you have to promise me something in return. Promise me you’ll never leave me, no matter what happens. Out there in that cruel world, you’re my only light in the darkness.”

His arms tighten around you possessively, as if afraid you might disappear. “I know I’m not an easy man to be with, but you’re stuck with me now. We’re bound together, for better or worse,” he states like it’s what makes the world go round, tilting your chin up with a finger to get you to meet his intense gaze.

You smile at him, eyes shining with an unspoken emotion. Although there are times you question his feelings, moments like these remind you just how much he truly does love you, in his own way. Guilt gnaws at your gut, but it mixes with the warmth of your misplaced love, and you lean up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll stay,” you murmur. “I’ll stay.”

Wooyoung returns the kiss with a tenderness that belies his usual rough exterior, pouring all his pent-up emotions into the gentle caress of his lips against yours. When he finally pulls away, his dark eyes are filled with a rare vulnerability.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with genuine gratitude and affection. “I know I don’t say it nearly enough, and I show it even less, but…I love you, doll. More than anything in my fucked up world.”

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, his touch gentle. “Get some rest now, baby. Tomorrow’s a new day, and I want you well rested.” WIth that, he settles back against the pillows, pulling you flush against his side.

You curl into him, throwing an arm around him as you press your face into his neck. “I love you too. My love,” you murmur, as much as it pains you to admit.

A contented rumble emanates from Wooyoung’s chest as he wraps his strong arms around you, holding you close and enjoying your warmth. “That’s right, my sweet doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing purr. “Sleep now, and dream of a world where we love each other freely.”

Despite his tone’s roughness, there’s a tenderness in his words and actions, a loving protectiveness that you’ve craved for so long. You feel cherished, and as it overwhelms the sadness in your heart, you drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady beat of his heart and the comforting weight of his arms around you.

As your breath evens out, Wooyoung remains awake, watching your face with a fierce devotion. His mind wanders to the enemies he must confront and the dangers that lurk in every shadow. But for now, in this quiet moment of peace, he allows himself to enjoy the feeling of having you by his side.

Gently, he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. “I’d do anything to keep you,” he vows under his breath, a claim over your heart. “Anything at all, to make you mine.”

With that thought, he closes his eyes, his dreams filled with visions of a future where you’re safe, and forever his perfect doll. A world where his darkness is gone and your love is pure.

When morning arrives, you roll over only to be met with an empty bed and a note on the bedside table.

‘Good morning, doll.

I had to take care of some business today, but don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, treat yourself and have a bath. We’ll have a busy evening ahead of us.

Wooyoung’

There’s a faint scent of his cologne lingering on the paper, a tangible reminder of his presence even though he’s not here with you. You can’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation, wondering what pulled him away so suddenly. Nevertheless, you decide to follow his advice and indulge in a leisurely morning routine.

As much as your heart aches waking up alone, the bath relaxes you, and you fall fast asleep, sinking deeper into the water.

Hours pass unnoticed as you nap peacefully in the warm, fragrant bathwater. Each soft breath makes your body relax more and more as the sun starts to set.

Just as you begin to stir, a sudden commotion erupts downstairs, the cacophony of raised voices and scuffling feet jolting you awake. Startled, you sit up abruptly, sending water splashing over the edge of the tub. The cool air hits your damp skin, causing you to shiver involuntarily.

Concerned, you quickly dry off and slip into a robe, hurrying down the hall to investigate the source of the disturbance. As you reach the corner, a hulking figure emerges from the shadows, blocking your path.

The imposing man steps forward, revealing a bruised and bloody face, one that is vaguely familiar. He’s clearly been in a fight, and judging by the menacing glint in his eye, he’s far from finished.

“Well, well, well,” he sneers, his gaze raking over you with a lecherous hunger. “Looks like the boss’s little puppet is all grown up and ripe for the taking.”

His words spark panic in you, but before you can react, he lunges at you, grabbing a fistful of your robe and yanking you hard towards him. His hot breath fans your hair as he growls, “Seems Jung has been neglecting his duties. Time to show you what real men can do.”

You struggle against his iron grip, but he’s far stronger than you. You don’t want to go back, and you scream, “Wooyoung–” before stomping on the man’s foot and biting into his hand in a bid to get away.

When his grip loosens, you book it to the bedroom, diving for the loaded gun Wooyoung keeps in the bedside table.

Bloodied and enraged, the attacker gives chase, his heavy footsteps thundering down the hall as you frantically search for the gun. Just as your fingers close around the cold metal, he slams into the doorframe, leaning against it heavily.

“Foolish bitch,” he snarls, reaching out to grab at you once more but missing with his clumsy movement. “You think a little toy like that will save you? You belong back with us.”

His words confuse you, but you don’t falter, whirling around in a flash and aiming the gun at his head. “Stay back! I won’t hesitate to use this!”

The intruder scoffs, unfazed by the weapon. “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots. Go ahead, shoot me. It’ll just make the boss angrier. You’ve stalled for too long.”

Your finger twitches but you don’t shoot, not yet. Deep down, you realise what he’s talking about, and your arms shake, but your aim remains steady. “I’ll take Wooyoung’s wrath over returning,” you snap. “I’m his doll.”

The man’s smirk fathers for a split second at your declaration, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his battered features. He seems to weigh his options, calculating the risks and rewards.

“I’ll give you credit, sweetheart,” he says slowly. “You’ve got spirit. But that won’t save you from me, or the boss. And it certainly won’t save you from anyone who wants a piece of whatever Jung owns.”

He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his movements measured and menacing. “Now, either you hand over that gun and come with me willingly, or I’ll take it by force and make you regret ever double crossing me or the boss.”

As he advances, you find yourself backed against the wall, the gun still clutched in your white-knuckled hands. Your mind races, desperate for a solution, but the reality of your situation is grim.

Just as the man reaches out, you fire a bullet straight between his eyes. Blood splatters across the room as the intruder crumples to the ground, dead before he even hits the ground. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. And as the gunshot rings in your ears, the door crashes open to reveal Wooyoung, blood streaming down his face and his nose crooked, but alive.

For a long moment, Wooyoung stands frozen, his gaze locked on the lifeless body at your feet. Then, with a low growl, he stalks towards you, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness.

“What the fuck happened while I was gone?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous. “Who sent this bastard?”

Before you can respond, he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his intense stare. “And why the hell did you think you needed to defend yourself? You’re supposed to stay hidden and safe, not play hero with my fucking guns.” His grip tightens, a hint of fear staining the anger in his voice and gaze.

Your eyes dart between him and the body, the adrenaline wearing off and the weight of what you’ve done settling in your stomach. “I…I didn’t know where you were,” you try to explain, your voice sounding foreign even to yourself. “I killed a man. I killed him…I’m a murder.”

As you start to panic, your voice raises in pitch, hands shaking as you drop the gun. Your knees start to buckle. With a swift motion, Wooyoung catches you as you collapse, holding you upright against his broad chest. He strokes your hair soothingly, his touch gentle despite the turmoil raging in his eyes.

“It’s okay, baby,” he coos, his voice a stark contrast to the fury that had consumed him mere moments ago. “You didn’t murder anyone. This son of a bitch had it coming. You defended yourself and me.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he tries to calm your frantic heartbeat. “I should’ve been here to protect you, or brought you with me. Instead, I left you vulnerable, and this is what happens.”

His own breathing grows ragged, the weight of what happened finally crushing him. “We need to get out of here, clean up this mess. Can you stand for me, doll? I need you strong right now.”

You scramble up, leaning against the wall to steady yourself. You can’t keep your stare off the body, even as Wooyoung is hurriedly stuffing a handful of belongings in a duffle bag. He tosses fabric—a dress—in your face. “Put it on. You’re still in just a robe. We don’t have time for anything else,” he commands.

You quickly follow his instruction even as your mind whirs. As you slip into the dress, Wooyoung’s eyes roam over your stiff and stilted movements, a mix of concern and possessiveness flashing across his features. Satisfied that you’re covered, he nods curtly and zips up the duffle bag.

“Let’s go,” he orders, gripping your wrist firmly and leading you out of the room and then the penthouse. The sound of sirens wail in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.

He hustles you through the darkened streets, keeping to the shadows as they navigate the labyrinthine alleys of the city. The cool night air does little to calm your racing heart, and you can feel the tension from Wooyoung radiating through his taut muscles.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally slows, guiding you into a nondescript building. It appears abandoned from the outside, but as Wooyoung ushers you inside, it becomes clear that it serves as a secret hideout. The space is sparse but well-equipped, with surveillance monitors lining one wall and a cache of weapons mounted on another.

Wooyoung sets the duffle bag down and turns to face you, his expression grave. “This is our safe house,” he explains, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s where we go when shit hits the fan.”

He steps closer, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realised were falling. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “That will never happen again. I swear it on my life.”

Wooyoung’s words hang heavy in the air, a promise forged in the heat of adrenaline and desperation. He pulls you into a fierce embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck as if seeking solace in your warmth. For a long moment, he simply holds you, his breaths uneven and ragged against your skin. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes burn with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I need you to stay here, lock yourself in the back room until morning,” he instructs, his voice low and commanding, leaving no room for disagreement. “I’ll deal with the aftermath of tonight, but you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. “Rest, doll. I’ll be back before you know it.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help yourself and reach out to take his wrist, a pleading look in your eyes. “Please promise me,” you beg. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

At your desperate plea, Wooyoung’s resolve falters. He looks down at your hands wrapped around your wrist, then back up at your tear streaked face. A pained expression crosses his features before he forces himself to nod.

“I promise, doll,” he vows, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll come back to you, no matter what. You’re mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” With those words, he leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his love, fear, and determination into the passionate embrace. When he finally breaks away, he presses a final, tender kiss to your forehead.

“I mean it,” he whispers fiercely. “Wait for me, and I’ll return to you.”

As soon as he exits with one last glance towards you, you quickly follow his instruction, locking yourself in the back bedroom and shoving a dresser in front of the door for good measure. While you wait for his return, your mind wanders back to the moment you shot the man, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Hours pass in tense silence, the only sounds being the distant hum of the city and the occasional creak of the old building settling around you. You pace the cramped confines of the room, your thoughts jumbled mess of fear, guilt, and anticipation.

The memory of pulling the trigger replays in your mind like a macabre filmstrip, each detail etched into your brain with painful clarity. The feel of the gun’s weight in your hand, the click of the safety disengaging, the sudden bloom of crimson as the bullet tore through flesh and bone…

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shake off the haunting images. But they linger, refusing to be banished. Just as despair begins to creep in, you head the sounds of footsteps approaching, followed by the rattle of keys unlocking the door.

When it tries to open, but thuds against the dresser instead, you can practically see Wooyoung’s exasperated but fond expression in his voice. “Really, doll?”

You quickly rush over to shove the drawers away, thankful for a distraction from your spiralling thoughts. Wooyoung pushes past the now-cleared barrier, his face a mask of exhaustion and relief. The blood is still on his face, but his nose is set back into place, a bruise blooming over the mottled skin. He cans the room, ensuring you’re unharmed before letting out a sigh and collapsing on the edge of the cot.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he chides, reaching out to tug you onto his lap. His strong arms envelop you, cradling you close as he buries his face in your hair. “I thought…God, I thought I’d lost you.”

He rocks you gently, his breaths evening out as the adrenaline fades. After a moment, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “We need to talk about what happened,” he says, his tone serious but not unkind. “But first, let’s get you cleaned up and sleep. You’ve been through enough for one night.”

You lean into his touch, body relaxing despite your racing heart and mind. “We’re safe?” you want to confirm.

Wooyoung nods solemnly, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm like he did in his car not even a month ago. “Yes, we’re safe. The body’s been taken care of, and the police won’t find anything linking us to the scene.”

He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “There might be some repercussions within our organisation, but I’ve got everything under control. You don’t need to worry about that right now.” Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on your temple. “All that matters is that you’re here with me, alive and unharmed. That’s all that matters.”

At his reassurance, your lips wobble, and that’s the only warning he gets before you burst into tears, sobs wracking your body. You can’t even form coherent words as the events of the day hit

Wooyoung’s arms tighten around you as you break down, holding you close while you cry. He doesn’t try to comfort you with empty words or false promises; instead, he lets you pour out your emotions, offering only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the solid warmth of his body.

After a while, your sobs gradually subside, leaving you gasping for air and clinging to him like a lifeline. Wooyoung strokes your hair soothingly, his own eyes red-rimmed from the stress of the night.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Let it out, baby. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

He waits patiently until your breathing evens out, then gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. Since you’ve calmed down more, Wooyoung helps you stand and leads you to the small bathroom tucked away in the corner of the room. He starts running warm water in the shower, gesturing for you to undress and step into the stream.

As you wash away the grime and blood of the night, he keeps watch, his eyes never leaving you. When you emerge, dripping and shivering, he wraps you in a towel and dries you off himself, his hands gentle yet possessive.

After you’ve dried off properly and changed into a set of clean clothes, he brings you to the tiny kitchen area, making a warm meal for you. As you eat, he sits beside you, occasionally feeding you bites from his own plate when you’re too exhausted to manage to eat more than a few spoonfuls.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble, eyelids heavy as you fight to stay awake and chew mindlessly. “I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

Wooyoung sets his fork down, his expression melting into one of sadness as he reaches out to cup your cheek. “No, baby, you didn’t fuck it up. You did what needed to be done to protect yourself. I’m proud of you, doll.” He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before pushing your bowl away. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. We both need rest after tonight.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into his soft touch. “Okay,” you mumble, yawn escaping your mouth. “I’m sorry,” the apology leaves your mouth again without thinking, and Wooyoung chuckles with no amusement, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. Your safety always comes first, okay?” He stands, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. “Besides, you’re mine. Shouldn’t I be the one handling everything? Rest tonight, doll.”

Carrying you to the small bed, he lays you down gently and pulls the covers over your chilled form before climbing in beside you. His arms wrap around your waist, tugging you back against his warm chest. “I’ve got you, doll,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear and his heartbeat lulling you into a relaxed state. “Sleep now, and dream of better days.”

As your eyes shut and sleep claims you, Wooyoung remains vigilant, his eyes never fully closing as he watches over you. Despite the weariness etched on his face, his grip on you remains firm, a silent promise of protection.

Hours later, the first light of dawn creeps through the grimy windows, casting a pale glow over the room. Wooyoung’s hold on you loosens slightly as exhaustion finally overtakes him, and he drifts off into a fitful slumber, still cradling you close. The sounds of the waking city filter in, a distant reminder of the world beyond this cramped sanctuary. But for now, in the quiet moments before reality sets in, a fleeting peace is found.

A few hours later, you awaken, blinking away the sunlight shining into your eyes. Wooyoung stirs beside you, your minimal movements waking him up easily.

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning before turning to regard you with a serious expression. “We need to discuss what happened last night,” he begins, his voice calm yet authoritative. “You were targeted because of our closeness, which means our situation just got a little more complicated.”

There’s a long pause as Wooyoung studies your expression intently. “Doll. I need you to be truthful with me. Did you know that man…the one you had killed?” His gaze is piercing, searching for an answer in your face. In this moment, he looks every inch the powerful kingpin, but there’s a vulnerability lurking beneath the surface—a fear that you had betrayed him, turned your back on him.

Your hesitation gives him the answer he needs, and you flinch, waiting for his usual anger to snap, but there’s a long silence. When you crack your eyes open, Wooyoung’s gaze hasn’t left your face. He’s waiting for your explanation.

“He…he’s part of your rival’s gang. The one I was a part of.” Your voice grows more and more timid as you continue talking, but Wooyoung still does not make a noise. “I was selected to take the place of the old owner of the nightclub, and my job was to try and feed information. When you took favour to me, they thought it would be a good opportunity. But I changed my mind at that point. I didn’t want to betray you, and I swear I didn’t do anything against you for the last few years—not since I was allowed to attend meetings. I didn’t want to betray you because–” you cut yourself off.

A flicker of something you can’t place crosses Wooyoung’s features, replaced swiftly by his usual stoic mask, making you wonder if you were just seeing things. “Good,” he says simply, before leaning in and pinning you still with his gaze. “Because I’m not letting you go anymore, no matter what happens.”

He rises from the bed, extending a hand to help you up. “First things first, we need to get you some proper clothes and supplies. Can’t have my doll looking like that, now can we?”

The smirk on his face is playful, but there’s an underlying steel to his words. This is a man who always gets what he wants, and right now, he wants to see you looking the part he wants you to play—a symbol of his power and status, and the failed attempt to rattle his spot as kingpin.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” he urges, not letting you wonder about his unbothered attitude at your confession. You let him lead you towards the door with a firm grip on your hand, just happy he hasn’t killed you on the spot, and is returning to his confident self.

“Wooyoung…” you can’t help but to ask as he unlocks his car parked behind the old building “...I understand if you can’t trust me, so you don’t have to answer. But what was the business you were taking care of? It said in the note you left for me last night, and then when you came, you were hurt. What happened?”

Wooyoung slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a smooth hum. As he navigates through the early morning traffic, he glances at you sidelong, his expression unreadable. “I went to see my associates. And it got a little out of control. Nothing to worry about.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, a habit that betrays his agitation. “Last night was a warning, doll. Someone thinks they can challenge my authority and test loyalties. But they picked the wrong man.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw as he accelerates through a yellow light. “Rest assured, I’ll deal with them accordingly. But for now, let’s focus on getting you settled and comfortable. That’s my priority.”

There’s a subtle emphasis on the word ‘my’, a reminder that, despite the lie you had lived, Wooyoung will always put your needs first. At least, that’s how Wooyoung sees it.

As you arrive at a high-end boutique, Wooyoung parks the car and rounds the hood to open your door, offering his hand to assist you. Inside, he browses the racks with an expert eye, selecting pieces that showcase your body in the most flattering way possible.

“You look stunning, doll,” he murmurs, helping you into a sleek black dress that flows around your figure like second nature. The material drapes elegantly across your hips and thighs, the neckline plunging just enough to make his pulse quicken.

He steps back to admire his handiwork, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Perfect.”

You smile slowly at him, finally feeling more and more secure in your relationship with him, the murder you committed pushed to the back of your mind. “As you wish it, I shall be whatever you desire.”

Wooyoung’s eyes darken at your words, a thrill of possession coursing through him. He steps closer, his large frame enveloping you as he trails his fingers down the side of your neck, leaving a tingling path in his wake.

“Indeed,” he rumbles, his breath hot against your ear. “My beautiful, obedient doll. Always dressed to please me, ready to fulfill her duties.” His hand slips lower, grazing the swell of your hip before settling on your thigh. The contact is electric, sending sparks dancing along your nerve endings.

“But remember, doll, you’re mine, body and soul. Don’t you ever forget that,” he continues, his voice low and menacing. With that, he releases you, stepping back to survey his work once more. “Now, shall we continue on, my dear?”

Your face flushed, you nod. “Yes, Wooyoung.” In moments like these, it’s easy to pretend that the two of you are a normal married couple, and it’s somewhat comforting. “Where to next?”

Wooyoung leans down to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Come, there’s a surprise for you. One to mark you as mine, truly and irrevocably.” He leads you to a jewelers, the woman behind the counter handing him a beautiful glass case.

Inside, a delicate necklace adorned with an intricate diamond pattern sits atop the velvet cloth. As he opens it and fastens it around your neck, his fingers press into your skin. Your breath catches in your throat. “Thank you, Wooyoung,” you gasp, quiet awe in your voice. You twist and lean in to peck his lips gently.

His lips curve into a smug smile as he accepts your kiss and your thanks, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Anytime, my doll,” he murmurs against your mouth, his own lips brushing yours with a hint of hunger.

For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy, imagining that his is indeed a relationship built on love and affection, rather than power plays and manipulation. But reality soon snaps him back to attention, and he steps away, clearing his throat. “Let’s finish up here and head back to the penthouse,” he suggests, his tone returning to its usual commanding cadence. “I have some business to attend to, and it requires you to be by my side.”

