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mushgloomz · 1 month ago

Text

Say 'Ahh'.

dentist!dave york x patient!reader (gender neutral)

• an: READ THE TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING. I have included tags for anything and everything I can think of, but please be aware that this is a non-consensual, abuse of power piece of writing between FICTIONAL characters (Dave York x Reader). From the bottom of my heart, if you read this without heeding the warnings and tags, your discomfort is not my responsibility, nor are your triggers. @/firefly-graphics for the perfect dividers!

• tags: 18+ MDNI. Non-con. DDDNE (Dead Dove Do Not Eat). Needles, injections, IV use, dentistry, slapping, oral (m!receiving), face fucking, gagging, use of medications (lidocaine and twilight sedation/benzos), dark!character, abuse of power, one (1) use of 'sweetheart', language, spit, fear of dentists.

• wc: approx 2.9k

Dave loved his job. It made his family happy, paid well, gave back to the community in a meaningful way (unlike those pathetic annual fun-runs held by the town council). He wore his title with pride - David York, D.D.S.

Deft fingers lightly adjusted the small silver pin on the breast pocket of his jacket. Tooth shaped, naturally. He flashed a quick grin at his reflection in the sun visor mirror of his car; pristine rows of dazzling white teeth that did more for business than any marketing scheme.

Of all the noble intent one may have for entering the line of dentistry, so many failed to acknowledge the real allure; the very reason why Dave had committed so many years to the mastery of his skills.

Control.

Statistics would try to tell you that around half of the population had a fear of visiting the dentist. Dave knew better though. He saw it all - the anxious twiddle of thumbs in the waiting room, the minute beads of perspiration gathering across a person's hairline, the tick of a jaw as he called out a name with a charming smile.

No one enjoyed coming to see him at work, and he relished in it. With his returning patients, the fear lingered; the innate worry remaining ever-present even after being subject to his charm. Perhaps it was the vulnerability? The relegation of autonomy?

That’s what did it for Dave, at least. As he strolled through the doors of his practice, he gave a brief wave to the receptionist before turning his gaze to survey the patients dotted around on pleather chairs.

A bald man, sweating profusely, a hand at his jaw and brows furrowed. A woman wrestling a squirming toddler that she couldn’t seem to settle. Another man, a few years younger than himself; a mouth full of metal that no doubt chewed away at his cheeks, adding to the unsightly swelling of his lower face.

And then there was you.

Arms crossed over your chest, a leg bouncing up and down repeatedly. A single finger between your lips as you gnawed away at the skin of your nail bed. The epitome of apprehension; radiating trepidation. Something about the way you refused to meet his gaze, as if looking him in the eyes would make it all real, made Dave’s mouth water.

Walking out of the clinic’s lounge and into his operatory, Dave got to work. Suit jacket shrugged off and hung swiftly after; computer booted up and medical records printed. His routine never deviated - he moved with clinical precision, gathering equipment and PPE as if it were second nature.

The room itself was as white as the teeth he worked on, apart from the black leather furnishings - his own personal touch; he never could stand the flimsy plastic shit he’d been forced to endure during dental school. There was an aseptic quality to the very air of the clinic.

The next hour passed quickly enough as Dave worked on mouth after mouth, taking special care to ensure each patient saw the reflection of their own anxiety in the cold surgical steel instruments he wielded before their faces. He couldn't help himself - the more worked up they became, the more he enjoyed the task at hand.

Whilst finishing up some notes, a knock at the door echoed over the linoleum. Timid. Barely there.

"Come in."

The shuffle of footsteps reached his ears; back still turned to the door as he pulled up the next patient's records. New to the practice - new to the neighbourhood too it would seem, based on their previous clinic's location. The hinge of his chair creaked as he turned and there you were.

You were so quiet, so placid. And those lips, the bottom one quivering ever so slightly - fuck, he was going to get a semi just looking you over. Instead, Dave put on his signature grin, head tilting to one side as he stood, gesturing to the dental chair in the centre of the room.

"Please, take a seat; no need to be shy."

There was a hesitation to your movements, each step cautious as you slowly sidled your way over to the chair. He could feel the energy in the room building; thrumming the exact way he knew your heart would be against your ribcage. No doubt that the tension could be sliced clean in half with a single flourish of his dental bur.

As you rested your head against the sterile black leather, Dave clicked his tongue at you; a quiet, condescending sound predicating the words he spoke next.

"Think you can manage a few words to tell me why you're here today?"

The grin on his face remained as he leant over you, adjusting the chair until you were near enough horizontal. He preferred this angle with all of his patients; liked to watch the rapid rise and fall of their chests whilst he worked. In that regard, you were a real treat. "J-Just an annual check-up and clean", you'd murmured, stumbling over your words in the most delicious display of fear.

Dave plucked a pair of black latex gloves from a container set to one side, sliding each on with a squeak and a snap. He didn't fail to notice the way you'd flinched as the elastic pinged against his wrist - exquisite.

"Great - let's get started then, shall we?"

It was a formality more than a genuine question - he knew that from here on out, he held the power. Your pupils were so dilated that when Dave leant over you, he could see the reflection of his rolled shirt sleeves in the deep black pools.

"Open wide for me... that's it."

The plush pink expanse of your tongue glistened under the bright bulbs overheard, quivering as he moved the oral mirror toward the rows of pearly whites cocooning it. It wasn't much use - the hot, heavy breaths you seemed unable to control fogged up the tool. Fuck, if this wasn't the most inviting mouth he had ever peered into.

Removing the mirror and setting it to one side, a patronising smile breaching his features, Dave spoke softly.

"I make you nervous, don't I?"

He already knew the answer - of course he made you nervous. He just needed to hear it. Needed to diminish any sense of fight you might have left in you; to properly scare you into submission. Speaking it aloud made it real. "Y-Yes, I'm sorry, I-", you began to stammer out, but he cut you off mid-flow with a tut.

"Listen - have you ever heard of something called twilight sedation?"

The pitiful look of confusion that spread across your face - God, you got better and better with each passing minute.

"It's just a little injection, chills you out. Works nice and fast, and a lot of the time, people don't even remember their session with me afterwards."

He could practically hear the cogs whirring in your head. Mulling over such an appetising offer - the opportunity to relax and maybe, just maybe, forget the entire encounter. "I-Is that something I can h-have?", you all but squeaked. Music to his fucking ears.

"I think it would be for the best - I'll go get the IV and we'll get started, yeah?"

Ironically, Dave could feel his own heart rate begin to pick up as he discarded his gloves and headed out into the corridor toward the store room. The tension in the room was palpable when he returned, meticulously setting up the IV.

"Just a sharp scratch now, and... perfect."

It was moments like these that made the job all the more appealing.

Memories of watching nature documentaries with his daughters - the sadness in their eyes when they realised that whichever unsuspecting small creature was being observed by a much larger, hungrier animal. The slow pan of the camera as the predator moves in; the false sense of security snatched away in a flash of canines or claws.

That's the way the world works, my loves, he'd murmur as he consoled them, this is why it's so important to stay in control.

When your eyes became a little hazy, Dave knew he had you right where he wanted you. Not unconscious - he wasn't sick in the head. Just woozy, the benzo in your system lulling you into a comfortable heaviness. He wasn't going to hurt you, and you wouldn't remember any of this even if he did.

"How are you feeling?"

Flat. Cold. You blinked up at him slowly, contented. Such pretty eyes, even when they weren't overwhelmed with panic. He smiled, using a gloved thumb to coax your lips apart, leaning over to take another look; he was at work after all. Not even plaque marked your teeth - you were a dentist's wet dream.

Turning his back to you, he wheeled over a tray of equipment, speaking softly as he went. You were so placated after all, it seemed only right to make this a little easier for you.

"You've got a few issues cropping up, ones that I'd like to nip in the bud before they become major. I'm going to give you a few small injections along your gums to numb you up - don't want you getting all panicky again, do we?"

Your head tipped left to right ever so lethargically; a hum of agreement rumbling from your throat.

"Perfect. You're doing wonderfully. Now, say 'ahh' for me."

And you did, so obediently. Lidocaine syringe in hand, Dave got to work. Your little winces and hisses slowly disappeared as the numbing agent took affect - a shame really; the sound made his cock twitch in his slacks. A dozen pricks later and a steady stream of saliva was making its way out of the corner of your mouth.

Syringe deposited back on the stainless steel tray, he picked up the nozzle for the saliva ejector and set it into the hollow of your cheek. The machine was loud as it quickly dealt with the pooling spit at the back of your throat. Perfect. He'd need something to fill the silence.

He indulged himself, just for a moment - pressing a flat palm against his crotch and rubbing a few times whilst his back was turned once more. He needn’t have bothered - your sniveling display of fear was ample aphrodisiac for him; erection now straining against the material confines of his boxers.

The way your eyes widened as he turned around was the final nail in the coffin; adept fingers tugging at the leather belt at his hips. The sedative being drip-fed into your veins worked remarkably well - your fingers scrambling for purchase against the leather armrests of the chair, arms too heavy to lift. A warbled sound of protest rose from your chest and reached his ears as it bounced across the linoleum.

"Shh, you're in very capable hands. Just relax - I won't be long."

He cupped the back of your head with a tenderness so alien considering the circumstances, tilting it until your cheek was flush to the leather beneath it. Another murmur of sound as he pushed his boxers down; cock springing free. He couldn't help but think about how much smaller your mouth looked now that the leaking head of his length was there to directly compare.

Your attempt at closing your mouth was feeble; endearing. You couldn't even close your lips around the suction device still hanging between them - it didn't stop you from trying though. A quick flick of his wrist and your cheek came into contact with the powdered latex glove covering his left hand.

"See how that didn't hurt?"

One hand cradled the base of your skull, the other slowly pumping his cock as he shifted on his feet.

"Going to need you to open up for me now. Nice and wide."

As he spoke, he smeared the bead of pre-cum at his tip across those soft lips of yours. He could feel the way your neck flexed under his hand as you tried your best to writhe away; watched the tears prick instinctively in the corners of your eyes.

There wasn't much you could do to resist as he slowly sunk the weeping head of his cock past your lips, muffling the shrill whine of dismay that you let out. Honestly, he couldn't have made this easier for you - all you had to do was lay there and stay still after all. A rumble of satisfaction left Dave's mouth as he pushed further into your own.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glossy as he fed you inch after inch, the sound reverberating against him and doing little more than spurring him on. Your mouth was fucking divine - hot, slick and oh so soft. The gurgle of the saliva ejector, still flush to your inner cheek, blended with the grunts that Dave couldn't stifle.

"Breathe through your nose, sweetheart. Or don't - fuck - makes no difference to me."

He started to set a rhythm with his hips, hand still held firmly on the back of your head. When you gagged as he dipped into the back of your throat - Christ, it was all he could do to not spill his load there and then. The way the muscles of your neck contracted, trying in vain to keep him out as he continued to rock back and forth, clenching around him over and over.

Pulling all the way out for just a moment, you gasped and spluttered before he sank all the way back in with a groan. Your knuckles were taut against the armrests as he ensured your tonsils became well acquainted with the head of his cock. Each thrust against your tongue was dizzying, and he could feel himself quickly being won over by pleasure.

"Perfect fucking mouth, not much longer."

His words came out as a lusty hiss, hips beginning to stutter, barely retreating from the sanctuary of your throat. Why would he? If he wasn't meant to cum as far down it as possible, then why did it hug his dick so perfectly?

Using his free hand, he pulled the nozzle of the suction device from your mouth, flipping the switch and turning the machine off. No longer concealed by the thrum and whir of the ejector, the slick squelch of your mouth and the choked gurgles you let out echoed around the room. That was his undoing.

Pulling your head snug to his lower stomach, Dave buried himself as deep as possible before spilling down your throat with a shuddery groan. Your tear-stained eyes barely even blinked as he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum; completely zoned out and staring straight ahead.

As the aftershocks of his high ebbed away, he slowly pulled out of your mouth - not without admiring the pearly string of saliva connecting your tongue and his softening cock first. You coughed, your swollen lips glistening as you gulped in air. Dave couldn't help the giddy smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Wasn't so bad now, was it?"

Clinical professionalism resumed as he tucked his now flaccid dick back into his boxers, re-dressing without so much as a hair out of place.

"Let's get this IV detached - that's it, nice and easy."

The rosy hue from his cheeks dissipated as he worked. His heart rate settled as he changed his gloves once again. Work mode resumed with practiced ease for Dave. He slowly readjusted the dental chair, bringing your head up cautiously as if he hadn't just bruised the roof of your mouth with the vigor of his thrusts.

