#it took so long to make her sleep
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Pt. 3
Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.
ââ
Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.
He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming theyâd had to do.
A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.
At least this time, the conception was consensual.
Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruceâs sanity.
How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?
It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Raâs al Ghul tortured his⊠Bruceâs⊠daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruceâs denial of being his heir.
His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.
He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this⊠his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painfulâŠ
How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Raâs al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.
The screens turned black, and Oracleâs call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.
âOracle. I hadnât finished looking at the cases.â
âGo to sleep, Bruce.â
âNo, there is still work to be-â his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.
âYour daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.â
Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags werenât that bad.
Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.
âŠNevermind.
He sighed. ââŠThank you, Barbara.â
âAnytime, Bruce. Iâm always here to kick your ass into gear.â
Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.
âI see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.â
âAh, yes, she⊠did.â Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfredâs up because of him, itâll wear down harsher on the older manâs health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. âSorry, Alfred. Iâll head up to bed soon.â
âSee to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.â
Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.
Alfred paused and turned around once more. âIf I may offer you some advice?â
âPlease. Always.â
Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. âYou have done well with Young Master Damian.â
âMost of that was Dick,â Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasnât a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
âPerhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had⊠gone.â
âIâll never make that period of time up to Tim.â Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-
âThat is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,â Alfred returned. He added a belated âMaster Bruce,â and it sounded like âyou utter buffoon.â
âButâŠâ
âYou must take the first step, Master Bruce.â
âWhat if she hates me? What if Iâm not ready- what if I canât help her?â
âYou will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.â
â⊠Youâre right.â Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesnât wait. He, of all people, knew that.
âYou will find that I am hardly ever wrong.â Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.
âThank you, Alfred.â
âOf course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gothamâs smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.â
âIâm going, Iâm going,â Bruce grouched.
ââ
Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.
She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her motherâs shirt. Another tendency that Raâs had thought heâd beaten out of her.
âBe careful,â the reincarnation whispered.
âYou as well, my beloved daughter.â
âYou do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.â
Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnationâs curled hair behind her ear. âNo, I do not believe that you do. But that is⊠my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.â
The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.
ââ
A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manorâs winding driveway. Sheâd declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.
She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And⊠Bruce Wayne. On one hand, sheâs kept them safe. On the other, sheâd sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.
âHmmm.â She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.
The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. Itâs a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.
She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. Theyâre anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasnât the heat of rage.
She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.
âDamian,â she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.
âWelcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.â He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.
(yÄ waáčawÄáčÄ« aláčŁáčŁážĄÄ«r is the phonetic spelling.) ("ÙŰ·ÙŰ§Ű·Ù Ű§ÙŰ”ŰșÙ۱" is the actual spelling. I think.)
âI have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,â she whispered. The familiar endearment, âmy little bat,â rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug⊠like the hug she was currently giving him.
(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)
âI still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.â
She pulled back. âDamian, you were five.â
âI have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.â Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.
âNo, you were smarter.â
And to her, he was. Itâs not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasnât the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Raâs wouldnât dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Raâs issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.
âUnlikely,â Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brotherâs ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. âThis is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.â
Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was⊠mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.
On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadnât mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brotherâs face. It was rare in the league and Gothamâs gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.
âAnd this is⊠Bruce Wayne. Our father.â
She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her⊠fatherâs.
She offered him a short nod.
ââ
âMy word,â Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his chargeâs (his sonâs) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.
The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.
But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spyâs attention.
No.
It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.
It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghulâs features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.
Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruceâs favorite movie.
It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.
From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.
Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.
Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.
âWelcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-â
She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadnât spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.
âal Ghul.â Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. âYou may call her al-Ghul.â
âOr nothing at all,â Damianâs sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.
Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shanât do it at the expense of his charge.
âMiss al Ghul,â he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Raâs al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghulâs expectation that her wishes would go ignored.
Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.
âPlease head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,â Alfred continued like he didnât think of violent second deaths for Raâs al Ghul. âPerhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.â
Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghulâs otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.
âI will bring your bags up to your room.â
She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.
âBe careful. There are dangerous things in there.â
âI assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,â Alfred said.
âPennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.â
Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghulâs privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damianâs implicit trust.
Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damianâs shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.
Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)
âThe daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.â
Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.
Well, itâs time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.
Hm. Heâll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he wonât.
ââ
She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.
âThis is the first parlor. It is for guests of the⊠regular persuasion.â
Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.
âAh, the silverware was selected by Alfred.â Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.
She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.
(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him⊠and found him lacking.)
âIt is⊠adequate.â She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.
âItâs fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.â
Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.
No, he couldnât. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.
âI like it, even if it is smaller.â
ââŠ.you do?â
âYou are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.â She repeated.
Damian latched onto her sleeve. âI- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-â
She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damianâs words cut off.
âIf⊠you want them as brothers. It would be⊠helpful, to integrate.â
She waited.
âBut⊠I am the first. Your blood. And-â
âI will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.â She allowed a small smile to show. âBut that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.â
Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.
âWell⊠as long as youâre aware.â He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.
ââ
She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.
âI made it two weeks ago,â heâd told her, fingers curled into her palm.
It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.
Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.
She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.
ââ
âHere is your room, ukhti.â Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.
âYouâve gotten better.â She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.
âClearly not good enough.â Damian huffed. âBut I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?â
His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.
An implicit challenge.
âNo cutting your fingers off, please.â Father interceded.
âBegone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.â
Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sisterâs sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.
ââ
Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.
Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.
Alfred made a note to study some more magic.
âMiss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.â Alfred paused. âMight I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to⊠take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?â
âOf course, Pennyworth. Apologies.â
âIâll try to make sure they wonât overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.â Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.
Alfred made another note.
âYou made this for me?â She asked, switching to standard.
Damian grumbled. âDo not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variationsâŠâ
âI am sure it will be good.â She took the plate from Alfredâs hand and uncovered it.
They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.
Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomasâ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.
âBstilla!â She turned to Damian. âMy favorite! You made this?â
âI know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!â
Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.
âUkhti! Donât- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-â
She held up her hand. âItâs good. I know what it is missing.â
She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.
She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of bâstilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.
His expression lightened. âThis is it. What is it? You know of the chefsâ methods?â
She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. âYouâve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.â
Alfred stiffened.
âItâs what?!â Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.
âIt is fine. He has been immune since he was three.â
Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned bâstilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.
âThat is- you- youâre the one who made my meals?â Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. âBut- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?â
She nodded.
âWhy would you- why did you not tell me?â
âYou knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.â
Alfred itched for his gun.
âYou are not a commodity,â Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.
â⊠I am aware. But⊠thank you.â
âAh. Yes. Of course.â And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.
âI believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?â
âYes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.â
âI have never tried it before.â
âYou will love it. Pennyworthâs cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.â
Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.
ââ
Yâall I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.
Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me
ââ
Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?
Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait⊠THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP
ââ
Also, I think Bâstilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a⊠bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on bâstilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.
#Bruce Wayne#Bruce Wayneâs guilt complex#Bruce âeverything is my faultâ Wayne#no Bruce not everything in fact is about you bby#ras al ghul#Raâs was a jackass long before you were born#oc in dc#batman#tim drake#damian wayneâs older sister#damian wayne#Bruce took his guil and fucking sprinted with it#heâs also making a lot of (very fair considering the circumstances) assumptions about oc#did I write that entire first part so I could make Alfred quote a poem?#yes yes I did#technically itâs also a part of a Kanye west song or whatever#oc: my brother is so cute look heâs so excited to see me#everyone else: what? hes walking so elegantly and calmly???#sleep deprived me did not do the difference between habibi and habibti#Alfred Pennyworth#Alfred Pennyworth was besties with Martha Wayne#Martha Wayne coming back to haunt the Waynes via her granddaughter#Alfred calling Raâs and honorless goat#a couple thousand words of Alfred being sassy
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i have no mouth and i must scream speech but for about insomnia hate hate hate let me tell you how much i have come to hate being awake
#took half an expired tops brand unisom . wheeeee medicine that does nothing and then the next day you're groggy for twelve hours#but i have to do SOMEthing if i don't Try to make myself sleep that's Giving Up and if you Give Up . well#this is the second week in a row that ive failed to sleep on a night leading into the work week and i know most of the external reasons why#like. busy day tomorrow so anxious. haven't given myself a full weekend in a really long time so strung out.#had important stuff to do earlier that didn't happen so dwelling on that. woke up at 9am and wasn't out of bed until ten thirty so like#i got more than adequate sleep last night but this does not make me feel less worried about NOT sleeping TONIGHT#because again. every time i have a night of big insomnia im convinced that it's the beginning of an unending trend#that will make me wind up like my mother who is lucky she gets more than three hours of sleep every couple of weeks#and while she's done this her whole life qnd has adjusted to it (as much as a body can) i just know. based on how insomnia is for me#that i never could. it would be exactly as terrible every time i would never be able to be calm while it was happening#anyway everybody send me your best knockout gas#AND. it's SNOWING. fuck everything i hate it all#tomorrow im gonna be groggy as hell and have to drive to work and back and have to be With It bc we're doing activities and shit#and have to be like the model of library enthusiasm when i barely have that on a good day. and not actually physically groan#every time someone new wants a card because it means i have to interrupt what im doing dor the next fifteen minutes to say a spiel#i know i shouldn't hate that i should be glad we're getting engagement. and i am. i just wish i wasn't the one at the desk#and im not good at keeping that off of my face or being welcoming when i dont feel welcoming#i haven't gotten to do processing at my actual office desk in months. haven't gotten to be Off The Floor#which certainly hasn't helped my overall stress levels. i need to not be socially on so much it's slowly pulling me apart#and then i get home wnd im too tired to do anything and my house also falls apart around me#but if i DON'T have outings i also rot . there's no solution to this problem. not without quitting my job which ill never do#bc in today's market id never get anything half as good as this ever again. and as has been established. this relatively good job#is still not good enough for me not to be emotionally and mentally falling apart
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Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.
I don't have external meltdowns.
I could. I don't let it happen.
I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.
So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.
She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.
Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].
It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.
They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.
I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.
I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.
I couldn't understand what made her like this.
But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.
If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.
And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*
And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?
My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.
Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???
And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.
I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*
She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.
I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.
So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.
But I told her hundreds of times.
I probably should have just screamed at her.
#good stay out of our yard' and he didn't seem to know what to say to that#but other than that I don't think anyone in my adult life has ever seen me turn aggressive at all to the point where people 100% like to#play games of testing my patience and my boundaries because they think my tolerance is infinite#but like I have autistic rage tantrums on both sides of my family and they are just happening inside my head#And somehow it took me until now to realize that being that way was actually -expected- of me by my parents and especially my mother#and that by keeping myself outwardly level headed to be considerate I actually took away whatever signals she can understand#to have empathy for how I must be feeling#I mean it's still all on her#but it makes so much sense of why she's fucking *like this*#And why my sister thinks I hate her just because -she- stopped texting -me-#but that fucking guy#Every time I was like#In my adult life I have screamed at someone ONE whole time and it was 1000% deserved#And I threw heavy objects around one whole other time and in my defense I didn't do it in front of the guy he just felt the ground shaking#heard the thuds and came back to the logs blocking his path because that fucker wouldn't stop parking in our yard after being asked#and then TOLD not to about 10 times because he was acting entitled to just park in our yard and was crushing my plants???#seriously I don't know what his deal was but he wouldn't stop telling me how much the ground shaking scared him like it was supposed#to get my pity like I think this guy took one look at the logs I had just tossed down and was suddenly afraid of this âwomanâ he was#bullying in their own yard and so my ability to feel bad for scaring him had gone straight out the fucking window#I looked at him and said stop parking in our yard instead of your own you are killing my plants#he'd just fucking be like 'well the last people to live here let us D: :)â and I'd be like âgood for them?â ïżœïżœstopâ#and he'd just keep doing it#I was having a week of insomnia and was finally having the best dream#the kind of sex dream you have like twice in your life#and this fucker had just gotten some noisy ass little bike with a spoiler on it#and starts it up right under my window at 3am from IN OUR FUCKING YARD#so I had a nice long anger nap and just after he got home from work and was sleeping in his house#I picked up these chunks of deadwood tree from the back#there was like 3-4 logs that used to be a WHOLEASS fucking oak tree Like these logs were not as heavy as they -looked- but they were still#this fucker deleted half the tags I wrote and I am not retyping that fuck you tumblr so fucking hard
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man, i have to go do something in a minute here, but i am CONSTANTLY think about like... how long DOES the average circus member last before they abstract?