It’s an unspoken reminder that your safety depends on your compliance and proximity to him. He still hasn’t quite given you a reaction to all the truth you had revealed to him. You nod with no further comment, reaching out to grasp his hand quietly as he leads you through the district.

Wooyoung glances at your pensive face, his eyes roving over your features. “You look stunning, doll. Like the queen you are,” he compliments you quietly, the last soft moment he allows you. And with that, the spell is broken.

As you step out of the area, Wooyoung’s demeanour shifts, his gaze hardening as he scans the\ surroundings. His grip on your hand tightens, a silent warning.

“We need to move,” he growls, ushering you to the awaiting car. “I’ve received intel that someone may be tracking your movements. Can’t be too careful these days.”

Once inside the car, he checks his phone with a frown, clearly displeased by whatever message he’s reading. Without saying anything, he speeds off, carrying you both towards the towering skyscraper that serves as Wooyoung’s second lair. The tension in the air is palpable, a stark contrast to the earlier intimacy.

As the two of you walk into the opulent penthouse, Wooyoung’s presence commands every inch of space. The cityscape stretches out before you, a glittering canvas painted by the setting sun. “Welcome home, my doll,” he declares, gesturing grandly to the lavish interior. “Make yourself comfortable while I attend to some urgent matters.”

He strides purposefully towards his study, pausing to glance at you over his shoulder. “We’ll discuss your role in this mess later. For now, sit tight.”

With that, he disappears behind closed doors, leaving you alone amidst the splendor of his domain. The weight of his expectations settles upon you, a constant reminder of the delicate balance between your roles as lover and pawn in his game of power.

The couch is comfy, but it does nothing to soothe your nerves at Wooyoung’s words. As you lose yourself in swirling thoughts and the view outside of the penthouse, a gunshot rings out every so often, echoing through the halls even through closed doors. Each sharp bang makes you jump, although your expression remains neutral.

Under your facade, every shot reminds you of the night you wielded the gun and shot a man dead. As much as you’d never regret keeping yourself and Wooyoung safe, you can’t help but wonder what if you had never gone so far in the first place.

Hours pass, the sound of gunfire punctuating the otherwise tense silence. You try to occupy yourself, browsing through the expensive art books and designer magazines scattered across the coffee table, but your mind keeps drifting back towards the bloodstained memories you’ve worked so hard to bury.

Just as you’re starting to feel the strain, the study door swings open, and Wooyoung emerges, his suit immaculate despite the violence that likely transpired within. He approaches you with a calculated stride, his eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and something darker.

“Well, that took care of the problem. Our little rat won’t be squealing anymore.” He reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly gentle considering the brutal nature of his actions. “But enough about that.”

You can smell the iron of blood off him, but you hold your tongue, waiting for him to continue.

Wooyoung’s gaze lingers on your face, searching for any signs of distress or hesitation. When he finds none, a hint of relief flickers in his eyes before he turns to pour himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on the sideboard.

He takes a seat beside you, his thigh pressing against yours and sending heat through your body. Your heart pounds in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, hands fisting the fabric of your dress, waiting for him to deliver your judgement on the way you had worked against him, even for just a short while.

Instead, you hear a low chuckle, fingers brushing against your chin as he tilts your head upwards. “Look at me, doll,” he commands. When you raise your eyes to meet his piercing gaze, he continues. “Back when you were talking about your past, you said you didn’t want to betray me, and you stopped short at the why. Finish what you were saying.”

There’s an unspoken understanding in his eyes—he knows what you were going to say, the depth of your affection for him. And yet, he wants to force you to articulate it, to acknowledge the bond that has grown stronger each day.

The room seems to shrink, the weight of his expectations pressing down on your shoulders. Confessing it could either solidify your place by his side, or only bring you more suffering, depending on what he chooses.

You bite your lip, tasting the sting of blood as you look back down at your hands quivering. “I…I love you,” you finally admit, your words quiet enough you swear Wooyoung will be able to hear your heart pounding. “I stupidly fell in love with you.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the steady thrum of the city outside and the ragged beat of your heart. Then, suddenly, Wooyoung reaches out and cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your trembling lip.

“I knew,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it. “I’ve known all along where you came from, your mission, and…and the change in you. I’ve seen it in your eyes for a while now. The way you look at me? It’s no secret.”

His fingers trail down to press his thumb against the junction of your neck, showcasing his power against you, and yet it is still soft, gentle, and reverent. “I have to admit, it pleases me. Having you by my side, loving me…it’s a treasure I hadn’t anticipated.” But beneath the tender words, a thread of hardness remains, a reminder of the ruthless world he rules. “Yet, as much as I enjoy keeping you close, you’ve lied to me. You’ve used me for your own gain, and you must be punished for that, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you deem as proper, I accept it,” you comply, ready for a sharp hit, or even a gunshot as well. You fight to keep your eyes on him, unable to read his expression.

A heavy silence hangs in the air, the seconds ticking by like hours. Then, unexpectedly, Wooyoung pulls you into his arms, holding you close against his chest.

“You’re mine, doll,” he declares, his voice a deep rumble against your ear. “Whatever happens to you, you belong to me. And I won’t let anyone, including who you were, threaten that.” His hands roam possessively over your body, a claim of ownership, a reminder of the twisted dynamic that binds you to him.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m absolving you of your sins,” he adds, his hot breath ghosting against your skin. “You’ll still face the consequences. Just perhaps not the ones you’ve feared.” He holds you tightly, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as if trying to burn away the shadows of your past. His hand drifts down to the small of your back, pressing you closer.

“You understand, my love? I’m offering you a reprieve, but you must learn to trust me completely. To obey without question, and you will be spared. I’m offering you a chance, and that is not something I give lightly.” Wooyoung leans in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “In return, I’ll ensure your safety…and pleasure.” The implication sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

His grip tightens, as if to reinforce his claims, and yet also a silent allowance for your answer. Not that you need any time to deliberate. Your breath hitches as his lips brush against your ear, sending tingles down your spine. You nod, a silent agreement, your heart racing in your chest.

“Yes, Wooyoung,” you whisper, the name feeling like a prayer on your tongue. “I understand. I’ll follow your lead, as well as any and all decisions you make.”

You press yourself further into his embrace, craving the sense of security and belonging he offers. Even if it means surrendering parts of himself, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to stay by his side. “And…I trust you,” you add sincerely, the admission slipping out before you can stop it. The words hang in the air, a declaration of faith in the man who wields such power over you.

A satisfied smile plays on Wooyoung’s lips as he hears your whispered submission. He nuzzles your hair, inhaling your scent deeply.

“That’s my good doll,” he praises, his voice a low purr of approval. “You’re back in the game. Soon, you’ll be perfecting the role of my devoted wife.” His words send a shiver down your spine, and his wands begin to wander once more, tracing the contours of your body with a deliberate slowness.

“But first, let’s celebrate our new arrangement, shall we?” Without warning, he spins you to face him, his eyes darkening with a hunger that sends a flush creeping up your neck. “Get on your knees for me, doll. Show me the respect and obedience you’ve promised me,” he commands, his voice rough with desire.

Without hesitation, you quickly comply, falling to your knees in front of where he sits, looking up at Wooyoung with wide eyes and awaiting his next instruction. Wooyoung’s eyes follow the line of your body, a predatory glint in his eyes. He leans forward, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact.

“That’s a good doll,” he repeats, his voice dripping with approval. “Now, open wide. Show me how eager you are to please your husband.”

With that, he releases the button of his trousers, allowing them to sag slightly and reveal the impressive bulge straining against the fabric of his boxers. You can practically taste the musky arousal, making your mouth water.

You can’t help but to shift forward until your face pressed against his clothed cock, mouthing at his underwear until he’s groaning at your ministrations. A low growl rips its way out of Wooyoung’s throat as he frees his thick cock from its confines. It slaps against his abdomen, obscene wet sounds making you hunger even more as you watch his precum bead out of the tip.

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, his hand wrapping around the base to guide himself into your waiting mouth. “Take it all, my doll. Every inch.”

As he pushes past your lips, you feel the heat of his flesh, the firmness of his cock stretching your mouth wide. The taste of him floods your mouth—salt and a little sweetness that makes your cunt clench and drip out more wetness to soak your underwear through.

Wooyoung begins to thrust slowly, savouring each vibration you send through his length as you moan and gag around his dick. Each stroke is deliberate, using your mouth for his pleasure and his pleasure only. And that in itself brings you into a heady mindset.

Your hands squeeze your thighs as you try to ignore the increasing wetness between your legs, focusing on sucking and licking as best as you can around his thick cock. His hips rock steadily, sliding in and out of your mouth with lewd sounds echoing through the penthouse. Groans and sighs spill out of his mouth, clearly enjoying your mouth working him to his orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his fingers tangling in your hair to guide your movements. “Take every bit of my cock. You look so perfect with it stuffed in your mouth, truly my perfect wife.”

The praise sends a thrill down your spine, even as you choke around his girth. It only serves to heighten your arousal, your cunt throbbing more and more as you swallow around him. You can feel his cock twitch, but before you can react, Wooyoung’s hands tangle in your hair. He holds your head down as he comes, shooting ropes of hot come down your throat with his head thrown back.

Eagerly, you swallow it all, licking the head of his length to coax every last drop out of him. Before you get very far, Wooyoung pulls himself free, his cock slick with saliva. “Stand up,” he orders, a smirk playing on his lips. You scramble to your feet, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, and you can see his eyes roam over your body, drinking in the sight of you.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re worked up,” Wooyoung hums, reaching up to cup your breasts with his large hands, thumbs ghosting over your nipples. “Look at you, so cute. All for me, aren’t they?” His tone is teasing as he pinches the flesh.

As he continues to toy with your tits, he snakes a hand down between your thighs, pressing against your underwear. “So wet too,” he notes approvingly, his fingers pushing the fabric aside to slide into your cunt easily. “You really are my eager wife, aren’t you?”

“Always, for you,” you gasp, hands reaching out to grasp his wrists. “Your wants are my wishes, please.” Your voice lilts into a whine, Wooyoung chuckling low in his throat at your desperate plea.

“That’s right, doll,” he agrees, his fingers pumping slowly in and out of you as his palm rubs circles on your sensitive clit. “You’ll give me everything I want, whenever I want it.”

The pressure applied to your clout becomes more insistent, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Come for me, babydoll,” he demands, although he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice anymore. “God, you’re squeezing me so good with that greedy cunt of yours.”

The mix of praise and degradation sends you over the edge of pleasure. Shivers wrack through your body as you grind against his hand. “Wooyoung–” you gasp, legs trembling as you squeeze your eyes shut, moans cutting through your breaths.

As you tremble and quake through your orgasm, Wooyoung’s grip on your hips tightens, holding you still as he works his hand in you to help you ride out each wave. “That’s it, let go for me,” he hums, his voice silky smooth. “Give it all to me, doll.”

You lean forward, tears dropping out of your closed eyes and onto his thighs, Wooyoung easing his fingers from your pussy, licking your release off of the digits. “You taste even sweeter when you’re mine,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming with possessiveness. He holds the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue pressing past your lips to claim every inch as his own.

Happily, you drop your mouth open to let him swallow every whimper and moan that tries to escape you as you chase his lips. Your core still aches but also craves more of him as your arms wrap around him.

Wooyoung breaks the kiss, his chest heaving with every breath as he gazes down at you with an intense passion. “I think it’s time we consummate this marriage,” he suggests, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as his hand trails down to squeeze your ass.

Before you can even react, he hoists you up into his arms, carrying you effortlessly to his bedroom. “We have a lot to discuss, my dear wife,” he hums, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a contrastingly gentle kiss to your cheek. “And I plan to thoroughly discuss every inch of your body.”

He pushes open the door and stalks towards the bed, his strides long and purposeful. Deftly, he drops you onto the soft bed, crawling over until he looms over you with a confident smirk.

Your eyes don’t leave him as you reach up to stroke his cheek gently, pulling him into a soft kiss. “I love you,” you can’t help but to say again, your gentle words lightening the hunger coursing through your veins.

At your whispered declaration, Wooyoung’s expression shifts, a flicker of something almost tender passing through his dark eyes as he captures your lips again in a searing kiss. His hands roam your body, mapping every dip and swell as if memorising you.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is heavy with emotion. “I know, YN. And I love you too. It might be in ways you don’t understand, but I do.” There’s sadness in his voice, an acknowledgement that his love is complex, and toxic. He leans down to trail kisses along your jaw and neck, teeth scraping at your delicate skin as he tries to take both your minds off of the seriousness. “Come on, let’s get comfortable. I want to show you exactly just how I love you.”

His hands slide up your dress, his calloused palms gliding over the expanse of your stomach as he lifts the garment over your head. You shiver as the cool air hits your body, goosebumps littering you.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the side of your breast, sending a shiver through your veins. With a fluid motion, he flips your positions, drawing you close to sit in his lap. His hands settle on your hips, guiding you down to grind against his hardening cock.

“Ride me, doll,” he commands, his eyes burning with desire. “Show me how much you want my touch.”

Carefully, you reach down and grasp his hard length, letting the head push into you slowly. A broken moan leaves your mouth as you sink down more and more.

Wooyoung grunts, his hands gripping your hips as you envelop his thick length, your cunt gripping him like a velvet vice. “Fuck, yes,” he hisses, his hands digging into your flesh as he helps guide you down further, sheathing himself fully inside you.

For a long moment, he simply savours the sensation of being buried to the hilt in your warm folds. Then, with a sudden thrust, he rocks you against him, setting a brutal pace that has you bounding on his cock with a needy cry. “There we are, doll, take it all,” he groans, his lips pulling into a fierce grin. “You were made for me, wife. This cunt is just for me, right?”

You bite your lips, trying to quieten your moans as your arms wrap around his shoulders and you drop your head into the crook of his neck, pulling him even closer.

At your movements, Wooyoung chuckles, his hips snapping upwards in a relentless rhythm. “Such a good doll, taking all of me like this,” he hums, his voice low in his throat.

One hand slides up your back to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the slender column of your neck. He latches onto the tender skin, biting and sucking marks into your flesh as he pounds into you with increasing ferocity. “You’re mine, doll,” he growls against your throat, his words punctuated by the lewd sounds of his hips meeting your ass. “Every inch of you belongs to me, and I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

“I’m yours,” you repeat dumbly, eyes rolling back in your head. “Wooyoung, please…”

Wooyoung’s grip on your hair tightens as he leans in close, his hot breath fanning over your ear. “Please what, baby? Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you,” he prompts, his voice a seductive purr. He slows his thrusts slightly, allowing you to feel every inch of his thick cock as he grinds against you. “Or maybe you just need to come undone on my dick, screaming my name?”

His free hand trails down to tease your sensitive clit, circling the bud with maddening slowness. The stimulation is nearly too much to bear, your core coiling tighter and tighter until you sink your teeth into his neck. “Please, Wooyoung,” you whimper, unable to string together a coherent sentence. “I need– I need–”

With a wicked smile and a nip to your ear, Wooyoung pinches your clit firmly, sending waves of pleasure through your nerves. “You need what, sweetheart?” he taunts, his fingers still mercilessly tormenting your aching cunt.

He picks up the pace once more, driving into you with ruthless abandon. The room fills with the symphony of your ragged breathing, his groans, and the obscene sounds of him working his cock deeper into you.

You throw your head back as you reach the cusp of pleasure again, body tensing as your cunt squeezes in a vice around him. “Fuck– Wooyoung–” you cry out before your core snaps and you come, creaming around his cock as you whine and whimper.

Wooyoung’s control slips at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him. With a feral moan, he buries himself to the hilt and holds you down on his cock, the length of it pulsating as he fills you with enough come that it bubbles out of your conjoined bodies.

“Fuck, take it all,” he hisses, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out his climax. His fingers dig into your hips and thighs, marking you with crescent shapes as he buries his face in your hair.

As the waves of pleasure ebb, he collapses back onto the bed, dragging you down with him to nestle against his chest. His heart thunders against your ear as he strokes your hair soothingly, a rare display of tenderness from the usually dominant man.

“That’s it, doll,” Wooyoung continues to pet your hair softly, his breathing gradually evening out and his heart slowing to a lull. “Just relax now. Let me hold you, my wife.”

Despite the lingering ache between your thighs, his cock softening inside of you, you find yourself relaxing in his embrace, his warm body surrounding you. After a while, he tilts your chin up to capture your lips in a slow, languid kiss, his tongue sweeping across the seam of your mouth to taste the remnants of your passion. When he finally breaks away, his gaze is almost affectionate.

“Come on, doll, let’s get cleaned up,” he says, although there’s no real conviction behind his words.

You press your lips against his again, enjoying the soft domesticity of this. “Let’s stay like this for just a little longer, please,” you ask, voice tinged with timidness as if scared he’ll leave again.

Wooyoung’s expression turns thoughtful at your request, a small furrow appearing between his brows. For a long moment, he simply looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to decipher your emotions. Then, with a subtle nod, he enfolds you more securely in his arms, holding you close as if to shield you from the world.

“Alright, doll,” he agrees quietly. “Just a little longer. We’ve got all night, after all.”

He presses another tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if savouring the simple intimacy of the gesture. In this moment, the ruthless kingpin seems to fade away, replaced by a man who craves connection, however fleeting or unconventional. Time seems to stand still as you both bask in the afterglow, the world outside your intimate bubble fading into insignificance. It’s a fleeting reprieve from the harsh realities of their lives, but one they cling to desperately, savouring the precious few moments of tranquility before the storm inevitably returns.

“Doll, come here.” You can hear Wooyoung’s voice from across the apartment, his tone low and commanding. It leaves no room for disagreement, so you quickly slip out of the bedroom where you were going over the financial reports of your club.

Wooyoung stands in the living room, arms crossed and face guarded. “It’s time for your punishment. Come with me.” You nod quickly, body tensing. It’s been weeks since you admitted your feelings, and Wooyoung had made no move to punish you for the disloyalty. Now, it seems he has finally decided on a fitting end.

Without waiting for a response, Wooyoung turns and strides out of the apartment, expecting you to follow closely behind. He leads you to a nondescript car, different from his usual automobile, the interior far more luxurious than the exterior would suggest.

He opens the passenger door for you, his expression still unreadable. “Get in,” he orders curtly, not offering any further explanation. You quickly follow suit, and Wooyoung walks around the car to get into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and starting the trip.

The cityscape blurs in the windows, an uncomfortable silence settling uncomfortably over the car. After a few tense minutes, Wooyoung finally speaks, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. “Doll, whatever comes, I want you to know this isn’t a reflection of how I feel about you. This is a necessity for you to understand I can’t let anyone cross me.” He glances at you sideways.

It takes you a moment to realise he’s waiting for an answer, and you quickly nod. “Of course, Wooyoung, I understand.” Your voice sounds quiet and foreign even to yourself, but your words are true.

Wooyoung’s jaw clenches at your obedient response, a flicker of something akin to pride crossing his features. He reaches over to squeeze your thigh reassuringly, his touch firm yet gentle.

“You’re smart, doll. That’s why I chose you,” he hums, his voice taking on a tone of affection. “Now, just sit back and relax for now. We’ll be there soon.”

As promised, you arrive at your destination in a short while—a seedy, rundown warehouse on the outskirts of town. Wooyoung parks the car and exits, motioning for you to join him. He leads you through the dark halls to a room, akin to a dungeon. The heavy wooden door creaks shut behind you both, enveloping you in an atmosphere of dark anticipation.

Once inside, he produces a dark cloth, wrapping it around your wrists and binding them in front of you. You twitch, wanting to bat his hands away, but you hold back. When he finishes, he steps back, his piercing gaze raking over your form appraisingly. “I’ll strip you,” he orders, his voice devoid of emotion. “Then I want you on your knees when I return.”

Without waiting for a response, he quickly rips your dress off of you and exits the room, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. The cool air feels thick with tension, each second ticking by agonisingly slow as you hastily comply with his demands.

After what feels like hours, but is probably only ten minutes, the door swings open once more, and you register Wooyoung’s breathing before you even see him as he stands in the threshold. It takes you another moment to realise he’s got a heavy bag slung over his shoulder.