The glaze over your eyes from the sedative slowly but surely faded; the numbing effect of the lidocaine weakening - the way you stretched out your jaw, brow furrowed as you attempted to piece together the cause behind the ache that crept in, was a dead giveaway.

"How are you feeling?"

His tone was calm, collected. It had to be - he had to gauge how much you'd retained without arousing suspicion. "A little bit... woozy. What... what happened again?" - your slurred words elicited a wide smile on Dave's face.

"Had to do a little bit of scaling on some of your incisors. You did very well though, should be proud of yourself."

Ah, that delightful expression of misplaced pride on your face would be a highlight for the day; the perfect contrast to how utterly pathetic you had looked just moments prior. After a few minutes of reeling off the usual spiel, Dave gestured to the door with the same signature grin he had greeted you with. "Thank you - I've always struggled at the dentist; I'll have to recommend you to my friend, they're a real wuss as well", you chuckled.

Oh. You were just the gift that kept on giving, it seemed.

"Send them my way, by all means. Anyway, I'll see you in six months time - remember to floss!"

tag list (requested tags and people that showed interest when i posted my moodboards lol): @lilac-boo @joelmillerisapunk @letsgobarbs @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ohhoneypascal @clawdee @lectersimp

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boolger · 2 months ago

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Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before 🌻 ch.1

Female reader x Nikolai x Price ✨ AO3 link ✨ next chapter -> wc: 7.7k - call of duty - explicit, MDNI. Read the tags. Dead dove don’t eat.

Summary: Your hometown, Millhaven, had been under the control of The Shadows, a notorious biker gang, for several years. You hated every member of the group, but in particular their leader, Phillip Graves. The alpha refused to leave you alone, having attempted to seduce you for two years despite two years of rejection. But in the matter of one night, everything changed. The Shadows disappeared, replaced by a biker gang calling themselves Team 141. The town seemed relieved, but you didn’t trust the new group, despite every good thing they did. Perhaps, it was your sign to leave - your opportunity to move without bad conscience. But the 141 suddenly showed a strong interest in the house you inherited from your father. Even worse though, the leader John Price and his mate, Nikolai, seemed to like you even more. While the Shadows were annoying and Graves was persistent, he at least accepted your no. Somewhat. Problem was, it didn’t seem like the 141 took no for an answer.

Tags: non-consensual elements/rape, bikers AU, biker gang 141, omegaverse, dub-con, non-con touching, harassment, stalking, reader has a vagina, M/M/F threesome, threats, reader has a nickname, loss of parent, original characters, pack dynamics, alpha!John Price, Alpha!Nikolai, omega!reader, forced bonding, loss of virginity, breeding kink, piss kink, scent marking, daddy kink, stun guns, smut, rough sex, knotting, (maybe pregnancy), voyeurism, punishments, noncon spanking, p in v sex, anal sex, overstimulation, claiming barks, uh short appearance of a chopped off body part (action not described but the part will appear shortly)

Authors note: first of all, TY to sweet 💖 @venuskaltrip 💖for being my beta reader on this fic 🥰❤️ I cannot describe how much I appreciate it. Secondly, idk how long this fic will be yet maybe 6 chapters but they won’t all be this long lol. This will be a dark fic. I will write if there is something specific, but Nikolai and John are nasty in this one. If you’re not into this or feel uncomfortable, don’t read.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

“Hey there, pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, and had to physically keep yourself from not groaning at the voice. If your eyes got stuck, like your father used to say, then you wouldn’t have to look at the man behind you at least. However, today wasn’t the day, so you were still able to see him as you turned around and put on a polite smile. For at least two years, the small cafe that you worked in and loved deeply, hadn’t been a safe space for you. He had ruined that.

”Mr. Graves,” you greeted the man standing on the other side of the counter, continuing to dry off the teacup in your hand, “how may I help you?”

”Phillip, my pumpkin,” you could feel the hatred in each bone in your body, as he corrected you, “Told ya’ not to call Mr. Graves. That was my father.”

Oh, how you wanted to throw the teacup in his face. Watch it hopefully shatter in his skin. The man would have deserved it. He was one of those alphas who never wore any kind of scent blocker, proud to stink up whatever room he walked into, to show their “dominance” over everyone else. Right now he was stinking slightly of lust, almost making you want to gag.

Somehow you still managed to keep your smile and not roll your eyes again over his words. Throughout your countless interactions with him, you had learned the hard way that you had to push back and not give up when it came to him. Your father would have reminded you to show him that you’re an alpha as well. Which you were, at least to Graves.

But he called you Pumpkin, sweetie pie, all kinds of awful pet names that he knew you didn’t like - so you stood your ground.

”What can I get for you, Mr. Graves?”

He pouted, like a dog not getting a treat, as he bent forward, resting both of his hands on the counter, making you try your best to ignore the leather gloves he wore. Specifically, where they had been. They looked dirty. You didn’t want them on the counter. There would no doubt be oil on them from messing around with his ugly bike outside. Perhaps, Mary would let you put up a sign about not touching the counter while wearing gloves. Then again, it was a very specific sign. Graves probably wouldn’t like - or follow it, for that matter.

“You’re a tough nut to crack, sweetie,” he crooned all charmingly, leaning forward while you leaned backwards, not even trying to be subtle, as he continued, “I’ve enjoyed it these last two years.”

The ‘but no more’ was left unsaid. A threat, disguised as a compliment. You just swallowed, smiling at him. Though if you were being honest, you weren’t really sure if he was threatening you, or attempting to flirt.

Mary was in the back, she would hear you if you screamed, in case he decided to snap and jump across the counter today. You were on the edge of growling, warning the alpha to back off, when the front door opened.

The soft chimes of the bells alerted of your saviors entering the little cafe - two of your regulars, two elderly women that came in every day at 9AM exactly. Your unsung heroes.

”Goodmorning dear,” the beta called out for you, the elderly omega next to her giving a wave, and the smile you sent them as you greeted them was genuine. They always wore blockers, but smelled of cookies and weed nonetheless. You were quite a fan of pair.

”I’ll be there in a moment, ladies,” you called out sweetly as they took off their coats. They weren’t even discreet in their staring at Phillip Graves. As if the man and his gang of idiots hadn’t been in the town for the last seven years or so. As if the sight of the logos on their backs was still a surprise and not an everyday occurrence to everyone. Then again, they were old. Graves looked over his shoulder, no doubt sending them a nasty stare, before he looked back at you again.

For a moment, you felt as if he stared at you like a beast would a piece of meat, as if he wanted to devour you raw. That had been how he had looked at you for the last two years or so, not even hiding how he wanted you, a strong alpha woman, to bend over for him. Follow him like a good little puppy.

The scar you had given him the last time he had attempted something was healed by now, but still visible, particularly in the right light. The sight still pleased you.

Graves behaved like a desperate dog, who continuously returned to you, hoping for a moment to successfully catch you off guard and rip you apart.

“An americano, then,” he finally crooned, a charming smile back on his face as he straightened up, the leather creaking a little, “with an extra espresso shot.”

You added a bit too much espresso - hoping the strong drink would make him shit himself while he drove his motorbike. Preferably while all his ‘Shadows’ were watching him.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The Shadows had appeared when you had been around 15 years old; back when it had seemed to rain a little less than now, back when your father was alive. Right after the two of you had found a bit of happiness after the death of your mother a couple of years earlier. Back when you hadn’t presented yet, your secondary gender still a mystery.

You had quickly learned to avoid them, all of the kids in your small British village had, keeping your distance despite the cool matching logos on their vests and jackets, and their shiny, loud motorbikes.

Why the hell an American biker gang had decided to go to the UK, and then chosen your bloody village, was beyond your comprehension. They all seemed like idiots. You had realised that as a teenager.

It seemed most of the inhabitants of Millhaven had hoped they would leave after a year or two. Instead they became more and more intertwined with the town as the years passed, creating chaos and controlling a bunch of things - and people.

The local, lowly drug dealers, who maybe sold a bit of weed or some painkillers, either disappeared or changed tactics. At the same time, it seemed impossible to have a shop, or any kind of business really and not pay them some sort of fee.

For “security”.

To you it seemed like it was the Shadows themselves who were creating malaise and fear in Millhaven, not any locals or people from other towns. The mere name The Shadows didn’t really scream safety and peace.

A couple of the bikers ended up creating a pack with some locals from town, others didn’t. In truth, without being said out loud, everyone had hoped for Phillip Graves to get bored of Millhaven and decide to move on to another town. Then the streets wouldn’t be filled with the roars of their bikes or their ace of spades or whatever their logo was supposed to be.

However, to much of the disappointment of the folks of Millhaven, Graves did find something interesting - or rather somebody.

Much to your horror, it turned out to be you.

It had started a couple of months after you had turned twenty; he had started to look at you, no, stare, like it was the first time he really saw you. Noticed you. He started flirting with you almost instantly after that - and though you turned him down straight from the beginning without hesitation, he kept going. You had barely turned twenty, he was in his thirties.

The owner of the cafe you worked at, sweet Mary, had muttered not too long after his first show of interest that he was a nasty man - but that he at least hadn’t noticed you when you were a kid. You tried not to think about that part too much.

Six months into his attempt at courting you, he had cornered you outside the pub; a confident smile on his lips and a dark look in his eyes, as he had caged you in, hands on each side of your head. That was the evening you had given him the scar on his cheek - usually you only used your pocket knife to open up letters or packages, so you weren’t a great fighter. But the blade had connected with his skin; there had been blood, a grunt - and you had escaped his attempt at kissing you… or worse.

You had bolted into the pub again in pure panic, steering directly to the back, with the plan of disappearing out into the dark fields — but Lewis, the owner, had helped you hide in the little secret cellar beneath the wooden floors, surrounded by beer and wine. You had slept in one of the upstairs rooms of the pub that night, Lewis and his wife not letting you go home.

You had been sure Graves would take revenge, so you laid low for a couple of days, Mary demanding you stay at home.

It turned out to be much worse, however.

If he had been interested in you before, he was in love with you after the incident. That had been when you, despite your unending love for Millhaven, had considered moving away for the first time.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Money was the issue - wasn’t it always? You kept saving every pound you could, while still trying to live a normal life. Your dad hadn’t left you much besides the house and its contents. It was big, too big for you really. Half of it had been a garage for as long as you could remember, your father the town’s mechanic. You used to help him here and there, but car engines were never your thing - they never spoke to you like they spoke to him.

When he got worse, he sold off most of the things to pay for the last of the mortgage, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.

You begged him not to get rid of his favorite vintage car - promising him that you would get it fixed up and take a drive in it, even if both of you knew that probably wouldn’t happen. So far, it hadn’t happened, you had taken a look or two, but not done anything about it.

No, the grey Aston Martin DB4 still stood in the back of the big garage and workshop, beneath its cover and some blankets. Like a ghoul from the past, haunting you in your own home, with memories of him. Thus, moving would mean having to deal with your dad’s car, so the mere idea felt like pulling out teeth. Like you would finally have to accept and deal with the fact that he was dead.

However, the idea of Graves’ patience slipping up, growing tired of waiting for consent from you, scared you too. Maybe more. You weren’t sure.

If he wasn’t there, if he and his Shadows hadn’t been controlling Millhaven, you might have stayed without too many issues. Despite only being twentytwo, you had a big house and no debt. It was a privilege in all other aspects. You could get an education, move to a bigger city, where you could blend into the crowd. Maybe not hide your true self.

“You okay, Sunflower?”

Mary, your lovely beta boss, asked you gently, pulling you from your thoughts, making you smile as she turned the little sign at the glass front door, to show that the place was closed for today.

Your nickname was just your name at this point. It had followed you for so many years that you weren’t sure you would even react to your actual name. As a kid, you had been obsessed with sunflowers - they were on your dresses, your shirts, your tights. Hell, your dad got you a necklace with a small sunflower on it that still rested against your skin beneath your shirt.

Sunflower. Sunny. Sunshine. Sun. The variations had been endless and with the town being relatively small, it had become well known that you were Sunflower. It wasn’t that unusual to have a nickname here after all. There were people in Millhaven, whose actual names you didn’t even know.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, slightly ashamed of having been caught standing behind the counter, all lost in your thoughts, “don’t worry about me.”

Mary, sweet Mary - she was another reason you felt bad about considering moving. She worried about you but you wanted to shield her. You didn’t want her to ask further questions, to ask anymore in general. You didn’t want her to worry about your frustrations, fears and the dilemmas that seemed to grow bigger everyday - so that she wouldn’t realise why there was a stun gun next to a pocketknife in your jacket, despite it being illegal to own said stun gun.