we dont have a lot of information about the passage of time in general in the show (which is infinitely painful to me, who likes to know about technical details very in-depth. but i understand writing wise why its like this) other than that the first 4 episodes take place over the span of 4(? or 5, depending on how you interpret the ending scene of episode 4) (which this also intrigues me that 8-9 days will pass over the course of the show... and also makes me curious about just how eventful the average day truly is in the circus!) days and that everyone in the circus has likely been here for at MINIMUM 2 years
(i say that because jax says "weve been stuck here for years" which implies that all of the people there at the time have been there for more than one year and because of the plural years, a minimum of 2. maybe. he also could just be oversimplifying things but unless given reason to think otherwise im interpretting the line this way)
we know of a at least ~18 people whove been in the circus total, but i frankly think its more than that. we know ribbit abstracted before kaufmo, but we dont know when ribbit joined the circus, or how much time was between these
it also depends on how long you think the circus members have been trapped for. i personally think this has been going on for at minimum 10 years (i have my own hcs abt it being ~16 years, but thats just hc and based on a bunch of my interpretations of random details) but we dont really know this, and how long this has been happening, and how long kingers been here, and whether or not kinger has or hasnt been here the longest of anyone whos ever been in the circus
like if its been like 5 years thatd mean like... 3-4 people join the circus each year (on average). if its 10 years thatd mean 1-2 people join the circus each year (on average). and we dont even know how many people the circus has in it at one time on avg!! like theres the theory it floats around 6, but thats just a theory and not smth we know for sure. point being, we dont even know how often people join the circus and that effects a LOT of things
idk..... i guess the question really is 'how often can a person last in the circus before they literally cannot take it anymore' which is a much sadder question. we dont even know how long ago queenie abstracted, or ribbit abstracted. did zooble know ribbit? did ribbit get here before or after zooble did??
it just haunts me a little
#tadc#i perssonally dont think kinger is 'the' creator of the game. its a theory i see often but dont personally ascribe to#though i think him having worked on it is obvious. but i dont know if i think the game was 'his'#im also of the mindset that queenie was also working on the game which isnt smth i see much?#i think ppl assume she was an entomologist but imo that was just a passion of hers#not her job. but thats getting into hc territory#anyway i just think about like. the time frame a lot#they get up before 6 each day though..... or at least sometimes#if they ever get out (um. maybe.... not to sound bleak but erm. my hopes arent high)#their sleep schedules gonna be so weird they have not experienced a normal night-day cycle in years#but also#its too hc-y for me to include in the post proper#but imo a person typically maybe lasts a few months. people more predisposed to not being able to handle it prob abstract relatively 'early#but people who are more likely to be able to tolerate it long-term can pass that benchmark#i imagine the time spent is not often some middle pt. i think it likely lingers around the extremes#...actually thats probably WHY the people whove made it so long are so so very unwell#like yeah being in the circus is traumatizing and makes it worse#but people who already have problems nd stuff are. prob more used to a degree of despair and arent as easily struck down by the situation#tho if taken to the extreme obv they would abstract early on#theres probably some weird fucked up sweet spot of 'deeply unwell but not too much'#that enables a person to survive the circus for a really long time#as best highlighted with kinger#its less of an adjustment#...thats probably why ep 4 almost took gangle down actually. for a variety of reasons ofc#too mentally ill for the real world not mentally ill enough to abstract just mentally ill enough for the digital circus (/ref#of something but i cant figure out to look up what its a ref to...)#anyway i gotta make a tag for me talking abt like... meta stuff or smth#cus i do it a lot and i have fun#OH and also imo one persson abstracting prooobably puts others at greater risk of abstracting :(#what with how the show is emphasizing the role of Having People With You in making the circus survivable
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I just spent the last 5 hours painting and it gave me an idea. Canon movie universe, Thena using art as therapy (like we see in the film), and some cute romantic fluff
Gilgamesh snorted as he woke from his nap. He'd been perfecting his ale recipe, adapting it from the brew he had developed with Odin. Between that, and a lunch of roast ostrich leftover from Thena's last hunt, he had fallen right asleep.
He could tell she was there, but he blinked up at the ceiling. She was always telling him not to doze on the couch. He turned his head.
"Back."
He smiled reflexively, hearing the siren song of his darling Thena's voice. He moved just his eyes, but instead of seeing her in his chair, all he saw was an easel and the back of a canvas. "Can I-"
"Still."
He sighed, although he was nothing if not amused. She usually took her art therapy outside, drew with charcoal on paper weighted down by stones. When she did paint, she still preferred to set up under that old and dried tree that was hers.
He called it her tree from the moment he saw it, pale and stately against the rest of the desert.
Thena would lean every once in a while, just to check on her reference before disappearing again. He could hear the sounds of the stool under her, the swish of her dress as she moved. Her legs were crossed and he could see her bare toes bent against the rug.
Seeing Thena at feeling at home always put his heart at ease.
It seemed simple, but they had come a long way from bare stone and clay slip and a piece of driftwood as a door. They could eat together at the table, nap together in the hammock; he'd built them a water tower with his bare hands so they could have a running tap.
He would have built her a mansion if she'd asked. A temple to rival that of Babylon.
"Stop smiling."
"Wouldn't it be nicer if I was smiling?" he chuckled, letting his eyes remain closed.
"Unnatural."
He did his best not to, but smiling came naturally to him where Thena was involved. He loved that she had found an outlet for her mind in art. And he loved that she didn't need to over-explain herself to him. One or two words were all she needed, and he treasured even those.
"You were dreaming."
He tried to recall it. In the moment he woke up, he knew he had, but it was already beyond him what had been happening. Must have been pleasant enough that he felt good waking up, but not so pleasant that he wanted to go back to sleep.
He adjusted his head on the couch's throw pillow, despite the artist's strict instruction. "Aren't you supposed to angle it, or something?"
She leaned just to frown at him for moving.
"So you can see me and the canvas without having to lean?"
"Hm," she remarked, in her own way. She looked at her work in progress in question, and then at him again. "Then it wouldn't look right."
"Yeah?" he asked with a smile, going back to his previous position of facing the ceiling. He inhaled deeply. He would be in this position for a while; maybe going back to sleep wouldn't be so bad.
"I want exactly this image," the Warrior Eternal clarified with sudden firmness. "Forever."
There were plenty of images of her he wanted forever. But he wasn't the artist. He had tried here and there, but everything he did always just ended up making her laugh. And he didn't mind; if anything, he liked her laugh more than he liked whatever he had drawn or painted or sculpted. But he just wasn't meant to be the creative one.
He had managed to embroider his apron! Well, after she had drawn the little flowers on with her fingers covered in paint remnants. That was an effort of his to preserve something forever.
He heard her put her brush down. She truly was moved if she had gone to the trouble of bringing the easel and her brushes and all her jars and everything inside with her. "Done?"
"For now."
He opened his eyes again, "can I move?"
"Fine."
He grinned, turning and reaching a hand out for her. He made a grabby hand, flexing his fingers to ask her to come over to him. "Hey."
His Thena emerged from behind the canvas. She dusted the skirt of her dress off. She had gotten better, too; in the beginning she would occasionally emerge covered in charcoal or chalky dust or sometimes even paint. But now, she was as spotless as always.
"Hey," Thena purred as she laid down on the sofa with him, tucking herself into his side. She nestled her head under his chin, happily melting into him after all her hard work. "You look at peace."
"I am," he assured her, relishing in the feeling of just being near her. Their breathing fell into the same rhythm, like two trees swaying in the same wind. Thena was the artist but he thought he could be decently poetic, at times.
"And me."
He smiled against her forehead, pressing his lips there. Sometimes moments like these would make him think of the days when they would be fighting. Dodging and throwing punches and weapons. He would throw her up in the air at the enemies and catch her before she could fall.
Now they liked to cuddle on the couch in the afternoons before he started dinner.
He blinked as Thena nudged his jaw. "Your thoughts are loud."
He chuckled, which bounced her against his chest. "Sorry, just thinking this is nice."
"Hm?" she prompted him, still needing no more than a syllable.
"This," he summarized poorly. "Being at home, no Deviants, no mission. Just my wife and a couch and the sun."
Thena pulled herself to be able to look at him. There was no white in her eyes, at least not now. They were green and sparkling, as always. "Forever."
He smiled. It was hard not to take that word lightly, given the nature of their very existence. The word 'eternity' borderline meant nothing to them.
But days out here were different. Each was faced with a new set of eyes and he was grateful for every single one of them. Even the days when his Thena was far, far away from him. Even when she turned around and started swinging a spear to fight against nothing, railing about the destruction of the world and how they were all going to burn.
Forever had a different definition than it did before. He had no thoughts of missions, or Arishem, or far away galaxies. He didn't even think of Olympia. He had better things to think about, like the herb garden, and eggs, and expanding the clay oven outside the house so maybe he could bake two pies at once.
He could think of things like fixing the drip the kitchen tap had, and making sure to sweep the floor so his barefooted Goddess of War wouldn't step on any errant rocks. There was garden tending and roof checking and homemaking to be done.
"Gilgamesh."
"Huh?" he blinked. He must have been closer to sleep than he had thought, finding himself on the other end of one of Thena's more inquisitive looks.
"Sleep," she whispered, her hands touching his cheeks the way rain lovingly ran down a flower stem. "If you're so close to it."
He chuckled again; he liked it when she teased him. "Okay, okay, I'm up. You know what you want for dinner?"
Then pursed her lips in thought as he brought her hand up to kiss her palm. She smelled like paint, and summer air. "Is the ostrich gone?"
He nodded, continuing his mission to kiss more of her. He made it to her shoulder and finally past the collar of her dress before she came up with anything.
"Stew?" she asked, as if he would ever - in a million years - say no. Her hands toyed with his shirt as well. "It goes so well with pie."
He grinned, leaving a kiss on her cheek. "Is this your way of asking for pie for dessert?"
She just stared at him. "Were you not thinking of expanding the oven for just that purpose?"
She knew him a little too well. But she was right, because of course she was. And he was happy to oblige her wishes. "I guess I could whip something up. What kind?"
"Any."
One word, and it was so heavy, soaked through with love and devotion. He kissed her.
And she kissed him back. Her hand found his cheek again and her eyes took on a new light. "Strawberry?"
He should have known; she did mean any, but if it was going to be any, why not her favourite? He inhaled, preparing to rise from their little nest of luxury. "Will you go and pick some?"
Of course she would. That was how things worked for them, now. There were no Deviants, no missions. There was a garden, and she would go out with a little basket and pick the berries they were growing in what shade they could provide. And she would bring them in to him, and then sit and watch him cook.
Gil didn't know what was romantic for humans, but he was pretty sure this would be considered the height of it.
Thena also inhaled, revealing her reluctance to move as well. But she left him with one last kiss before rolling off the couch. "Of course."
He followed, although he took a peek at her work in progress. It really was a perfect angle, looking exactly like what was in front of the canvas. He was sleeping. And whatever made her want to paint that so badly, it looked pretty accurate to him. He was no thing of beauty like she was, but if she wanted to paint him, then so be it.
"Dinner, Gilgamesh."
He laughed. "Coming, dear."
#Thenamesh#because Australia is a classic#thank you so much for your ask!!!!!!#I hope you like how it turned out#art is so therapeutic#and painting is an amazing skill to learn#I love the idea of Thena being the world's deadliest warrior#and she also loves her chalk pastels#she loves the paints Gil goes and finds for her at markets and stuff#he gets canvas and linen and makes canvases for her#because what is domestic bliss if not catering to your loved one's happiness?#also I know strawberries can't grow in Australia but please#Gil is also most definitely making a blueberry pie in the movie and there's no way in hell they can grow there so#we make do#Thena comes inside#she sees her sweet Gilgamesh passed out on the couch#she leans over and goes hm he's so pretty#she goes outside and just gets her papers at first#but then she looks at him and is like no this must be preserved#this belongs in the MOMA#so she brings her easel in#and all her paints and stuff#and he hasn't been budged#because her husband sleeps like a rock and she loves him for it#the painting is in fact beautiful#and she puts it up in their room on her side#so she can fall asleep with him even when he's not there#and she says she's not romantic#also please forgive me for how long this took
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Okay children, gather around. It's "Spencer Complains and Acts a Little Mad" Time:
I have been raw dogging life for 1 month without my adhd/depression/anxiety/mood stabilizers medication and without a single Therapy appointment
I haven't left my house in 1 month, I haven't spoken to any of my (in person) friends in over 1 month, I haven't seen my family in 1 month, I haven't seen my bloody cat in over 1 month, I've barely left my bloody room in over 1 month, and I've been listening to my bloody voice almost every day for 1 hour so I can finish editing the bloody podcast for over a month
To top it all of: I haven't had a decent night's sleep in about 4 days now (in which I just don't sleep or I have extremely vivid nightmares with my departed mother and/or scenarios where I die over and over and over again but can't speak to ask for help before it happens - fun for all the family, if you ask me) and I might or might not be completely and absolutely going insane, with only Good Omens season 1 (6/6) and season 2 (5/6) and the existence of Crowley/red haired Fire Pokemon David Tennant Edition being my sole producer of any amount of serotonin
How am I alive? Good question. Beautiful genderfluid demonic content can be some very nice very distracting content for individuals that simp for Fire Type David Tennant Pokemon like myself
I am quite sure my only contact with anything mental health related in the past weeks has been my best friend whom is very very annoying and refuses to leave me the heck alone and whom is a nurse and is working extra time to advice my stupid ass the best she can, bless her heart
So, with my personal nurse's permission, I have doubled my sleeping medication for the night and, as Fall Out Boy once wrote for the song "Alone Together" in one of my favorite albums to have ever been created "Save Rock and Roll": I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead
#i took so long writing this nonesense for no other reason other than the fact its 2 am and no one makes good decisions at 2 am#that i am actually already feeling sleepy#if my best friend actually manages to give me 1 good nights sleep i will kiss that woman in the mouth and get hitched with her in ibiza#jk shes straight as shit and shes like a sister to me so that scenario is making me cringe but the sentiment prevails#alas dont do drugs unless your doctor tells you to kids#or your nurse best friend#bro im getting so sleepy the word ânurseâ aint even looking right anymore#is that even a real word#yes#google says it is#it is not about viking mythology like a thought for about 2 seconds#okay good good nice nice#anyway#i talked about you know what so i have to tag this post for my adhd sake#good omens#crowley#anthony j crowley#david tennant#there#in case anyone cares about a post that mentions crowley for 1 second while in rhe middle of a whole ass sleep drug inflicted rant#lowkey kinda sure ive writen more in the tags now than the damn post jesus christ#hopefully ill be able to have money to buy my medication on the 12th and ill be somewhat mentally stable by the 14th#which means i might actually upload my fanfic next tuesday if my brain is working again#night peeps dont let the bed bugs bite#idk what im saying anymore#my closet just banged by itself and now im scared#sully?#mike?#bo?