Before you can even question what’s in it, Wooyoung throws it to the ground in front of me, and the bag lets out a muffled grunt. You recoil as you realise there’s a human being in there. “Wooyoung–” you start to talk, but Wooyoung shakes his head and you snap your mouth shut.

“I don’t think dolls can speak, can they?”

As soon as you nod shallowly, Wooyoung reaches out and undoes the bag, pulling the person out roughly. It takes you a moment to register, but when you see it’s your old boss, Wooyoung’s rival, you can’t keep the sharp gasp from exiting your mouth. He’s got a black eye and a busted nose, but he’s awake, shifting uncomfortably.

“Say hello, doll,” Wooyoung hums, his voice light but dangerous. “Park here wants to apologise, right?”

He kicks his rival in the ribs, a glint in his eye that can be seen even in the darkness. You can see the figure of Beomjun scramble to his knees, a strong contrast to the terrifying leader you once knew. “I’m sorry,” he repeats what is a clear script, his voice tense and teeth gritted, “for using what wasn’t mine. Wooyoung’s property is not to be touched.”

You can hardly keep your eyes off the grovelling figure, so you don’t notice when Wooyoung approaches you until he presses a cool metal object in your hand. A gun lays in your hand, and your hands shift to hold it properly automatically. “Shoot him,” Wooyoung’s voice rings clear, his mock whisper meant to be heard by Beomjun.

“Wait, please, you said you wouldn’t–” Beomjun’s words dissolve into whimpers and sobs. You never thought you’d see such a strong leader in the black market appear so…pathetic. “I won’t bother you anymore, I’ll leave YN alone, please– let me live– I’ll give you all my assets–”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue. “Either way, I’ll get all of your offers, Park. Your incentives are nothing but dust.” He leans forward to brush his lips against your ear. “Shoot him, doll. Show me that you put all your trust in me, now. He is nothing to you.”

His hand moves to your waist, and the other one lifts your arm that’s holding the gun until it’s aimed at him. Although you hesitate just a moment, Wooyoung’s words wind around your mind like a snake, and your finger twitches on the trigger.

You don’t even register the sound of the gunshot as Beomjun’s next plea is caught in his throat and he collapses against the concrete, eyes open wide and blood pooling around his body. You can hardly think as Wooyoung presses a chaste kiss to your cheekbone, taking the gun out of your hands and shoving it in his waistband before leading you to a small sink in the corner of the room, where he wets a paper towel to clean the specks of blood that landed on you.

As he wipes gently, he leans in close, lips pressing against your temple. “Remember, doll, my patience has limits. Don’t ever test them again.” With that warning, he brings you to a different room, where it’s decorated simply with a bed and nothing else. “Come, sit on my lap,” Wooyoung commands, his voice strangely gentle.

Carefully, you follow his direction until you’re nested up against his chest. You can feel his boner through his slacks, curious as to where this is headed. Before you even have time to gasp, Wooyoung flips your skirt up and pushes aside your underwear before pressing his fingers into you.

He’s not gentle by any means, but the roughness only brings you pleasure as tears fill your eyes. You’re sure the wetness trickling down your cheeks only makes him hard, and you can feel it beneath you as well.

“Are you going to try to betray me again, wife?” Wooyoung asks, the pet name spoken without affection, although you know it’s hidden under the punishment you deserve.

You quickly shake your head, eyes wide. Killing someone still has you shaken up, but you’re in no mood to piss Wooyoung off ever again, and you want to enjoy the pleasure of his fingers. “No, Wooyoung, husband, I promise–”

Your quick response and lilt of a whine in your voice gives Wooyoung pause, his fingers slowing. “Good doll,” he croons, leaning in to give you a proper kiss, gentle and loving despite his rough treatment earlier. “You’re so pretty and perfect for me, let’s keep it that way.”

The gentle touch of his lips has you whining and twitching your hips, and you can feel the gun tucked away pressing against your thigh. The thought of it has you whining, and you must be easier to read than you think, your eyes flickering down to where it sits, because Wooyoung chuckles and reaches down to pull it out.

“Look at you, so dirty, wife,” Wooyoung preeens, pressing the barrel against your thigh and dragging it up until it’s hooked through the gifted necklace and pressing against your chin. “Begging for my cock, begging for my gun. Aren’t you a pretty picture for me? So pliable.”

You whine, nodding eagerly even as the gun knocks against your chin. “Please,” you gasp out, hips grinding against his hand even without his prompting.

Your begging only makes Wooyoung’s smile wider as he moves the gun until it’s pushing your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. “Did I tell you to speak, doll?” he grits out, hand stilling his movement. “Be a good doll and open your mouth for me.”

When your mouth drops open almost immediately, a delighted chuckle leaves Wooyoung’s throat at your eagerness. Without saying a word, he pushes the tip of the gun into your mouth, forcing you to taste the metallic tang of the barrel.

Your cunt leaks around Wooyoung’s fingers, your eyes glazing over as your mind drifts away and all you want to do is please. The gun doesn’t push too far past your teeth, not like Wooyoung’s cock would, and you lick and suck at it gently as you rock slowly against Wooyoung.

The amusement in Wooyoung’s eyes only increases as he reaches down to unfasten his pants, pulling his rock-hard cock out. “Come on, baby, ride me,” he commands, pushing your hips up until his cock aligns with your cunt. “Show me how much you want to be used.”

With the gun still in your mouth, you drop down, his length spearing into you until you whine around the metal. Saliva drips out of your mouth and down your throat, pooling in your collarbones and slicking up your breasts. Your eyes roll back as you start a slow pace, bouncing up and down as best as you can.

Wooyoung’s hang grabs your hip tight enough to leave bruises, pushing you down to take him even deeper. The whine you let out is cut short as he slams his hips up into you, fucking you with wild abandon.

You can hardly feel anything except searing pleasure as he thrusts into you, the gun now resting in your mouth too far gone to continue sucking on it. But then Wooyoung leans in closer, nose brushing against your ear. “The safety’s off.”

It’s a lie, a bald-faced lie. You saw him lock it before sliding it into its holster. You know that it won’t shoot, the trigger wouldn’t even budge. And yet, the idea of it makes you groan around the barrel, cunt spasming as you come around Wooyoung’s cock, squeezing it so tight your core aches.

Wooyoung gasps at the feeling, pulling the gun out of your mouth and tossing it to the side as he pulls you closer into a bruising kiss, teeth scraping at your lips. “Fuck–” he moans into your mouth “–you fucking slut. You love having a gun in your mouth and a cock up your pussy? Maybe next time I’ll shove it up your cunt while I fuck your ass, such a perfect dumb whore.”

The kisses he litters on your lips betray his harsh words, and he comes with a groan, cock twitching as his hands grope your tits roughly. You’re limp, leaning against you as he uses you for his own pleasure. He grinds into as you pant against his collarbone, drawing a few more weak drops of come out of his cock.

As you lay against his chest, Wooyoung chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “You know,” he hums, “a punishment isn’t supposed to be so pleasurable for you. But I’ll let it slide this time.”

There’s no way you can register his words properly, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he lays you down and lets you regain your mind and energy. Your eyes flutter shut as he strokes your hair softly, his gaze transfixed on you, a mix of possessiveness and adoration flickering in his eyes. “Rest now, and we’ll talk later,” Wooyoung hums more to himself than anything else. For now, he’ll enjoy the calm of this moment.

The ride home is silent, the only sound is the hum of the engine and your ragged breathing as you try to grasp what just happened. You don’t know what to say or do, hands grasped together as you try to wrap your head around the events of today. After shooting Beomjun’s lackey, it never occurred to you that it might have to happen again, much less that it would be Beomjun himself. But something in you burns at the power you held over the gang leader.

Upon returning to the penthouse, Wooyoung ushers you inside, his demeanour softening slightly as he removes his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He glances over at you, noticing your conflicting expressions, and he sighs through his nose.

“Doll, you okay? It was intense, but you needed to understand the world I live in, through its entirety.” He pads over to you, closing the distance, reaching out to pry your fingers apart and weave his own through yours. “It’s late…let’s get some rest. I want to hold you.”

He’s trying to divert the topic, and you grasp at it, following him like a sheep led to slaughter, letting him gently change you into pyjamas. He even brushes your teeth, treating you like you’re fragile and may break at any moment. When he slides into bed, he pulls you alongside, wrapping his arms around you.

As you settle into the warmth of his embrace, you let out a sigh and your body finally relaxes and sinks into the mattress. Despite the tumultuous relationship he provides you with, his presence still gives you a sense of safety and security.

“Wooyoung…I love you,” you breathe out, turning to press your face into his neck.

He stiffens slightly at your words, his hold on you tightening almost imperceptibly. For a long moment, he remains silent, processing your words. He’ll never be truly used to hearing you say it out loud, his line of work stunting his emotions. But, it still gives him warmth.

In low tones, he responds, “You’d better, doll. You’re mine, body and soul.” Despite his gruff words, there’s a hint of vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened kingpin. He strokes your hair soothingly, his other hand tracing gentle patterns on your hip. “Sleep now, doll. We’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

Despite the complexity of your relationship, you drift off easily, feeling a sense of belonging. For better or for worse, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. And one day, you’ll have him grovelling under you.

#snakesandplottwists #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez mafia au #ateez smut #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fic #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung smut #wooyoung mafia au

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kunikuyu · 7 months ago

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"A reward for someone so good." Hashira Series!

Part 1, 2, 3, 5, 6

Obanai Iguro x Male! Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI, NSFW, Dom! Iguro x Sub! Reader, read as afab reader, jealousy, spanking, degradation, relationship of "enemies", mentions of blood (one, blood from the reader's lip), Reader is like a teasing brat here, slight mischaracterization of the character.

Summary: Pillar training has begun, much to your delight. Of course, as a hard-working and strong person, you can handle any challenge. Even if it's fighting a hashira. And in a way, they all see some value in you, and want to reward you for it.

Starting Mitsuri's training was easy, the difficult part was finishing it. But... Everything went wonderfully well, and you even got to sleep next to the girl. The next day, when you woke up, she gave you a basket full of sweets to eat on the way to the next pillar's house. "Just don't eat it all at once, save some for Iguro-san, okay?~" That's what she said, winking lovingly as she waved you goodbye.

And speaking of Iguro...

"You're late. And you came completely dirty, don't you have a shred of shame or dignity?"

Your mouth was only slightly pink from the Sakura mochi you were eating. For some reason, the other boy looked at your lips first before anything else. "Sorry, I guess." The truth was, you didn't really like Obanai either. The way he looked at you and cursed you made you simply not like him and even provoked him into a childish fight. But because he was your superior, you just ignored him most of the time.

He looked at you with an irritated look, before turning to enter his residence, which seemed dark, cold and silent, like a snake's habitat. It was calm, until your vision adjusted to the darkness and you realized that the hunters who were in training were completely tied up together, like a real horror scene (if they weren't just tied up with ropes, Obanai isn't so crazy).

"Your training is this, try to attack me without hurting any of these people. Hurt one of them three times and you become part of them." And so he says, already going after you.

.....................................

He definitely tried to hurt you as much as possible. Probably a cracked rib, a completely purple and swollen waist from so many bruises and an eye that was barely opening. But, to improve your situation, you were already approved on the first day, since you managed to hit Obanai on the hand. Stopping to think a little, Iguro seemed to be hating something, or someone. You might think he knows about your training with Miss Kanroji, but how could he know? Mitsuri definitely wouldn't tell anyone something like that.

And speaking of Kanroji, the food basket is still in the corner of the room where you and the other hunters are sleeping. You planned to eat everything yourself, but you definitely couldn't handle it all and Mitsuri made it for Iguro too.

After thinking very sadly, you get up and take the basket, silently leaving the room and walking towards the light emanating from the nearest room. You walk over and reluctantly knock on the door. It's late, but if you didn't do it now that you were in a good mood, you wouldn't do it in the morning when you woke up.

Some beats. All without success. He really didn't want to see anyone's face. "...Know that I'm only here because Miss Kanroji made these Sakura mochi for both of us, otherwise I wouldn't be disturbing your peace."

...

"Are you going to open that door or not?"

...

And when you had already given up and were turning around, Hashira wraps his hand around the back of your hair and pulls you into his room with an unexpected strength from such a small body. You can't even scream in pain, because Obanai is faster and covers your mouth as he throws you against the wall and pins you with all his weight.

"Do you think I don't know what you and Kanroji did in that training? I don't know exactly what you did, but in the letter she sent talking about you, she seemed especially happy. I don't like the idea of you being the reason for Kanroji's smiles." But you barely paid attention to what the shorter one was saying. You just looked at his uncovered mouth, which now showed a huge scar. You were mesmerized, but you would never say that you found him beautiful in that way, and that your bodies pressed together only increased the tension.

"... Look at my eyes when I'm talking to you." He says, without measuring his strength, he grabs your chin and brings your face closer to his, making you look deep into his eyes. For some reason this time, you didn't see hatred or contempt in his eyes. You still felt like he didn't like you, but you also felt a certain lust emanating from the depths of his soul.

And after a few seconds that felt like entire eternities, he did something you never imagined would happen. He can't resist, and pulls you even closer, pressing your mouths together. That whole kiss is extremely aggressive, he really wanted to take his anger out on you. His tongue moved nimbly, fighting violently against yours. He bit your lip so much that you even started to feel the metallic taste of blood.

The snake's Hashira wastes no time, and even begins to remove his white pajama. "Cute outfit, did you buy it in the children's section?" And you just get a slap across your face in response. Was the slap strong? Perhaps. Will it leave a mark? Obvious. Did you like it? Yes. You just let out a small laugh, face remaining turned to the left.

"I despise you. You have no respect for yourself. Gets slapped in the face and just laughs, you're definitely a sick guy." "You're the one who hit me, don't act controlled because you clearly enjoy it more than me." Another slap to your face is delivered, your hair covering part of your face. You had to confess that maybe being beaten by Obanai wouldn't be so bad. After all, you've been beaten by him before.

When Iguro finally removes his clothes, he barely waits for a comment from you before grabbing your neck and pulling you into his futon. He was clearly thirsty, and needed his relief, his hands shaking slightly as he took off your pants.

.....

"Hmm... I didn't expect someone so short to be so huge." Despite the mocking tone, you really didn't imagine that could be part of Obanai's body. It's just... He's too short and his cock is too big. In response, he grabs your neck aggressively while spreading your legs, making a light moan echo from your mouth. "Your ability to talk so much nonsense is incredible. Now, spread those legs and don't you dare tell me to stop." "I wouldn't do that, Obanai."

The other man positions himself between your legs, slowly fitting into your soft, warm entrance. He closes his eyes as he blushes, not being able to handle the pleasure he felt as he entered you. Obanai begins to thrust into you slowly, his left hand gently squeezing your neck while his right rests on your waist. "O-Obanai... This is torture...! Go faster!~" But instead of listening to you, he just squeezes your neck tighter, preventing you from speaking. He seemed to like this rhythm, or he just wanted you to beg with tears in your eyes. That seemed to be the intention, since the whole time he was looking deep into your eyes, waiting for something to happen.

....

"...Please..."

.....

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to ask Obanai to go faster. He is a hashira after all. The man goes with all the strength and speed he can, thrusting into you brutally as if he wanted to take out all his anger on your cunt. Tears of pleasure, pain, and overstimulation flowed from your eyes, but you couldn't ask him to stop, could you? After all, you were enjoying this more than he was even. You could feel the tip of the other man's cock in the deepest part of your body, your legs were already starting to weaken. It didn't help that he didn't go easy on you in training.

Anyone could hear the noise you two were making. The sound of his balls hitting your ass every time he thrust, his moans and yours, the two of you weren’t exactly being silent. "Ah...~ so warm...~" That's what he thought every time he felt your wet walls squeezing his cock. He seemed strangely comfortable fucking his potential love rival.

When he felt that you were already close to your orgasm, he pulled out of you and slowly massaged the head of his member, cumming on your thigh. "...You're... fast huh..." You say, mocking the fact that he came before you. You can't even ridicule the other man for long, as you immediately feel two of Obanai's fingers entering you, while his thumb massages your clit. He did it brutally, almost hurting you in the process. Even so, it doesn't take long for you too to reach your orgasm in Iguro's hand.

He removes his fingers and lies down next to you, burying his face in your neck. "We will never talk about it." "About how cute your face looks while you cum?" And you get a bite on the neck in return. Is he really ashamed of having fucked you? Maybe, but he loved the feeling of burying himself deep inside your body. "It's okay, we'll never talk about it. Don't worry." You wrap your arms around him and lean his body against yours, making him blush slowly. "When did you get so muscular...?" "We haven't seen each other in a while. Now, stop talking and go to sleep."

"Are you really telling me to shut up? You piece of shi-" And you just kissed him to get your desired silence. Even though he doesn't like the way he look and is embarrassed by the scar on his mouth, he likes the feel of your lips touching his.

He still doesn't like you. At least that's what he'll say forever.

Author's note (me :p)!

My second favorite, and I don't even like Obanai ._.

#male reader #smut #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #obanai x reader #demon slayer #obanai iguro #kny obanai #ftm reader #tengen uzui #giyuu tomioka #mitsuri kanroji #sanemi shinazugawa #gyomei himejima

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bryan-writes · 3 months ago

Note

Hey! I don't know if you take requests but I like collecting headcanons of people

so do you have some Obey me headcanons?

Have a wonderful day<3. (if you don't take requests then feel free to ignore)

Hello anon, I hope this is what you were asking for! Thank you sm for the request, I hope you have a wonderful day as well lovely<3!

Obey me headcannons— the seven brothers

Just a bunch of cute head cannons I have about the brothers :)

No warnings!

Lovely dividers by @cafekitsune <3

Lucifer

A total plant dad in secret! He has a small collection of rare plants in his office (hidden away from Mammon ofc). He enjoys their low-maintenance nature and often has a calming ritual of watering them and reflecting after a long day. You found out by accident once, and gift him small plants whenever you visit the human realm (a spider plant, dracaena, snake plant).

He's a classical vinyl collector. I feel like this one’s pretty popular, but he has an extensive vinyl collection (mainly of classical or jazz) and insists they sound better than any digital recording he’s heard. He prefers to listen to them alone, insisting his brothers will only ruin the experience, but he’ll never deny or turn you away if you ask to join him.

He’s a total fancy sleepwear enthusiast. You’d think it’d be an Asmo thing, but Lucifer has a collection of luxurious silk and satin pajamas. He believes that “even in sleep, one must uphold dignity” (he gave you that speech the first week when you wobbled through the kitchen in an old, stained band shirt).

Mammon

He’s absolutely adored by stray animals in the Devildom, but especially by cats. They tend to follow him around (much to Satan’s dismay), and he’s always a bit flustered about it but secretly loves it. Sometimes he’ll even sneak treats and treasures to them (things like fancy ribbons and long necklace chains).

He’s a total hoarder too, keeping a collection of things that remind him of you specifically— small trinkets, wrapped, tickets/receipts, photos (I wrote a oneshot for this if you want more!). He keeps them hidden, safe from his brother’s prying eyes and questions.

He also has a ton of good luck charms. A little ceramic ladybug, a pressed four-leaf clover, crystals, a horseshoe, etc. He’s convinced they’ll bring him good luck and fortune in his schemes, even if he doesn’t quite remember where they all came from. His favorite good luck charm is you though. He refuses to leave the house in the mornings without a good luck kiss.

Levi

It’s no secret that Levi loves the ocean, keeping a fish tank that he’s decorated to look like the real deal. He’ll watch Henry swim around in the rare moments he’s unwinding, taking the quiet time to find inspiration for his gaming and anime stories.

He totally has an otaku daily planner that he’s decorated with anime stickers and fan art. He tracks everything from game release dates to plans with you— which he surrounds with little hearts. He’ll doodle in free spaces and will bring it with him everywhere.

He’s a total random trivia buff, with a surprising amount of knowledge for most obscure topics. He’s like the caps of Snapple bottles, popping off with a random fact that relates to the conversation every now and then.