You didn’t really fear getting caught with it, as it wasn’t like the police would come out here to check. They hadn’t been out here for years, if you remembered correctly. The nearest bobbies in other villages were over an hour away and they tended to stay out of Millhaven. You supposed the bribes from the Shadows were worth it.

“The Graves fella still bothering you?”

Both of you knew that he did. He had for two years. He wouldn’t stop out of the blue, it would probably take a miracle. Or for him to find somebody else - and you almost didn’t want that for anyone. For a moment, the sympathy in her eyes reminded you of your mom. Mary had stepped into an almost motherly role for you in the last years, especially after your dad passed away.

Her long curly hair was braided this Monday, presumably by her sister, who had visited over the weekend - you had taken an extra shift alone to make sure they could spend time together. She was beautiful. A mother you wished would live forever. A part of you, your inner child perhaps, wanted to hug her and ask her to help you hide from the world.

“Hopefully he grows bored of me soon,” you replied instead, giving her a crooked smile, “I’m just tired of repeating myself every time I see him and his bloody bike.”

It wasn’t really a lie to say so, but you knew he wouldn’t stop any time soon. You being tired of him was just the truth.

Mary laughed as she disappeared into the back, reappearing a short moment later, the leftovers of a cake and scones in a small bag.

“Here - now let me walk you home, lass,” the loving tone had worry dripping into it, but it was a usual offer by now, “So I know you get home safely.”

It was a recurring discussion these days.

“Absolutely not,” you answered in a teasing tone as always, not wanting her to walk longer than she needed to - or see how unorganised you lived, “I can walk home myself. Graves can’t take that from me - but I’ll text you once I get home, yeah? Like yesterday?”

Mary let out a hum, not looking too happy, but the beta agreed again today. Besides, she had her own worries.

It wasn’t as if she was not affected by the Shadows’ presence in Millhaven - she had been, ever since they turned up. Paying them money so that they would leave her little cafe alone, promising to keep it safe, even if everything that happened in Millhaven was connected to them.

Both of you seriously doubted their safekeeping abilities but saying no wasn’t an option. It wasn’t really an offer.

A part of you wondered, if Mary knew you were lying all the time in general; if she knew you covered yourself in scent blocker and fake pheromones every day, to stay under the radar. To have a normal life. If your father ever told her. In case he had, she followed your own choice and didn’t talk about it.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Millhaven was getting ready for the evening, cars flashing by as people either went home, towards one of the two local grocery stores to collect food for dinner - or, to the pub, to get the day discussed and listen in on the gossip.

You passed the pharmacy. The queue was always long once or twice a week, as people stocked up on scent blockers, heat blockers and scent patches for themselves, or whatever cough medicine they needed for their kids, who had once again gotten sick.

You always walked home at the same time, near five PM. Every time you would wave at at least three locals and send a glare to at least two of the Shadows, who tended to hide around the town, silently watching people pass by from the alleyways.

It was a familiar scene, even if it still made you uncomfortable. Mrs. Henley’s bastard of a dog howled at you through the rose bushes and thin fence as always. The teenager next door would yell for it to shut up, while he attempted to hide the fact that he was secretly smoking cigarettes out his bedroom window. As if the entire neighbourhood, hell, probably the entire town, didn’t know he smoked. There lay a safety in it, passing him, knowing you were almost home.

You had quit smoking yourself after your dad had passed away, but every time you walked past the teenager, you wanted a cigarette so badly that it almost hurt. You wanted to have something to do, something to forget yourself in.

Turning to the right a moment later, your house was visible at the end of the road - standing out with its size and the blue color it had been all of your life - as well as the barely covered sign with your dad’s name on. You really should get it taken down, since he had been dead for four years now, but there were so many things you should probably get rid off.

Normally, the sight of your house was a relief - because usually the driveway was empty. There wasn’t supposed to be a motorbike, painted with the colors of the American flag, standing in it, with an annoying alpha leaning against it. You almost wanted to turn around and go back to Mary, but Graves had already spotted you, making your lips purse with annoyance at the sight of his stupid grin.

”Sunny Bunny,” he crooned darkly, as you got close and you stuck your free hand into the pocket of your jacket, grabbing onto the stun gun right next to the pocket knife. Perhaps a zap from the stun gun would make him get a hint, though you doubted he would be happy about it.

You hated that he knew your nickname, hated him even more when he called you Sunny Bunny. It wasn’t as if the nickname was a secret at all, the entire town called you variations of Sunflower, but you wanted it to be a secret from him and his stupid group.

”What do you want?” You asked as you got closer, not even attempting to be polite; right now you weren’t at work, so you didn’t have to behave like you did in the cafe. Instead you tipped your chin up, puffed your chest up a little, giving him a hard stare, as an alpha would do. You were tired, slightly cold and he was blocking your path to the front door with himself and that stupid bike. If you weren’t scared of the consequences, you would be cutting up those tires on a regular basis.

“Was wondering if a pretty alpha like you would go to the pub with me, yeah?” He asked, tipping his own chin up a little, grinning like a teenage boy feeling confident, “have a couple of beers - or whatever fancy drink you want.”

Every time he asked, he got a no. If he hadn’t been the leader of a biker gang, you might have slapped him. The urge to do so grew inside you every time he asked you out.

”I’m busy tonight, sorry.” You didn’t even attempt to sound apologetic.

”Funny,” The alpha mused as he leant against the bike a little more, tipping up his own chin up, clearly not intimidated or pleased with your reply, “you were busy the other night too - kinda odd, isn’t it?”

“Quite unlucky for you to choose the days I’m busy,” you answered dryly, “now if you would excuse me—“

Your grip on the stun gun tightened a little, but you managed to walk around the bike, avoiding his arm shooting out in an attempt to catch your arm — before he spoke once more.

”The cafe is goin’ great, isn’t it?” Graves had asked almost casually and it was as if the wind suddenly quieted down, in order to listen along. You looked over your shoulder to look at the pale alpha, who somehow seemed like he had flipped some sort of switch, suddenly looking much more dangerous than before. He let out a deep rumble from his chest, a sign that he was pleased with your uneasy reaction.

He wanted you to become upset. One alpha almost daring the other, to see what you would do; if you would attempt to challenge him, giving him an excuse to go at you, to sink his teeth into your skin —

“It’s going alright,” you finally answered, keeping your voice steady, having chosen each of the words carefully, so as to not give him an excuse. Keeping the anger inside.

”Oh, wonderful,” he rumbled, a pursed expression on his face, before he smiled again, “Would be a shame if the price for your lil boss lady’s protection fees would rise, wouldn’t it?”

”I - what?” The words weren’t smooth or confident now. The idea of him threatening Mary because of you seemed insane.

You wanted to growl at him; to put him in his place, to protect Mary - jump across that stupid bike of his, hopefully making it tip over, while you tased or stabbed him with your knife. Ice and flames were rushing through your veins at the same time, prickling at your skin from the inside out like needles, mixing together fear and anger. He had harassed you for two years more or less, but he had never dragged Mary or the cafe into it.

“Think about it when I ask next time,” he replied, face turning back into the boyish grin from before, his American accent seeping into his words, “‘right sugar?”

”She got nothing to do with this, Graves.”

He didn’t reply - instead he got up on his bike, kicking on the engine with a sharp, confident thrust, the bike waking with a roar of a beast - looking at you once more, only to wink at you.

He disappeared down the small road like a demonic predator rushing away, knowing he would get his prey the next time. Your grip on the little bag with leftovers tightened a little, the paper bag crinkling beneath your fingers. You wanted to use your claws for the first time in quite a while, even if they were dull.

Instead you turned around, calmly walking to your door, opening it and locking it again afterwards. You left the bag with leftover cake on the kitchen counter, texting Mary that you were home safely, not looking up as you walked to the bathroom.

As soon as you got on your knees, you vomited from fear.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

A couple of hours later, you laid in your bed, watching the ceiling of the bedroom you had slept in ever since your childhood. Despite your parents’ old room and bed being bigger, you couldn’t get yourself to sleep in it permanently. You couldn’t make yourself get rid of the bed either — the mere idea of doing so felt wrong.

It was like you clung to the memories of him, of the both of them, with the claws you cut regularly and with the retractable omegan fangs that you had filed down a bit to better hide.

It was the memories of how you would go to your parents, the later years only your father, if you had a nightmare or were anxious over something. Even the year he died, you slept next to him a lot — sometimes he would come for you, asking if you wanted to sleep next to him.

Perhaps it was the scent of each other that had helped the other feel safe enough to sleep. Knowing that the other was always there. That your father always did what he could for you, even in his last days. During his last days, when he was slowly dying, you slept next to him, holding his hand. You knew he feared death; he had told you so one late night, confessing how it scared him, how the unknown would be — how leaving you frightened him.

Fearing what would happen to you, when he wasn’t there any longer and whether you would be able to continue the concealment of your secondary gender.

Now the idea of sleeping in his bed every day felt wrong. It wasn’t your nest, it was your mother’s and father’s. The past two years, you had perhaps slept in it five times in total - you never found the same safety without one of them snoring next to you. Their scent wasn’t as strong anymore. It never felt like when you were a kid and slept in between them sometimes, when they kept you safe until morning. No. It didn’t feel right any longer.

Usually Millhaven would be relatively quiet during the night and you never had to look up at the ceiling for long, before you would fall asleep. Sure, there would be the occasional car passing by, the laughter from people walking home from the pub and as you grew older, you had gotten used to the sound of the motorbikes revving as well. It rarely continued past 11 PM.

Tonight was different.

As the hours passed, the sounds got worse, keeping you awake - as they kept on going, you became too afraid to look out the window. There were so many unusual sounds too. You were too afraid to call the police - nobody would, that was just how Millhaven was by now.

This night was filled with the sounds of motorbikes loudly roaring through the town, much louder than usual - for many of them, as time passed; then the sounds of gunshots had begun to echo throughout the streets. The shots and the screaming almost got swallowed up by the furious howling of the engines.

It was like a concoction of horrifying sounds; people screaming, things breaking, shots being fired, blending together like the soundtrack of a movie you didn’t want to watch. Even without the visuals, you wanted to scream and cry, wanted to hide from the world, just like when you were a child.

It only took an hour before you crawled to your parents’ old bedroom, keeping low and away from the windows, before disappearing beneath the slightly dusty sheets; curled together, trying to submerge yourself in the old, disappearing scent of your alpha father.

The ground beneath Millhaven was shaking with fear, almost as if it was threatening to break beneath its inhabitants and swallow up the place you called home.

Mary texted you not too long after the noises began, asking if you were safe. She confirmed two minutes later that she was safe as well, but that she was pretty sure one of the big windows in the cafe had been shattered.

You breathed in dust and fear, laying there, watching the picture of your parents and you on the wall, slightly concealed by the darkness, trying not to imagine what was happening outside. There was a morbid curiosity inside of you to know what was happening, if anybody was dying, yet an overwhelming panic overtook your body at the same time. Nobody would come out here, nobody would call the police, because it would be no good.

The nausea was back, especially at the silence that followed, as if the town had suddenly been abandoned.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Mary told you not to come in the next morning. Yet despite the day suddenly being free, you got up and got ready as usual. You had fallen asleep at some point after the silence began, but you weren’t sure when.

Taking a bath, using scent blockers and patches, before your regular perfume.

You felt slightly like a prey animal, not like a strong alpha, checking out your windows to make sure the coast was clear, before opening your door slowly. Peeping out, taking in the street… everything looked as it used to, as far as you spotted. Yet you had a feeling that nothing was the same.

It was slightly cold outside, the thin fog slowly going away.

It wasn’t until you got down to the end of your road, almost at the bigger road, that you saw something out of place.

Glass was scattered around a car, with the owner, Alfred, a middle aged beta man, looking at it with an exhausted look on his face. You saw the broken window as well as the bullet holes in the door, making you swallow before you walked up to it.

Carefully, you put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a pat. He sent you a look and a smile.

”At least it was the car and not the house,” he muttered, trying to sound a little happy, “ The missus isn’t happy though. Neither is the husband.”

You put both your hands in your pockets, curling them into fists for a moment. Feeling your blunt claws press against your palms. The two of you stood there for a few moments in silence.

”Do you know what happened last night?” You finally asked, hoping that he could give you some sort of answer - but he merely shook his head while shrugging. As unaware as you, it seemed.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have an idea. The sounds during the night and the bullet holes in his car door spoke for themselves.

After a short goodbye, you continued your trip towards the cafe, glancing at the proof of chaos that was scattered here and there. Bullet casings. Tiremarks on the road. Broken windows - a couple of knocked over trash cans that one of the home owners was angrily cleaning up.

An abandoned motorbike leaning against a house.