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? Olive has the same meow for "please come pet me while i eat" and "please come here and play with me" now, which only developed after i bought her a new toy (quickly became her new favorite) which is interesting. maybe this is a general meow for "pay attention to me" now .. she no longer really meows for being pet while she eats anymore after buying this toy for them both, for some reason, which is good (that was a REALLY bad habit of hers ive been trying to wean her off of)
#her meow for ''please play with me'' USED to be a very high pitched cry which changed#i feel like ive been playing with her in the same amount as i used to though so i dont think its that#she has the ''pet me while i eat'' habit because as a kitten my family had many adult cats that used to bully her#so i would make sure they didnt push her away from the food dish by staying near her when she ate. which she then wanted into adulthood#i then specifically would feed my cats upstairs in my room after that went on too long#that was a combination of a lot of bad things all at once that she grew up in (family only giving cats one food dish & free feeding them)#i would later atleast convince them to add a second and third dish to different areas that i'd maintain#while having my own food and water up in my room for my cats#.. still .. there were 7 cats.#its a lot better now though. there's only 3 cats that live in that house now. and i took my two girls with me here#i get to care for them how i'd like now .. its better that way#she developed the very high pitched cry when i left for a year while i was trying to sort out my living situation.#apparently she used to meander the house carrying a toy around and looking for me the year i was away#i know thats a separation anxiety thing (she also does this when i go to work and go to sleep) but she'll do it for play as well#they both have different toy collections and styles of play they prefer that im trying to add to and expand#i wanna get one of those kick-y toys next. those fish that wiggle. i think Olive specifically will LOVE that#Hope is more of a ribbon-toy and laser light girl. Olive likes to kick and kill her toys but has overlap with toys Hope likes too
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The alt-right's foothold into Gen-Z is frustrating and I can see from over here how they're doing it.
You've got a generation of young-adults who are learning to be adults for the first time and for so many of them it sucks. It sucks to be in your first shitty apartment where things break, and to have your first shitty car that needs maintenance, and to be working a low-paying service or retail job where you get berated all day and barely scrape by. And you go home and you have taxes to figure out and electric bills to figure out and a screen on your phone to rot into to destress.
And this is men and women, equally, in this spot. But the alt-right messaging gets to tailor their approach to gender.
And hey women, yes you working a shitty job for shitty pay, overwhelmed by financial responsibilities and car repairs, what if you actually didn't need to do ANY of that? You don't need to. And you don't need to feel guilty about it. (You're not quitting, you're not being lazy), you actually are just embracing the chance to be exactly who an ideal woman should be. You should actually be beautiful, and demure, and barefoot in a sunny kitchen, glowing, pregnant, hearing the joyful sounds of your children while you bake a roast for your wonderful husband (strong, protective, loves you, handles the finances, handles the jobs, handles all the things you hate). OUR ancestors (don't mind the dogwhistle) did this for GENERATIONS, and modern society has failed you instead!
It's offering to break women out of all the parts of their real life that suck, and do it in a way that promises they're actually being better, being more admirable, more moral, more respectable, more correct, can feel good about, can feel proud about, as a Woman as Feminine as Mother as Goddess.
And the thing being promised does not need to actually reflect reality. It's a fantasy. It is not real. For every "beautiful demure barefoot" day, you'd be having another one covered in shit changing diapers of screaming infants with screaming children while your husband ignores you because it's Women's Work (take pride!) But that doesn't matter. It just needs to sound better than the reality they're living.
Then the men are targeted too. And it's the same in that it's getting to them by appealing to pride in their gender, but the messaging is different. It's "those finances are hard but ACTUALLY you're leveling up, you're grinding, you're finance maxing." It's hard but it's the kind of hard that is a challenge you can WIN at, boast about, post about, prove your manliness. Knowing cars, knowing home repairs, knowing taxes, that's your MAN pride, and you are so elite, you are so sigma, you are the envy of everyone, you are a masculine man. Women love you. Women will defer to you. Strong, respected, moral, loyal, unshakeable. Unlike those pansy men (mind the homophobic dogwhistling) who will whimper and cry like girls. You are better.
The shitty retail job is actually humble beginnings because you're minmaxing your way to financial success (bitcoin, crypto, investments). You can sleep with any woman you want as long as you're confident, and then you'll find one who understands how smart and confident and strong and protective you are and she will defer to you as her man. She will birth your children and teach them good morals and you will make it. Our ancestors lived this way for generations (dogwhistle) and modern society took it from you.
And with that messaging it makes it clear who the enemy in all this is - modern society that has convinced women to torture themselves with high education and terrible jobs, turned them Ugly with Ugly opinions and bad hair and nasty attitudes, yelping about "rights" and "equality" (pitting them against men! TAKING things from men!) All the while, society has been trying to emasculate men--replace them with women, make them soft and emotional, make them gay, make them WEAK. We've been made WEAK.
The naive women hearing this go "I'm not ugly! I don't hate men! I DO hate my job and my finances. I've been tricked. I'm actually rebelling by declaring my goal is to get a Perfect (White) (Christian) moral husband who will make all our decisions and protect me and our children." (And when she's financially trapped in an abusive marriage...? When she's suicidal with PPD but her husband won't touch that because it's Woman Hysteria...? And when her husband leaves her for someone who was as hot as she was 20 years ago and now she's figuring out finances, health care, taxes, bank accounts for the first time in her life...?)
And the men go "They've been TAKING things from us for too long! It's time to be men again! It's time to take pride! I am strong and confident. I am in charge! I never show weakness!" (And when he's got a gun to his head due to the depression he's never been allowed to talk about as Women Feelings...? And when he's financially ruined from a crypto scheme that stroked his ego and robbed him blind...? And when he's dead from alcohol poisoning and none of his adult children notice because no one's spoken to 'Dad' in 15 years...?)
And it's so hard to fight because you're arguing against a fantasy. How do you disprove their fantasy? It's so hard to explain to them, hey you're working a shitty job where you have no future because the rich bastards took it all from you. And now you're doing their work for them. You hate society because of what they've done to it and now you're doing their work. Now you're targeting groups who've never done anything to harm you and the guys responsible are laughing to the bank. How do you explain? How do you disprove fantasy?
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Part 2 of âBird Watchingâ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom
In truth, lying was something that came second nature to Simon Riley
Heâd lied to his teachers in school about where he got his bruises and burn marks from, if they bothered to ask
Heâd lied to his brother while their parents argued on the other side of the wall, telling him that everything would be okay
Heâd lied to his dad about where heâd been all night, telling him he was making less money at the butcher job than he really was
Whatever lie he had to give to get through the day, get through the night, get through his childhood, he would offer up without so much as batting an eye
And as he got older, he started stretching the truth for different reasons
Whatever his COâs needed to hear from him in order to let him do his job, then heâd let them hear it, true or not
Whenever people started asking too many questions, well-equipped sarcasm became his right hand man in avoiding the truth
Lying had always come in handy for Simon, whether it was a life or death situation or goading Soap into believing an obviously fictitious story, carefully chosen words and slight exaggerations had never steered him wrong before
This one, however?
Well, as he sat in an all too colourful daycare office with murals of ducks and bunnies watching over his every move, Simon began to wonder if this was one lie he shouldnât have told
But then again, he wasnât telling this lie out of malice, or greed, or ill-intent⊠he was doing this for you
Because at the end of the day, heâd be lying to no one apart from himself if he were deny how often you popped into his head
Ever since heâd first squinted through the glaring sun and spotted you through that flimsy chain link fence, since heâd heard your voice over the rumble and roar of construction behind him, since heâd spent less than ten whole minutes talking to you, it was as though something within him had started brewing, started changing
Similar to two live wires coincidentally meeting until an inevitable spark shoots through the air, akin to a wind chime that hadnât rang out in years suddenly beginning to sway to and fro with the promise of strong winds on the horizon, or closer yet to that moment Franklinâs key and kite were struck by lightning and history was forever changed, meeting you had stirred something loose within Simon
For too long now, Simon felt as though he were nothing more than a man stuck behind the wheel, lost in the storm on an infinite stretch of road that would never lead him towards home, no matter how many maps or compasses or tools he may have, he was on a steady cruise control headed nowhere
But since heâd met you, since heâd learned about the situation you were in, you and your sweet little baby bird just as alone as him and up against the world, since heâd made up his mind and decided heâd help you in whatever capacity youâd allow, it was almost as if the fog had cleared from his tired eyes, as though he was finally glancing up from the maps and realizing that âhomeâ could be down any stretch of road he took, if he was willing to take it
Youâd stumbled into his life on an afternoon like any other, instantly making a home for yourself in the recesses of his brain by that very same evening
His eyes now were constantly glancing at the phone number now tacked onto his fridge as he went about his routine, your smile appearing behind his eyelids as he tried in vain to fall asleep at night, or the image of the soft swell of your cleavage bouncing as youâd walked away playing on a loop in his mind until heâd accept he wasnât going to be getting any shut eye until he allowed his hands to slip beneath the blankets
His early mornings were no longer spent cursing having to be up before the sun, instead he found himself staring at the empty spot across from him at the table, wondering if you were awake too, perhaps trying to soothe a fussy baby back to sleep, or feeding her from the same swollen breasts Simon selfishly wished he could suckle from as well
Or were you still laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as you too struggled to fall asleep? Too worried about finding your baby bird a spot somewhere before the money ran out? Stressing yourself over things that Simon wished he could fix for you? That he knew he could fix for you?
Less than 24 hours after your first conversation, Simon had hounded just about every living and breathing soul working on the construction site, determined to come up with at least some bit of information, someone to contact, something that would lead him in the right direction, but everyone seemed to be just as in the dark as he was
He wasnât easily deterred however, nor was he lacking in imagination, when he decided he was unwilling to return to his flat that night without being at least one step closer to having a valid excuse for calling the number that called out to him each time he walked through his kitchen, and so if no one apart from Simon happened to notice that every single blueprint disappeared from the site that night, well that was just unfortunate wasnât it?
Heâd nearly missed the phone call heâd been hoping to get the next morning, preoccupied with having to change his bed sheets after having dreamt of you again all night as visions of your soft body had him feeling like a teenaged boy again, he managed to snag his phone just before the ringer ended
As expected, the site manager had been on the other line, practically beside himself as he told Simon how heâd arrived at the site and discovered that some troublesome teenagers must have snuck in during the night and done away with their building plans, asking Simon if he wouldnât mind driving to the supervisorâs office and snagging some copies
Simon had already been halfway out the door before heâd hung up
The foremanâs office was cluttered beyond belief, disorganized chaos he sifted through carefully to find the one piece of information he needed, and there amongst the loose papers and pencils and measuring tapes, was the next piece to the puzzle he was slowly solving; the buyers contact information
The blueprints were delivered back to the site in no time, having been kept safe in the back of Simonâs truck the entire time, and a carefully concocted story about needing to run to grab supplies for the job was believed by everyone as the tall man climbed back in behind the wheel and weighed his options
He could reach out to you now, heâd been able to find you the ownerâs name, along with an email and phone number to contact, the promise heâd made to you was done, his duty fulfilled
He knew he could call, and youâd be overjoyed to hear from him, that you would be eternally grateful for his help, thanking him endlessly⊠but that would be the end of it, wouldnât it? His role would be fulfilled, his duty done and over with, no other valid excuses for you to keep him within your orbit, heâd just be a kind stranger whoâd done you an incredibly kind favour
But as Simon pondered that choice, he wondered, why stop here?
You were alone with a newborn, stressed enough as it was, you didnât need more work being added onto your already full plate, he may as well go the extra mile and help you out even more, right?