Satan

Satan is an avid audiobook listener. He likes to experience different narrations of the classics he loves, often falling asleep to them. There have been countless times where he’s recorded you reading to him just to later listen to your voice when he naps.

Over the years, he’s secretly given each of his brothers a nickname of a cat breed based on their personalities. He calls Mammon a Bengal (for their boldness) and Lucifer a Maine Coon (dignified and regal) for example. Nobody knows he does this, and would rather die than tell anyone.

Satan is a tea connoisseur. He loves to experiment with different tea blends based on his current read. He’ll make a “Wuthering Heights” blend on stormy days or a “Sherlock Holmes” blend when he’s feeling particularly investigative.

Asmo

Asmo has a vast collection of rare perfumes and fragrances from both the human and demon realm and can identify perfumes by smell alone. He’ll often make blends for you that he thinks “capture your essence”, and makes you wear them on date nights.

He creates outfits based on moods, and very rarely based on occasions or weather (although whatever he wears is beyond beautiful anyway). If he’s feeling even slightly out of sorts, he’ll wear a specific scarf to “help align his vibes”, insisting you wear a matching one with him.

Asmo has an elaborate manicure routine, and he offers special “spa nights” just for you (it’s become a weekly routine). He does all of his brother's nails, but never treats them to full nights of face and hair care that he does with you.

Beel

He loves to experiment with recipes, trying to come up with “the ultimate snack” with a variety of unique flavors. He has a small notebook filled with random snack ideas he wants to try with you, including “infernal honey nachos” and “fiery chocolate popcorn”.

He will occasionally build the most elaborate and beautiful blanket forts in his room, to hide from his brothers for quiet time and snacks. He’ll sometimes invite you to join him for late-night snack chats.

Beel loves trying to combine Devildom foods with human foods, attempting to make hybrids like “hellberry pizza” or “demonic takoyaki.” He gets super excited when you introduce him to new human-realm foods and suggest new fashion ideas.

Belphie

He has curated playlists for every possible sleeping scenario ever. He has a “nap in a meadow” playlist and an “underwater dream”, which he’ll share with you if you ever want the “perfect sleep/nap vibes.”

Belphie has a habit of sketching while sleepy. He doesn’t remember half of what he draws, but he’s done some surprisingly good doodles of you, the brothers, and his dreams. You’ve started keeping them to collect in a sketchbook for him.

He actually puts some thought into his “lazy look.” He has favorite clothes that he feels make him look effortlessly comfortable and will proudly say, “Fashion is all about making it look like you didn't try.” (You’ve seen him get mad when his hair won’t look ‘the right amount of disheveled’, whatever that means).

#obey me devildom #obey me headcanons #obey me brothers #obey me x mc #satan obey me #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #x reader fluff #headcanon #obey me shall we date #anon request #obey me

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scliffe · 27 days ago

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The similarities and contrast between the Noah’s Ark circus troupe and the Phantomhive household are quite interesting. The circus troupe was a group of children living in poverty who were saved by Baron Kelvin, the philanthropist. While he initially seems to have helped the children out of the goodness of his heart, he ultimately ended up using them to kidnap other children and commit a greater evil.

[The circus troupe’s name is also interesting. In Genesis, Noah’s Ark was the boat built by Noah, a man chosen by God, to spare him, his family, and some animals while the human race were condemned to death in the flood. In this case, I interpret Baron Kelvin as the “God” who condemns the kidnapped children to death while the Joker, being “Noah”, has no power but to save himself and his family.]

Similarly, the Phantomhives were a strange assortment of condemned people with nowhere else to go who were saved by Ciel Phantomhive. From the get-go, Ciel is no philanthropist and he took in these people as bodyguards or assassins to commit evildoings in the name of the greater good. It’s likely that due to Ciel’s trauma—although hiring more people and more security will likely reduce the amount of assassination attempts on his life—he refuses to hire a “normal” servant who would be helpless to defend themselves and could only end up as casualty in dangerous situations. (After all, it’s not everyday that you wake up to the rest of the house dead on your tenth birthday…)

There is also the manner in which the circus troupe and the Phantomhives treated Snake. Both parties are hiding their “dirty deeds” from him; essentially his relationship with them was built on a lie. Then while the circus troupe seems to have helped him out of philanthropy and treated him as family, from his records we knew that he actually hated living as a morbid spectacle with no dignity—a freak of nature; something for “normal” people to gawk and point fingers at.

The children of the orphanage did not have to be a circus—disabled people are just as capable as non-disabled people in some jobs, and there was also the artificial limbs technology. But they had to be the circus because it is the easiest way to kidnap children. Simply put, they have no dignity because Baron Kelvin was exploiting these disabled children who had no other choice—because they lack the capital to save themselves and their siblings in the orphanage. Although they were no longer living in the streets, in some way their situation remained unchanged.

The Phantomhives are also freaks of nature in each their own way, but they are living like normal people with dignity as part of an aristocratic household. Ciel and Sebastian met Bard before he could commit the indignity of cannibalism. They took Mey-Rin out of a life where she was treated like a weapon to be disposed after deemed useless. They gave a name to Finnian, the nameless experiment who could not even speak. They gave dignity to these people who were barely living like human beings, which is why the servants are extremely loyal to the Phantomhive household.

Ciel is not helping them out of the goodness of his heart; he recognizes their talents and abilities and chose to hire them as servants with a clearly established working relationship. He is not exploiting them for their “strangeness”—the servants are not living on his charity; they are providing their services and being compensated, thus making a living on their own. Thus, they are afforded a dignity that can only exist in a mutual two-way relationship.

Now, why is dignity so important? Because it is the basis on which Ciel’s desire for revenge stood. In the Phantomhive manor massacre three years ago, the Phantomhives lost all their dignity to a group of unknown assassins. The head of the household was reduced to ashes while the heir was murdered as a sacrificial lamb on an altar for the devil, not to mention the things the cult had done to the twins and the rest of those children—they lived worse than livestocks. This is why it was very important for Ciel to become Earl Ciel Phantomhive and reclaim the title and the lands from the queen, restoring the dignity of the Phantomhive household.

In the Athena Sanatorium for Former Servicemen, chief nurse Ada made continuous sacrifices because she recognizes that dignity is as important as human life. A person cannot live without dignity. It is such a humane concept—other creatures are capable of living just fine without it. Thus having dignity or not is what separates humans from animals or other beings.

Ciel could sacrifice his soul to the demon not because he merely wanted to live—in which case, the revenge would not be necessary as he could have lived happier without it—but also to reclaim that dignity. In Sebastian’s observation, it was beautiful and foolish—demons who could enslave themselves in order to devour human souls probably have no concept of dignity—yet he cannot stop that admiration for his master. He knows that this soul will not taste like any other livestock.

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #the phantomhives #ciel phantomhive #snake #sebastian michaelis #sebaciel #earl ciel phantomhive my beloved #kuroshitsuji meta #this started off as a meta for snake and the phantomhive household #me writing any meta and always slipping in sebaciel’s relationship somehow

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marvelstoriesepic · 5 days ago

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Like a Phoenix (8)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 9.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, betrayal, fire, knives, dead parents; farewell; feels; tension

Author’s Note: This is not the end, no worries. Wouldn’t leave you guys hanging like that. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

It stands tall in the distance.

Rising above the emerald treetops, like a melancholic monarch draped in shadows and light.

The grey stone battlements jut against the hazy sky. Turrets - clearly emboldened by the hues of the background - spiral toward the horizon, austere and elegant, crowned by banners that flutter limpidly in the distance.

The very stones seem steeped in centuries of command, and each mark of weather bears testimony of its history and storms - the memories of which, it seems, they still hold with great dignity.

The castle seems at peace, standing upon its cliff, hanging suspended from the rocky outcrop, as though it grew from the very rock, planted there, eternal. A sentinel of this kingdom. The kingdom that belonged to your father.

Craggy towers break the swell of pallid sky, their dark slate roofs glimmering under the wan light filtering through clouds.

The sight of this castle holds a strange pull on your senses - a magnetic foreboding that you can’t seem to shake.

It looms powerful but sinister, an observer too heavy with secrets for history to bear. Around it, trees keep dancing in and out of shifting hues of green and gold, branches stirring to a wind barely in existence, each gust swaying leaves like a restless audience to your arrival.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There is more here than just the daunting architecture pressing on your psyche. Something personal smolders in the shadow of that place.

You try to put your finger on it but only grasp fleeting impressions - the way your father spoke in clipped tones about duty and appearances, the pack of expectations, the noose he metaphorically kept around your neck.

Beside you, Bucky’s presence shifts. He seems to slip into a hesitating step. The muscles of his shoulders tense against the still slightly stained fabric of his armor.

He does not take his eyes off the castle. The blue steel of his gaze sharpens. You can feel the tension emanating from him, a tangible energy that snakes through the air between you. There is a hostility in the way he looks at that castle. A hardness that knots his jaw. A tautness that frames his mouth.

Somehow he wears apprehension with discomfort.

And it shakes your heart with an inexplicable dread.

He always moves like a man accustomed to balancing control with instinct. But his breathing pattern changes slightly. You ignore the fact that you know his normal breathing pattern in the first place. But there really is a slight strain in his breath.

Your gaze snaps back to the castle, peering through the branches framing its silhouette. Even from this distance, you can feel something lingering around the fortress - energies unvoiced, but undeniably ancient, as if the very stones remember.

A strange chill skitters down your spine. But you can’t really say why. The path underneath your boots is softened with fallen leaves, giving off a musty, earthy scent. You want to hang onto the smell, with its cool air gliding across your skin and the tranquil solitude of the forest. But your gaze keeps wandering back to the castle looming still so far off. It is magnetic. Impossible to ignore.

A realization comes with a blow to your heart.

This might be your destination.

Perhaps this castle is where he's meant to bring you.

A bittersweet and aching pang lodges beneath your ribs. You can’t imagine the journey that has momentarily intertwined your paths is perhaps going to be coming to a close.

You steal a glance at Bucky’s profile. If this is where he is meant to take you, then why does he seem so tense at finally getting here?

Trying to interpret the small frown tugging at his lips, the rigid line in his jaw, you let your eyes sweep. There is a weight of something hanging from his brows, drawing them down.

The wind around you changes direction, ruffling branches and making leaves hop around as if to note the abrupt transition occasioned by you.

The entire atmosphere between Bucky and you seems to stiffen.

The twitch of his fingers at his sides almost betray a gesture of need - to make a fist. He controls his breathing too deliberately for your taste.

Your gaze drags back to the castle ahead. To Bucky. To the castle. And back to Bucky. And back to the castle.

Here stands the proud fortress, untouched by the ravages of time, like one who has never been forced to bow before the wickedness of mankind. Never had to bend to the world’s cruelty. But perhaps, this too, is an illusion. Perhaps it became something wicked, something cruel itself.

The thought strikes you, brief and sharp.

Clouds sweep across the sun and the light dims. Shadows weave itself through the forest. You take in the now cooling air.

No words pass between Bucky and you, but with every step, the mounting tension between you both gets stronger.

It feels flimsy, like glass waiting to shatter.

You want to ask him. Want to ask if this castle is where you are going to part ways as soon as you reach it. It will take some time still. Maybe a day. Maybe less. Maybe more.

But it feels so dwindling and you can’t grasp the time you want to keep.

The sight of the castle only clutches your heart with hands showing not an ounce of mercy, squeezing your breath thin and shallow.

You always knew this journey would come to an end. Even had hoped so for some time. Had complained about relieving yourself in the woods like an animal, sleeping on the hard ground of the forest, not being able to bathe in the warmest water. You have complained about practically everything in this godforsaken forest. But you don’t want this journey to end so soon. Maybe because it’s not the forest at all you want to keep yourself surrounded with.

It’s Bucky.

And admitting that to yourself only tells you that your fear is rising. That this travel with him might really be over soon.

Some part of you grew accustomed to naively believing the road would go on forever. With firelight embers in the dark after making camp for the day. Quiet conversations held in the dark. The endearing way his lips would twitch when he tries to suppress his amusement with you. The way he keeps you afloat even when your world is crumbling into itself. Giggling at his gruffness when he doesn’t like the small ration of food you eat just so he can have some more - him calling you stubborn despite the fact that he mostly won the argument in the end. Walking beside him in the forest and listening to both of your crunching footsteps on the ground. Lying awake at night and listening to his breaths. Exchanging fleeting glances, that linger longer than they should.

You try and swallow the prickling pain at the back of your mouth, but it remains raw and bubbling.

You’re not even thinking about what might await you at the castle. The only thing you can’t get out of your mind is the realization that Bucky will leave you here, will vanish back into the woods, and whatever shadows formed him before both your paths crossed.

And for some reason, just the idea of his absence is a wound that would bleed more than anything your father’s kingdom could ever conjure.

You want to rip through the wall built between the two of you since the castle came into view - but words are pulled between hesitation and instinct. You almost feel lost in whether that silence needs filling or should just remain untouched.

And yet, there is something that settles the attraction to walk beside him. An anchor, if you will, though the world feels like it could collapse at any second due to the weirdness surrounding him.

You cast him another furtive glance, feeling suddenly breathless at the faint tinge of something slashing in his gaze.

He must have felt your eyes on him because he moves his head slightly, the hardness of his expression mellowing just a fraction as he glances down at you.

And for that small moment, you feel light again.

The path turns deeper into the woods, trees obscuring the vision of the castle again.

And once more, you keep walking.

The sun is barely setting when you settle down for the night, cloaked in the golden haze of a waning afternoon.

Shadows grow long and thin across the forest floor, folding themselves beneath the reach of the branches above.

Bucky moves with specifically calculated slowness, like he’s trying to keep control of something.

He collects a small amount of dry wood and then kneels beside the fire, striking flint against steel with sharp and quick movements. You always liked watching him do it. But now it hurts.

A spark breaks, catching on brittle wood and setting it alight.

Instead of observing Bucky, you keep your eyes on the meager lights ascending, tiny glints that illuminate the sky momentarily before they are absorbed into the gathering darkness. Just about like this fleeting moment, which you already feel slip away.

Bucky didn’t give you any reasons as to why you stopped to rest earlier than usual. But you know. The heaviness in his gait, the reluctance in his silence, the way he can’t meet your eyes for longer than a few seconds. It’s clear enough.

This is your final night with him.

The thought penetrates you profoundly, like a punch to your already bruised ribs.

You have expected it since seeing the castle rise among the trees, but it only gets more real the more time passes. It’s a present hollowness in your chest and all you can focus on is the fire crackling angrily, filling the empty space of your chest with everything but the things you want.

Slumping down in front of the fire, you tuck your legs beneath you and let the heat slightly brush against your face.

There is still a chill nipping at your back, but it’s not what makes you shiver.

Wordlessly, Bucky lowers himself onto a fallen log near the fire, letting out a sigh as he drags a hand across his face. He looks tired. Not just physically that is, but in a way that suggests of something deeper.

He stares into the fire, eyes distant, the flames reflected in his eyes like fragments of something burning far deeper than the wood.

The tension is continuously buzzing between you, caressing your skin in a manner that suggests it doesn’t even know how to handle itself.

It’s in the way he doesn’t quite look at you, though you can feel his gaze every time you aren’t the one watching. It feels somewhere between heat and static. You wonder what he is thinking, but are too scared to ask.

Instead, you engage yourself in preparing a simple meal for Bucky and you, hands moving almost mechanically through the familiar motions. The aroma of dried herbs and roasted meat mixes with the smoke from the fire, but the food tastes like ash in your mouth when you finally take a bite.

The silence weighs down, carrying words neither of you knows how to say.

A distant call of a night bird is the only thing talking.

Every now and then, your eyes stray to him - just brief stolen glances exchanged across the flames. His gazes ignite a spark on your skin. He sits with his elbows braced on his knees, shadows throwing across his face, making the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones even more defined and painfully enticing.

His lips are pressed into a thin, unreadable, line and you wonder if he is fighting to find the right words to break the silence as well.

Your heart aches to think that this will, in all likelihood, be the last night spent together, surrounded by nothing but trees and stars and the comforting crackle of the warm fire. Whatever flimsy bond you’ve built with Bucky will be severed by duty and distance.

When your eyes go back to their favorite sight, you find Bucky already watching you. His gaze holds yours for a moment and even the fire seems to have stopped burning for a second. Leaving Bucky and you alone in this situation.

There is something sore in his eyes. Something he couldn’t have prepared for or you would not be able to spot it that easily. It staggers your breath.

Then, he breaks your gaze and only leans further toward the ground.

The silence is getting stern. Unsparing. It enclaves you.

The sputtering fire only gets louder, and something tells you that whatever slips away into the curling smoke fading into the night, it will be something you can never hold onto again.

You shift slightly, adjusting your body on the rough texture of the wood you’re sitting on.

Bucky’s gaze flickers towards you again. Brief but piercing enough. It lingers just a second longer before he looks back at the fire. Shadows play with the lines of his features.

Leaves brush against each other in whispery sounds above you. The wilderness seems reluctant to let go of daylight, its golden glow retreating with a hushed farewell, until only a few pale shades of the dusk remain.

The light of the fire causes shifting patterns to sweep over the forest floor. The night feels delicate, almost. And you can’t shake the sense that this is your last evening spent like this, the very last tranquility you will have with the tamed nature and the stars just starting to blink awake overhead. And of course, Bucky sitting just a few feet away, so close that you could touch, but also so far that loneliness can’t be avoided today.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the noise deepening into a long, low sound and it makes your chest hurt at the same time.

The silence holds until it can no longer.

It breaks with a clear of his throat. The sound is low and rough, scraping against the quiet.

It makes your head snap up. You blink at him.

“There’s an outer gate,” he starts, working the words out slowly, hoarse, as if he is dragging them from some reluctant place inside him.

His gaze remains fixed on the fire as soon as he’s confident you are listening to him. The orange brightness flickers in the pale blue depths of his eyes.

“That’s where I'm s’pposed to take you.”

You don’t need him to explain to you what place he’s talking about. He knows you know. The castle looms as graphically as it has the first time you saw it between the trees. A place carved from stones and shadows. Of course, that’s what he’s talking about. But hearing it from him - hearing it made real - cracks something open inside you.

“You will probably be expected by now,” he continues, the notes softening in his voice as though the words hold an unfathomable weight. “Can’t take you through the front gates. Don’t wanna attract too much attention.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, the muscles in his forearm taut. A vein stands out. “Guess only the important people’ll know 'bout your arrival.”

Important people. The words land sharp between your ribs. Reminding you of where you come from and where he does not belong - or maybe does but refuses to.

You swallow thickly and taste the bitterness of knowing that your father and his web of control likely extends even here, even after his death.

Bucky still does not voice that he means that castle. But he doesn’t have to. There is an implicit understanding in the way his voice falters, in the way he watches the fire like it holds answers neither of you are ready to hear. He seems to have drawn the conclusion that you know your destination is near.

But truly knowing for real only hardens the pang that tears through your chest. It’s a violent and splintering thing, as if something solid inside you is crumbling, breaking down into fine, snaggy crumbs that settle into the hollow spaces in your chest. They make a sound with every inhalation, scraping against your insides and stabbing at the tender places that have already endured enough.

You look down at your hands, curled loosely in your lap, fingers trembling slightly despite your effort to still them.

The thought of this being the end - of stepping through that gate alone, of watching Bucky turn and disappear into the forest without you - makes your breath hitch painfully in your throat.

You’ve known this was coming from the beginning. You hoped this was coming at the beginning. You’ve known it since the moment you agreed to leave behind everything you knew and put your fate in the hands of a man who wanted nothing to do with you. It hardly helps to think about it.

The fire isn’t the only heat between you. Something else is crackling there. In the air. But you can’t tell what exactly.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched tightly as he stares at the ground. There is something edgy about the way he sits, as if he might be somewhere between wishful thinking and physical presence.

And maybe that’s what makes this all the more unbearable - the fact that he doesn’t seem unaffected by this either. The slumping of his shoulders, the hesitation in his words that speak to something more than mere obligation.