Mrs. Henley’s dog barked at you - but the barks seemed more hollow than usual, tired. The chain smoking teenager wasn’t yelling. The window was shut, for the first time in a while.

In the alleyway between the tiny bookshop and one of the grocery stores, where a shadow usually hid, another bike lay abandoned. Tipped over, glass scattered, gasoline seeping onto the asphalt. Due to the logo on it, you figured it was another one belonging to the shadows.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Mary huffed in annoyance as you turned up at the cafe, frowning so hard that she looked much older for a moment. She let out a little growl, with no actual heat in it, unlocking the door to the cafe, making you walk through that, despite the window on the left side being gone, more or less leaving the cafe without half a façade.

“Are you unable to read your texts anymore, young lady?” The beta asked as you took the broom from her hands and started sweeping the broken glass together. Just like her growl, there was no heat behind her words, despite her attempt at being stern.

“I can,” you answered, with a smile on your face, “but I’m not gonna let you clean this mess up alone - what kind of employee would I be?”

It was also your way of checking up on her. See how rattled she was. Besides, you suspected she didn’t mind the company, especially as the cafe would be closed for today.

“A bloody normal one, who stays at home when she gets time off,” Mary defended, crossing her arms for a minute. Sleep always tended to make her more easily annoyed with the world than usual, “besides, I’ve already called Harold to come fix it. He will have to put up wood first though, until he gets the glass.”

“Then we go get a pint afterwards,” you offered, “I’ll pay.”

“Drinking on the job?” Mary made a teasing tsk-tsk sound at you, though there was a smile growing on her lips, before she admitted a moment later, “I honestly need that after tonight.”

“It went on for long,” you agreed and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of you filling up the dustpan with glass. As if the two of you were too afraid to acknowledge what might have happened.

“Too long.”

You didn’t reply to Mary’s observation, merely nodding. Her scent had a worried tinge to it.

Whatever had been going on during the night had scared her. Both of you, undoubtedly all of town as well. The worst thing? Somehow you had seen none of the Shadows yet. You had never thought that the sudden lack of the group would make you uncomfortable.

It hadn’t been the police last night - because then there would be bobbies filling the town, but none were here, the streets empty and quiet.

You swept up the massive pieces of glass and vacuumed the smaller ones afterwards, while Mary went to the local charity shop a couple of houses over, where they were patching two bullet holes in the wooden door. She came back not too long after, having bought a painting to hide the bullet hole in the wall on the other side of the window.

A couple of hours later, the window had been temporarily fixed with a big wooden board and a weird abstract painting of flowers that didn’t quite fit into the vibe of the cafe, hanging on the wall.

“Temporary as well,” Mary declared at the painting, before packing away the hammer and nails.

Gods, you really needed a drink.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The two of you were far from the only people who had needed a drink or two. There was noise in the pub, but a different kind of noise than the one that had filled the town during the night. It was filled to the brim, you and Mary able to get a table for two, only by pure luck.

Sure, the atmosphere was still a little tense, but it felt much less dangerous. There were experiences to share, pictures to be shown on phones, beers to drink and attempts at comforting each other in your small community to be made. All of you quite confused over the lack of any leather vests or jackets with the familiar logo on. You saw several of your friends, who looked just as worried.

Yesterday one of the usuals had left his car at the pub’s parking lot to walk home. When he had returned this morning, it had been hit by something, most likely one of the big bikes. The fella had been so caught off guard by the sight of the dent, which was so deep that it hurt to look at - and he had just gone inside the pub again, continuing the drinking from the day before.

One of the couples living in the other end of the town, had a giant hole in their hedge, with one of the motorbikes laying abandoned on their lawn, having ripped up some of the flowerbeds as well.

The couple seemed most upset about the fact that their dog had pissed on it - afraid that whichever one of the Shadows owned it, would be upset.

The tiremarks would probably stay on the roads for a while. The blood splatters and dried up pools of it would disappear when the rain came, so none of you seemed to acknowledge it, nor the few teeth that had been found scattered across the town. The bullet cases could be picked up, thrown out.

So far, the only positive thing about all of this, seemed to be that Harold, the local handyman, suddenly had a bunch of things to do together with his apprentice, Jenny, a teenager who seemed happy to fully learn how to fix broken windows - there were enough of them across town to get good at it, you supposed.

The beer was good, however. Calmed the worst of your nerves - Mary seemed more relaxed now as well, chattering with you and one of her neighbours the next table over, about new recipes.

You had nursed half of your pint for a little while now though and it was getting warmer - making you consider just drinking the rest in one go and ordering a new one. Perhaps getting drunk tonight would be alright - just to forget for a little while, pretend that everything was fine.

However, the moment you lifted the glass to down the rest of the beer, everything changed in a matter of seconds, as noise started down street. It only took the vague sound for the safe and almost cozy atmosphere of the pub to change, as if the air was sucked from everybody’s lungs - nobody wanted to believe what they heard.

A stench of scared scents spread from table to table, people unable to help themselves, omegas, betas and alphas alike. Making the pub stink of fear and worry, of anger and resentment. Were they back? You carefully put the glass down again, listening more closely.

Engines.

Every single one of the folks currently inside of the pub knew the familiar yet hated sound of motorbike engines, currently coming closer.

Perhaps it had been naive of you to hope that everything was done - that the gang would disappear one day to another and that Millhaven would return to itself. Motorbike-free and peaceful. That there would no longer be feral alphas and betas roaming the streets, loyal to the symbol on their patches, on their vests, their jackets - to their club.

The entire pub had gone so quiet it almost hurt, most people frozen in fear, breathing deemed too loud - some dared to look out the windows or towards the door, though most looked at each other or their drinks. The air felt heavy, tense with the many scents of people in panic - yet nobody ran from the pub or disappeared upstairs. Everyone stayed, knowing they would have to know what was going to happen to Millhaven.

It was the owner, Alice, who was the first to break the silence, muttering out a “bloody hell.”

You silently agreed; a part of you wanted to hide out in the back, crawl beneath the floorboards once more, fearing that the Shadows would step into the pub, heads high after having won whatever had happened last night — that Graves would appear, that his gaze would land upon you.

It was one of the ladies by the windows, the wife of the book store owner if you were right, who uttered the second word to break the silence. The “fuck” echoed throughout the building, sending shivers through everyone.

Like sheep, caught in a pen, you all waited to see whether it was protectors or predators who were going to enter your safe space. If all of your blood would spill on the wooden floors, sticky with spilled beer or if you would be able to go home and sleep peacefully.

Lights flashed by the windows, motorbikes slowing down out front - followed by laughter in the parking lot. The engines died down one after one, like predators all quieting down in order to better watch their prey, before attacking.

The lack of the rumbling from their engines, meaning they were right outside and about to step in made you nauseous - Graves would walk in an—

Despite the familiarity of leather clothes, it wasn’t a recognisable face who stepped inside the pub. Or well, a recognisable figure, at first, as you couldn’t even see his face, hidden by a balaclava with a skull design on. He was big; tall enough that he had to bend his neck to step through the door, shoulders broad, arms thick. Clad in leather, with silver studs and buckles on, his helmet under one arm. There was no fear in his eyes as he looked around the pub, taking in the residents of Millhaven. The pub was filled with the scent of worry, but the big man didn’t seem bothered.

For a mere moment, you wondered if this was what Death would look like, when he would come to collect and bring you to your parents; not with a scythe or a cloak, but with a leather jacket and a helmet for you to wear, while he drove the motorbike into the afterlife with you.

Was he the leader of the people who had just arrived?

However, he held the door open, uttering a gruff sounding “evenin” into the pub, as if to be polite for a moment. He looked like he could break a neck with one arm, or curl your ribs into your lungs with only his fingers - snap a bone with a kick. A mere moment later, it was clear to everyone in the pub that this guy wasn’t the leader - any doubt left you, as another man entered through the door.

You instantly knew he was the leader from the mere way he carried himself, the energy that seemed to drip from him, his scent of power rushing through the pub like a tidal wave; how he knew he owned the room he stepped into, when he confidently walked directly towards the bar. Followed by several people, leather clad like himself.

Like beasts, having escaped the nightmares and darkness underneath one’s bed, stepping into reality, into light and sight. Letting themselves be seen.

The leader took a deep drag of his cigar, not looking bothered at all, as the smoke left his nostrils a moment later. You were reminded of the terrifying dragons in the fairytales that your parents used to read to you as a child. This one had no scales or wings, but he was a dragon to you no less. Ready to strike and take gold and silver, to create a hoard inside Millhaven. Only a pack this big, filled with monsters, would follow a dragon.

There was no reason for him to tap on a glass, or whistle; everyone’s attention was already on him.

He was broad and though he was not as tall as the skull-wearing monster next to him, he would no doubt tower over you as well. Leather clad from head to toe, jacket adorned with studs and chains, leather pants and a pair of big, heavy-looking leather boots. However, one of the more prominent things about the alpha, besides the leather clothes and intimidating stature, was perhaps the unusual, but nicely kept, beard. It almost looked like mutton chops. His hair was a dark brown, slicked back- there were earrings in his ears and thick rings on his fingers.

Though there seemed to be a hint of amusement on the alpha’s face, his eyes seemed sharp, studying the people in the pub.

“Friends!,” he called out and you immediately pushed yourself a little closer to Mary, even if it wasn’t very alpha-like. His voice was loud and strong, so everyone could hear him, “My name is John Price. I’m sure most of you heard the noises last night. My men and I apologise for those, I can assure you that it won’t happen again. As you might have noticed within these last couple of years, this town has been operated and ‘protected’ by The Shadows. As of today, this is no longer the case.”

As of today, this is no longer the case.

The words echoed through your head, repeating themselves over and over again. Did this mean Graves was gone?

There was a slowly growing buzz of noise, from the whispers and sounds leaving people and you felt Mary shake a little as she took a hold of your hand. It almost felt cold. As if the two of you weren’t really sure what to think yet, whether to scream of delight, or horror that the words instilled in you.

“Millhaven is now protected by my group, Team 1-4-1. There will be changes around here, all for the better, I assure you. As long as everyone behaves, I’m sure we will all get along just fine.”

You couldn’t look away from him, even as the words sent painful stabs of fear through your body; like small knives, pushing into your back and breaking your spine. It would all start over - your town would never be free, like it was when you were a kid. The streets you had grown up in would never be peaceful in the same way, your future would be limited by a group that none of you had agreed to accept. Mary was still shaking and you wondered what this would mean for her, for her shop.

Your only hope was that no one in this one-four-one would notice you.

A small part of you was relieved that your father wasn’t alive to see this. He would not have liked it either.

They kept speaking, the leader - John Price or something - declared free drinks for the rest of the evening, but you could barely hear them or focus on them.

When Mary squeezed your hand, it took a couple of seconds before you reacted. You had been staring into nothing, nausea in your throat, as horrifying thoughts crawled along your skull and invaded your mind. What happened to the shadows? Did you even want to know?

“I would like to go home,” you whispered to your boss, who gave your hand another short squeeze.

“In a few moments,” she agreed, “then we'll sneak out the back. Though these can hardly be worse than the shadows.”

A part of you wanted to point out to the older lady that these people had most likely killed the Shadows, one after another, not just politely asked them to leave. But you were afraid that vomit would spill from your lips afterwards.

Perhaps, this was the sign you had been waiting for - that you should move away and start somewhere new.

next chapter ->

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mojavebluez · 4 months ago

Text

Carve - the salesman x fem!reader

Chapter 4

summary - after your personal promise not to call him, a month passes with no sign of him. You really think that you might be free from his torture, until you wake up in his apartment all over again. He isn’t going to let your actions go unpunished - so he makes sure that to do something that you will never forget.

tags - knifeplay, degradation kink, praise kink, dryhumping, grinding, blood kink, sub!reader, dom!salesman, making out, sadomasochism, non-con, porn with plot

a/n - can you tell I was really feeling this one?? It might be a little while until I can continue due to general workload so I hope this keeps you guys satisfied :) dw though, more things to come!

Series masterlist

4.5k words

You had entered a new stage of your life. You had taken a conscious effort after your last meet-up to avoid him completely, and were feeling the effects every day. You felt lighter. Blissful. You smiled for no reason in particular - the knowledge that he could not touch you anymore no longer weighed on you. The memory of his face, smirking at the sound of your screams, used to hang over you like a raging storm cloud. Without him, the storm had cleared, and the days seemed brighter.

In fact, that night when you returned home from your meeting, you found his number and blocked it from your phone completely. The only reminder of him were the scars on your thigh and the marks on your neck, which soon faded. You chilled at the memory of his hand on your throat, pressing down until you saw stars. No more. He couldn't hurt you now.