At least, thatâs what Simon kept telling himself now, as he sat in a too small chair inside of a much too colourful office, avoiding the judgemental eyes of the painted woodland creatures staring at him, as though they knew what his intentions were, waiting for none other than the owner herself
âHi there, sorry to have kept you waiting.â The woman says as she walks in, reaching a hand out to greet him as he stands to meet her halfway. âMy assistant director says youâre here from our newest expansion? The East end location?â
âYes maâam, thatâd be the one.â Simon offers politely, lowering himself back into the chair he hardly fits in once she rounds the desk and sits down as well. It would make sense that that was what her assistant has told her, as that was the story Simon had offered, reasoning that he had to speak with the owner about the project, not giving them much choice when he showed up to the office unannounced
âThere arenât any issues with construction so far, are there? We shouldnât be expecting any delays?â She questions, getting straight to the point. Simon appreciates that she isnât wasting any time with small talk, he also wants this done quick, heâs got a pretty bird waiting on him after all
âNo maâam. Everythinâs on track so far.â He replies easily, omitting the small hiccups she doesnât need to know about. âMâafraid thatâs not why Iâm âere today.â
âWell, what can I help you with then?â She questions, an over plucked brow raising as she tilts her head
âHad a few questions âbout the nursery weâre buildinâ for ya.â
âOh, well- I believe the specifications were in the plans for-â
âNot so much âbout the building itself, maâam.â He cuts her off, not unkindly, but clarifying his point. âWas more so wondering âbout- well, itâs a decently big plot oâ land weâre working on. How many lilâ ones are meant be in there?â He asks, trying his best to ease his way into this conversation
âCurrently, plans are set to have two preschool classes, two toddlers classes, as well as an infant class. With full capacity we could have up to 88 children in the centre. Why are-â
âHow many of those spots are for the babes?â
âWe can have up to 10 infants at most.â
âAlrighâ, and how many oâ those spots are available?â He finally asks, cutting to the chase, ripping the bandaid off. Simon watches understanding cross her face and she lets out a small scoff, not rude, but more so like she knew she should have expected as much
âAh, I see now.â She says with a knowing smile sent his way. âI appreciate your interest in our centre, and I understand nursery spots have been scarce in the city, but I have to be honest sir, we do have a wait list policy. There are numerous families already signed up wi-â
âItâs a little girl.â Simon cuts her off firmly this time, not wanting to entertain whatever rejection she was preparing to give him. No, he wouldnât be leaving here without good news for you, he couldnât do that. He ignores the painted birds mocking eyes as he steels himself as presses on. âSheâs just a tiny thing. Eight weeks old, almost nine now I suppose. Her mumâs got to be back to work, hasnât got much of a choice. Thereâs no family âround to help or nothinâ. She needs this spot for her.â
The womanâs lips thin as she looks at him with understanding, with sympathy, none of the things Simon cares to see unless sheâs nodding her head in agreement. He knew it might take a little push to convince whoever was behind the desk to do the right thing, to help him do right by his birdie and her baby bird, and so heâs not ashamed, nor above saying:
âIâll make sure the jobâs done early.â
At this, both her brows now shoot up, obvious intrigue now painted across her features as she blinks at him.
âPardon?â
âI will see to it that everything is ready ahead of schedule. Personally. The sooner the place is open, the sooner you start making money, the sooner kids are in and sooner parents are happy. Everyone wins.â
Simon watches her ponders his words, gears turning in her head as she thinks it over. She could easily refute him, call him out for being out of line and send him on his way, tail tucked between his legs. But Simon knows a desperate person when he sees one, knows just what people want to hear, and so he isnât surprised when sheâs suddenly standing from her desk, crossing the room to shut the slightly ajar door, and he smiles to himself slightly, knowing heâs won.
âNow when you say ahead of schedule-â
âCould have âer ready by the end of the month. Iâll pull the strings, make it happen. You leave it to me and itâll be done.â He answers easily, confidently, like there is no question in his mind he can offer up such promises and see them through to fruition. Hell, heâd build the entire goddamn thing by himself day and night if thatâs what she wanted to hear, whatever would convince her
âI mean-â she says, letting out a long sigh as she leans back in her chair, opening up a drawer and rummaging through for something or another. âI canât lie, this wouldnât be the first time weâve made exceptions for someone, especially one of our own builders.â
Simon nods along, pleased with the way this is going thus far, though things take an abrupt turn when she next says:
âI would still like to meet with your wife and daughter first, just to iron out the enrolment details and confirm whether this would be a good fit, but I can- I could potentially find a way to make this work.â
And Simon knows this is the moment where heâs supposed to correct her, where heâs supposed to speak up and clarify that no, you arenât his wife and she isnât his daughter, that sheâs misunderstood him and that the two of you are strangers he met earlier this week- fuck he doesnât even know your babyâs name yet for crying out loud- all of this could fall apart tremendously as soon as she asks even a single question that he wonât have the answer to, potentially jeopardizing this entire thing for you and her, and yet-
âBrilliant. The missus will be thrilled.â
Alrighty first off, apologies for the delay between posts, writers block and life in general are so ew, but weâre so back babe
All the love on the first part was so unexpected and so so appreciated!!! Yâall have me looking like this with every comment and reblog and tag-
Gonna strive to have part 3 out before the end of the weekend hopefully, donât want to keep you all waiting so long again
- M đ«¶đ»
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#call of duty#call of duty fic#call of duty fanfic#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost x reader#cod fanfic#ghost x you#cod simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost fanfic#call of duty ghost#ghost cod#cod simon riley#simon fluff#readwritealldayallnight
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Madam Zenin - T.F.
Synopsis. Thereâs nothing that rouses Toji, the infamous head of the Zenin clan, nothing that will make him lose control - until they take whatâs most important to him. You.
Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, arranged marriage, clan leader! Toji, kĂdnapping, the elders sĂșck, Toji goes INSANE, BRĂEDING, talks of an heir, oraI (fem), fĂngering, Tojiâs powers, FĂRAL Toji, crĂ©ampie, spĂtting, overstĂm, AU if Toji didnât leave the clan, slight misogyny from Naoya, slight bIood, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 6.2k
A/N. Didnât realize how much clan leader!Toji made me quake soâŠHope yâall have a good day <3

âWho took her?â
âM-master?â
There wasnât a single individual in the Zenin Estate that didnât think Toji Zenin wouldnât kill them in the blink of an eye. Happily, at that.Â
It was rumored he was cursed, ruthless. And out of everyone - elders, servants, children - not one didnât look over their shoulder behind every corner of the sprawling Zenin house, flinching at his mere shadow. Broad, towering, wrenching out nothing but hushed apologies and deep bows - they never dared to look into his devastating eyes.Â
And right now, that pale-faced attendant of yours could only tremble - pray - she wonât be next on Tojiâs long, long list of victims when the looming man himself bends to meet her lowered gaze. And oh-
Fuck.Â
No one ever saw the vicious head of the Zenin clan smile - no one.Â
Except you.
And here he had the most dangerous grin gracing his features, darkened olive eyes wide - crazed, when they halt on that slightest drop of red sinking into the tatami mats.
âMy wife.â The other woman jumps when he loudly kicks your chamber door open. Abruptly barking out a deep, humorless laugh at the disheveled emptiness inside, âWho took my wife?â
---
Young master Zenin - Toji Zenin. Your husband.
Itâs only been a few months since your stiff, lavish wedding ceremony to him - part of an arranged deal made between his clan and your own. Your parents practically leapt at the chance to marry into such an esteemed jujutsu name, forgetting all those dark rumors swirling around the young head at the first golden glint of the Zenin familyâs massive treasury. Â
Sure, they promised to treat you well, to prime you into becoming the new madam of their distinguished household. But you knew better - it wasnât your upbringing or your cursed technique that brought you here, they couldnât care less - no, it was because of an heir.Â
The one thing that the Zenin family didnât have.Â
And the one thing Toji Zenin refused to give them.
That much was obvious when just minutes after exchanging vows and the ceremonial sake, a group of todgering elders had thrust a heady antidote for conception into your hands, smiling smugly as if theyâd just given you the wedding gift of the century. Of course, your all-new husband didnât even look at you properly on your wedding night - opting instead for a short, husky goodnight and to sleep in a separate bedroom down the hall from the newly-wedsâ chamber.Â
He wasnât a cruel husband, you think, and he was attractive - painfully so - and felt more like a gruff acquaintance than anything. But the only problem was that he didnât embrace you, not even a fleeting kiss.
Even when you really wanted Toji to.
â-T-Toji?â youâre breathing shallowly, eyes blinking up hazily at the dim lighting. It comes out small, cracking so pathetically at the end.
â---Toji--even----â
âNo use--- had--months---â
â---keep her to myself--â
Instantly, youâre sitting upright in a cold, wooden chair. Heart thumping wildly against the ribs of your body, it bangs at the thickly digging rope wrapping around your body.
Shit shit shit - where were you? The last thing you remembered was chatting with your attendant in your room, and sheâd handed you a brand-new perfume to smell- Fuck. Where was-
âAh, youâre awake.â Thereâs a high, sing-song voice from somewhere on your right, and your blood runs chillingly cold when you recognize that voice. âHonestly, I hoped you wouldnât be around for this part but-â Naoya Zenin claps his hands to get the attention of every other elder hunched around the traditional Japanese room. â-that just makes it all the more fun, right?â
With the one tiny lantern being lit overhead, you could make out those scraggly smiles, the sharp glint of the Zenin Clanâs famed katanas. A tear stumbles down your trembling cheek, tasting salty on your lips.
âAww, not the tears.â Naoya guffaws, âYou know mânot good with the tears.â Those ropes pinning your hands behind your back rub raw with your frantic movement, creaking and unstirring despite your best efforts. âTry and try all you want, sweetcheeks, but a failure of the Zenin clan will only be met with the appropriate consequences.â
A failure.
The words wouldâve cut deep had they not been the very same ones spat at you at every clan meeting - the exact reason you didnât accompany Toji to the one today. Toji, you think. Fuck, how you wished youâd have gone just this one time.Â
Straightening your spine the best you could in this binding chair, you ask - firm, pretending for all the world to be as confident as youâre not. âWhat do you want from me?â
Itâs as if your question is the biggest joke that every scowling man in this room had heard, and they all burst into wheezing, riotous laughter. Some even slapping their knees - even Naoya gives you a cold, leeringly gleeful grin, âJust as mouthy as he is, huh?â He turns back to the elders, âSheâs asking what we want!â
You bristle at another bout of cackles, struggling to hiss out a strangled, âWell- well if you bastards just fucking told me-â
âAn heir.âÂ
Fuck, you had a feeling it was this.
âWhat? You pussies get your rocks off by wondering about mine and Tojiâs sex life?â you let out shrill laughter, mouth moving before your brain because fuck, if it was all going to end now, might as well spew out everything youâve wanted to since you walked in here. You shake your woozy head, âOh fuckinâ grow up, if the man himself wanted an heir then youâd know-â
Eyes enraged, he takes a heated step towards you, âYou little-â
âNaoya.â The strained drawl of an elder youâd seen around the corridors stops him straight in his tracks, and Naoya gives the man a hasty, reluctant bow. âFinish it. Before he gets back.â
Those last few words splatter a few drops of panic into your words, and a few more exhausted tears stream down your face.Â
âHeh, whatever.â heâs taking one last greedy lookover down your rattling figure. âWouldâve taken yâfor myself if I didnât think heâd kill me, sweetcheeks. What a shame.â Trailing off airily, he turns back towards where you spot another spiking glisten in the dark, a metallic twang! rings through the thick, musty atmosphere. âWho knows, maybe his next wife will actually listen to a thing or two.â
Next wife.Â
Youâre not sure why but the thought made your heart clench. And youâre gasping when he turns back around - silver katana in hand - trying to scream, yell, anything for help. But no sound comes out.Â
Instead, all you can do is gape when Naoya crowds in menacingly closer, you can just hear the smile in his voice when he coos mockingly, âYouâre much better when you shut up, doll.â You press your lips tightly together at the same, sullied use of Tojiâs nickname for you - wondering how he would react to all of this. Wincing at the cutting whoosh! of the katana being raised up, up, up- âAny last wo-â
BANG!
Youâre grimacing at the loud crashing of wood and panels, sliding doors ripped to shreds. And in the hazy cloud of dust you could make out the outline of a tall, heaving figure. Big arms swaying with his choppy breaths, heâs standing still - dangerous.
And even in the soft darkness, your unblinking gaze caught on his gleaming, feral smile, sharp canines bared like some beast. Eyes carnivorous, widened as he assesses the room like a predator lurking in on its prey.
The drop of fear hits you before the realization - Toji.
Letting out a strangled yelp, âT-Toj- mmpf!â Before cold, wrinkly fingers come up from behind to cover your mouth. But even the slightest sound of your voice has Tojiâs form jolting - fingers twitching on the handle of his blade, like electricity zapped through his entire body, and you can hear the elder behind you take in an obvious gasp when his eyes lock onto the two of you.Â
Finally.Â
Tojiâs lips part silently, and abruptly, youâre being let go of as if you burned. âYou.âÂ
It happens so fast that youâre not even sure you imagined it, in a split-second, the long, jagged dagger in Tojiâs hand is being flung right at his shivering target. .Â
And you knew he wonât miss - he never will, because youâre not even blinking when a drawn-out groan of pain echoes from behind you. Followed by an echoing thud!