Still, he doesn’t really look at you. And maybe that’s for the best. Because you’re not sure you could hold his gaze without breaking entirely.

And the world just keeps turning, ignorant of the slow destruction lying half-lit between you and Bucky.

Everything feels tremendous. Monumental. Every breath, every sigh, every thought you nearly speak out loud, every glance that never quite meets its mark.

And when it sinks in how very heavily all of that rests in the pit of your stomach, you wonder how you’re supposed to survive stepping through that gate alone.

“What do you know about this place?” you ask hesitantly, voice small.

Bucky’s gaze lifts briefly to meet your own. His forearms rest on his thighs, fingers flexing. He exhales through his nose, a faint shake of his head following. “Not much.” His voice is low and tinged with weariness. “Just that it’s where I’m s’pposed to take you.”

Supposed to. Like some invisible hand has mapped out your fates long before you ever had a say in them.

Something cold and gnarling twists in your chest. His answer tells you nothing - no assurances, no comfort.

It’s unsettlingly simple.

You stare into the fire, its embers glowing brighter as your thoughts turn darker. That castle you know is not too far away anymore. The one who stood so proudly at the edge of the cliffs - beautiful, imposing, and so wholly foreign - takes a larger shape in your mind.

Your heart grows heavy with apprehension. What might await you there? Your mother, even in death, has always held a protective influence over your fate. The instructions for your journey to this castle may have been hers. After all, that’s why Bucky is here. Because he promised your mother.

But maybe this destination does not come from your mother at all. Sure, Bucky and this journey is her doing but maybe not where you end up going to. Maybe she didn’t have a say in it. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she had something else in mind for you as a final safeguard in case everything crumbles.

You can’t know. You also can’t know if she perhaps was the first to die. And that last order for you to be sent away did not come from her at all.

A chill of fear blooms at the base of your spine, unfurling upward in wavy patterns.

Maybe this is your father’s doing.

He was not the man who made decisions for your happiness or peace of mind. His schemes were calculated, self-serving, often cruel beneath their polished veneer. You can’t shake the unabating thought that this place might have been his command, not your mother’s - a contingency for his ambitions even beyond the grave.

Maybe they even both ordered for you to be sent here. Just out of different intentions.

Your fear is awfully gripping. And you won’t know whose will is being carried out until you step through those gates.

Your muscles twitch as an unbidden tremor rattles through you.

“Do you believe it might have been my father who ordered it?” you ask Bucky with a slightly shaking voice. Heavy with doubt.

Bucky has been watching you dealing with your inner struggles. His eyes are deep pools of alertness. They search you. His voice is even. Slow. “Could be.” There is a reluctant pause, tension rolling through his shoulders. “Banner told me to take you there. It’s where you’ll have to go he said. Never talked to your mother or father ‘bout this. Only ever through Banner. And he didn’t give me much. He said your mother would want you protected, but I’ve got no clue if that’s what she meant.” He lowers his head for a moment, a little guilty. “Never bothered to ask.”

You don’t blame him.

Though it doesn’t make this easier.

Sir Banner has always been a kind man, one of the few in your father's court who treated you with genuine warmth. You remember his thoughtful smile, the way he spoke to you as though your opinions matter even when the rest of the court dismissed you.

But even Sir Banner - loyal and true - has ultimately served your father first and foremost.

Has he known? Has he seen your father’s real face?

A swift and aching slash tears through your chest.

Maybe Sir Banner has genuinely believed he was acting on orders meant to protect you. Or maybe he just hasn’t known the full extent of your father’s motives. The thought makes your throat prick and tingle. The man you held dearly in your heart might have been complicit, unwitting or not.

It doesn’t matter that your parents are gone. Their commands will still echo through the kingdom, shaping the path you are walking on even now. Your father’s words carry the weight of stone. And even from beyond the grave, it could crush you.

Bucky’s jaw has tensed immensely. His eyes find you and stay. You might believe he is thinking the same thing. Cool air brushes against your back, igniting a shiver that lingers.

If it was your father’s order then the motives could be far more insidious than you dared to imagine - isolation, subjugation, control, banishment, your own lonely prison.

“Do you believe Sir Banner knew everything my father did?”

You just can’t seem to stop asking for his input.

Bucky’s mouth is a flat line. He swallows and grimaces lightly as if the words taste bitter on his tongue. “Don’t know,” he admits, voice sounding throaty. His body shifts before answering. But he looks at you. Keeping his eyes on you in a way that has you feeling he tries to make this easier for you. “But he seemed sure this is the right place for you.”

You take in a deep and wavering breath and nod at him slightly. Thanking him for his honesty without being able to get the words out. Your fingers fidget in your lap and you look down at them for a while.

You want to trust that whatever awaits you in that castle is a place of safety, not another, even worse gilded cage built from your father’s manipulation.

But you will be walking into the unknown. You might as well be blindfolded. And the man sitting across from you, who has fought and bled for truths buried by men like your father seems just as wary.

Being out in the woods and always in the presence of Bucky has become a strange kind of sanctuary - a place where you learned to breathe freely and hope again despite the dangers lurking in the shadows. But it’s coming to an end. And it feels so abrupt. So frightening.

Your fingers clench around the fabric of your cloak and you fight to steady your breathing.

You glance at Bucky again. His profile glows starkly against the fire, his silhouette strong against the dark woods and you feel your gaze soften at the way his own does. Not enough to give everything away but enough to offer something without words. Reassurance. A promise.

It makes your breath hitch.

The air seems to take on a softer quality itself. Hushed by things never spoken of, he holds something precious in his eyes.

But there is also a sudden sadness glinting within those blue babies. Something you’re not sure isn’t reflected in your own eyes. It seems to be such a rare thing for him.

His presence is a gift.

You’re aware of that now. Though it might be too late.

He became your only tether in a world that has violently spiraled off its axis.

He moves protectively without being overbearing. He never crowded you but always seemed within reach.

It’s the tiny gestures - a glance to check your footing on bumpy ground, a steadying hand when you stumbled, him shifting so he would block you from the cold wind, the way he always ensures you have the warmer side of the fire without ever making a fuss of it, the way he made sure you weren’t going to sleep hungry.

And it’s not just about keeping you alive.

Bucky has done far more than fulfill some vague promise of protection.

He has been tasked with keeping you alive but he has done so much more than that.

He kept you sane when everything around you came crashing down. He became the grounding force you never got your whole life.

When sleep eluded you at night, haunted by shadows of loss, it was the sound of his breathing mere feet away that lulled you into rest.

He became the reminder that no matter the odds, you have him just right there.

He warmed you in every way that fire and shelter could never. Comforted you without needing to say a word.

And what makes it all the more profound is that he didn’t have to. This journey, this promise - none of it required him to care beyond the basics of survival. Yet he did. He does. Bucky cared about more than keeping you physically safe, he cared about you.

He didn’t have to watch out for you in those small, thoughtful ways. He went beyond duty, quietly and without fanfare.

Bucky Barnes is good.

And not just competent or capable, but good in a way that runs deep.

You blink back the stinging in your eyes as if to ward off that very realization. Even despite the burdens and the scars and the doubts he carries, he is a good man. He might not necessarily believe it himself - you heard it in his voice and saw it in his eyes - but you do.

You saw it firsthand, felt it in the moments he stood between you and the chaos of the world, protecting you from the ruins.

But what makes your heart bleed red crimson is the fact that you don’t have the time to make him believe.

Because this journey is ending the very next day.

Your heart feels like it’s being pulled in two different directions - toward the promised safety that lay ahead unknown and the comfort of what you have unexpectedly found.

And after this, what will happen?

Once the castle is in clear sight and his task is completed, what then?

Will he leave just like that, fading back into the forest this time without you?

Will you be left with the ache of his absence, suffering in the understanding that you’ve known something so rare and special, only to lose it?

You don’t know.

He was meant to take you somewhere safe and see you through to the other side. And you are nearly there.

What comes after is up to you.

You’re not even sure what you want - what you could even ask for - but the idea of stepping into that castle alone, without him at your side, fills you with trepidation.

Your heart stutters, unsure whether to face forward or shrink back. A needling chill spreads beneath your skin, making it itchy.

Your body seems to brace itself against the time ahead but there is no way to wrestle it into place.

The fire pops, showering sparks into the night.

Bucky moves a fraction, adjusting himself on the log, gaze pinned to the flames again. His broad shoulders are bowed slightly forward, his head tilted lightly. The grim set of his mouth is shadowed as the orange light is rather flashing on the stubble along his jaw.

You are drawn by him, by something beyond logic or necessity.

It almost even feels unnecessary to acknowledge that the weeks spent together have forged a little something between you two.

And though this travel is coming to its end, the hope remains within you, that perhaps it does not also have to be the end of whatever it is.

“Princess.”

Your head snaps up at the husky sound of his voice. He tries for a smile. It looks sad.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

No. Not without you.

Maybe in another life, you’d be able to say that out loud.

****

You basically spent the night searing him to your memories.

Not even the creaking branches or the swaying leaves were able to catch your attention anymore. Only him.

You committed everything you found out about him to memory.

He didn’t seem to sleep all that much as well so you couldn’t exactly stare at him too long. But you worked with what you already picked up, tracing his features in your mind.

That would be the endearing spray of freckles along the side of his face, scattered like stars in a constellation. It’s an unforgettable map etched into his skin.

The strong and proud slope of his nose, that sometimes moves with his mouth when he speaks.

You followed it down to the fullness of his lips, plump in a way that almost makes them look gentle despite the hard set they often carry.

Then there is his smile. So mesmerizing. It starts with a tug at the corners of his lips like it is something he doesn’t want to show but can’t quite suppress. And when it breaks free, it’s devastatingly beautiful.

And his eyebrows, able to relax when he sleeps or even when a fleeting peace washes over him that oftentimes has something to do with a glance your way.

His voice is clear in your mind, gruff but low and warm when he speaks those little nicknames. He no longer laces them with mockery and hearing them always makes a light rise in your chest that heats your skin.

And his eyes. God, those eyes. You tried to name their exact shade of blue, scouring your memory for the right hue. Could it be the light blue of forget-me-nots, those little blooms always so delicate in your hand when you went to seek them out at the palace gardens? Or maybe a more cornflower deep blue, looking so alive between other shades. No, probably more a nice soft, thick, tranquil velvety blue of hydrangeas, looking royal but still so brittle. Or freesia, with their delightfully tender beauty.

None seem quite right. Yet you search anyway. Desperate to pin down something so elusive.

And the way those blue eyes would search your own. Like he is always trying to figure you out, always trying to look deeper than you are sometimes comfortable with.

Your fingers flex slightly at the memory of his touch. The rough callouses and textures of his palm were stark against your soft skin, but his touch has always been gentle. The way he would hold your cheeks, sweep his thumbs over your skin, and tend to your wound, as if you are somehow a precious thing he wants to handle with care. A choice made rather than an obligation fulfilled.

And his hair - chestnut brown, but catching glimmers of gold in the firelight. You liked to watch those wild tendrils whip around his face in the wind. You remember how it looked when dampened by sweat, still unruly, sticking to the sides of his face.

His stubble - the rugged frame along his jawline that heightens his intensity. The one he would scratch at, or run his hand along once in a while. Especially in moments of thought.

You want to remember all of it.

Getting it all in memory locked away inside your mind to access whenever you need him.

Every laugh, every glance, the smallest change in his expression.

The night tried to propel you into the inevitable future, but you put up a fight as best as you could. You lingered, documenting every detail of him, making a mental capture of his perfection. Because he’d be gone.

So you took the time of the last night with him to memorize him, wishing the memory would be forever bright behind your eyelids. Never to fade. Never to leave you alone. That somehow against the odds, he would be there with you long after this journey reaches its conclusion. If not in flesh, then in your heart forever.

But for all the silent preparations you made under the shroud of the night - fixing Bucky Barnes into the tender folds of your memory, knowing you would have to let him slip away into the corners of a life without you - nothing could have braced you for the reality of the gate that enters your vision in the distance.

It stands looming and gnarly, iron bars reaching for the sky like the black ribs of some primeval creature intent on eating you alive. It’s menacing and grating in all its ridges. Almost like Bucky himself.

The path narrows as you tread forward. And with every step, your feet grow more heavy. The earth beneath your boots will be the last reminder of this journey you are so reluctant to leave behind.

The wilderness - the forest - has become such a peculiar place of comfort, full of campfire smoke, marked with whispers, and Bucky’s omnipresence - the stable wall just half a pace in front of you right now.

He scans the terrain, letting his eyes sweep across the landscape in his animalistic way. He surveys every tree, every shadow, looking for anything threat-like that might lurk here in the bushes around you.

There is no part of him that looks unsure. But you know better now. You’ve learned to read the subtle language of his body - his silence, his pauses, the set of his jaw when he’s holding back more than he is willing to share.

Wind brushes around the silence between you.

His earlier instructions echo in your head, just before you took off again this morning. His tone was clear and clipped and detached in a way. So practical. Too practical. You’ll approach the gate together to a certain point. Guards will be waiting on the other side. They will know who you are. They will take you in.

And you will go alone.

You remember his jaw clenching, teeth-gritting with each distinct word as though it caused him actual physical pain to say it, to try and shape this farewell into something more tolerable.

But the gate is in your sight already, far off, and nothing feels tolerable about that. It feels cold even from a distance.

Your breath hitches at the hope your body is already beginning to abandon.

You will have to walk the rest of the way alone. One breath of air in, and one breath of air out for every step. A deep gulf opens within you as the grim truth of that tries to settle. Bucky will stop walking any second and watch you take your first steps through those iron bars, leaving you to the kingdom waiting beyond.

Guards will be placed there. Waiting.

For the princess.

You have to remind yourself that that’s you.

The title no longer fits, awkwardly belonging to the body that has outgrown it much like a gown delicately torn at the seams.

The girl who once danced in marble halls bedecked in jewels that sparkled like shards of stars no longer exists anymore. What is left is the stark truth of exposure - physically and mentally - and survival driven by fear and fire through and with the unforeseen solace of companionship. Perhaps even friendship if you might.

And yet, here they are, waiting for a princess.

They're prepared to welcome back their princess like you’re something valuable to be retrieved. But god, you don’t feel like it.

You feel fractured, worn down by grief and guilt and the truths you’ve come to uncover along the way. The title is a relic from your old life that people now expect you to slip into again. Like a pair of shoes. As if it would be that easy.

You briefly look over at the back of Bucky’s built, broad frame, gripped with tension. His discipline surrounds him, the protective air he wears like his brown armor. But there is something more uneasy in the way his shoulders move.

You don’t know what might await you. What fate that castle will write for you. Bucky doesn’t either. And he almost seems to hate that fact considering the way he keeps his eyes on the gate ahead.

It isn’t just a passage. It’s a threshold. Crossing it will sever something irrevocable. Leave behind everything you’ve come to rely on, everything that’s kept you steady through the burn of your ruins.

Bucky.

You don’t know how to do this without him.

Your steps falter, but Bucky’s don’t.

He presses forward almost fiercely, determined. But still so stiff. You wonder if it is easier for him this way - to keep moving, to treat this as another mission, another battle won.

But he’s no soldier anymore and this is not a mission.

He is simply a man who keeps his promises.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

Each step brings you nearer to the end of something special, something you haven’t even fully understood before it began to elude you.

And then Bucky stops.

Your heart might as well have stopped along with him.

He turns his gaze toward you, indecisively, slowly, as if he is unsure whether he wants you to see what waits in his eyes.

But you do see. Oh, you see. And it hits you with a force that tears the breath from your lungs.

There is a rawness there, sharp like frost - something jumbled and aching underneath all that grit and stoicism he acknowledges as a part of himself.

You thought you knew those many different shades of Bucky Barnes by now. The gruff protector, the silent watcher, the man who said more with a tilt of his head or a blink of his eyes than with words.

But this is new.

This stripped-down, unguarded version of him - brimming with something that makes your heart stutter. The pattern it's been following for weeks not making sense anymore.

Your breath stumbles in your throat, rough and halting, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Chilled fingers clench uselessly at your sides, wanting to clutch something, wanting an anchor.

There is no relief. Only him. And that is worse, since even he feels far away now, like a shoreline that seems to slip ever so farther from your reach.

Even Bucky’s stance is off. Unfamiliar. He’s always stood like bracing for a blow, feet planted firm and shoulders squared in resolution to receive whatever blow came his way. Now he stands as though bracing for something else entirely - something no less brutal, something no less punishing.

Something like heartbreak. Or at least something dangerously close to it.

The tension between you is electric with a tingling spiral that tightens with every breath neither of you seems to take.

Words hang unspoken. They force themselves against the back of your throat, refusing to be formed into that simple goodbye you both know is coming.

You drop your gaze, unable to withstand those searching eyes any longer. They fall back to the road leading through the woods into what has become a strange sort of home for you.

The trees loom big and indifferent, the breeze swishing their leaves and whooshing against your cloak.

“I have to thank you.” A shaky breath leaves you, an attempt to steady the tremor in your chest. You try to look at him. “For everything you did for me.” It comes out weak but sincere, each word trembles in its truth.

True. How heart-wrenchingly true. He has done so much more than he was ever bound to. He kept you safe. He kept you whole. And there aren’t enough words in the world to say what that means to you.

You hear the sharp intake of his breath. His head shakes. Almost quick. Almost desperate. As though trying to wave your words away before they take root.

One hand scrubs across his troubled face, ruffling his hair more aggressively than probably intended. The brown strands fall haphazardly back against his temples. Wild and beautiful.

“You don’t gotta thank me,” he rasps out finally, his voice thick.

Of course, he would think that. After all, he merely kept a promise, hadn’t he? Delivered you to safety and nothing more, like some grim knight. That’s how he would see it.

But it’s not how you see it.

“I do,” you insist, voice slightly steadier now though your heart is anything but. “In earnest. I mean it.”

You are drowning in your appreciation for this man.

You do not want him walking away from here thinking he was just a means to your own survival, that this was nothing more than duty completed.

He has been more. So much more. And he deserves to know that.

The tendons in Bucky’s neck strain as his jaw stiffens further. Muscles in his face jump.

But he doesn’t look away. His blue eyes - blue like forget-me-nots and cornflowers and every flower you’ve ever tried to compare them to - flit between yours, looking for cracks, for lies. But there are none.

Silence crashes back in again. And something appears to be shifting in it. It’s not goodbye yet, not quite - but it’s close. So close you can feel it brushing against your skin so frigidly final.

You wonder if he feels it too.

Remembering, you shrug off the dark cloak around your shoulders. He bought it for you at that market so long ago - or perhaps not so long. Time has become rather vague on this journey, but that day stands crystalline in your memory. The warmth of his unexpected gesture. The protection it symbolized. The way he did it without a blink.

But you can’t keep it. It’s no longer yours. And he can use it far better if he continues on his journey to wherever it will take him next.

But before the fabric can fully slip off your shoulders, Bucky’s hands tighten it back around. Making sure it sits properly. His hands linger on your shoulders.

“No,” he says firmly, gritting his teeth slightly. He shakes his head once.

“You should take it back.”

“No,” he repeats, still sternly but quieter. “It’s yours.”

You snap your mouth back shut at the insistent way he stares at you. Letting your hands drop from the fabric, Bucky adjusts it another time before slowly moving his arms back to his side.

His eyes sweep over you. Meticulous. Unhurried. It makes your heart stutter painfully.

He seems to be doing what you have been trying to do - committing you to memory. Tracing every line of your face, every shot of emotion that passes through your eyes, and tucking it away where it will be safe.

The moment feels suspended. Infinite. But fond.

This was never meant to last.

But it hurts like hell that it’s ending.

And so you linger. Just a second longer, you tell yourself. Unsure how to step away from the place you’ve both come to, where the boundary between protector and protected has long since blurred into something softer, more human.

You’ve tried to brace yourself for this moment in a hundred quiet ways - attaching him to a place in your mind, memorizing the cadence of his breaths and the rough edges of his voice - none of it has prepared you for how impossible it feels now that it’s there.