Nearly a month had passed since you'd last seen his face. One afternoon on your walk home, you feel a strange compelling urge to keep aware of your surrounding. You glance around, shoving your hands into your pockets and lengthening your stride. After a minute of walking, you relax, telling yourself the feeling was just your imagination - probably some sort of trauma response after all you had been through.

You pass through a quiet part of town. Parked cars devoid of drivers sit on the curb, and you walk past empty shops with hatched windows. You pick up your pace when you see yourself approaching the entrance to an alleyway, suddenly very aware of yourself. You are contemplating crossing over the street, just to be safe, but it's too late. A hand darts out, grabbing you by your hood and pulling you into the alley. Immediately, you scream, kicking your feet and waving your arms. A hand claps over your mouth, muffling your voice, as well as an arm hooked around your body. The hold is unfamiliar. You almost laugh at the irony. Imagine you die now at the hands of a stranger, and not him. You can practically see him punching the air.

You thrash around in an attempt to escape the strangers hold. The person is tall, very strong, and much, much bigger than you. Still, you don't give up, not losing hope. You'd survived this long.

After a moment, you grow tired, and the person takes it as an opportunity to shift you. They tighten their grasp, holding you upward until your feet hover from the ground. You swing your legs, only moving yourself slightly, before they move forward and out of the alley. Your eyes widen when you see a car opposite, its door wide open.

You use one last burst of energy to throw yourself forward. You briefly escape, catching a glimpse of your attacker before being shoved through the door. All the air is knocked out of you and you collapse onto the back seat. The door slams behind you, plunging you into darkness. Your mind starts to race. You scramble over the seat to the front of the car, but you never see the face of the driver. Something hard strikes down on your head, and it all goes black.

You emerge from the darkness aching and with a splitting headache. Immediately, you shoot upwards and try to get a sense of your surroundings. It's not at all what you expect. There's something strangely familiar about the room that you find yourself in. The sleek, monotone colour scheme. The wide window spanning from floor to ceiling. The comfortable hardness of the mattress beneath you. There's no doubt about it: it's his apartment.

You press a hand to your forehead, bringing it away to see blood staining your fingers. You must have blacked out back there, but you caught a brief look at who attacked you. It certainly wasn't him - is he really getting other people to do his dirty work now? You underestimated the extent of his obsession. You almost feel flattered at his efforts.

The whole room is dark aside from long streaks of lights being cast across the floor. You recognise the coffee table and chairs from your first meeting. It feels like so long ago, when, in reality it has been barely two months. You feel your heart thud regularly in your chest, though louder than normal. You know something is wrong. You can't be safe here. You sit up in his bed, trying your best to ignore the pain at your bleeding forehead. Glancing around, you open your mouth to say something.

Before you can talk, he emerges from the shadows with his hands clasped before him. Your breath catches in your throat. You had almost forgotten what he looked like, partly because your mind had blocked the memory of him to keep you safe. He was just the same as usual: perfect, symmetrical, tall and imposing. His presence immediately darkens the room.

His suit is a deep red paired with a matching tie. The colour brings unwelcome thoughts, and you can't help but think it was a conscious choice on his part. His hair is gelled back impeccably, not a single strand escapes.

"Long time no see," you say, voice dry. You feel every muscle in your body tense involuntarily as he steps towards you.

Half his figure is bathed in a red glow coming from the window, the other half shadowed. You contemplate pinching yourself to see if you are dreaming. This whole situation seems like a twisted fantasy your mind has conjured up as some sort of personal torture. It isn't until he speaks that you know it's real.

"Indeed," is all he says. His voice is velvety, not at all indicative of his nature. You press your back against the headboard, preparing yourself for whatever he is planning to do to you.

"I'm sorry I haven't called, I just-"

"No apologies," he holds up a hand, stopping you, "you've been very busy, haven't you? It's exam season."

"How did you..." you trail off, registering his words. He must have been keeping an eye on you. You scoff. How naive of you to think you could have escaped him so easily.

"You really expected me just to let you go?" His mouth curves into an uneven smirk, lips peeling back over his pearly teeth. "Who do you take me for?"

"I don't know," you whisper, hanging your head. Humiliation twists your insides uncomfortably. This really is your life now.

He steps closer, standing beside the bed, his figure hovering over you. You feel insignificant before him and incredibly vulnerable. Here, in his own apartment, and on his own bed, you are utterly at his mercy. Any prospect of hope quickly drains out of you. You try your hardest to keep some sort of distance between the two of you. You press your torso flush again the headboard, holding your head back to keep him fully in view. You can't let him catch you off guard.

"I'll admit, I'm disappointed. After everything I've done for you?" His tone is horrifyingly parental. You feel like a scolded child. "Not even one call?"

"I haven't had time-"

"Oh, but you have," his eyes spark, "all those nights out. And all those dates. You've been enjoying yourself, haven't you?"

It couldn't be - is he actually jealous? You feel a sudden surge of power. It isn't just him pulling the strings anymore. "You've been watching me."

"I have," he smiles, placing his hands by his sides as though preparing himself, "and I will continue to until you learn your lesson."

"And what lesson is that?"

"This."

He lunges forwards, throwing his body over you. You gasp as he grabs both of your wrists and pins them over your head, keeping you stuck there. He lays his full weight over you, placing one knee either side of your legs until you are caged in by his body. You arch your back, trying to squirm out of his grasp. His face is barely centimetres from yours. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, but you don't dare to meet his eyes. You already know how terrifying they are.

You throw your head back and forth against the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. You twist your body away from him until you're practically writhing around. Still, he doesn't move. He watches you with an amused look, gelled strands of hair falling over his forehead and tickling your face. You feel repulsed by his touch.

"I really thought," he says between heavy breaths, "you would know better by now."

"Let go-!"

"And yet, you still tried to get away," he tuts, shaking his head at you. You thrust your head back, summoning a scream, but he just laughs blatantly at your efforts.

"You really never learn, do you?" He leans his head forwards, bringing his lips to your ears. You make a little noise at the dampness of his breath. "No one can hear you."

He moves back to watch your expression fall. He's right, of course. The last time you were here you screamed until you lost your voice, and yet help never came. He would never let you in his apartment if he had overlooked a detail like that.

"I meant to call, I really did!" You lie, voice a faint whimper. He pouts his lips at you in mock-sympathy.

"And yet, you didn't," his voice loses all amusement. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch darkness melt over his features. His eyes become two flat, inky disks, bearing into you until your blood runs cold.

"Did you lose the card?" He spits through gritted teeth. His lips curl, and he moves his face so close to yours that you flinch when he speaks. "Did you forget the fucking number?"

"Please-"

"How can I make sure you remember it forever, huh? What can I do?"

"Don't-"

"Just shut the fuck up!" He yells, making you recoil back into the pillow. He's never shouted at you before. You feel yourself begin to tremble under his hold. You press your lips firmly shut, not having any desire to see that side of him again.

Something sinister burns in his eyes. You watch it catch light and spark into a flickering, black flame. He releases one hand, keeping the other locked over your wrists, which stay above your head. He brings the other to the breast pocket of his blazer, dipping his hand inside and bringing it back out to reveal what is inside.

"NO!" You scream, kicking your legs out and thrashing around on the bed. He presses the weight of his body down onto you until you struggle to fill your lungs fully.

"I said be quiet," his voice is flat, monotone. It's a warning. He is much worse when his anger is under control.

He presents the blade to you. The sight of it is sickeningly familiar. Its smooth surface reflects your face, and agonising memories flash in front of you. The scars on your thigh serve as a reminder of that night - you certainly don't want any more of them. You close your eyes, trying to shut him out.

"You can't escape this," you can feel his lips brush the skin of your neck and you shiver. It's an unfamiliar action on his part.

"Don't hurt me," your voice is barely a breath. All hope has left you.

"Oh, but I have to," he says it like he is fulfilling a duty, "it's the only way that you'll learn."

He sighs heavily as he pushes himself upward. You feel great relief as the weight of him is lifted, but that is soon replaced by dread when he moves your wrists, extending your arms fully above your head. Your blood starts to hum in your ears as you watch him, knelt over you, bring the blade to the skin of your arm. You brace yourself for the agony. And it comes, even worse than you expected.

He plunges the blade into the smooth skin of your inner arm, carving a deep line into the flesh. You scream louder than you thought possible. You feel his breath start to pick up as he starts to carve the first digit into you. Blood pools at the site of the wound, before dripping down and staining his white sheet with speckles of an alarming red. The pain is overwhelming. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring the world around you into a blend of colour. His curved, suited figure swirls into a mix of crimson.

You continue to scream between sobs, the tears becoming unstoppable rivers now. Your back arches as he pulls the knife out to examine the first number. He makes a low, satisfied noise, swiping away the blood with the side of his hand. He bends down to press a kiss on the wound, and you shriek, the unexpected pressure agonising. His lips come away dark red, teeth flashing in an appalling grin.

"No more, please-"

"I've barely started," he coos, furrowing his brows in concentration. You watch him with a distant, pained expression, his body arched over yours and neck bent. Blood stains his fingers, dripping down to the cuffs of his shirt. He briefly leans back, his knees straddling your hips, to take off his blazer jacket. Your eyes are blurry, but you see the wide v shape of his torso towering over you. He is so handsome that it aches. He discards the jacket and leans back down over your arm to continue, ignoring your whimpers of protest.

You groan in pain and general bodily exhaustion as he plunges the knife back in. A strange tingling sensation has built in your arm, only slightly numbing the suffering you would have felt. You try to focus on other things. The softness of the bedsheets. The sound of his breath, ragged and heavy as though he were already fucking you. You take small pleasure in imaging that, in some distant universe, you were a normal couple who made love and slept and existed like anyone else. That was not this universe.

You snap back to reality when he pulls the knife back out after successfully carving the second part. A sheen of sweat has built on his forehead, and drops trickle down the side of his face. You sob. He was taking 'blood, sweat and tears' far too literally. You observe him examining the blade, titling it so the light catches on the steel surface. From this angle, you can see every detail of his face. One of his eyes is twitching involuntarily. The mask is slipping.

"You're doing so well," he mutters, bending back down to continue without even looking at you. Your whole body shudders. You silently pray that you might pass out so the whole thing can end. But no - every time he sees you slipping, he places a harsh kiss on your wound, jolting you awake.

Your screams fade to weak, shrill noises as he resumes with the fourth number. He adjusts his position, and you feel a distinct tent in his trousers brush against your leg. You take in a sharp breath. He said it himself: he likes to watch you bleed. You remember how he lost his composure last time he cut you like this. You catch his eyes and see that they're practically dripping with lust. His mouth hangs open as he draws blood from you, his breaths coming hot and heavy, stirring your hair that fans out on the pillow. He sees the lifeless look in your eyes and pauses, loosening his tie.

"You have to understand," he pants, "this is your punishment. You shouldn't have ignored me. None of this would have to happen."

You work your jaw, trying to console your anger. "Last time... you just left me there." You gasp as he digs the blade back in, resuming his work. You curve your body, raising yourself off the bed.

He seems to think about your words before responding. "Ah, yes... it was something very important. I don't expect you to understand." The words make you feel almost juvenile.

"I nearly fucking died," you hiss.

He hears your words and his eyes seem to glitter. Without warning, he goes faster, the cuts deep and jagged. He finishes the number without wiping away the blood and moves directly onto the next. You cry out, tears welling and falling in an endless cycle.

"Such a slut," he says through gritted teeth. He seems to lose all thought processes, the words falling from his tongue. "You nearly died with my cock in your mouth."

The words tumble out without him thinking. He's losing himself now, grasping at the final threads of his sanity. You whimper in fear, and he goes deeper, his hands shaking. Blood pours from your arm, the pillow beneath you almost entirely red. You choke with sobs, unable to sit up and control yourself.

It feels like an eternity before he finishes. By the final part, he is soaked in sweat and his pupils are so dilated that his eyes are darker than they've ever been. You can no longer feel the lower part of your arm, and your hand hangs limp above your head. His grip on you has loosened, but you are still stuck in a starfish position with his body over yours. Stars dance past your vision, and you feel your consciousness slipping.

"There," he leans back, using his tie to wipe away the blood. The first few numbers have congealed slightly, allowing him to see the desired product.

He lets go and you flex your fingers. Your arm aches and stings but you're used to the sensation. You move your arm and hold it above your face to see what he has done to you. When your vision comes into focus, your heart sinks. It's his phone number. Carved into your arm so deep that you are certain it will scar for life.