âMy wife.â Tojiâs rasping baritone sends goosebumps racing down your spine, youâre puffing in a quick inhale at just how close he sounds. Sure enough, when you look up, youâre met with softened sage eyes, and crooked beginnings of a smile. âMy wife.â he breathes out, as if he still couldnât really believe it. But any and all tenderness in his body bleeds away when Toji abruptly looks over his shoulder at the men crowding around the entrance with a thunderous glare, âNext.â
Naoya is the first to dare to speak - to even move. Yelling, âY-y- do you even know who that- the crime it is to kill one of the elders-â
Fuck, you swear Toji looked elated at that, that savage grin still plastered on his face, he grits through clenched teeth, âNext.âÂ
Next. Next. Next. Next.Â
Itâs all that kept being laughed - laughed - out when Naoya activated his own cursed technique, absolutely nothing against Tojiâs rampant ravaging. The thrum of jujutsu makes your head throb, and Tojiâs steps sound deafening. Pressurized lunges towards the man himself, and before he can think - before he can even breathe - Naoyaâs being pinned face-down on the tatami floor. Face stinging with the force of the stronger manâs foot on his head, pressing it underneath his wooden sandals. He speaks softly - as if talking down to a child - over the strained pop! pop! pop! of joints. âFor taking my wife, for insulting the very soul of my soul.â
Toji wasnât done, he wasnât even stopping. He was out of control. Ready to kill. To break.Â
And none of the elders could do anything - in fact, they fall fatally still onto their knees at Tojiâs growing smile, the slow turn of his head. All knowing they were on the very brink of death himself. âWhoâs next?â
Fatigue and relief hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact. And you can feel your body drooping lower, vision tinging with black at the corners. Over the grotesque crunching of limbs, you think you could hear a faint, gruff laughter of, âYeah, ya might wanna sleep this one out, doll.â
---
Toji never wanted to let you out of his sight. Never.Â
And with you so vulnerable like this - dozing off gently on his silken bedsheets, body curling subconsciously into his benevolent hold - he thinks he never will.
Mellow, rounded tips of his thick fingers glide down your skin, sensitive from the hot water and the way heâd washed away every evidence of the blood and pain from just a few hours before.Â
âIâm sorry.â Toji breathes, hushed, a thumb gliding away a stray droplet of water on the apple of your cheek. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry-â He connects his forehead with your damp one, eyes fluttering shut. âIâm sorry. If I hadnât come to see you early from the meeting- just knew something felt wrong.â
âSorry for what, Toji?â
Your teasing tone of voice shocks him to his very core, and yet he canât find it in himself to pull away - fuck, he canât even dare open his eyes to look. âAll of it.â heâs spitting out, tormentingly.
It takes you a while to find the words, âItâs- itâs not your fault.â you nod, a wet hand coming up to comb through Tojiâs soft black tresses. âItâs neither of ours.â
Thereâs a few seconds of silence, in which heâs scrubbing non-existent beads of water off of you. Long strokes - slow, and purposeful - and you have to hold back your sudden yelp when it hits you that this was the first time that he saw you naked.
âBut-â he falters, shaking his head - before thinking better of it. And you take the moment to appreciate just how gorgeous he is up close, every spike of pink in his worried lips, dark lashes kissing his high cheekbones. âBut itâs over now, you can- you can go back to your clan.â he grimaces, still looking like he wanted to rip something - someone - apart. âThe Zenin family is done.â
Done.Â
âToji.â you exhale, luring in your face so close to your husbandâs. Too close. âCome with me. Fuck this Estate, fuck having an heir- and fuck the elders, if theyâre not dead by now anyway.â They were - every single one - bodies piled high in the same room you were carried tenderly out of, you find out later. You steady onto your elbows on that unfamiliar mattress - Tojiâs, you distinctly realize. And his brows crinkle upwards into an expression youâve never seen on him before.
âIâŠâ
âAnd-â A hand of yours wraps around his throat, nails digging into the racing pulse of his at the side of his milky neck. â-kiss me.â
Then heâs raising his eyes to look at you and fuck-
You were fucked.Â
You might as well have just signed away your own will because here was the man that was covered in blood not too long ago, here he was with his lids hooded, pupils blown. âMy wife.â he repeats that same mantra from before, lips parting like something so dark, visceral, was poked dangerously awake. Like he couldnât quite believe it. His eyes flicker in a lingering triangle across both of your eyes, your lips. Just a hairâs breadth away. Straining out a raspy, âOh fuck.â
Depraved - Tojiâs lips are so depraved . And heâs drinking you in like all his bloodthirst from before had liquidated into pure need.Â
Youâre mewling when a large palm brushes over to cup your cheek, tilting that pretty head of yours to deepen the kiss. âToji.â
You shouldnât have done that - oh, you shouldnât have done that. Because the sound of his own name in your syrupy sweet tone makes him jolt. Jolt. His entire body rumbles with a deep, wrenched-out growl, followed very closely by a loud slam! of Tojiâs fist banging down on the nearby bedside table. Only later will you find that perfectly indented hole in the shape of his hand, splinters scattered across the floor.Â
Like wanted to keep in control - needed to keep in control. But was failing - miserably.Â
âF-fuuuuck-â he draws out huskily into your mouth, that tiny scar always at the corner of his mouth catching on your lower lip when he takes it between his. Sucking on that slick-glossed seam harshly, it almost hurt - but it hurt so good. âYou have no idea- absolutely no fuckinâ idea how much Iâve wanted to do this.â
And suddenly youâre so painfully aware of the way your robe hadnât been tied up properly, feeling the cinch of your sensitive nipples against his rich yukata, the warmth of all five of his long fingers splaying out just below the curve of your tits.Â
You can feel his needy hips rutting into yours - such raw strength in the way he holds your own still so easily. Pushing right into the bullseye between your legs with the outline of his massive, heated bulge. Languid, delicious drags.
âFuck we shouldnât-â he cries out when youâre reeling him back in with his plump lip tucked beneath your teeth. âYou need to-â Before heâs being tugged back in again. And again. And again and again like one taste of your candied lips and he was addicted. Barely able to choke out a single syllable before mashing them back onto yours. Gruffing out a deep rumble from the depths of his sculpted chest, âShit- yâknow why I didnât do this sooner? Why I didnât just fuck you right then and there in front of hngh- everyone whenever I wanted to? Because I knew-â
He cuts himself off with a convulsing shudder, pulling away just enough that you whine disappointedly. âI was gonna fuckinâ ruin you.â
âCouldnât- hngh-â youâre mewling at the delicate little strings of syrupy spit snapping. Spying down at the way his yukata was disheveled now, displaying such delicious panes of warm skin for you. âCouldnât have guessed.â
Tojiâs brows raise at your slightly bratty tone, lips curling into such a sinful smirk that it makes your cunt throb so hotly, despite the slowly cooling water. His eyes darken - as if something snapped. âOh- youâre gonna fucking regret that, ma.â
And something did - Â maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this.
In an instant, youâre seeing a flash of that man- that monster from before. Baring you the most vicious grin inhumanly possible, if you didnât know any better youâd have wondered how high the death count would be. The hundreds? The thousands?
Heâs worshiping down your body like an apology for all that transpired before, hot, wet brandings of his mouth across each and every inch of skin he could reach. It made you whimper, it made you feel the powerful hum of his strength at his fingertips, it made you need more more more-
All you can let out is a drawling moan when he unapologetically snaps! the hem of your panties onto your heated skin, âDonât be such a t-tease.â
Oh, you were so weak against the dark head of the Zenin clan, against the way he circles his two hands around your ankles. Easily pulling - hauling you across the plush mattress like some ragdoll.Â
Not even hesitating before ripping your poor yukata off your body, until youâre left spread so shamefully underneath him, Toji knocking down hard onto his knees before you.Â
âWell- whatever my wife wantsâŠâ the same dangerous grin grows along his face, glinting white teeth bared where they held your flimsy excuse of panties between honed canines. He murmurs the final few words hovering over where you needed him the most, â...no elder or god themself could stop me from giving you.âÂ
RIPâ!Â
Itâs the last thing breathed out of his heaving lungs before your poor underwear is being torn off of you by his very mouth, not wasting a moment before spitting them out, and burying his face between your trembly thighs. Not even taking in one last gulp of air, not even thinking because all Toji Zenin knew was that he was going to fucking die if he didnât taste your sweet sweet cunt right now.Â
âOh f-fuck-â heâs musing, sharp tongue stuttering for once in his life. âFuck fuck fuck- fuck-â Youâre yelping when your jelly-like legs are pliantly thrown over Tojiâs broad shoulders, digging into the muscles of his deltoids. âCanât believe youâve been-â He trails off so deliriously, planting a hot, thick glob of spit on your spread pussy lips once. Twice. Smearing that glistening coat along your puffy folds with the fat of his thumb, â-been holdinâ out on me like this.â
âShit- sâtoo much.â youâre whining at the slippery gloss of the mess heâs made down below leaking down your slit. Threading your fingers through his silky locks, âI wasnât holding out on anything, yâknow-â
His wide-eyed gaze was locked on your sloppily winking hole, circling the rim of that needy ring of muscle with his pointed index. âGodâŠâ his hot breath fans your dripping cunt, âYou might just be my god. Didnât wanna bring a kid into this family but youâre so- so sweet mâthinking it might not be too bad.â
Those words are barely even registered in your mind before his pretty pink lips wrap themselves around your throbbing clit. Handsome cheekbones hollowing, droopy eyes rolling to the back of his head when Toji sucks. Whirling his tongue erratically around the sensitive nub, such lewd little squelches ring in your ears.Â
âT-Tojiââ your purring moans only make him bury his face even deeper, nose pressing up against the edge of your sopping slit. And each thorough drag of your slobbering cunt down his face makes you knock against the end of his chin, so thirsty with the way he was making out with your cunt. Like he couldnât get enough - never will. âY-you were the one-â the heels of your feet move up higher to loop at his neck. â-holding out.â
And you knew that Toji the strongest of his clan - you knew it took more than a mere, barely-lucid tug to have him clashing even deeper into your pussy.Â
But he does for you anyway.Â
âFuck- fuck you little-â Tojiâs own heavy tongue betrays him with a throaty moan, and he looks so furious. Seething at the way he was pussydrunk already. Greedy gaze so crazed that youâre back to wondering how high the kill count would be- would they all even fit on the Zenin Estate? â-f thaâs what you fuckinâ want.â
âWha- oh!â you yelp at the sheer burning stretch of your legs being pushed up, up, up until your knees were knocking against your tits. And Toji takes the shamefully spread opportunity to bully one rummaging finger past your swollen folds. âOh fuck- youâre reaching so- so-â
âFinish it.â
It takes you a second to realize that Tojiâs addressing you, his tone so jagged. Words muffled when he pants them out into your weeping cunt.Â
Heâs pulling out his finger - intentionally curving exactly against all those sweet spots mushed into your velvety walls - only to brand your poor clit with a sharp smack! âFinish that fucking sentence, ma.â
â-deep!â your hips are bucking up at another hefty intrusion, Tojiâs fingers relentless inside your elastic wall. Molding out your insides to memorize every bump of his knuckles, every neat curve of his short fingernails. âSo so- deep, Toji.â you whine, your shaky hands coming to rest at where you could feel him pumping in and out feverishly into hidden nooks and crannies of your sopping cunt. âC-can feel you right- here!â
This earns you another smack! gifted once again on your awaiting clit, but any and all irritation is swept away when heâs clashing his lips with yours down below in such a messy kiss. Meshing around the bulge of his own large fingers, tongue rolling placatingly over your glisteningly ravaged clit. Flicking, âYeah- definitely my kind of fucking goddess.â His own free hand dances up to rest about midway up your stomach, pressing down. âMâgonna be in even deeper soon, yâknow. Trust me.â
Itâs at this moment that Tojiâs exploratory fingers find their greedy way to your bulbous g-spot, immediately crashing into it - hard.Â
There. There there there, you want to say - but you donât have to, because he could tell. Could feel the vice-like grip of your slicked walls, the way itâs almost difficult to hammer back into your cunt.Â
âYeah yeah I got it-â heâs humming cockily, back to dragging his lips all over your clit senselessly all over. âAll you hafta to do is- hah-â Heâs being cut off by his own ravenous thirst, slurping mouth grinding even faster into your pretty pussy. And all you can hear are those syrupy squelches and the smacking of Tojiâs mouth, your whining ah! ah! ah! following with every push of his fingers forming around your gummy walls. Curling deftly to massage all your sweetest spots heâs already mapped out so scarily well. â-ahh fuck- canât get enough. Would kill them all over again just for a single taste of this. Would kill everyone- burn down this entire fuckinâ city.â
You didnât doubt it, and Toji didnât let you - not for a single second.Â
Because he was almost violent in his approach, bruisingly pushing apart your legs further and further with each sloppy, stumbling second. Looking up at you with his wild gaze, with such a feral grin you could feel along every crevice of your overwhelmed cunt.Â
âCan tell ya liked that-â heâs huffing out a surprised bout of laughter, âOhhh- ya like that very much, huh?â
His tongue was alternating between ravaging your clit and brushing against the teasing edge of your entrance now. Over and over. And youâre gifted with another imprinting smack! onto your quivering cunt - and another and another and another until youâre all but sobbing out such a broken, âToji- mâso close, fuck- mâgonna cum, mâgonna cumââ
âThen cum fâme, my wife.â
It only takes a few more messy rams of Tojiâs fingers knuckle-deep into your eagerly swallowing pussy until youâre crashing so aggressively into your high. Wave after wave of white-hot pleasure running down, down, down your spine and into where he was relentlessly stuffing your convulsing pussy.Â
Fucking you over and over through your orgasm, the pretty sight of you so splayed out and ruined makes Tojiâs mouth water. He feels like a damn dog with the way his tongue lolls out, grin widening, he murmurs absent-mindedly, âYeah- wouldnât be bad at all. Swear youâre gonna be the end of my sanity.â
Fuck, you shamelessly ogle the way his dark robe falls down his broad shoulders, revealing so many dips and curves of muscle after muscle. He was so large - so meticulously sculpted that your restless legs fasten around Tojiâs slenderly toned waist, drawing him close until your bare chests were rubbing up against one another. âHeh- you donât get to hold out on me anymore, doll.â
It sounded almost like a threat - but your bleary, orgasm-drunk mind only has the chance to wonder what exactly he would do if you did. If you didnât give him - the one head of the Zenin clan that didnât get everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter since birth - the one thing he would kill for. Die for.Â
You.Â
So youâre smiling drunkenly, head tilted to one side, âWhat are you gonna do about it?â
Toji doesnât answer - doesnât even bother to. And the only response youâre getting is a strained laugh - delirious almost, like the mere thought of that was enough to shred away whatever was left of his sanity.