You don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You can’t let this moment pass by without trying to hold onto it for just a little longer. Even if it doesn’t make the ache go away.

“What will you do now?” Your voice is bordering on tipping over but you try to keep it even enough. “Where will you go?”

You do want to know. Even if curiosity isn’t the whole of it. Maybe knowing will help make sense of losing him. Maybe if you can picture him somewhere - walking new roads, finding new places - you won’t have to carry your carved-out heart around all the time.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks past you, his face fixed somewhere in the distance. There is a crease in his brow. His fingers flex absently like he is working something through. For a moment, it seems he won’t answer at all.

“I’ve got a place to go, darlin',” he utters finally, the term slipping out as naturally as breath. “Don’t you worry about me.”

But there is something strange about the way he says it. Something weighted. An odd note in his voice that catches on the corners of your heart and refuses to let go. His voice is too quiet, the syllables too thick with meaning he doesn’t name. There is an implacable sadness around the words. So much thought. Something mournful lingers there, as if he might be grieving something. A thought he never dared to say out loud. A question he never dared to ask. And now never will.

It makes the ache in your chest fester and rip at the same time, urging you forward even though you don’t know where this conversation will lead. “You could stay here,” you offer. “Maybe for a while.”

You approached the suggestion timidly, like a leaf teetering on falling. You’ve made it sound careful, hesitant, afraid of disturbing whatever delicacy remains between you.

Bucky stands frozen. Head slightly bowed. His breath catches, a sound that is more of a sharp exhale than a laugh. Breathless, lacking any real mirth. Disbelieving. His head tilts lower toward the ground, perhaps searching for something there, something grounding. His shoulders shake subtly, as if he needs a second to pull himself back together.

When he lifts his head again, there is a tightness in his throat you can see in the effort it takes him to swallow.

“You know that won’t be possible, your Highness.”

Well, that hurt.

There’s a punch to your gut. There’s a stab to your heart. There’s a blow to your head.

All at the same time.

It leaves you bleeding so deeply, you don’t know how you’re still standing.

It leaves you gaping. With your heart in your hands. With your blood dripping to the dirty and leaves-covered floor.

His words don’t slice you open because they are mocking. God, that would be easier to dismiss.

No. His words pain you because there is no mockery at all.

None of his usual teasing lilt. No wry amusement or humor curling around his voice.

It’s gone. Everything stripped away until nothing is left but the sincere intent. He didn’t even call you princess. He called you what he was expected to call you. And he meant it.

He addressed you as a princess. As the most important person to your father's kingdom now that the king and queen are dead.

The persona you have distanced yourself from.

The persona you’ll have to step back into.

You’re so hurt you can’t breathe.

Because in that one utterance, he’s already bid you goodbye. Made it real in a way that spins you around, gutted and rootless.

In your ears, your heart beats to the thunder of a title that expects too much of you. It drums against your skin, as if in revulsion to your existence or perhaps the existence you are expected to have now.

And just like that, the freedom you hoped to have found in this forest - the warmth of the fire, the shared moments, passing glances - cracks apart and slips further from reach.

You want to protest, to tell him titles shouldn’t matter, not after everything you’ve experienced together. But his voice has been so pained.

And that’s the most heartbreaking part of it all. Because you know Bucky Barnes is a man who will carry this goodbye quietly, tucked deep into the hollow places of himself where no one will ever see it.

And you’re afraid that’s exactly what you’ll have to do too.

Because he is not meant to walk that path with you.

You try to hide and swallow the sting his words have caused.

But the pain that crossed your features has already been detected by Bucky.

And before you can step back, he leans toward you, closing the small space.

His hands lift without hesitation, large palms brushing against your skin as he cups your face between them. The hard lines of his fingers are familiar. So is the tenderness in which he holds you. He smells of pine and ash and Bucky. He is so close. Almost pressed up against you.

And your breath catches at the warmth seeping from him, at the fierce storm in his eyes. Remorse and sorrow bleed into the blue, shimmering with a kind of sympathy that nearly makes your knees buckle.

You can’t look away. He won’t let you.

And god, you wish he would, because this moment is everything and nothing you were ready for.

“You listen to me, darlin',” Bucky rumbles out, voice low and rough, with a gentleness that has you floating around his orbit. There is determination in his gaze. Not for himself, but for you. “You’re not your father. You’re not even like your mother. And that’s good. That’s good, because you’re better. Better than all the fools that’ll try to tell you otherwise.”

Your breath shudders against your lips. He leans in even further. Forget-me-nots actually do capture his eye color pretty well. You will have to find those flowers in your new gardens.

“You show 'em that,” he urges, though he still takes his time with telling you. Making his conviction come across. His thumbs brush ever so lightly against your cheekbones. “Make 'em believe it. I know you will.”

His belief wraps around your shattering heart, holding it together even as cracks threaten to tear open.

“You’re gonna be okay.” There was a slight waver in his voice but he caught it. “You are what these people need. Keep that in mind, yeah?”

His words are so achingly earnest. They have you teetering on the verge of tears.

“Yes,” you breathe out, giving him a nod. Just in case that whisper did not even reach him.

You feel something bloom inside you. Wildflowers perhaps, the color of all those you have spotted throughout your travel with this man. They push through cracks in stone and fill some of those spaces you had thought were left to be hollow forever.

The muscles in your jaw are trembling. They want to spill out a sob or a laugh or something else. But you hold firm.

Still, your breaths are released in shivers.

He believes you to be strong. He believes you to be your own powerful person without being shadowed by the ghosts of your parents.

And yet, there is something you spot in his eyes that you don’t want to see there. It’s a flicker of doubt. A tiny glimmer of self-deprecation that tells you he is convinced he is not part of that strength. And that he will never be.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for him, but you don’t dare move.

His eyes are still rooting you to the spot.

His breaths are mingling with yours.

The unrelenting blue of his eyes is so intently drawn to your own gaze.

There is nothing but him.

His touch sets every nerve in your body ablaze, buzzing with a tension so fierce it’s impossible to overcome.

You feel it thrumming between you. A crackling pull.

His eyes flicker down to your lips. And before you know it, your own eyes betray you as well. You trace his plump red mouth. Like poppy flowers. You would have to find those too.

He feels closer. The space between your faces is shrinking. So tentatively.

Your heart races wildly and you feel the rise and fall of his chest against your own.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly against your skin, seemingly torn between letting go and pulling you closer.

You want to close the distance.

You want him to close the distance.

A wave of sensation sweeps through your spine, leaving your skin tingling.

It would be so easy. Just lean up a tiny bit and press yourself against his lips. You already seem to be standing on your tippy toes anyway.

You could let this moment become something even more tangible and real, something you could carry with you in the spaces of your heart reserved just for him.

His lips hover just a breath away from yours, and you can feel the warmth of him. Everywhere. You feel him everywhere. His breath fans over your face so sweetly.

You both know where this is leading.

And unfortunately, you both know why this can’t happen.

Before your lips get the chance to fully touch, he pulls back. Slowly at first. Only an inch, studying your reaction, flipping his eyes between yours so rapidly you can’t keep up.

But then, reluctantly, he lets you go and takes a step back. His hands fall to his sides as if he has no idea what to do with them.

This is the end of the road.

If you fall into his arms now, it will only make the parting more difficult.

But it’s still not even nearly easy.

With a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and pull the cloak tighter around yourself. Just so you have something to do.

A gust of chilly wind hits you and you miss his touch in an instant. You feel removed. Cold.

You’ll carry this hurt, just as you will carry him. Just not behind the same door.

The space between you seems haunted now.

Like something has been stolen from the both of you.

You feel like you’re about to be pressed into the earth.

You know this is the part where you have to go. Where fate and duty carve their lines through your shared path, splitting it in two directions. He takes one half of your heart along with him.

Bucky’s eyes remain steadfast on you. Shadows are turning in and out of his gaze. He watches everything - the wind pulling at your cloak, the slight tremble of your lips, the desperate defiance in your gaze as though willing this not to be the last time.

Breath quivering, you force yourself to stand taller, chin lifted, although you don’t feel like it.

You don’t want to walk away. You don’t want this to end. But it has to. It always had to.

Your voice is thin and brittle like the last leave holding onto a winter branch. “Goodbye, Bucky,” you breathe.

And it still tastes inadequate on your tongue. It doesn’t hold even a fraction of what you truly feel, of what he’s come to mean to you.

Bucky’s movement is a slow gesture of a nod, almost seeming to store this moment away in a secure place deep within him. “Goodbye, darlin'.”

You take a step back, each inch widening a chasm between you. The pain is an entity that breathes inside your chest. Your legs are stiff, the earth not wanting to let you leave itself.

When you are about to turn, your throat clogs and his voice catches you in your tracks.

“Do me one favor, will you?”

You pivot cautiously, meeting his gaze. “Anything.”Fracture lines your voice. But you make it sound resolute. You’ll hold whatever he gives you tightly in your heart where it will live forever.

The corners of his mouth lift into a ghost of a smile. It’s feeble and laden with sorrow. It holds his final goodbye. The sight takes the wind right out of you.

“Don’t forget about me, yeah?”

You won’t.

How could you ever forget about Bucky Barnes.

“I’ll spend a lifetime remembering you.”

- Astrid Suu

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd

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dadbodbuck · 7 months ago

Note

fine, you've forced my hand!

It’s by some miracle that Buck doesn’t show his hand the instant he turns on the lights to see him sitting in the corner chair of his hotel room.

“They’ve got you in some pretty shitty digs, Evan,” he says, and Buck fights tooth and screaming nail to hold onto his composure. “Nash so low on funds he had to put you up in a crusty motel?”

“Agent 217,” Buck says, hand itching for his comm. He knows better, knows that 217 has his service weapon tucked neatly away in a holster at his side, knows he’d be dead before he could click on to make the call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Please, call me Tommy,” 217 says with an innocent, dashing grin, even inch the handsome James Bond everyone assumes Buck must be. “You have something I want.”

“Like we’ll ever tell you anything,” Buck scoffs, “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

217—Tommy, and why would he give Buck a name to call him?—stands, and stalks over. “Who says I’m after information?”

Buck swallows, tensing himself for a fight. “So, what, this is a hit? Are you here to gloat?”

Tommy continues walking, appraising Buck where he stands in his unassuming civvies. Jean jacket, cotton tee, khakis, tennis shoes. Compared to Tommy’s government-issued slacks, crisp button-down, and polished shoes, Buck feels a little underdressed. He glances down as Tommy rounds his back and leans forward to whisper. “You were at the boardwalk tonight. I know what Nash is after. Going up against the entire establishment, Evan? That’s a suicide mission.”

And—okay. Contrary to popular belief, being a spy (“Intelligence Agent,” Bobby always insists) doesn’t get him laid all the time. He’s actually been going through a bit of a dry spell, with the recent push towards leaking the project they’d been a part of before they went rogue. They just need a little more information, a little more time. Point being, it’s been a fucking goddamn minute, and 217 is smoking. Curly hair, slate gray eyes that sparkle with dry wit, pearly white smile that is condescending, maybe, but in a way that gets Buck’s dick standing at attention. Broad shoulders, big arms, solid muscle. He could bend Buck completely in half, if he so desired. And God, Buck desires.

“Sorry,” Buck blinks, while Tommy smiles his little Cheshire Cat grin, “What was the question?”

“Oh, I’m not here for questions,” Tommy murmurs, hands slipping over Buck’s hips. “I’ve seen the way you watch me, Evan. You’re not exactly subtle. It’s a wonder Nash still employs you.”

“I’m not hooking up with a fucking Fed,” Buck says, even as he gasps with the way Tommy leans down to mouth at his neck.

“Kinda sounds like you are,” Tommy grins, obnoxiously smug, “Besides, weren’t you a fucking Fed three years ago?”

“People change,” Buck says mindlessly, “Fuck, touch me.”

“As you wish,” Tommy replies, sounding affected for the first time that night. Buck catches a glimpse of them in the standing mirror in the entryway, sees the way Tommy’s eyes are blown dark over his shoulder. Watches his hand snake down his front, gently palm over the (frankly, humiliating) bulge in his pants.

Buck wishes he could say it felt like nothing. It would be so nice to be disappointed by Tommy’s touch, when he hates the guy with a burning passion. Unfortunately for Buck’s pride, it’s electric. Tommy’s hand is firm and warm on his dick, even through the layers of fabric.

“They told me about your reputation,” Tommy breathes, “Told me about Agent Buckley, back in the day, sleeping with marks more often than tailing them.”

Okay, so maybe sometimes being a spy got him laid. “It was very effective,” Buck says defensively, “Got a lot of good intel. Why, you want to see what all the fuss was about?”

“You know what they say about curiosity and cats,” Tommy muses, “And satisfaction bringing them back.”

Buck hums, and loses the last tenuous grip on his dignity. “I could blow you.”

“You mean I’d get a blowjob and spared the sound of your voice?” Tommy says, pressing a little harsher into Buck’s clothed dick, delicious friction pushing a moan out of Buck’s mouth. “Is there a downside?”

“Your dick will be extremely close to my teeth,” Buck returns, “And I don’t want you to come down my throat. I want you to fuck me.”

“All you had to do was ask,” Tommy simpers, before dropping his saccharine tone for a bossy: “Now get on your fucking knees.”

And, really, who told him that Buck’s favorite part of his 1.0 phase was when his marks would boss him around? Against his will, his knees give out, and he drops down, watching himself kneel in front of Tommy before reluctantly breaking eye contact with the mirror, shuffling around to a face full of tented polyester.

“You’re so fucking obnoxious,” Buck says, even as he leans forward to run his tongue along the outline of Tommy’s cock. It’s mouth-watering.

“I thought the point of sucking cock was to have your mouth occupied,” Tommy scoffs, hand fisting Buck’s hair a little meanly. Buck wishes he could stop another moan from spilling out of his mouth, but the pain hits him just right.

With fingers that are still thankfully on board with what he’s doing, Buck deftly undoes Tommy’s belt buckle, unzips his pants, and marvels at the thick, long cock that he pulls from his boxers. Oh, he’s going to have so much fun with this. He licks up the underside of Tommy’s dick, slow and wet, and revels in the way his hand tightens in his hair.

It’s like riding a bike, or something, probably. Buck finds himself sucking on the head of Tommy’s cock like he was born for it, bobbing his head down the length of him, letting the filthy, wet, clicking noise of his throat echo around the hotel room. It must be like riding a bike, because the other option is that Buck really did need Tommy this bad. And it can’t be that. Bobby would skin him alive.

“Jesus,” Tommy swears, hips hitching into Buck’s mouth. It’s almost like he’s trying to hold back for Buck’s sake, which is… cute. Certainly nicer treatment than he’s used to, but he can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or not.

Either way, he can’t handle tenderness. Not now, and maybe not ever. He doesn’t get to have attachments. That much is clear. He sees the way Eddie and Hen and Chim worry over their loved ones. This way is better. He’s already got Christopher and Maddie and Jee-yun to worry about.

Buck pulls off Tommy’s cock with a loud pop. “You can fuck my throat. It’s okay. I won’t break.”

“I hate to think of what your team would do to me if I broke their favorite toy,” Tommy chuckles, “Especially Diaz. I hear he’s creative.”

“Do me a favor and don’t mention him with your dick next to my face,” Buck rolls his eyes, desperately ignoring the way his dick twitches at the mention of Eddie’s name, “I’ll be fine. Take me for a ride. I know you want to.”

“Oh, you’re gagging for it,” Tommy surmises, guiding his cock back to Buck’s mouth. Buck, unable to deny it, willingly goes down on Tommy, letting him set the pace as he fucks leisurely into Buck’s mouth.

Tommy pushes him down further, and Buck relaxes into it, until he can feel the warmth of Tommy’s hip where his nose pushes into soft flesh. “Holy shit,” Tommy says, “I’m starting to get why this was so effective, I think.”

Buck stays until black spots start dancing at the corners of his eyes, pulling back and heaving breath, and then returning to his spot with Tommy’s cock all the way down his throat. It’s alarmingly comfortable. For the first time since his team went AWOL, he wishes he wasn’t in too deep to quit. He could spend an entire lifetime sitting at Tommy’s feet with his dick choking him stupid.

He gets maybe three more off-breath-down reps in before Tommy is pulling him off by the hair. “Okay, if you still want me to fuck you, we have to take this elsewhere.”

“Yeah, I want,” Buck croaks, voice alarmingly fucked out. Tommy helps him up—strangely chivalrous for a man who has tried on multiple occasions to shoot him with a gun—and they tumble into bed together. If it weren’t for the fact of who both of them were, it might even be romantic.

Tommy has his mouth on Buck before he can get another word in edgewise. Buck starts scrambling to get the rest of their clothes off, and shirts, pants, underwear, and shoes end up scattered around the room.

“Lube? Condoms?” Tommy asks as Buck bites at the junction of his neck and jaw.

“Side table,” Buck says, “You don’t have to use a condom. I haven’t had sex in a while.”

“Poor thing,” Tommy says, faux-pitying, as he rifles through the drawer of the side table, “You must be so pent up.”

Honestly, Buck’s just used to his marks not wanting to use condoms, and dealing with the potential fallout later. Still, he’s kind of disappointed when Tommy pulls them out of the drawer along with the lube packets.

“You’re adorable when you pout,” Tommy grins, pressing a sickly sweet kiss to Buck’s cheek, “I’m using a condom.”

“Fine,” Buck huffs, rolling his hips up into Tommy’s, “Just hurry.”

Tommy, thankfully, wastes no time in emptying a lube packet into his hand and swiping it up against Buck’s hole, slicking the way for his fingers. He’s clearly no slouch at this, either, thick fingers deftly opening him up beneath him, forearm muscles flexing so deliciously.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck,” Buck says, squirming as Tommy slides his fingers in and out in intoxicating rhythm, “Fuck me, Tommy, Tommy—”

“Finally, you’re saying something worth listening to,” Tommy smiles against Buck’s neck, “Never thought I’d get to hear the great Evan Buckley beg for my cock.”

“It’s—ah—it’s a specialty,” Buck pants, rolling his hips as he aches for more, for a harsh little sting, for something to distract him from the way this is starting to feel too much like intimacy and not enough like fucking.

“Maybe I’d like to hear some more,” Tommy says, pulling away to roll a condom on and slick himself up.

Buck, suddenly cold and empty, lets the words fall unabashed from his mouth. “Oh, please, Tommy, I’ll make it so good for you, it’ll feel so good, just need you in me, just need—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tommy says, just on the wrong side of tender, “I know what you need. Hold still for me.”

And then there’s the thick press of Tommy’s cock against Buck’s hole. Tommy slips in with a stretch that has Buck mewling something embarrassing in the back of his throat, and leans forward as he slides deeper, inch-by-burning-inch, encouraged by the way Buck grips at his biceps.

“Breathe,” Tommy says as he bottoms out, at which point Buck realizes he’s been stuck with his head tipped back and mouth open. He sucks in a gasping breath, relaxing under Tommy’s bulk. Tommy is warm above him again, haloed by the dim hotel light, so close Buck can feel his breath on his cheek.

“Move,” Buck demands, squirming. Tommy seems only too happy to oblige, mouth finding Buck’s again as he starts to roll his hips into him. It’s a slow, languid fuck, but still enough to have Buck seeing stars.

“This how you got all those people to tell you what they were up to?” Tommy asks, a hand roaming down to pinch Buck’s nipple, coaxing a groan out of him. “You’d just lay here all pretty and let them take what they wanted?”

“Nnnnngh—usually they wanted me on top,” Buck says around a reedy moan, “But yeah, that’s the general idea.”

“You take it so well,” Tommy murmurs, snapping his hips in with just a little more force, “Makes me wonder how many times you’ve done this before. How many times you begged on your knees—how many times you’ve been a slut for terrible people.”

“You’re in perfectly fine company, I can assure you,” Buck says, trying to regain some of his composure, “Art thieves, mob bosses, hackers. You work with monsters every day, why can’t I sleep with them?”