"Now you'll never forget," his voice is thick and dripping with arousal. You collapse back, letting your arm drop over your face, not caring about the pouring blood. He straddles your hips, then takes a hold of your waist, lifting you upward. You let it happen. His hands circle your torso, controlling you easily despite your body being deadweight.

He turns himself around, leaning his back against the headboard and extending his legs before him. He lifts you onto his lap, letting your head lie on his shoulder. Your breaths are shallow. You hook your injured arm around his neck, holding on to him despite yourself. Whatever, you think, nothing matters anymore.

He places fluttering kisses over your neck, creating a wet line down to your collarbone. You let him. The sensation is a welcome distraction from the pain. You lean into his lips, consoling the affliction and focusing your breath. Eventually, you pull back to meet his eyes. He stares back at you, two shining onyx stones set into his skull.

You watch him, thinking. Then all thoughts leave you, and something new and sinister compels you to crash your lips into his. You feel the world melt around you - the pain along with it. He kisses back, lips fighting against yours. You've never kissed him before. His mouth is hot and wet and tastes of your own blood. You don't come back up for air. Your bodies seem to bleed into one another; you share the same breaths, the same thoughts. Your hands move searchingly up his torso, and you fan your fingers over the wide plane of his chest. He winds his own fingers through your hair, pulling lightly at your head and making you whimper.

Your tongue explores his lips, tracing wet lines and dipping into his mouth. He makes deep, pleased noises in his throat as he tastes you. The passion of your kiss is unexpected. You can feel yourself unraveling; he is stripping you down to nothing but flesh and blood. He gasps for air between kisses, lips flushed and swollen, eyes fluttering open and closed to watch your face. You don’t open your eyes. You’re afraid that he might pull away, or tell you to stop. So you just keep kissing him.

“I need you,” you gasp, barely thinking, “I need you.” You repeat it between kisses, voice muffled by the force of his mouth on yours. The pressure of his lips begins to hurt. You straddle his leg, driving your hips into his thigh. The need for friction is sudden and intense. You can feel your body come alight with desperation.

“Show me how much you need me,” his voice is low, a deep vibration in his throat. You pull away from his lips and rest your forehead against his, grinding your cunt into his leg. His lips part, eyes glancing down to watch you move over him. You feel yourself getting wetter with every movement.

He listens to your little gasps and moans, leaning back to get a full view of you using him to fuck yourself. Your hand is pressed on the wall beside his head, and he takes it, raking his heavy eyes over the wounds on your arm. He runs his tongue over the jagged carvings, making you wince slightly in pain. The cuts are still tender and leaking a steady stream of blood. Once he’s done with you, the bed will look like a crime scene.

You go faster, trying to build up friction. The need for him to fill you comes on fast, and you grab his tie to steady yourself. “I need you to fuck me,” the words come out as a needy sob. He chuckles darkly.

Heat builds inside of you. You can sense yourself nearing your orgasm, and you throw your head back. Your arousal soaks the fabric of his trousers. He watches you, eyes heavy lidded, then grabs your arm with agonising force. You cry out, stopping the momentum of your movements, feeling your orgasm slip away from you. Tears prick your eyes at the pain he has caused you.

“Not yet,” he growls, slowly uncurling his fingers one by one. Agony thuds in your arm like a dying heartbeat.

You make a confused noise. He lets you go, moving his hands to your waist again. His hands are wide, and his fingertips almost touch around you. He shifts your position over his lap. You can feel the hard shape of his bulge agains you, fighting against the fabric of his trousers. You are strangely pleased with yourself that you have managed to get him this turned on.

“Say the words,” he slowly bucks his hips against you, and you moan softly. Eagerly, you grind against his bulge, your whole body quivering.

“I need you,” you say breathlessly, building momentum.

He brings his lips to your neck, sucking at the skin. The slight discomfort makes you grind harder. You can feel his erection growing stiffer as you do. You want to please him so desperately that it hurts.

You gasp little moans of yes, yes, nuzzling your face into the hollow of his neck. He barely moves, but every so often he shifts his hips slightly, breaths ragged. You need him inside you; you need to fill that deep desire. You remember how his cock felt, filling you up until you could barely stand it. He makes no move to fuck you, though, seeming content with you using him yourself.

“Please, please-“ you gasp. You aren’t sure what you’re begging for anymore. You can feel a patch of precum stain his trousers, and you remember how his cock tasted in your mouth. Salty and heady. You sob quietly.

Your arousal coats the crotch of his trousers, staining the dark red fabric even darker. You can sense his eyes on you, drinking you up. The build up is far slower than you would like, but you keep grinding yourself onto him, praying for release. Fire seems to build inside you, and your breath picks up as it does, until your sighing hot, shallow gasps into his ear. He chews his lip, fighting the urge to rip you apart himself.

Finally, he lets you cum. Your body shudders into him as you release. You feel yourself go limp, entirely loose, melting into him like wax. He draws slow, tortuous circles with his nails in your lower back, letting you collapse over him. Your head hangs over his shoulder, and you squeeze your eyes shut, denying yourself. This cannot be real, your mind says, this is all a dream.

He lets you breathe for a moment before swiping two fingers over your panties. They come away slick and gleaming in the low light. A breathy laugh escapes from him. You prepare yourself for the degradation, the scolding. But it never comes. He lets you lie over him, a blanket of empty flesh. The clarity is sickening.

You untangle yourself from him, limbs loose and useless, falling beside him onto the other side of the bed. His bed is huge, and you are immediately swallowed by the blood soaked pillows. Your eyelids feel heavy and useless, but you use your last moments of strength to look at him. His shirt is rumpled, some buttons undone, revealing the skin of his chest underneath. His tie hangs loosely, the silky fabric mottled with dark bloodstains. Finally, your eyes reach his face. Your heart shudders irregularly.

Your final waking memory is of him staring at you. The look in his eyes was inhuman. Dark. Animalistic. You don’t remember what he did to you after you passed out - all you know is that you woke up in your own bed hours later, every part of you aching.

You blink your eyes open and sit up, feeling discomfort flood your body. You are wearing the same outfit from that day, but this time a thick bandage is looped around your lower arm. You jolt upright, running into your bathroom and flicking on the light switch. The brightness burns your retinas, but you don’t care, gripping the sink with your bandaged arm and using the other to unfurl the bindings.

The exterior layer is clinically white, but the more you peel back, the deeper red the bandages become. By the final layer you feel as though you are pulling away your own skin. You nearly stagger backwards at the sight of what is underneath. In thick, pink, ragged cuts:

his phone number.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub and cry into your hands until the sun rises. You know something had changed that night. This isn’t just a game anymore - this is your life.

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shsl-fujoshi · 1 year ago

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"is it weird to--"

I'm going to stop you right there. Of course it's weird.

It's good to be weird! Get weirder or I'll die of boredom.

#fandom #fanfiction #fandom wank #darkfic #dark fic #dead dove #freak positivity #ao3 #archive of our own

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metaphoricgibberish · 3 months ago

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Fate Forgone Virtue

A man, gone brutal and cold, stalks through life with blood on his hands and violence in his head.

A woman, hopeless and desperate, seeks death’s embrace like a lover’s warmth.

This is their story.

___________

Joel Miller gives a young woman a second chance at life, as his pet.

pairing: dark!joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni 1/13 chapters posted warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, non-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, gore, bondage, see more on AO3 a.n. i didn't think i was gonna post this for a little bit but fuck it haha. hello everyone!! welcome to hell! please take the tags seriously. this is not like my usual fics. i will not be adding a warning in every chapter, but everything is in the tags. no hard feelings if this one is not your cup of tea, but for those of you willing to come along for the ride, i'm really excited about this one! the first two chapters will be somewhat of a short introduction into the story, the following chapters will be longer. have fun! ;)

Read Chapter One - The Hunter on AO3

Spotify Playlist

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mitsuki91 · 2 years ago

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Aaaaaand anoTHER DAY WHEN MY IRL FRIEND TALKS WITH HER IRL FRIENDS ABOUT MY DEAD DOVE IN FRONT OF MY FACE 😂🫣🫣🫣🫣😰😰😰

#personal #dead dove fic #ao3 dead dove fic

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lilacxquartz · 8 months ago

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A SIGHT FOR SORE EYES

part 1 of 3 • mahito x reader

summary: following an accident that destroyed your vision, you begin to suspect that your boyfriend, your caretaker, was actually replaced by an imposter.

tags/themes: body horror, psychological horror, reader insert, disturbing themes, dead dove, dark

ao3 • masterlist • more series • part 2 >

1. Fade Away

The accident itself came out of nowhere.

All you could remember was the squeal of the tires and the slamming force that threw you forward against the dashboard. The glass around you held for maybe a second before it collapsed and fell like sharp, near lethal snow.

Soon after, darkness followed, but not the slow pull of sleep or even death, but quite literally something pitch black and devoid of colour that crept into your vision, or lack of.

Before you knew it, the world was taken away from you and as was your remaining hope.

Essentially, you were left unable to see.

At least maybe temporarily, or so the doctors had otherwise claimed, feeding you a false sense of promise that the light could one day return. Days, maybe weeks all blurred together in perpetual darkness otherwise, so it didn’t take too long for your hope to fade.

The recommendation was to wear eyepatches over your eyes, or rather, a dual patch to both protect your eyes as they heal as well to hopefully make the gradual return of vision not feel so overwhelming.

You hated the things if you were honest; the very feel of them resting atop your eyes only served as a mocking reminder of just how easy it was to ruin the course of your life within mere seconds.

Your boyfriend however, as sweet as he was, tried to see you through it all. His calm and kind voice was the only consistent thing throughout your entire experience. He was always there to guide you when you couldn’t find your way—telling you it was all going to be okay—even if that word no longer made sense to you.

What was it… to be okay anymore?

Everyday, you looked forward to his calming voice and his gentle touch, except for when you didn’t; at least not anymore.

It was a subtle shift in the air, but something had changed.

When he walked into the room, something about his presence felt off. He greeted you the same way that he did before and the sound of his voice was familiar enough, but there was a different quality to it. It wasn’t wrong, at least not exactly, but something about the way he spoke had suddenly felt unnatural.

The way he touched you felt slightly… off, too. His touches were usually light against your skin; yet whoever this was, seemed to apply an uncomfortable amount of weight against you.

The scent in the room, the scent of his cologne that he wore was the exact same, although it was certainly faint, as though stale.

Maybe you were just going insane…?

It wasn’t that unlikely, you supposed. The trauma was life altering enough and after being in a loop of total darkness for the last couple of weeks, it was highly probable that the very last strings of your sanity were finally on their last threads. This whole thing was disorienting enough, since you essentially lost what you knew as the entire world in just a matter of minutes, so maybe it was the case of your senses being elevated a little too much.

It was a possibility, right?

Your mind was probably to blame, playing sneaky and cruel little tricks on you and feeding into the exhausting paranoia of losing one of your most vital senses.

The feeling however still persisted deep down. It was a creeping unease that would sink to the depths of your stomach and bubble away into poorly digested yet festering doubt every time he would reunite with you.

His laughter, while soft and familiar, now carried a hollow tone. His breath felt somehow hotter, his words felt almost… rehearsed. Your heightened remaining senses be damned; you knew it in the core of your very being that you weren’t crazy for picking up on such things.

It was the way his footsteps walked down a methodical path on his way to be with you. or how he hesitated to say your name, instead calling you sickly sweet nicknames that he had otherwise never before in his life used on you.

It was strange, but the company of someone you supposedly had loved for the last five years, had become almost foreign to you.

At one point, you reached for his hand while lying down next to him in bed and your fingers grazed against his, only for you to pull back away in an instant. His soft palms were now calloused and you could feel strange sorts of sutures line up his wrist in brushing retaliation.

You continued to try and drill in the idea that this had to have been all in your head out of desperate delusion, hoping, praying even, that it was the fault of the darkness for twisting everything into something so vile.

But still, that nagging feeling persisted. It wasn’t fear clouding your judgement; it was an innate warning to trust your gut to understand that something was actually terribly wrong.

You didn’t dare question him however, because after all, this person—whoever he actually was—was the only one who had fed you, bathed you and cared for you. How could it not be him? You kept telling yourself that it had to be because you were otherwise stumped on all other plausible explanations.

Whoever it was that tucked themselves away next to you in bed and idly traced haunting patterns in your skin was not the person you once knew.

It was absolutely, without a doubt, someone else.