And yours - clearly - because in that very moment, Toji lets his throbbing cock finally spring out, smacking against his abs to leave a glisteningly wet smear of precum. So so angry, his fat weeping tip lets out another wave of syrupy precum at the chill of the heady air.Â
Shit - he was big.Â
Long, long shaft blending so prettily from a feverish red at his tip to the tan skin behind those tufts of black at his happy trail. Veins pulsing, girthy enough that youâre wondering back to his kill count, thighs twitching nervously to a close.Â
âNo- no no-â you could tell his tone was trying to veer into scolding, but you caught the way it cracks with so much raw need. âDonât you fuckinâ-â His hands just wrench your knees back open, green eyes just aflame at this point. â-dare.âÂ
His pointed smile was so dripping wet with your sweet sweet juices from before, trickling in a sloppy trail all the way from the glossy corners of his lips, down to his chin. And his eyes follow the splattering, thick puddle on your collarbone.Â
âOh-â Tojiâs mouth falls into a wicked gasp, immediately, heâs surging forward to pool the syrupy mess on his hot tongue. âHeh- guess we really are just now consummating our marriage, huh?â
The movement causes his painfully rock-hard cock to just kiss at your puffy pussy lips, just mashing the fat round tip of his length between your slit. Teasing. So fucking filthy.Â
âToji-â youâre wrenching him by his dark hair to pant into his open mouth, like a mantra. âMore- need more- fuck I need-â
âMore?â His shuddering rap is barely even audible, ringing straight to your very heated core, because he sounded so wrecked. So fucking utterly ruined. Voice a few octaves higher in disbelief, âMy pretty girl wants my cock? Fuckinâ want-â And then itâs like all the air is being knocked out of your lungs - literally. Feeling as if youâre being split apart so sinfully so, âmore?â
You couldnât have answered if youâd wanted to - because Toji Zenin was fucking ruthless. Just as mean as those greedily lingering juts of his hips, pushing and pushing his massively rotund length past your first snug channel of muscle.Â
But that didnât matter, because your slutty cunt was speaking more than enough for the both of you - or at least thatâs what Toji mutters, over and over when he pushes in jutting, unrhythmic jabs to squeeze himself deeper inside you.Â
âOh- oh my godââ youâre batting your heavy eyelids open to take in the way your overstuffed pussy just bulges around him. Lips spread so widely it was like they were conforming to each ridge and vein down Tojiâs fat cock, beading a glossy sheen down every inch by fucking inch you were being fed. âSo much- fuck, donât know if I can take it.â
Toji Zenin would rather die than not have his pretty wife all overfilled with cock if thatâs what it takes him.Â
And by the way your teary eyes grow wider, he suspects his pussydrunk mind mightâve just babbled that out loud. âHehâŠdidnât I tell ya, ma?â His low whisper puffs hotly against your ear, tugging tensely on your earlobe. âMâgonna fucking ruin ya.â
And itâs times like this that itâs so clearly impossible to forget that Toji is inhumanly human - that you are so unfairly nothing in a match up against him.
CRACK!
Because with one, harsh ram of his sharp hip bones smacking against the globes of your ass - every solid inch of his intimidating cock is slammed against your tightly cushioning walls. Itâs such a ravaging intrusion and you swear you could feel him everywhere. Feel him thrumming hotly against sweet spots inside you that you didnât even know existed. Finally, buried all the way to his thick hilt, yet still nuzzling his hips upwards for more-
âSâbroken.â Toji muses, and for a second you didnât know if he was talking about you or the suspiciously sagging bed. âPlan B.âÂ
It takes only two seconds for his beefy arms to pick you up as if you were weightless - god, he was treating you like some object. And the only time heâs not enveloped by your heavenly cunt is when youâre being shoved down like some slut onto the cool mahogany of Tojiâs work desk, his firm front pressing up against your arched back. Â
âPlan C is to just fuck you into the floor until it breaks.â he snorts throatily into your ear.Â
And you wondered whether it was a joke - you hoped it was a joke. You almost half-believed it until he was back to bulldozing his plump tip back into your briefly-neglected cunt. Stretching the clingy rim of muscle to bend to his round length, fully. Oh, heâll never get used to this sight.Â
Yeah, you definitely werenât making it out alive.Â
âF-fuck you really are-â One hand of yours scrambles to blindly white-knuckle the smooth wood beneath you when Tojiâs bludgeoning your pussy with powerful, long thrusts. Feeling every minute flex of his thick thighs behind your own, shuddering with each forceful hammer of his sweeping cock inside you. â-you really are in so deep.â
As if to confirm, the man himself glides down an open palm to your stomach. Pressing down hard with all five splayed-out fingers until Toji could feel the same incessant slam of his thumping cockhead, the cascading ripple of his heavy, cum-filled balls smacking against your ass.Â
âTold ya- hah told ya so.â his cocky groans are whirling all throughout your mind, such a hot, melty mess with the sheer fucking stretch of Tojiâs cock. âYâknowâŠI canât help but imagine just how pretty youâd hngh- look all stretched out nâ swollen as a momma.â
Youâre nodding deliriously, and the way his crashing thrusts were just bruising against your spongy cervix, bouncing off onto every sweetly hidden sensitive spot inside your elastic walls. âShit- ya jusâ got wetter- ya like that? The thought of me fuckin a baby into ya?â he spits, long sloppy tongue coming up to taste the dredges of tears streaming down your face- shit, when did you even start crying?Â
âShh shhh- donât cryââ heâs cooing, rewarding you with another heavy smack! right onto your poor clit. Every steady clash against your over-sensitive g-spot only sends a fresh wave of big fat tears for Toji to kiss at. â-donât cry, donât cry. Never fâme, mânever hah- gonna kill off anything that makes my pretty wife cry-â A soft, salty peck on your lips, â-nâ that includes me. If ya asked me to, ma. Iâll give ya anything you ever want.â
Thereâs a creaking slam! on the wooden surface, and a hasty look over your shoulder shows that Toji has hiked his knee up onto the desk. For a second, you wonder whether it hurt - whether the throbbing shaft of his cock wasnât rubbed raw by now, whether his abs werenât just burning with movement. Fucking you so recklessly into the desk.
But oh, you think Toji Zenin would care?
You think he would give a fuck about anything other than rutting riotously into your gripping cunt? Drilling into you again and again until your tip-toes donât even reach the ground at the force of his pressurized thrusts. The change in angle has his leaky tip glide glossy lines right across the bottom of your dripping pussy and pressing down harshly onto your g-spot. So rough. So mean. Youâre scrambling further and further up the desk and-
âNow now-â Toji hoists your weak hips up ever-so-slightly back to him, before pinning you to the desk with his full, heavy bodyweight. âNo running away. HehâŠhow funny would it be if I actually did jusâ hngh- fuck a baby into ya right now?â His fingers get so sloppy on your clit, âFill ya up- rub an heir right in everyoneâs faces?â
âShit- mâso close- again-â Your ears are popping at the pure saturated stimulation when his hand down below rolls over your clit. Desperate. Depraved. Glossing up the curve of his thick thumb with all the sweet slick beading out with each broken thrust. Itâs like he was out of control - losing his fucking mind. And your delirious mind wondered whether youâd be next, that faint cracking of joints certainly not boding well for either of you. âToji, mâgonna-â
Heâs so erratic - sloppy. And so it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same - fuck, you didnât even realize it at first.
So hard that your vision flashes red and white, breathing raggedly gasping in lungfuls as you rock your sticky hips back into Tojiâs so greedily. Your voice is shot - because youâre moaning Tojiâs name so loud that it almost felt disrespectful, echoing across the sex-thickened air. âThaâs right- scream as loud as you want, ma. Itâs just us in this house.â
And maybe it was that - maybe it was the feeling of your velvety walls clamping down hard around his achy length - maybe it was just the way youâre whispering out such saccharine sweet, âCum inside.â
Because Tojiâs fractured sanity can only handle a few more unkindly bullying drives into your gushing cunt before heâs cumming and cumming so much he thinks he might die.Â
Doesnât know if he can - if he wants to - stop.
âOh- ohhh fuck- didnât think Iâd actually-â You feel a branding bite inside the crook of your neck as his sloppy white seed splatters at your inner thigh with each rummaging thrust forward. Oozing down in messy, thick dredges. â-hngh- gonna fill you up so good- until you canât take it anymore.â You didnât know if you already could - because you felt so full. Tojiâs syrupy cum sloshing around with each ram of his hips, coating your walls in a creamy, slick-like sheen on the inside.Â
âYesââ you sigh over another splintering crack! from somewhere, âFuck fuck fuck- need you to- hngh, wanna make you a daddy- give you an heir, To-â
Itâs as if he couldnât bear to hear your swollen lips part with his name, because Tojiâs shutting you up with a sweltering kiss. Still mounted and rutting into you so animalistically, âthe best- the best momma, youâre gonna be the best momma-â he hushes into your mouth. Pliantly kneading your body into a sinful arch for him, you barely even register it when heâs carrying you away. Two thick fingers pooling his glistening cum, inching them back into your stretched-out cunt - âDonât waste a single drop now- hngh- fuck, youâll look so pretty all full.â
Before you know it, youâre being sprawled out so easily on the clean tatami mats below, face down, your hips being propped up by one of Tojiâs. And in your bleary peripheral vision, you could just about make out how ruined that desk was - how broken. How the fuck havenât either of you broken any bones, yet?
Or maybe you have - you wouldnât even know at this point, because Toji was still slamming into your poor, overspilling pussy again. His harsh grunt puffs out in a feverish breath against your ear, âTold ya I was gonna ruin you, doll. Better get ready-â Heâs punctuating each word with a sloppy, sold thrust, pace picking up to fuck you so thoroughly into the floor. âBecause I have a Plan D and a Plan E until mâsure youâre givinâ me an heir.â
A/N. Ooo what if I made a clan leader series? Thoughts?
Plagiarism not authorized.
#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#toji x reader#toji smut#toji x you#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fic#toji#toji fushiguro#tonywrites#gojo x reader#gojo smut
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his girls [one-shot]
marvel au bucky x reader alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reelingâespecially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.
Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, alpine is a troublemaker, secret dating, swearing, kissing, alcohol, tony knows all, natasha too, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: hello! once again a fic no one asked for lol. i'm supposed to be on hiatus buuut i took some time this afternoon to write this because i'm procrastinating a uni assignment. i'm sure this concept has been done before, but i was thinking about that scene in rivals with the dog (iykyk) and yeah! step away from the usual angst and heartbreak i normally provide you all with. sorry for any typos - not proof read.
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You were careful.
Or at least, you thought you were careful.
For months, you and Bucky had kept your relationship under wraps. It wasnât that you wanted to keep secrets from the team, but there was something thrilling about stolen moments and hushed conversations. About Buckyâs hand on the small of your back as he guided you through a crowded room, or the way heâd brush a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hall.
You figured no one had noticed.
Until today.
It all started with one of many white hairs stuck to your t-shirt.
Natasha plucked it off you mid-conversation one morning in the kitchen while you were prayingâdesperatelyâto whatever all-seeing god might finally make the coffee machine work faster. Between the groaning, spluttering sounds and the blinking lights, it felt like the damn thing was possessed. With flawlessly manicured nails, Natasha held the hair up to the morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the compound.
âIs this Alpineâs fur?â she mused aloud, twirling the long, pale strand between her fingers.
âProbably.â you replied absently, more concerned with the coffee machineâs latest refusal to cooperate. You jabbed the buttons harder, ignoring the way Natashaâs eyes flickered with something dangerously close to amusement.Â
âFor all of Tonyâs money, youâd think weâd have a coffee machine that actually works,â you grumbled.