“I’ll have you know that the monsters I work with are working for the greater good,” Tommy says, with a huffed laugh, “And if you keep talking about them I’m not going to let you finish.”

“Oh, you’re not going to let me?” Buck says, “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of taking what I want, too.”

“I’m sure you are, stud,” Tommy says, in that same condescending tone of voice that goes right to Buck’s dick. He fucks into him harder, right at the perfect angle, and Buck can’t help the pathetic moan that spills out of his mouth.

“You—were—talking—a little—too much,” Tommy grunts between thrusts, slamming into Buck again, and again, “Just lay back—and fucking take it.”

Like Buck could ever want to do anything else. He’s well aware of the fucked-out little uh, uh, uh noises that Tommy’s forcing out of him, but he’s far too gone to be embarrassed about it. This is the best fuck he’s had in years, he could care less what he sounds like or looks like right now.

Not that Tommy seems to mind. If anything, given the way he’s latched onto Buck’s neck like a goddamn vampire, he likes that Buck’s a writhing mess beneath him. Buck’s nerves are lit up, from the pain of Tommy’s less-than-gentle biting, from the way Tommy nails Buck’s prostate with every thrust, from the skin-on-skin he hasn’t had in so long.

His orgasm sneaks up on him. Usually, he’s a lot better about announcing it, giving his partners time to decide what they want, but Tommy is—Tommy is grunting and his back muscles are flexing under Buck’s fingers and his cock fills him so beautifully and Buck didn’t even think he could come without something on his dick, but—

Belatedly, as Buck rockets towards the clouds, he realizes that maybe there is something special about Agent 217.

Buck comes down slowly, to the feeling of hands gently petting his sides, and a softening dick sliding out of his ass. It’s gross, leaves him feeling sticky and a little used, but he can’t bring himself to care that much about it at all. To his complete shock, he feels Tommy rummaging around for something, and then the soft cotton of his shirt wiping the cum off of his stomach, and the lube from his ass.

“It’s okay, Evan,” Tommy says, gentle, soft, “You can rest.”

Buck, despite every ounce of self-preservation that says he’s leaving himself completely vulnerable, does.

He wakes to an empty room. Nothing seems amiss, so despite the deep humiliation and regret, Buck packs his things (luckily, finding his hiding spots untouched) and heads back to the rendezvous point.

Athena is waiting for him at the café, in streetwear that looks unnaturally casual on her. “Got everything?”

“Check and check,” Buck says, handing her the dossier, “Got some lovely pictures. The sunset was especially gorgeous last night.”

“You sound like you could use a tea with lemon and honey,” Athena winces, “You coming down with something?”

“No,” Buck says, fighting against the urge to flush.

Athena passes him a knowing smile over her coffee. “Thanks for this, Buck. I’ll let Bobby know you came through, and he’ll want to meet with you later. I think we’re getting close.”

“Good,” Buck sighs, “I can’t wait for this whole mess to be over. I never thought I’d say this, but it would be nice to do some paperwork for once.”

#my fics #prompt fill #bucktommy #tevan #kinkley

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ofmonstersandflowers · 2 months ago

Text

Blacksmith [PBSS!CM]

Blacksmith, blacksmith, forge me a blade...

THE DEPARTURE.

You were at the gates of Mount Hua, your belongings packed into a simple bundle, the crowd or early risen disciples watching in complete silence. They watched as you walk with quiet dignity, forcing your expression to be unreadable.

Chung Myung broke through the crowd, his anger momentarily melting into desperation. "You don't have to go."

You shook your head, your calm demeanor masking the pain in your eyes. "Yes, I do."

"You're just going to let them do this?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Don't let them win, don't let them trample over you.

You're stronger than this.

"It's not about letting them," you respond softly, as if anything else would make him burn brightly and unforgivingly. "It's about what's best for everyone. Staying will only make things harder—for you, for me, for the sect."

Chung Myung reached out, gripping your arm. "This isn't right."

His gritted teeth made a sizzing sound, like a snake's curse.

"I know," you say, appeasing, your voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, we have to accept what we can't change."

But it could've been prevented. This is a mistake, and you're the scapegoat. This isn't fair. He bites his lips until all he tastes is metallic taste.

He lets go, his hands falling to his sides and you step past him.

As you disappeared down the mountain path, the disciples stood in stunned silence, their hearts heavy with unspoken protests.

A PURPOSE.

Your departure from Mount Hua has left you untethered, wandering with no clear destination. The sting of your expulsion still lingered, but the ache of uncertainty was worse. You needed a purpose, a way to life instead of becoming a mourning ghost.

Your wandering eventually led you to a small, unassuming village nestled between two rugged hills. The sound of hammering drew you to the outskirts, where a blacksmith's forge stood, smoke curling lazily into the sky.

You paused at the threschold, your gaze drawn to the man within. His movements were deliberate, his hands steady despite the bandages covering his eyes. He worked as if the metal were an extension of himself, each strike of the hammer resounding with purpose.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or do you have something to say?" his voice rang out, startling you. A raspy heavy sound, as if he hadn't talked to someone in ages.

"I'm looking for work." You are sincere and curt.

Without seeing, he seems to scrutiny you.

"And what does a young lad like you know about smithing?"

"Nothing," you admit. "But I learn quickly." Because there is nothing else waiting for you. Because one always starts from a scratch, or nothing.

He chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. "Quick learning won't fix a blade or temper steel, but I could use an extra pair of eyes. Seems mine have given up on me." He gestured to a spare room at the back of the forge. "You won't find anything close by to stay. Food, a roof, and payment if you're useful."

"I won't disappoint," you say firmly.

You threw yourself into the work with the desperation of someone grasping at straws. You start with simple tasks: fetching water, stoking the forge, organizing the tools. Your eyes never stray far from the blacksmiths form, you observed him work closely, noting the rythm of his movement, the way his hands seemed to see what his eyes could not.

"Watch the color of the metal," he told you one day, his voice calm as he hammered a piece of glowing steel. "That'll tell you if the heat is right. Too bright, it's ruined. Too dull, it won't take shape."

You nodded, focusing intently on the changing hues of the metal in the fire. Under his guidance, you began assisting with smaller tasks, getting closer to the goal: holding pieces steady, filing edgees, even shaping simple tools.

Your progress surprised him, looking at you favourably. "You weren't lying about learning quickly," he said one evening as they sat by the forge.

"Maybe I've hidden from you the messes I made."

He snorted. His blindness made him notice more than those who depend on sight. There isn't a thing that escapes him. He knows of your screw ups, but that's a part of learning. Making less mistakes reveals determination to improve.

THE FLAME.

"You're not just any blacksmith, are you?" you ventured one day, as you watched him shape an intricately curved dagger.

He puffed his chest a bit. "I have a knack for the unusual. People come to me when the ordinary won't do."

"Why did you take me in?" you press on. He could've had more than you. Maybe there were people wanting to learn from him more qualified than you. "Surely there were others more skilled."

The blacksmith paused, his hands stilling over the anvil. "Skill can be taught. Determination can't. You walked in here with fire in your voice, with a purpose in mind. That's worth more than knowing how to swing a hammer."

That was the closest thing he ever said to admiting your presence was welcomed company, drowning any voice in your head that made you feel like an intruder.

You became indispensable. Your sharp eyes and steady hands complemented the blacksmith's expertise, allowing them to tackle commissions that would have been impossible for him alone.

You learned to read blueprints, measure with presicion, and even design your own modifications. Customers began to notice the improvements in the forge's work, praising the flawless details and ingenious designs.

The blacksmith, for all his gruffness, seemed proud. "You've got a good head for this," he said one evening over a simple meal. "Keep at is, and you'll surpass me one day."

You laughed a bit breathless. Compliments were as scarce as water in a desert from him. "I doubt that," and it rang true, you were full of shortcomings in front of his lifetime of experience. You learn from him, you calk his work and make it yours slowly. That's enough.

You have time. What more can you ask?

The spare bedroom was modest but comfortablee, and the meals were simple and filling. The payment wasn't much, but it was enough to buy new clothes and save a little. For the first time in months, you feel a sense of stability.

You miss Mount Hua like you'd miss a limb, but the forge has given you a new purpose to not lose yourself and wallow in misery. Each strike of the hammer, each piece of metal brought to life, was a step forward—a way to prove yourself that you're more than what you've left behind.

And perhaps, you thought, watching the blacksmith expertly guide you through another project, you'd found a place where you can belong.

You only hope it won't be ripped from you again.

Another time would definetly kill you. One can only be so strong.

THE COMMISSION.

It was a quiet morning in the forge when a new commission arrived, brought by a courier who left as quickly as he'd come.

You took the note, scanning through the details: a sword with a handle carved to resemble plum blossoms.

Your breath caught. Your hands trembled slightly as you placed the paper on the workbench. You hear your heart beat boiling on your ears. You didn't have to ask who it was for—there was only one person who would request something so symbolic, only one who would go so far as to find you in such remote place.

You made him sweat a bit, didn't you? He is such a fool... that unrelenting force of nature he embodied. Ah, trouble knocks again.

The blacksmith, sitting nearby, seemed to sense your unease. His sightless eyes turned towards you, his expression unreadable. "A special commission, is it?" his tone casual but probing.

From a speacial someone. A part from a not far off past is catching up to you. Will you welcome him or hammer him into the ground?

"Yes. I'll handle it," your voice tight.

Before you could steel youself further, the door creaked open.

Damn you, what was the courtier for, if you were never one to be patient? You're a Taoist unable to meditate... learn some patience!

The air shifted as a figure stepped into the forge, his presence filling the space like an uninvited storm. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. You had memorized his footsteps, the way his energy seemed to draw attention effortlessly. For better or worse. Normally for worse.

... Chung Myung.

"Excuse me," the voice came, familiar and sharp, thought tinged with something softer. "I'm here about a sword."

Your grip on the workbench tightened. Slowly, you turned to face him.

Chung Myung stood in the doorway, his usual confident smirk dimmed by exhaustion. His clothes even if pristine, were travel worn, his face slightly gaunt, but his eyes burning with the same fire. When he saw you, his expression faltered, a flicker of relief breaking through his guarded demeanor.

"I've finally found you," he breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You'll have none of that.

"Are you getting dumber by the day? What, you sent a courtier asking for a sword and you enter less than five minutes after? Not even the best blacksmith can create a sword out of damn thin air. Get out."

When you get nervous or caught off guard you ramble and you bristle like an angry cat.

What angers you more is that his whole body relaxes like falling into a well known familiar routine. No, no, no.

"Get. Out." you repeat forcefully.

"I've walked a lot to..."

"Go walk a bit more. Outside."

"Not even a cup of tea?"

"As if you'd know the taste of tea, you raging alcoholic. Out. Now." Please, you need to compose yourself, damnit!

His smile is infuriating. You hear the little jumps he does out of sight, the lively rythm his steps have.

He makes you lose your temper so fast that... you look back at the blacksmith. He is definetly holding back his laughter.

"You're rougher with your loverboy than when moulding metal."

"Wh—he is not...!" you gulp down another anger-nervous-induced ramble.

"And he listens better to you than the steel does your hammer. Go to him, go discuss... the sword." He nudges you to the door and disappears inside with surprising speed for a bling man.

Was this old man hidding such a side all this time? I feel more drained now than after a rigurous spar. Ugh...

THE CONFRONTATION.

You crossed your arms, your face a mask of calm despite the storm raging inside you. For your own sanity, just forget the slip up you made when seeing him for the first time. You can't let youself fall into the familiar banter and let yourself be dragged by his flow. "You shouldn't be here."

Chung Myung stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours. "I've been looking for you. You didn't make it easy."

"Didn't it cross your mind that maybe I didn't want to be found?"

"Couple times. Yet, here I am." His voice firm but not unkind.

"Ignoring the voice of reason. Do you even have it?" A jape. To hide your inner turmoil more than anything. He doesn't look pleased.

"Do you have any idea how far I've traveled? How many villages I've searched? How many dead ends I've hit?" Bordering desperation, his voice tinged with a silent plea. What if I didn't find you?

You looked away, jaw tightening. "You didn't have to look for me. I'm doing just fine. I've found a place here."

"Do you really believe that?" his question a tad softer, a tad incredulous. He didn't buy it. "Or are you just telling yourself that because it's easier than facing the truth?"

You turned back to him, your eyes flashing dangerously. "And pray tell me, what truth is that?"

"That you belong with us. With me." At Mount Hua.

The words hung in the air. What a selfish prick he is. As if leaving was easy, as if you truly had a choice in the matter, as if you hadn't left behind all you've worked for. Home. You lost home once, you are trying to make another here.

His timing is a terrible form of a joke.

You shook your head, your body trembling with barely restrained anger slipping through the cracks. "I was expelled. Cast out like I was nothing. You can't just pretend that didn't happen. Nothing can go back as it was."

You wish. You hope. It's a cruel fantasy, one you won't be indulging in anymore.

"I'm not pretending," he said, stepping closer. "You didn't deserve that. None of us agreed with it. The Elders made a mistake."

"A mistake that cost me everything," you spitted bitterly. "I'm rebuilding my life here. I'm learning a craft, getting better everyday, I'm contributing. What more do you want from me?"

It felt like your heart was rippen out. What more can you give? You are surviving everyday by a hair's breath by not looking back, by not giving in to nostalgia.

"I want you to stop running," his voice rising slightly; the heat of the moment was getting to him too. "You think this place will give you peace, but I know you. You will never be satisfied with this. You running only gives them the power to decide your worth."

"And what; have everyday all I ever wanted to be, all I could achieve at arm's reach to never quite close the distance? That's a fool's form of torture. I will not put myself through this."

"You're stronger than any of us."

"I was stronger. They turned me into a scapegoat and now I am broken." Your defenses wavered, but you stood firm. Even if your voice cracked.

I won't go back. It was clear in your eyes. That would be dying everyday. Here you die slowly and ultimately, as a natural development. Like an old ache growing impossible to ignore.

Going back is a violent death, one you'll relive in every corner. Once is enough.

Chung Myung's shoulders slumped a bit, and he looked up at the sky, searching for an answer to fall in his hands. The sky is silent. His determination is waning. You are more stubborn or maybe he's always been softer when it's you.

"Then I'll stay." Chung Myung smiled faintly, a bit resigned and not quite satisfied with the outcome, but showing the first real sign of warmth since he arrived.

"Don't you dare. I'll grow sick of you."

"Aren't you already? How tolerant you've become. I'll linger a bit longer just to test your limits."

THE SWORD.

The silence between the two was broken only by the soft crackle of the forge's fire. You looked at the sword commission sitting on the workbench, the plum blossom design sketched out in careful detail.

"You knew I was here when you sent this request, didn't you?"

Chung Myung shrugged, his smirk returning. "It was the best way to draw you out. You don't exactly have a low profile."

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. So he already knew about your wereabouts and still put up a scene with the courtier, his ragged looks. So dramatic. "You're infutiating."

"Maybe," he drawled, his tone light. "But I'm also right."

You exhaled deeply, the weight of your conversation settling in your chest. You picked the note, holding it tighly. "If I make this sword for you, will you leave me alone?"

Chung Myung tilted his head, his eyes narrowing and softening at the same time. "If that's what you really want... but I don't think you wish for it."

Cunning bastard... you didn't respond, your eyes loud enough. His smile widened and you turned back to the forge and lighting the fire. As the flames roared to life, you silently resolved to face your past—no matter what it meant for the future. No more running.

Chung Myung had too many things on his mind. You're surprised by his capability to stay quiet for once. He changed a bit too. People never stay as frozen as memories in one's head. He waited all day, watching as you worked, the broken bridge that became your bond growing stronger with every strike of the hammer.

This is enough for now.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

DON'T ask me what this is. I also don't know. I've never published anything I've written until know because I am my worst critic. English is not my first language and I know I messed something, but I am not going to read it because this feels like eating whatever I've thrown up. I made this in one go for whoever is starving and wants more content. If there's something weird is maybe because I've written this with an OC of mine (I can't draw for shit so they life rentfree on my mind) and I just changed "her" to "you" to make it gender neutral too. God please give me a signal if you want to see more of this or anything else, appreciaton makes me feel less shitty and conscious of my own skin, ty

#chung myung #cheong myeong #chung myung x reader #cheong myeong x reader #return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #rotmhs #rotbb

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oddsconvert · 6 months ago

Text

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part III

Previous / Masterlist

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda/kinda not), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, threat of violence/death, weapons, adult language (pls let me know if I've forgotten any!)

AND FINALLY! THE LAST PART FOR AUGUST AND LUCAS' BACKSTORY! 🎉 Thank you so much for your guys' patience, with this one - it means everything <3 We resume with our usually scheduled Declan next chapter! 😍 And a mahoosive thank you to @darkthingshappen for her beta and help!

---

August feels like a stranger in his own home. A prisoner in his own home; his sanctuary now nothing more than a gilded cage. He is forever and always a captive of his own compassion and a victim of his cowardice.

But August curses himself for daring to think like that. It’s unjust to think like that, especially on a night like tonight. The frantic hammering of a human heartbeat upstairs is his bleak reminder that he’s not alone anymore, and yet somehow… he’s never felt more alone in his life. The quiet has never screamed so loud, and the walls stretch to endless empty space around him.

For decades, August has been a ghost haunting this house. Lost in the in-between, a nobody with nobody. For decades, August has been at peace with that. Or at least, he had convinced himself that he was - if he dared to admit that the solitude was crippling, then the silence would drag him under and swallow him whole. Contentment was a convenient lie for the last century, but August’s loneliness is a glaring truth rearing its ugly head. He isn’t ready to face it.

Despair gnaws at his insides, sharper than the bite of the cold nipping his skin. Daylight has been and gone, and now moonlight bleeds through the dusty drapes. The ornate windows have blurred over with swirling white as the blizzard wails like a banshee and rages outside. August waits and waits, the grandfather clock in the corner ticks with a maddening slowness. He waits for something, anything and nothing all at once. He doesn’t know what. His comeuppance, perhaps? A wooden stake plunged straight through his spine?

The human is still hidden away upstairs. Hours have bled by without a sound, not a whisper of movement and not a creak of the floorboard. No doubt he is plotting and scheming, waiting for his perfect chance to strike. Who could blame him? If August were in the human's position, trapped and desperate, the only natural urge for survival would twist his mind too.

August repeats his earlier vow in his mind like a broken record, over and over. When the snowstorm clears, the human will be released, and not a second later. He is a healer, not a gaoler. Every fibre of August's being aches with the need to atone. He will right this wrong no matter the cost.

A sudden chill snakes down August's spine. A different kind of chill than the frosty air that fogs his breath. He snaps around, his eyes zeroing in on the dark figure lurking in the doorway. The human. They hadn’t made a sound, they’d just…appeared. Materialised out of thin air. Their sunken-in and bloodshot eyes lock with August’s in the dim light. His stance is imposing, his demeanour threatening. August feels strangely diminished by the very sight of him, as though he’s two inches tall.

"Hungry."

A single grumbled word is all that leaves the human's lips. Barely audible but the demand is crystal clear. Not a beg for scraps or a plea, it’s a demand. An attempt to claw back a sliver of control in a situation spiralling wildly out of reach for both of them. The terse delivery, the lack of a complete sentence - it speaks volumes. August isn't worthy of conversation, of any respect or dignity. He isn’t human, afterall - why should he be treated with any humanity?

The realisation eats away at him more than the rumbling of the human’s stomach.

That’s another thing. August forgets how quickly the human’s digestive system and their metabolism works. It’s a miracle how they live as long as they do. It’s as though the second they swallow, their belly immediately roars for even more. It must be impossible to keep up. August can’t keep up.

"I-I'll see what's in the pantry," August stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of the human's burning stare. "It- It won't be much, but..."

He shuffles towards the kitchen and its meagre cabinets. A can of chicken chunks, a tin of kidney beans, cobwebs and layers of dust line the shelves. The human catches a glimpse of the miserable sight, his expression drops to a mix of disapproval, offence and somehow, something akin to pity.