Someone pretending to be him.

~~~

The doctors had been cautiously optimistic concerning your recovery; a phone call with the person who had initially treated you had revealed that while the accident had been devastating, your future might not be in ruins just yet. With time and provided that you were correctly taking the medicine that your boyfriend had been giving you, you should actually begin to heal.

There were signs to look out for in your returning vision; flickers of light, passing shadows and the like. They warned you that it might at times seem alarming, but it was all positive; a sign of healing, if you were lucky enough.

And much to your delight, you started to indeed notice hints of your vision returning after a while. Exercised moments without the eye patches would reveal partial sight in the form of colourful blurring patches manifesting within your view. It was something so little yet so hopeful, but you couldn’t help but cling to the fleeting glimpses of colour that painted your vision with almost elated anticipation.

Anything but constant darkness.

If you could at least see colour, even if it wasn’t so clear, then suddenly the future wasn’t as bleak as before.

Yet, every time you thought you were getting better, the progress would soon slip away every time he visited.

Just like the initial shift, it all started subtly. The brief casted moments of light would be stolen from you the second that he left the apartment, leaving you behind in a suddenly plunged black void and whenever you would mention this in a call to the doctors, they were simply perplexed. According to them, if you were seeing positive changes in your vision, then it should be improving—not deteriorating.

They told you that they would arrange for your partner to pick up a changed strain for the medication, hoping that an adjustment to your treatment should guide you in the correct direction.

But try as you might, the pattern continued to repeat itself, again and again.

You would heal and then the lights would go out.

You could have sworn that it was his doing somehow, even if the assigned blame was insane in its own right. With every touch from his tainted fingertips, he would somehow weaken you despite being otherwise gentle. It was so odd, because it was like he eluded poison from every stroke against the contours of your flesh.

You soon grew to fear contact with him as a result; dreading any sort of contact with the impostor who claimed to be your lover, lest he would damage you again. It was as though every time his fingertips brushed against your skin, he changed something about you and with every recurring visit, it only got worse.

You kept trying to talk to him about it, hoping that his once warm personality would return and tell you that you were wrong about your assumptions but you never got such comfort.

Again and again, you would ask him something of the same sort of variation, “I’m getting worse, aren’t I?”

But there would be no comfort that followed.

“Don’t be silly,” he would often taunt, almost, his words always so playful as they flicked off of his tongue with hidden venom. “Why would you feel worse, huh? That’s so funny to me, because you shouldn’t. I’m taking such good care of you, silly. You should be feeling better.”

His voice was soft when he spoke too, like smooth dripping honey against your weary ears. “Maybe you’ve got it all wrong, even. You’re feeling worse from me not being around. Don’t worry though, I’ll keep you running, safe and sound.”

His words were now more erratic, almost playful. He no longer carried the same patterns that your partner once did with his speech. You wanted nothing more than to pull away from this monster—because that’s what he must have been—to escape from him, to scream at him to leave you alone because how dare he pretend to be someone you loved?

And yet you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you did nothing, resigning yourself to just sitting there, laying there as he would continue to purr falsely planted reassurances into your ears with promises that you prayed that he would not keep.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he would say, “I’ll be right here, always. Watching every last bit of you unravel—I mean heal. We’re in this together, right? I’ll stay with you until there’s nothing left—I mean, until you’re fixed right up.”

You could only sigh and endure, the ache behind your eyes getting gradually worse, as if something was pushing and pulling inside of your skull somehow; messing around internally, poking and prodding in places that should have remained untouched.

It didn’t take long for your body to feel wrong, like it wasn’t put together correctly anymore.

Like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

You could have sworn that your skull was contorting under your skin, slowly twisting and waning through whatever pressure his passing touch would apply.

Sometimes, late at night (or what you assumed to be night), you would lie awake and feel things moving inside of you; slowly, and deliberately—as though something was crawling beneath your flesh.

And all you could do was just sit there.

Broken, blind and waiting for the next visit.

For the next time that this thing wearing your boyfriend’s persona would return and wrap its hands around your body once again, uttering sweet little lies while tearing you apart from the inside.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” he would murmur or rather, mock, “I’m here for you, after all.”

But it wasn’t going to be okay.

That much you did know.

In fact, you had a very good idea that nothing was ever going to be okay ever again.

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totorolaughs · 9 months ago

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DABI x READER

dead dove, toxic relationship, gn reader, blood & gore, cannibalism, spanking, after care (?), no pronouns for reader REQUEST: OPEN | CLOSED

You have been dating Dabi for a while now. Your friends had warned you about staying away from him; ‘he smells strange’, ‘I heard he's an absolute psycho with daddy issues (Name)!” and ‘he’s toxic’.

You ignored all their protests, you liked Dabi. and he /seemed/ to like you /a lot/ whenever you were around other people and he was around you could feel his blue eyes piercing into your soul.

But that was because maybe he had never been in a serious relationship before, he was prone to get jealous and possessive over you. He would always ask to stay over by your house and every time he would leave your house would smell like sex, blood, and cigarettes with a hint of beer floating in the air.

Today was no different, you were lying with Dabi on the couch and he had his arm wrapped around you. He had a tight grip on you as you both watched TV. It was a horror movie about a cannibal who kills prostitutes and then sends their private parts to the police as a clue.

Dabi seemed to be enjoying it as his eyes stayed glued to the TV, you on the other hand felt sluggish. Your mind wondered with one question; would humans taste good? — as strange as it was, you couldn't help but let the questions sink into your brain.

Dabis's hand rubbed your waist in an up-and-down motion which snapped you out of your thoughts. “You okay, Babe?” Dabis asked as he placed a kiss on your head. “You seem to be thinking hard about something and that's not normal for you, toots” You frowned at his words since he was basically calling you brainless but he was telling the truth.

It wasn't normal for you to think, you never think before speaking or committing an action. And ever since you met Dabi he had been making choices for you which felt nice to have someone do all the thinking for you, if Dabi told you to do something you would do it in a heartbeat you would never protest or fight against him.

“I’m fine..don’t worry” you snuggled up against Dabi as he ran his fingers through your hair “Plus don't be silly, my mind is always empty” you lie through your teeth. all of sudden as if he sees right through you (which he can) his fingers tangled in your hair and yanked your head back.

You let out a pitiful cry “You aren't lying to me, right?” he smiled. under different circumstances, you wouldn't have been fluttering after all you did love it whenever you got to see his creepy yet handsome smile. “My boy wouldn't do such a thing?” but you knew he didn't like liars, you had to learn that the hard way.

He slapped you the first time you lied to him, it was a little white lie it wouldn't even hurt a fly but even then he couldn't stand it.

He had cupped your face “You know I don't fucking like lying rats,” you had nodded as hot tears filled your eyes but as soon they began to run down your cheeks he (forcefully) grabbed you by your waist and pulled you to his close to him, you buried your face in his chest. “ I only do it to teach you a lesson, y’know I love you doll”

From that moment you had never told him a lie.

“I would never lie to you!” you pouted, he chuckled. “I know, just teasing y’know,” he said as he continued to watch the movie, your eyes stayed on the movie you felt too scared to look at Dabi at this very moment, as you watched the movie;

The killer stood on top of a woman he had just beaten with a baseball bat, her clothes were torn off her body and covered in her blood. bruises formed on her beaten body before cutting off and showing the killer dismembered her body and putting her parts into jars.

It seemed so real to you, your eyes stayed fixated on the scene; he covered her skin in salts and peppers as he began to chop them up. He poured boiling water into a pot as he collected her body parts and dumped them into his pot.

He grabbed a torn-off chunk of her body and put it on an oiled-up pan, the sound of sizzling could be heard as your stomach growled.

Fuck. you hoped Dabi didn't hear that.

But the human flesh looked so good, could it be chewy or rough like a well-cooked steak? Gosh, you couldn't help but begin to drool at the thought of it.

You hadn't realized you were actually drooling until Dabi spoke up.

“Looks super tasty, right?” he laughed, and you felt your face begin to heat up. You didn't answer him which was a bad idea but you couldn't help it. It's embarrassing admitting that you like the way human flesh looks!

He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV as he pulled you onto his lap, his hands gently placed on your hips. “Are you gonna answer?” before squeezing your hips roughly and digging his nails into your soft flesh.

“I…It looks g..good” Your face flushed as you grabbed his wrists since his long nails began to dig deeper into your plush skin. His narrowed as he smiled, placing a sloppy kiss on your forehead.

“You wanna try it?” your heart skipped a beat it felt as if your heart had stopped beating in that moment, and your eyes widened. You just stare at Dabi as if he had grown two heads, he slaps your ass which causes you to jump.

“Answer.” Dabi’s voice turns rough “M..mhm I wanna try..” He smiles before picking you up and you wrap your legs around his waist as he takes you to your rather dirty and unkept kitchen. He places you down on the kitchen counter; there are cans of beer, boxes of cigarettes, empty vapes, and weird stains covering the floor.

Dabi keeps an eye on you as if to say ‘stay’ before he goes over to the sink and turns on the sink, beginning to clean a dirty used switchblade (which usually he uses when there aren't any clean knives). You truly don't know what to think at this moment.

Was he actually going to cut his flesh to feed it to you? No of course not! That would be fucking crazy but Dabi is known for being crazy.

Before you know it Dabi is looming over you with a sharp black handle switchblade. “If I'm going to let you /eat/ me, you’re going to have to do something for me, yeah?” his free hands tangled in your head and forced you to nod.

“Mhm…” your whole body is shivering. Dabi is only wearing; a nine-inch nails t-shirt that is pulled up slightly as it shows his v-line and his happy trail along with some black sweats-pants, you can tell Dabis cock is hard since he isn't wearing any boxers you can see the line-out of his thick cock showing as it twitches in his sweats.

He makes a deep cut into his arm and blood begins to drip down his arm. The sound of blood dripping onto the floor is the only thing you can hear besides your heavy breathing, He cut himself deep.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his crimson blood. He places the switchblade down on the counter as he brings his arm up to your mouth and you latch your lips and begin to suckle on his deep gash.

A groan slips from Dabis scarred lips, and Dabi palms his clothed cock. The sound of wet sucking sounds and heavy breathing can be heard throughout the dingy apartment you and Dabi owned.

“F..fuuuck go easy on me, baby” Dabi throws his head back before tugging on your hair causing your lips to let go of his arm, blood is all over your face.

“You made such a mess..” He pinches your cheek “Ouchh, Dabi m’sorry!” A whine comes from your bloody lips causing Dabi to smirk “Shhh I’mma give you more ‘kay?” Dabi once again grabs the switchblade and begins to carve into his skin he digs his thick fingers into the deep wound his nails tearing chunks of his flesh.

He holds the pieces of his flesh in front of you, drool drips from your crimson-covered lips. As you open your mouth to begin eating his flesh, he slaps you with his free hand.

Your eyes went wide, and you gasped, you never liked it when he would hit you yet it would feel sosos good. “Before I give you what you want,” he places a kiss on your lips, the taste of blood begins to fill his mouth, just making his cock leak pre-cum more. “I want you to strip.” In a blink of an eye, you're stripped from your clothes, all of your clothing is on the bloody floor, your pierced nipples hard and your cock twitching and leaking like a leaky pipe.

Dabi had torn your clothes right off of you before you could even reply which humors you since he said you're the needy one. “You look so pretty, baby..” Dabi licks his lips as he scatters marks all over your neck he loved it whenever you would show off his markings that were proof you belonged to the lunatic.

His bloody-covered fingers teasing and pinching your nipples, you moaned as your back arched. “P..please Dabi!” your voice filled with desperation and need.

“Please what, huh?” He bites down on your neck, you're definitely bleeding. “I w..wanna taste you!,” you cry out “I w..want you inside me..mee”

Dabi lifts your legs up and spits on your winking hole, you feel Dabi's spit roll down your hole and his bloody fingers enter. You let out a choked-out moan.

Your nails digging into the countertop “You’re tight, I should fuck you until your hole bleeding and begging for more. You would like that, no?” he kisses your cheek as his thick fingers go in and out of your whole. It hurts.

Your whole body feels hot and is burning up, you knew you would need him fingering you for a good while before you were able to take his cock inside of your tight heat but tonight he didn't feel like waiting for him to get his fat cock wet.