âTurn around?â Natasha asked. There was a particular lilt to her voice, that barely concealed intrigue she triedâand failedâto mask whenever she was onto something. It set you on edge instantly, the tone that meant she was clicking a mystery into place, giddy with excitement beneath a thin veil of indifference. You didnât trust it for a second.
âNo, justââ You smacked the machine in frustration. It whined pathetically before the lights blinked off entirely. You let out a long, exasperated groan. âWhy wonât this stupid fucking thing ever workââ
âJesus, youâre covered in itââ
You froze mid-motion as Natasha yanked at your shirt, effectively grooming you like a monkey. Her sharp lips had turned up into a wicked smirk, the type of smirk that made dread pool in your gut.Â
âEverything is covered in her fur,â you said quickly, still trying for casual. You reached for the plug, praying Natasha would drop it. âShe sheds everywhere, especially on the couch.â
âMm.â Natasha tilted her head, her smirk deepening. âAnd yet, I thought Tony hired cleaners for that? Especially with Kate always bringing Lucky around?â
You yanked the plug from the socket a little too forcefully. âHonestly, Nat, I donât know. I just want this damn machine to work.â
Right on cue, a familiar voice rumbled behind you.
âMachine giving you trouble again?â
Your heart stuttered in your chest before resuming its normal rhythmâthough maybe a little faster. You turned just as Bucky strolled in, looking frustratingly good despite the early hour. His hair was a little dishevelled, sleep still clinging to him in a way that made him look too soft for someone who could snap a manâs spine in half.
âThereâs a trick to it, remember?â He stepped in close beside you, skin brushing yours as he reached for the machine. The scent of his aftershave lingered, warm and familiar. You triedâand failedânot to watch the way the muscles in his forearm tensed, veins shifting beneath his skin as he pressed a series of buttons.
âBarnes, youâve got cat hair all over you,â Natasha noted, not even bothering to be subtle. You didnât dare look at her. Instead, you busied yourself wringing your hands, pretending you werenât hyper-aware of Bucky standing so damn close.
âHuh?â Bucky barely spared a glance at his shirt, where Alpineâs fur was unmistakably clinging to the fabric. âOh. Yeah, guess I do. She always wants attention in the morning.â
Then, with one final smack, the machine roared to life. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air as liquid finally poured into your mug. You sighed in sheer relief.
âThere you go,â Bucky said, looking down at you with a small smile, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead.
Your stomach did a stupid little flip. You smiled back, warmth creeping into your face. âThanks.â
The machine beeped again, snapping you back to reality. You quickly grabbed the mug with both hands, muttered another thanks, and let Natasha tug you away.
âWhat was that?â She hissed, voice low as she turned to you with narrowed eyes.
âHuh?â You werenât entirely listening to her words. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. You could still see Bucky standing in the kitchen, both hands braced on the counter as he waited for his own coffee. His back was turned, but even through the thin material of his fur-covered t-shirt, you could see the way his muscles shifted beneath itâ
Natasha didnât even humour your innocence. She crossed her arms. âYou and Barnes?âÂ
âWhat about him?â You mumbled, pulling your gaze away as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.
Her lips twitched, amusement clear. âAre you twoâ?â
You made a face at her. âWhat are you on about?âÂ
Natasha didnât look convinced, but she let it go.
For now.
As the elevator hummed and Bucky was cut from your view as the doors shut, you took a sip of coffee, the liquid a few degrees between too hot and burning. It scalded your tongue, and with the phantom smell of Buckyâs aftershave no longer haunting you, you felt your mind snap back into action.
Right. Focus.
âWeâre going to be late for the meeting,â you declared, shaking your head. âAnd that damn machine is the reason. You know what? Letâs take a detour to Starkâs lab and demand a better one.â
Natasha chuckled, pressing the button for a different floor.
âI like the way you think.â
â
You knew Alpine would be your downfall.
The little white menace was notoriously selective. If you werenât Bucky, she wanted nothing to do with you. Everyone at the compound had suffered her wrath at least onceâSam even had the scars to prove it. Alpine liked to play dangerous games that usually ended in blood or a yowl of pain. You swore the Avengers bled more dealing with the feline than fighting aliens, wizards, or whatever else tried to obliterate Earth every other week. She was a cunning little creature, lurking around corners, hiding under tables, prowling along bookshelves. And just when you least expected itâbam. Teeth and claws bared, she would pounce, latching on like a tiny, vengeful spectre. This was her idea of fun. The Avengers had learned to tread carefully, tip-toeing around the compound whenever they knew she wasnât safely curled up in Buckyâs room, where she ruled with an iron paw.
So, when you sat down on the couch one evening, and Alpine immediately hopped onto your lap, you knew you were fucked.
She didnât hesitate, didnât so much as sniff at you in consideration before curling right up, purring loud enough to be heard over the football game droning on in the backgroundâwhich you were only half paying attention to.Â
You stiffened, caught between awe at the rare privilege and sheer dread at the witnesses currently gaping at you.
Bucky, for his part, had been sitting at the other end of the couch, flirting with danger in his usual wayâstolen glances, conveniently placed touches as he shifted in place. Alpine, just as obsessed with him as you were (Bucky had taken to calling you both âhis girlsâ in private, which always managed to make you swoon.), had immediately perched in his lap when he sat down. Only when he carefully pried her off to grab another round of beers did the little white she-beast decide you were a worthy substitute, strutting over with lazy, languid confidence before settling down, blissfully unaware of what she had just unleashed.
The room fell into stunned silence. Several pairs of eyes locked onto you, breath collectively held. They were waiting for the yowl, for the inevitable attack, for you to tense up and leap to your feet in pain. But to your horror, the little sadist simply settled in. Cosy, unbothered, as if this had been the plan all along.
âOkay, what the hell is this?â Sam finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger.
You blinked down at Alpine, then up at Sam, stroking the soft fur like nothing was amiss. âUh⊠a cat?âÂ
You were foolish and desperate enough to pretend this was completely normal, to gaslight the others into believing Alpine was a perfectly gentle and affectionate cat. A sweet, loving companion. Not a tiny, vengeful menace who had terrorised them allâand definitely not a creature who had only warmed up to you in recent months because you spent more time in Buckyâs bed than your own.
âThe same cat that tried to claw out my eyeball for getting too close? And now sheâs justââ He gestured wildly at Alpine, who flicked her tail with the smugness of a queen on her throne. ââcuddling with you like youâre her best buddy?â
âShe likes me, I guess.â You blinked innocently, turning back to the TV, hoping he would drop it, but Sam, ever the dramatic, was not satisfied.
âAre you kidding me? That cat has tried to kill me.â
Natasha snorted into her drink.Â
Alpine smugly licked her paw before resting her head upon your thigh and blinking her wide blue eyes at Sam, who shook his head with an exaggerated shudder. âThis is bullshit, and you know itââ
âMaybe she just doesnât like you, Sam.â You huffed, scratching Alpine behind her ears. âSheâs always been fine with me.â
âThat is not true!âÂ
âShe took a chunk out of my arm once,â Natasha added, ever the instigator.
âRemember when I gave her a treat and she bit me?â Steve piped up.
Bucky returned at that moment, frowning as he saw the conversation unfolding before him. You turned to him with wide, desperate eyes, silently pleading for help. Alpine, the little traitor, merely pressed her pink nose to your hand, rubbing her face against you with a contented sigh.
âShe only likes people sheâs comfortable with,â Bucky offered, setting the beers down with a clink, but his pitiful attempt to be helpful only added fuel to the fire.
The room exploded into a series of overlapping voices.
âI didnât realise you spent so much time with Alpine?â Natashaâs sharp gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her smirk primed to taunt you both.Â
âBuck, doesnât she spend all her time in your roomâ?â Steve leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, invested now.
Sam jolted upright like heâd just solved a murder case. âNow, hold on a secondââ
âYou have been covered in cat fur a lot lately,â Natasha mused. âAnd you two have been suspiciously closeââ
As you glanced over at Bucky, you couldnât tell if his repeated blunders were intentional or borne out of genuine panic. He cleared his throat, his brows raising as he casually popped off the cap of one of the beers with his vibranium thumb in faux nonchalance.
âCoincidence.â He muttered with a shrug, tipping back a mouthful of the brew.Â
Alpine, completely oblivious (or entirely aware of the chaos sheâd caused), didnât budge as Bucky sat back down beside you, levelling you with a look that screamed we are so screwed.
âYou two arenât even going to try to lie?â Natasha pressed.
âLie about what?â You feigned innocence, but the act was flimsy at best. The jig was well and truly up.
Bucky, clearly done with this little charade, let out a long-suffering sigh that mightâve sounded exasperated if not for the telltale smirk tugging at his lips. Without another word, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you effortlessly against his chest, Alpine still coiled contentedly in your lap. The smug little she-beast didnât even stir. She just purred loudlyâtoo loudly, like she was taking credit for the entire thing.
âWait a second!â Sam pointed a dramatic finger between the two of you. âHow long has this been happening?â
âHow long has what been happening?â Tony strolled into the room, a glass of amber liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey in hand.
âHer,â Steve announced, gesturing between the both of you. âAnd Barnes.â
Tony didnât even blink. âOh, I already knew that. You didnât know that?â
Bucky turned so fast you were surprised he didnât give himself whiplash. âYou what?â
âOh, come on,â Tony drawled, making himself comfortable on the armrest of the couch like this was all just another day at the office. âYou really thought I wouldnât notice her sneaking out of your room at ungodly hours for the past six months? F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept flagging intruders, and, shockerâit was just you two, utterly failing at stealth.â
Sam threw up his hands. âDid you say six months?!â
Bucky rolled his eyes, but instead of answering, he just turned to you and, without hesitation, kissed you.
It was sudden but warm, his lips soft against yours like heâd been waiting for an excuse. The room erupted into even more noise, Sam shouting something unintelligible, Natasha making a sound of smug satisfaction, and Steve groaning like he shouldâve known, but it all faded into the background.
You laughed against Buckyâs lips, breathless but entirely unbothered. âThis is definitely her fault.â
Alpine, still purring in your lap like the devious little mastermind she was, flicked her tail.
Bucky just hummed, brushing his nose against yours. âYeah,â he muttered. âNot complaining, though.â
And, truthfully, neither were you.
#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fluff#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#alpine#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#winter soldier#marvel fic#marvel au#marvel
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kerosene
ghost x f!reader. 17k words. cw: noncon. kidnapping. gun violence. free use. smut. mentions of involuntary groinal responses lol. simon is a smug asshole and reader is into it you get robbed at gun point while working the lone register at a nowhere petrol station. the money in the till is not the only thing he takes with him. or [read on ao3]
Idle hands are the devilâs workshop, so they say.Â
The devil should have been busy with you, then. Malignant boredom had taken root in you, rankled in every crevice and swell, metastasized like knobbly tumours that parasitised on your will to live until only the gritty alluvium was left.Â
You began your shift behind the till at the Gulf station in the late afternoon, shy of four p.m., as you had done yesterday and as you would tomorrow. You took over from Mitchell, who worked the morning shift, the old man with a wiry grey beard and eyebrow hairs like corkscrews sticking haywire out of his forehead. Youâd work until midnight, when you would be replaced by Charlie, a pinguid twenty-something with legs like beanpoles and eyes so sunken they were hollow as caves in his skull.Â
They had been your co-workers for the better part of three years, yet they might as well have been strangers to you. The scant exchanges you would share with them were a few words at shift change, if that. Mitch would prattle on about some rude geezer and tell the same story about his ex-wife that he had every other week. Charlie, bedecked in his cheap headphones and carrying an egg sandwich cling-wrapped by his grandmother, would only give you a nod and ask been busy? with little attention paid to your answer.Â
You had been offered the morning shift when you first started.Â
The owner of the franchise station, Dave, was uneasy about the prospect of a ripe (his word) young woman working alone behind the register after dark, at a nowhere white-pole station in the sticks, where the only customers were long-haulers and on-the-way-home farmers. A just concern, you supposed, and a part of you had considered taking him up on his offer.Â
You refused, in the end.Â
Told him that someone like Mitch (frail, near-blind, on the cusp of Alzheimerâs) would far more likely be victimised by the ilk of patrons that trudged through the station. In your experience, anyway, most of the late-night customers that came through the push-door understood the implication of a burly old man being served by a young woman on her own. Theyâd tread more carefully, offer you kind smiles, sometimes mention their wives to make sure you understood they were not a threat to you.Â
There was always the odd lecher, though. Goes without saying.Â
The kinds of yellow-toothed men that would lean too far over the counter, talk to you like they knew you, overly familiar. The type to ask you to smile for them, or for a discount, or for your number. Ones that would joke about coming back, just to visit you. That would say youâre too pretty to be working in a dump like this, you should be in a bar instead. Maybe on a pole. Maybe in the passenger seat of their truck, to keep them company.Â
It never frightened you, really, because nothing ever happened. You stuck with the late shift because it offered the fanciful possibility that something interesting might come to pass. Maybe, if you were lucky, there would be a car wreck outside the station, or a patron threatening enough to justify hitting the panic button, or a fire set off by the fuel pump and youâd finally be able to put the ten-year-old extinguisher to use.Â
But you were confident that every shift would be the same, as always.Â
Nothing would happen, you would drive home to your shoddy seventies cottage in the pit-stop hamlet of Dunhill, eat a frozen pastry, sleep alone, and do it all over again. Days came and went like empty boxes on a trundling conveyor belt, your life a deserted factory, only still whirring because the last attendant forgot to switch off the machinery when they left.Â
Today was no different.Â
You perused the grocery shelves with cheap earbuds stuffed in your ears, the kind with squishy mushroom plugs that made it sound like you were underwater. Shuffling through the same playlist you had been slowly adding to over the last year â you liked the songs you already knew every word to, creature of habit that you were. Busied yourself by twisting the canned foods so that their labels all faced outwards, then backwards, just for a laugh.Â
It got to half-nine, the sun had long since set, and you had served one customer since your shift started. A middle-aged man with a muddy van, who bought three RedBulls and a pack of Chesterfields, and half a tank of diesel. He scarcely acknowledged you, a hi when he walked in and a cheers when he left.Â
Your meal for the evening was a pack of Walkers salt and vinegar crisps and a bottle of chocolate milk, plucked from the shelves and not logged. Leaned back in the plastic chair behind the till with your Chucks propped up on the counter, some Sally Rooney book with its spine broken folded in half in your hand.Â
You had milk in your mouth when you heard the characteristic thud of a closing car door, a harsher slam than you were used to. Attuned to the noise even while your ears were plugged. You swallowed it hard when you heard the chime of the bell, the swing of the door, the thuds of boots. New customer.Â
Sat upright, you peered over the register to see who had entered the station, and you were flummoxed when there was nobody there.Â
You grabbed your earbuds by the flimsy cord and tugged them from your ears with a pop â there were footsteps, someone was there, you werenât crazy. You could hear the sound of provisions being swept from shelves and shoved into a bag, the bonking of cans and the crinkling of plastic.Â
Only once you stood did you see the head above the shelves.Â
Black hood up, you only saw the side of him as he wandered down the aisle, towering beast shuffling along and torpidly picking things up just to put them down again. A foot taller than the racks he meandered between. Wore a black leather bomber over his hooded sweater, well-worn hide, turned tawny brown in the creases and at the edges. All bulky, padded up. His shoulders swayed with the bravado of a gladiator who spent his life unchallenged.