“If you plan on keeping me prisoner, you need to feed me, vamp,” the human snarls with contempt, “That’s human biology 101. Didn’t you claim to be a doc?”

August's jaw clenches. That hit a raw nerve. He wants to retort, to defend his capabilities, but the accusation lodges itself deep in August’s gut. He feels a flush of shame and embarrassment fill his cheeks, because the man’s words were a bitter truth. How can he call himself a doctor? When all he’s responsible for is pain and misery? He can’t even provide basic sustenance.

August finds himself at a loss for words. He can’t even look at the human. Instead he hangs his head and anxiously picks at the skin on his fingers. “I-I …I didn’t p-plan this. Any of this-”

“-Food,” the human makes his demand again. His fuse running short.

“H-Help yourself. You don’t have to ask. Please, just make yourself at home.”

“This will never be my home,” the human spits venomously, his hands balled tight into fists.

“No - I - I didn’t mean tha-”

The human tears past August in a huff, his body vibrating with barely contained rage. His shoulder slams into August with deliberate malice. August, however, stands firm and absorbs the shove without a flinch. He watches as the human throws himself at the kitchen with the ferocious hunger of a starved lion. He wrenches the cupboards open with bone-jarring bangs and slams them shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

“So what’s your plan?” the human side-eyes August, squatting down to the lower cabinets and flinging them open. They’re empty too. They all are, really. He groans in frustration and slams them shut. “Earn my trust to break it? I’ll be a mindless zombie in days?”

"My plan is to return you to where I found you. As soon as I possibly can. Without hesitation."

“‘Without hesitation?’” the human scoffs, a bitter and humourless laugh, “what a fucking joke.”

He snatches at cans and packets, what few there are that he can get his hands on. He crams a half-empty bag of dry pasta and a tin of peaches into his arms - god knows how long they’ve been there. Nothing that constitutes a full meal but his stockpile will stretch to a couple days, at least. August feels a weight settle heavy on his chest at that. He knows with a devastating certainty that the bridge of understanding between them is crumbling away. The human will surely disappear upstairs again, never to be seen. There will be no getting through to him. Strangers, they will remain.

The human fills his arms and races back towards the stairs. August scrambles after him, his voice tight, "Please, can we just talk? Before you-”

“NO! Don't follow me! Don't talk to me. Don't you dare come anywhere near me. Don't even knock on my door. You want to make good on your promise? I don't want to hear from you or see your face until we’re heading back to human territory. Comprende?!”

If August had a tail, it would be between his legs. His shoulders slump as he nods solemnly, shamefaced.

“I understand,” August croaks, “I’m so sorry. I won’t come near you until it’s time to go.”

“Not a moment before, and not a damn second later,” the human growls with a point of his finger, veins bulging in his neck that August can’t help but notice.

One moment he’s there and the next, he disappears up the stairs in a flash. He slams the door like a hormonal teenager and August hears the unmistakable screeching and scraping of furniture being dragged across the room all over again.

*!*!*!*!*

Lucas doesn’t count the days it’s been. He doesn’t need nor want to. Even if he tried, the numbers would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He refuses to be one of those prisoners who scratches tallies into the walls until there’s no space left to etch, until their sanity crumbles to nothing.

Either yesterday, or three days, or a week ago - Lucas can only guess, everyday has turned to mush - the storm knocked out the power lines. The house plunged into pitch-black darkness and stayed that way ever since.

It’s now or never. The vampire or him. Lucas knows no-one is coming to save him. No-one is looking for him. He can’t afford to be the damsel in distress and wait for a saviour or a miracle. The gnawing ache in his stomach and the dwindling rations remind him that his clock is ticking.

Only one of them walks out of this alive.

Lucas grits his teeth, his resolve hardening like steel. He will be the last one standing. He dismantles his barricade, and the stake finds its way back to his palm again. His fingers curl around the splintered, shaved wood. On tip-toes, he sneaks through the shadowed hallway. A too-loud creak of the floor and Lucas freezes on the spot, his ears pricking. When nothing comes of it, he creeps on towards the stairs.

How will it feel? Brief hesitation coils around his gut. His hands turn clammy. How will it feel to take another’s life? There’ll be blood on his hands for the rest of his life - maybe guilt will eat him alive. But needs must. If he doesn’t slay the monster, there’ll be no life left to be wracked with guilt. How many countless other lives will this save aside his own?

Lucas holds his breath, cautiously poking his head through the bars of the stairwell railing. In flickering candlelight, the vampire hunches over a worn chessboard. Its face etched with an ageless ennui, it tediously moves the black knight across the squares. Somehow, its pale skin seems even more ghostly in the dim light, but Lucas notices how its dark eyes seem to hold a profound loneliness and deep despair.

The vampire was playing all by itself; the opposing white pieces stood sentinel in their starting positions. A ragged sigh escapes its lips as it captures a white pawn with a languid grace. The victory, if it could be called that, brought no spark of joy or satisfaction to its eyes. The vampire simply reset the captured pawn. And played on.

Lucas watches the vampire, his mind in turmoil. This isn’t what he envisioned; being kidnapped by a vampire. He’d imagined a life of forced subservience, drained for every drop of his blood. He saw himself fighting tooth and nail for a life no longer worth living. A life as livestock, waiting for slaughter. His grip on the stake loosens, and he stares down at it with deep contemplation.

This doesn’t feel like the nightmare Lucas had always feared it would be. This vampire, this monster that stole him… has kept to every promise it’s made. Lucas can’t believe that he’s admitting that. It hasn’t used persuasion. Why? It would be so easy, like taking candy from a baby. Lucas would have no choice but to grovel at its feet and offer it a drink from his neck. But the vampire hasn’t even tried to feed, claims it doesn’t want to feed. The vampire hasn’t laid a hand on Lucas. It’s given him peace and solitude, food and drink, endless promises to return him to human territory, safe and sound.

A wave of doubt crashes over Lucas. Could he dare to trust the vampire’s word?

“Care to join…?”

Lucas jumps out of his skin. The vampire is looking right at him, its gaze fixed and intense. For a moment, Lucas fears the worst. Has he angered the creature? But as he looks closer, he realises that the vampire's expression was not one of anger. Instead, there’s a raw desperation and longing in its eyes, a look that Lucas had never seen or maybe cared to notice before. He quickly and discreetly shoves the stake into the waistband of his jeans, and grabs the bars of the stairs like the prisoner he’s been so convinced he is.

“What do I win?” Lucas calls down. There’s still hesitation to his voice, an air of stubbornness. He’s not fully prepared to let his guard down just yet.

For the first time, the vampire actually smiles. “Bragging rights. I never lose.”

Lucas hesitates, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation coursing through him. Perhaps this game of chess would help pass the time before he goes back, and maybe, just maybe, it would give him a chance to glimpse into the mind of this vampire. He nods and heads down the stairs as the vampire frantically and meticulously restarts the board.

“I’ll let you go first, of course. Give you a headstart. It would be unfair otherwise,” the vampire lightly teases.

Lucas moves first, his fingers hesitating slightly as he places a white pawn forward. The vampire responds with equal care, its movements precise and deliberate. They play in pregnant silence, the only sound the soft click of the pieces against the board. An eternity and a half passes before the silence is dared to be broken.

“I’ve been thinking,” The vampire ponders, “when the power is restored, is there anyone you could call? Just to let somebody know you’re safe? That you will be back as soon as you can?”

Lucas leans back, his eyes glued to the board, and without looking up, simply replies, "Nope."

“No-one at all? Not a single soul?” the vampire presses.

“That’s what nope means, don’t it?” Lucas takes a pawn, and the vampire uncomfortably shuffles in its chair. “You know that no-one’s looking, that’s why you chose me, remember…?” a condescending smirk curls on Lucas’s lips. Like he can afford to prod and jibe. He’s feeling more at ease, his confidence growing with each passing moment.

"Anyway. You must be the softest leech going. Either that or you're playing the long game. The self-restraint is mind-boggling... don't you want a bite? Bet the smell is driving you almost cuckoo," Lucas outstretches his arm and waves it underneath the vampire's nose.

Lucas doesn't know how much he even believes what he’s saying anymore. His thoughts are a whirlwind. He has been so hellbent on survival, on staying one step ahead of the vampire, that he hadn't had a second to breathe and take a step back to really think about what was happening. He watches the vampire's face closely, searching for any sign of weakness or desire. Is the restraint genuine, or is it just a facade?

Instead the vampire’s face falls and it gasps, reaching out for Lucas’s wrist, “Your wound-”

The gash on Lucas’ palm is deep, the edges jagged and uneven and the skin around it is inflamed and swollen. Lucas had bigger fish to fry than worrying over a silly little cut, but now he notices it, he feels it throb with dull pain.

“That’s not looking good. Would you let me take a look at it?”

Lucas quickly retracts his arm and cradles his hand defensively. His eyes narrow. “If you win. If you win, maybe I’ll let you. But what do I get if I win?”

The vamp seems satisfied by that. So certain of its inevitable triumph. “I told you. Bragging rights.”

Lucas isn’t so certain that the vampire will best him. He remembers the long days spent practising his moves against the undefeated champion. His grandpa was tough, but Lucas had always held his own. There were times when he thought he might just be able to beat him, but the old man always managed to pull through.

A flicker of nostalgia and a flicker of grief passes over Lucas's face. “My grandpa. He was the undefeated champ. But I got pretty damn close on occasion. This will be childsplay.”

The vampire’s face softens, its voice gentle, “Is he…still with us?”

“If he was, do you think I’d be sleeping rough on some sopping wet cardboard?” Lucas makes another sharp move, capturing one of the vampire’s pieces. Silence fills the air, and Lucas sighs.

“Why aren’t you using persuasion? You could easily win this. Make me move my knight and the game’s all yours,” Lucas suggests, shrugging. The vampire lets out a low chuckle, his eyes scanning the board as he calculates his next move. But Lucas's words lingered, a nagging thought in the back of his mind.

“No…but, in all seriousness…why - why aren’t you using persuasion? Like, at all? I’d be powerless to stop you. I’d… be y-yours,” he stutters. “Entirely at your mercy. You wouldn’t have to follow through on your promise to free me.”

The vampire's ruby-red eyes widen in shock. Its mouth drops open as though he’d been struck. It averts its gaze down to the flickering candlelight.

“Why would I?” the vamp laments, “I don’t want to use persuasion. To what aim? I’ve made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. I value your trust, and I would never do anything to jeopardise it. You deserve your free will. Your choices and your thoughts are, and will always be, your own.”

“I didn’t choose to be here-” Lucas' lips respond quicker than his brain can comprehend. He can tell those words cut like a knife to the vampire.

“No… you didn’t.” The vampire whispers, its tone heavy with guilt. “And that will haunt me for as long as I shall live.”

Lucas is taken aback. He’d always assumed that vampires were cold, unfeeling monsters - devoid of all emotion. But here, he saw something different. He feels something different. The vampire’s words were filled with a mournful regret. He fears he’d been too quick to judge, too eager to paint the vampire as a villain. Maybe there is more to this creature than meets the eye.

The wind suddenly picks up outside, it howls and screeches, whipping against the glass. Lucas stares out the window, a chill running down his spine as he watches the snow swirl and fall.

“I hate to say it… I am glad you are here. Not out there tonight,” the vampire says, watching the blizzard too with a heavy heart.

"Yeah. Me too,” Lucas mumbles.

"What would you do?” the vampire frets, dragging itself back to the game’s attention and playing its turn, “If you were? Where would you go?"

"I...I don't know,” Lucas shrugs, “Loiter somewhere warm inside until they chuck me out?"

"Is there truly no-one you could go to?"

"No-one. I – I don't have any family left. And try making friends in a nomadic lifestyle. I'm never in one place long enough to keep friends. And if I'm honest? I'm shocked one of you lot hadn't snapped me up sooner. I was...kinda expecting it."

Every night was a gamble, every morning was a blessing. Lucas always had to be careful, to seek refuge in shadows and find safety in numbers wherever possible. He knew it was coming sooner or later. He was always a sitting duck for a vampire to come along and nab.

“Forgive me if I do say, I am glad I was the one to snatch you up. And not another.”

The walls Lucas put up seem to be slowly knocked down brick by brick. He doesn’t feel like a hunted animal or a captive anymore. He doesn’t feel like he has to look over his shoulder at every turn. It feels almost…safe.

“Yeah… guess I probably lucked out, huh?”

Silence falls once again, Lucas looks down to the board. But now he sees an opportunity. With a swift and decisive move, Lucas advances his rook, placing the king in check. The vamp’s king is trapped, cornered by Lucas's pieces.

There’s no escape. The vampire’s face falls as it realises. Lucas has won the game.

“There’s no way-” the vamp mutters, shaking its head in disbelief. “Well played,” he concedes, offering a hand out to shake. Lucas takes it readily.

“I - I know we made a deal, but please may I look at your wound?” the vampire tries its luck.

“Finee,” Lucas rolls his eyes jovially, “Guess I’m feeling benevolent. Coming off a high from my win.”

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*

The human sits on top of the examination table, swinging his legs nervously like a child. His eyes flitter around the room, eyebrows furrowed. There’s no sign of the destruction and chaos he unleashed last week.

August approaches him and gently lifts the human’s hand, examining the slash across the palm. “This looks deep,” he murmurs to himself, turning the human’s hand to different angles and reaching for a bottle of antiseptic.

“Luckily, I don’t think it’s infected. Just a bit swollen. I have some antibiotic ointment - neomycin - and we’ll dress the wound. Shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”

As August pours the antiseptic onto the wound, the human flinches and hisses through his teeth. His eyes squeeze shut, snatching his hand away. The sudden movement startles August, who flinches back too, his heart hammering at his ribs.

"Are you alright?" August asks once he’s caught his own breath, his voice filled with concern. He tries to appear confident and in control, but the truth is, he’s just as nervous as the human.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the human replies, his voice a bit shaky. "It just stung a bit, is all."

August nods, his eyes filled with a strange intensity. "Want to know something?" he asks. The human nods, his own eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"I used to be terrified of humans," August confesses.

The human’s eyebrows shot up. "You? Scared of humans? A vampire?"

“My mother spun tales of hunters, mobs, and lynchers. I was taught hell hath no fury like a human. I grew up believing our own blood bags would tear me limb from limb should they grab hold of me. I thought humans were my natural predator."

The human is silent for a moment, his mind racing. "…when it was the other way around," he finally finishes. “I’ve lived my entire life in fear of you - of your kind.”

“Me too. Our practices are cruel-”

“What makes you so different?” The human cuts in, desperate for answers, “Why - Why are you being kind to me?”

August gently applies the ointment to the human’s wounded palm, then a clean bandage securing it with a strip of medical tape. He places a cold compress on the area to help reduce swelling and pain.

“Kindness costs nothing, but means everything,” August explains, “You were not put on this earth to suffer, or to be my food. Nor would I ever want that. You deserve your freedom - your humanity. I will live my life, and you will live yours.”

“Why-Why did you take me? If you never wanted me, if you never wanted this … why am I here?” the human croaks, tears brimming in his eyes.

“I was left with no choice, I promise you. I - I took you to save you. My family - they forced my hand. They said they would take you if I didn’t. They would hurt you. They would make your life a living hell. It was the only way I could stop them - It was the only way I could make sure you made it home again-”

A tear freely rolls down the man’s cheek, he quickly swipes it away. “You…You saved me?”

“I’m so sorry it had to happen this way. But I would do it ten times over if it meant I knew you were safe in my hands.”

The human closes his eyes, and exhales a deep breath of relief. August can see the weight of the world lift from his shoulders. “T-Thank you,” the human whispers.

“Please,” August shakes his head in abnegation, “Don’t thank me. I don’t deserve gratitude. You deserve every apology I could ever utter, and still it would never be enough.”

August scuttles across the room to his cabinets, rummaging around for the painkillers he knows are hiding in there somewhere.

“August?”

August’s heart leaps. He stops still, the world stops still. It’s the first time the human has spoken his name. Not vamp, not leech, or monster. August. It’s like music to his ears.

“My…My name is Lucas. Lucas Slater. I - I thought if I gave you my name… I was giving myself away. But I trust you with my name.”

It’s not much, but it’s more than August could have ever hoped for. It feels like the sun rising after a long, dark winter. His legs feel as if they might give out beneath him, he has to lean against the countertop to steady himself.

“Lucas.” August whispers to himself. He can finally put a name to the stranger. “It’s - It’s nice to finally meet you, Lucas.”

*!*!*!*!*!*

The day finally arrived. The day Lucas had been waiting for was finally here. Hometime. To where or whatever his home is supposed to be. But home has never been just a place to Lucas. It’s always been a feeling, a sense of belonging. This house, that was supposed to be his prison, has become more of a home in this short time than he has ever known in his entire life. The days spent with August felt like a new lease of life, their connection grew day by day. At night, Lucas slept like a baby, without a care in the world. In a toasty bed, and not on cardboard and newspaper. With a warm belly, and no starved rumbling. For the first time, he feels that sense of belonging he’s craved.

He’s never belonged anywhere, and neither has August, it seems.

The snow has melted, revealing a landscape that was both familiar and foreign. It looked so much like human territory but felt worlds apart. As they drove through the countryside, Lucas couldn't help but think about all he would leave behind. The vampire's old, dusty house had become his asylum, a place where he felt safe and protected. He had grown to trust August, to rely on him.

Lucas couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had been gnawing at him all morning. He knew his time with August was coming to an end, and the thought of leaving filled him with a sense of loss. He had grown to respect the vampire, more than he ever thought possible. He glances at August in the rearview mirror. His expression is unreadable, dormant. He’d been quiet all morning. He stares absentmindedly out the window, lost in thought. Lucas wonders if August feels the same way. They both live such lonely lives. A nobody with nobody. What if he stayed? Would that be so awful?

They continue driving in silence, the only sound the gentle hum of the car’s engine. Lucas watches the road pass them by from the window, edging closer and closer to human territory. Lucas feels his stomach sink. Going ‘home’ shouldn’t feel like that. This isn’t right.

"Stop the car," Lucas blurts out.

"You want to get out here? We're still miles away yet!" August queries.

"No, I... I've been thinking," Lucas stammers. "How do you... feel about a new roommate? I guess I'd feel bad leaving you to your lonely, boring self with your dusty, old books."

Lucas silently scolds himself, using his humour as a shield. He lets the mask slip, and his lip wobbles with impending tears.

"I - I have nothing back in human territory. You plucked me from the streets, my cardboard bed, my only possession was a paper cup with a few coins... I'll do anything. Odds are another vampire will find me again in no time and I - I doubt I'll be as lucky to get another one as kind as you - it'd be like lightning striking the same spot twice."

"If you truly wish to stay, you're more than welcome..." August began, his voice soft. "The guest bedroom is yours for the taking, stay as long as you need or want. Please do not stay on my account, or out of fear of me. You truly are free to go."

Lucas hesitates, a thousand what if’s fill his mind. This is quite possibly the most idiotic choice he’s ever made, but it just feels right in his gut. It’s the path he’s meant to take. "I - god this is so stupid, I barely fucking know you but... I think I trust you. If this kindness is all an act or a game then hey, props to you for keeping it up this long, you deserve to feed off me."

August can't help but smile, a gentle expression that warmed Lucas's heart. "Only if you're absolutely, positively sure. You can change your mind at any time. But...I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

Lucas takes a deep breath. He rests his head against the window. "Turn the car around. Let's go home."

---

Shattered taglist: @octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday

@thecyrulik @t0rture-me @redwhump @the-cryptid-finch @snowstuffscuff

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@only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @androgynousqueenie @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @fiifii000 @that-one-small-world

@doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent @mylovelyme

@anonfromcanada @astrokea @turn-the-tables-on-them @bloodredfountainpen @fleur-a-whump

@tobiaslut

#Shattered #August Crinamorte OC #Lucas Slater OC #flashback #vampire caretaker #bloodbag whumpee #angst/fluff #whump #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #captivity #defiant whumpee #vampire whump

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