He pulled his member from his sweatpants. It had a trimmed bush of white and red hair unlike the hair on his head which was dyed black. His cock has a Jacob's ladder piercing which probably was your /favorite/ piercing he had besides his helix piercings which he had put silver spikes along with his nose and nipple piercings.

Once his cock was free from his black sweatpants, his pants dropped to around his knees as he began to slowly shove his cock inside. You breath in and out as he grabbed something and once you realized what it was he slammed his cock inside his balls slapping against your ass.

It was the torn-off chunks of meat, he gripped your jaw and shoved the chunks of flesh into your mouth. You whimpered at the taste of it on your tongue, and without warning he began to thrust in and out of your bloody hole.

His hands held your legs up as he shoved his cock deeper inside of you, your cock leaking all over your tummy as drool escaped from your lips. You almost choked on his flesh from how rough his thrusts were getting.

Your bodies stuck to each other by sweat, the kitchen smelled like blood, sweat, and sex. “Holyshiiit… you feel so good!” he groaned as he tightened his grip on you “Dabi g.. gah! ” Your tears began to burn with tears.

“C’mon, babes cry harder you can do that for me, right?” Dabi hisses as he feels your nails dig into his back, you nod as you continue to cry out in ecstasy.

You had long ago finished his flesh but you wanted, no, needed more of him. You needed to have him fill all your senses, you buried your face into his shoulder as you sank your teeth into him. Blood began to gush into your mouth as you sucked hard on the bite mark lapping up the blood with your tongue.

It felt like forever as he continued to slam into your tight warmth, your tummy covered in pre-cum as tears rolled down your cheeks, Dabi on the other hand growled and folded you like a lawn chair as the tip of his cock kept hitting your prostate causing you to roll your eyes into the back of your skull.

“Fuuck..imma cum” he groaned as he gave your thigh a spank “m..me ah..ahh c..cummingcumming!” your cock squirts out cum as it lands all over your tummy and chest. Dabi kisses you; it is sloppy, filled with teeth, and tastes like blood.

Your eyes crossed as you began to sob from being fucked stupid, what was your name again? Fuck you couldn't even remember. “n..no more! P..please st..stop!” Dabi didn't listen to your pleas as he reigned your guts.

“J..Just a little m..more, fuuuck..!” He buried himself balls deep inside of your velvety walls “I.. I'm gonna c..cum inside..you okay with that right? Of course you are, you whore..” he painted your walls in his cum. You could feel his cum slip out from your hole as he fucked his load deeper inside of you.

You both breathed in and out.

“You did so well…” he placed a kiss on your forehead as he rubbed your bruised hips “You take me so well..” he placed kisses on your neck and shoulders so gently as if you were going to break.

“l..love you..” you whisper into his ear before closing your eyes “I love you soso much, fuuck you drained me dry..”

You or Dabi didn't feel like moving at this moment, too sore. He held you close as he gently ran his finger through your messed up hair as if he didn't just fuck you brainless.

“I’ll take care of everything, okay? Rest easy, doll” All you remember is Dabi slowly pulling out his cock with the feeling of his cum oozing out of your abused hole.

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milesdrift · 2 months ago

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Not A Fan (BlueBerry0001) on AO3, is absolutely fire, writer is interactive and nice

Imagine an older sister taking care of her younger brother (Jason). Jason is a huge fan of homelander and goes to one of his meet and greets. His sister (reader) doesnt pay much attention to homelander when it’s their turn, but homelander does.

Tags: obsession, stalking, forcing fears, fighting, smut, dark (sorta dead dove coded).

#homelander #homelander x reader #dark #sister reader #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #smut #dead dove fic #billy butcher #reader insert #reader

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aveimperator40k · 4 months ago

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Omg. Omg. A wonderful ao3 moot just did a beautiful piece of fanart based off my dead dove Jilco series: 'Folie a Deux' 💣🦈💣🦈

Check it out and go give them a well-earned kudos!!!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62263451/chapters/159292183

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angelsberrymilk · 2 months ago

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Give Me Back What's Mine (pt 2)

Dean loses his baby brother, then gets him back, but with someone they'd be all better off without.

part 1 - ao3 link

soldier boy x sam winchester (samboy)

1.8k words

tw: canon-typical violence, homophobic language

It was disorienting travelling worlds, Soldier Boy realised. He's not even sure how any of this works. All he knows is that Sam one day woke up feeling off, he was dizzy and out of it, then he slowly started fading away then back. For example, he'd try to grab a glass of water and completely miss because his hand was now floating through the glass. He was terrified, Ben tried to help but all he could do is watch him, in case it gets worse. Then Sammy realised he may be going back home, and Soldier Boy kept watch of him like a hawk, he'd be damned if Sammy went back to his world and left him here, all alone. So at first sight of sparkling lights and flickers, he grabbed that man tight and forced himself through the portal with Sammy, and he was glad he did because if he hadn't, Sammy would have been roadkill by now, considering the fall. Once again, Soldier Boy saves Sammy.

Sam and Dean live a bunker, with a strange man in a trench coat, with dark pitch wind swept hair with old and wary deep blue eyes. Ben doesn't speak a single word when he follows inside the bunker, he can't open his mouth when he's witnessing a clone of himself fret and fuss around Sammy, who drags him to sit by the table and drink some water. It was strange, and it made Soldier Boy itch to draw blood, to eliminate this strange version of himself, this Dean, who's holding Sam by the shoulders, who's watching him like a hawk while he drinks a whole glass of water.

"Should I make you something to eat? PB&J? A grilled cheese?" Dean asks, sitting on a chair, facing Sammy, their knees and thighs touching.

"I'm not-" Sam says and Dean's shoulders sag, he bites the inside of his cheeks, his stomach flipping in guilt, "A PB&J would be nice," He tries to smile when he says it, he's not sure if he succeeds at it but Dean smiles bright, and really, that's much better.

Dean jumps up, makes big strides to the kitchen and gets to work, leaving Sam in the chair, alone with Castiel and Ben.

Sam tries to forget Ben was there, so he lowers his head, looking at the empty glass dwarfed in his hands, that is until a pair of black shoes appear in front of him. He lifts his head with a small smile, "Cas,"

"Hello, Sam," The angel smiles, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm very tired, I just want to get in bed after I eat," He chuckles, the sound dry and exhausted.

"I understand, you must have went through a lot, Sam," Castiel says and Sam nods. The angel nods and places a hand on Sam's shoulder, he squeezes once, "Well, I'm glad you're back safe,"

"Thanks, Cas," Sam smiles and squeezes the hand on his shoulder.

"Sam, who's that man?" Castiel asks and Sam flinches, "Hm?"

Castiel looks pained all of a sudden, he slowly brings forth his powers through his fingertips, trying to see if Sam was hurt in anyway, but his attempt was immediately sensed by Sam, who shrugged off his hand before he really could find out anything.

"Oh, that's- That's Ben, he kept me safe in the other world," Sam explains and Dean comes back then, holding a plate with a sandwich, cut in half with the crust off, and a glass of milk in the other, "What's what?"

Dean finally notices the man with his face standing by the wall, silent.

Sam is worried Dean will drop the food, so he clears his throat, "Can I eat now?"

Sam feels sick, he feels disaster hanging above his head as Dean slowly places his food on the table, sluggish while keeping his eyes on Soldier Boy. Sam grabs half of the sandwich and takes a big bite, so he can quickly get the hell out of there and get in bed.

Dean looks at Soldier Boy long and hard, seizes him up, gets a weird feeling in his stomach by staring at himself, in the eyes. The first thing Dean notices is how much bigger Ben is, they're the same height of course, but Ben is clearly well built, big biceps and big pecs under his shirt. Dean swears that Ben's eyes are of a darker shade of green than his, his hair is also longer and he has more hair on the lower half of his face than Dean, who always shaves it off. He looks ruggish, he looks like trouble.

"You must be Dean," Oh, and his voice was even deeper.

He gets off the wall and the corner of his mouth twitches as he tilts his head to the side, staring at Dean like he could eat him and spit him back out. Dean tried not to shiver under the attention and when he wanted to speak, he felt his throat close up. He frowned, a hand slowly going up to his neck, his fingertips pressing at the skin there.

Soldier Boy fully smirked at the small display of vulnerability, a shark in bloody water.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Soldier Boy took a step closer and Dean's eyes widened, hand going to his side, expecting a gun to be there, but when there wasn't, he balled his hands into fists, stomach flipping in discomfort.

"What are you?" Soldier Boy turned his attention to Castiel, the question taking everybody by surprise. As soon as Ben's eyes left Dean, he finally could breathe again.

"Excuse me?" Castiel asked as Sam watched, above the rim of his glass of milk.

Soldier Boy was now standing in front of the Angel, "I can smell it on you, you reek,"

Castiel squinted his eyes at the man, "I'm an Angel,"

Soldier Boy scoffed, "I'm sure you are,"

"What are you?" Castiel threw the question right back. Instead of answering, Soldier Boy chuckled meanly and turned around, grabbing Sam by the arm, "Where's your room, Sammy?"

Settling back home didn't go smoothly as Sam wished. When Ben dragged him out of his chair, like he was made out of wet tissue paper, Dean finally found his voice and called out, "Hey, asshole!"

Soldier Boy turned to look at him and received a punch square in the jaw, if he was any other man, he would have been on the ground by now, crying in pain, but he wasn't. Ben's face barely moved, he didn't even flinch or blink, staring at Dean like he had shit for brains. "What the fuck was that?" Ben scowled at him.

Dean stared at him with wide eyes, his fist throbbing with pain. What the hell?

"You keep your hands off my brother!" Dean gritted out, trying to ignore his fist that was surely broken, throbbing with pain.

"Oh she knows how to speak!" Ben grinned, all sharp teeth. He let go of Sammy and Sam panicked, "Ben, no!"

Castiel slipped his blade into his palm, keeping his eyes on Soldier Boy, slowly circling him.

Soldier Boy stepped closer to Dean, backing him against their table, "Considering this is your first time meeting me, I won't rip you in half for what you just did, Dean,"

Dean was sweating at this point, his left hand feeling around under the table, for the gun he leaves in there, in case of emergency, loaded and ready. Soldier Boy, stepped so close that the tips of their shoes were touching, "And I know that you probably broke that hand," He nods towards Dean's right hand, limp by his side, then grabs it. As soon as he does, it's like Dean's hand catches fire, he shouts, knees buckling, and as soon as they do, his fingers feel the coolness of the gun, grabbing it. Dean swings his arm forward, flicking the safety switch off.

"Dean, don't!" Sammy shudders, frozen in place.

"What're you gonna do with that, boy? Shoot me?" Soldier Boy grins, holding his hands in the air, in mock surrender.

Bang!

"Dean, no!" Sam scrambles to his brother's side, squeezing himself between the two as Ben cups his forehead, the gun still smoking in Dean's hand. Castiel watches Sam's wet eyes and Dean's horrified face. He's not used to seeing them scared, the Winchesters, and it was disturbing to see, even though he realises they were just human and it was a natural emotion to feel. The brothers watch Ben remove his hand off his forehead, not a scratch in sight, the bullet resting in his palm.

"Huh, didn't think you had the balls to shoot me," Ben shrugs, then casually throws the bullet over his shoulder. "I did warn you-"

"Ben, please," Sam begs, puppy eyes and all.

Soldier Boy kisses his teeth, hands on his hips, "I don't know, Sammy Boy, didn't your daddy teach you that every action had consequences?"

"But he didn't know-"

"He did, he broke his hand like a fucking pussy when he punched me," Soldier Boy said, grabbing Sam by the shoulder, about to move him to the side when he spun around and grabbed Castiel by the collar, the Angel holding up his blade in the air.

"What're you doing, you little fairy?" Soldier Boy snarled, shaking the angel, his feet just barely touching the floor as Castiel tried to free himself.

"Ben, stop, please!" Sammy was now crying, distraught and exhausted. Dean standing behind him, staring down at his gun and his swollen hand, heart slamming against his ribcage and ears ringing with the close-range shot.

Soldier Boy lowered his hand, the one on Castiel's collar without letting go, so now the Angel was held by the neck on the floor, trying to get up but failing to pull away from the man's iron-grip. Soldier Boy turned around, dragging the angel with him, like a rag doll.

"You want me to stop?" Soldier boy asked Sam, who nodded, lower lip trembling.

"I'll stop if you give me a kiss,"

Dean's eyes widened, arm raising to shoot him in the face again when Sam leaned forward, hands on Soldier Boy's shoulders, and kissing him on his cheek. Dean's heart dropped, doom kissing the back of his neck and wrapping itself around his lungs.

As soon as Sam's chapped lips pressed against Ben's cheek, he let the angel go. Sam grabbed his brother by the arm, walking around the man and waiting for Castiel to get back on his feet, eyes still on Soldier Boy in case he changes his mind and decides he wasn't done playing with them.

Soldier Boy watches them with amusement as they slowly back off, leaving him alone. He snorts, shaking his head, suddenly feeling thirsty. He finds the fridge, swinging the thing open, he grabs a beer and cracks it open with his thumb, taking a big gulp. He hums, smacking his lips. He still feels thirsty, but he thinks that beer will do for now, when he knows the only thing that will quench him is blood. It won't be any fun if he breaks them right now, after all, blood tastes sweeter when they finally realise there's no escape.

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