Had you any remaining hospitality in your system youâd have greeted him, but you circumspectly held your tongue.Â
There was something in his presence that did not augur well. Something crooked, something bent. Turned the tired air inside the station dyspneic, too dense and thick to comfortably breathe.Â
Call it a womanâs intuition, if you believed in such a thing.Â

Simon hadnât accounted for a bird at the till.Â
Heâd have expected some ruddy-cheeked man with buck teeth and brown-bordered sweat stains on his shirt. The typical clerk at a shithole backroads petrol station, in his experience. Theyâd shoot him a grimy look, eye him up-and-down with a curl in their lip, all ruffian until he brandished the Sig Sauer he had tucked in the waistband of his jeans.Â
That was what he had prepared for. He came to stick the gunmetal barrel in the face of the old bloke behind the register, demand every stack of cash from the till drawer and anything valuable he had on his person, maybe fire at the ceiling if he moved too slowly. Piece of cake. In and out.Â
Instead, it was you.Â
Sneakers propped up by the register, sucking the crisp dust off your fingers with pink lips. Reading a book as disinterestedly as you might watching paint dry.Â
Unlucky for you, it didnât make a difference that you had a pair of tits. He wanted that money.Â
Your chary little head poked up from behind the counter once he was done collecting his supplies. A few cans of Baked Beans, couple bags of crisps, some vacuum-sealed biersticks. A roll of gauze and a bottle of Dettol for the flesh wound in his thigh. Pack of tissues. Bic lighter. KitKat for a treat. All shoved in the duffle bag he held in his fist, heavy with the wads of cash he had already collected from the last pit-stop on his trip north â an offy in a piss-stained back alley in Cheltenham. Grabbed a few pilsners for the road from there, too.Â
He forsook his urgency as he approached the register, measured pace, duffle in hand. Eyeing you up with each step as if you were a candybar on a display rack.Â
Pretty wee thing.Â
He hadnât even shown you his gun yet, and your eyes were already peeled wide, glistening in the bright fluorescent lights hanging overhead.Â
None of the goods he intended to pay for. He didnât need to make that any clearer to you, the assumption was already plastered on your face as he loomed towards you. Had his mask on, after all; thick black ski mask pulled over his head, jagged holes cut out for his eyes. No doubt that made quite plain his intentions.Â
You stood pin straight, curling the purple cord of your earbuds between your fingers as if some attempt to ground yourself. Not a drop of makeup on, he could see the satin sheen of sweat on your forehead, the plum rings unconcealed under your eyes. Nobody to impress out here. Still pretty.Â
âUm, which pump?â You asked flatly, tone meek, in denial of the obvious.Â
Your stupefied stare followed his hand as it ventured to the base of his sweatshirt, a frown fluttering in your brows as you all but tilted your head in anxious confusion. He reeled up the heavy fleece, white t-shirt underneath â but that wasnât what your eyes clung to.Â
His hand curled around the grip of his handgun, plucking it out from the waistband and holding it insouciantly at his side. No need to point it at you, not yet.Â
Your skin turned cadaver grey as your blood flooded to your feet, eyes bulging with the instantaneous panic that wracked you as though you had been smacked in the face with it.Â
âOh my god â ohm â oh my god,â you squeaked, tongue knotting in your mouth, tears quick to fill your kittenish eyes. âOh my god â y-youââ
It was this, the histrionics, that he hoped to avoid. The tears, Christ, the fucking tears. There wasnât anything to cry about, not yet, but your eyes glowed sanguine, and the tears that oozed from them were clear and glittery. Rolled dramatically from their wells and dripped from your chin, seeped into the corners of your trembling mouth. All flushed and glossy and he hadnât even spoken yet.Â
There was no blood-curdling outburst, though. You didnât scream, didnât wail, didn't scurry around hysterically like a decollated hen. You were stiff as a board, arms pinned flat to your sides. Merely whispered the Lordâs name in vain over and over as if he might answer your call.Â
âPlease â ohmygod â please donât hurt me,â you cried, lungs seizing with every word, hiccuping and spluttering like you had just been pulled ashore. âWhat do you want, you can â you can take anything. P-pleaseââ
âShut up,â he barked, and you flinched at his aggression. âJust open the fuckinâ till.â
You nodded so vehemently he thought your head might roll off your shoulders, and your pallid hands began raking over your body in desperate search of the pocket you kept your keys in. His glare followed keenly as they ran over your hips, waist, unabashedly caressing your arse in the search. After finding them in a back pocket you tried to orient the keys in your grip, but your fingers trembled so vigorously that you immediately dropped them to the linoleum floor.Â
âFuck â Iâm sorry,â you bleated as you bent down to pick them up, eyes still riveted to him, âIâm sorry, let me just â please, Iâm sorryââ
He let out a grunt of exasperation as he marched around to the other side of the counter, your feet remained planted still as though you were bolted to the floor, leery eyes following him while your head kept rigid.Â
A deer in headlights. Fawn, more like. Small and doe-eyed and too stupid to get out of his way.Â
You only whimpered when he jostled you away from the till, physically driving you to the wall with his hands under your arms, clearing his path. He took your shaky little hand in a fist and peeled it open, plucking the keys from your sweaty palm.Â
The register was old, something from the nineties, yellow-faded plastic with cube-clacky buttons. He shoved the tiny key into its slot on the drawer, gave it a good shimmy to loosen it up, and it popped open with a ding.Â
Pretty much empty.Â
âThe fuck is this?â He growled, fingering through the notes in the drawer â all twenty-two of them. âThereâs fuckinâ nothing in âere!âÂ
Your face screwed up like a wrung cloth when his glare shot to you. Great gulping sobs, your eyes squeezed into fleshy little crescents and spewed tears from either corner, terror rilling from your nose and making your lips all wet.Â
âIâm sorry â itâs not my â I think Mitch m-must have done the cash drop this morning,â you wailed, âPlease â itâs not my f-f-fault!âÂ
âShut up,â he snapped, jutting the mouth of his Sig Sauer at you, callously reminding you of the fate he held in his grip.Â
He snarled to himself as he plucked out all of the notes, flipped through them to count it up. Nine fivers, six tenners, five twenties, two fifties. A few quid worth of coins floating around unorganised between the compartments. A prodigious spoil of three-hundred-and-five pounds.Â
Fucking joke.Â
He rancorously shoved all the paper in the bag â left the coins, ego too tall to fish out the petty change.Â
âPiss take,â he grumbled as he slammed shut the till drawer. âWhat else yâgot.âÂ
You blinked up at him timorously as he tucked his gun into his jeans and marched towards you, almost buckling over as though you could curl up into a shell to protect yourself from him.Â
Only cried as he spread your arms, shamelessly smearing his hands over your body to feel for something in a pocket. Down your waist, stomach, hips; all pillowy under the pressure of his hands, soft even through your t-shirt. Prodded the undersides of your breasts with shameless fingers, checking for anything tucked in your bra, and your lips curled in disgust as you looked away from him.Â
He almost cracked a smile at your diffidence. Maybe another time, pretty thing.Â
He flipped you around, manhandling you until your nose pressed into the wall. Hands smoothed down your back, before finding something rectangular tucked into the tight pocket of your skinny jeans. You squeaked in dispute as he stuck his fingers in the pocket, flush with your arse, but he had no time to enjoy it.Â
Little red wallet.Â
He flicked through it â a visa debit card, expired Primark gift card, two quid in the zipped pocket and a tenner note folded in a card sleeve. Eyed your license for longer than necessary â cute little photo of you, a tiny smirk in your lips as you gazed at the camera.Â
âPretty name,â he said wryly, and you only huffed with your forehead pressed against the wall.Â
He didnât bother taking any of the change. Looked like you needed it as much as he did. You winced when he pushed a finger in your back pocket, tugging it open so he could shove your wallet back in.Â
He instead returned his attention to the checkout, scouring the counters for anything else that could be deemed at all valuable. Nothing, obviously. Merely cardboard display racks of chewing gum and cheap candies. There was a cigarette cabinet behind the till, at least â after some fiddling he found the key on the chain that fit the lock, broke open the steel door, and swept an entire rack of cartons into the duffle bag.Â
As a last resort, he dropped the bag and crouched down, wiped underneath the countertops with gloved hands, hoping for a vault, a hidden compartment, orâ
His fingers brushed plastic, creasing and soft; something wrapped in film, taped to the underside of the counter. He tore it off with a zip, held it in a tight hand; a stack of notes, more than a centimetre thick, wrapped with a hair tie and shoved in a zip-seal sandwich bag.Â
You let out a remorseful sob as you sunk to the floor with your back against the wall; thighs tucked to your chest, head dropped to your knees.Â
A grin peeled his lips from his teeth as the realisation settled. âThis yours?âÂ
âNo,â you chirped, a pitiful attempt at a lie â he was unsure why you wouldnât admit to it, it wasnât as though heâd have informed your boss.Â
âSkimming, eh?â He snorted, peeling open the yellow seam of the plastic pouch and fishing out the stack. Flipped through them â mostly tens and twenties â easily a couple grand, at the very least.Â
âI justââ you sobbed, shoulders hunched, âI was just saving up. It doesnât matter. Just t-take it.âÂ
âSaving?â He asked incredulously, voice thick with amused derision. âLittle thief. No better than me, are ya?âÂ
âWhatever,â you bellyached, arms wrapped around your knees, snivelling on the floor.Â
He sucked his teeth as he dumped the stack in his bag. Too bad. His now.Â
As he went to stand, though, he went dead still â eyes hooked on a flashing blue light under the counter. Squinting, he leaned closer, to substantiate his hunchâ
A fucking panic button.Â
His rage burst like a purulent blister, apoplectic with it, he ripped his handgun from his jeans and steamed towards you.Â
âYou fuckinâ hit the alarm?â He roared, and you shrieked in terror as he took the collar of your t-shirt in a fist and heaved you up from the ground.Â
âI â Iâm â I didnâtââ
Your spluttering only enkindled his fury. You cried out in despairing dread when he shoved the mouth of his pistol into the soft flesh under your chin, and he held his teeth to your cheek.Â
âWhy the fuck would you go and do that, eh?â He growled, inexplicably disappointed. Thought you were smarter than that.Â
âIâm sorry,â you bawled, shaking your head, wet eyes bolted to the ceiling. âI didnât know what to do, I just â I thought I was sâposed to, Iâm s-sorry. Please â god, please, donât kill me.â
He huffed, jaw rigid.Â
He wouldnât put a bullet in you, pretty thing. Too lovely to mire with lead, that butter-soft skin.Â
It was a shame you were such a thorn in his side, fractious girl, because otherwise he would have just left you be. Would have taken his cash and been done with it, left you in your piss-wet jeans to cry to your boss about the ordeal and rightfully request some weeks off to escape to somewhere more therapeutic for the soul than fucking Dunhill.Â
âWould be a damn waste,â he grunted, finally pulling his gun from under your chin, sticking the barrel into his jeans. A moan of relief leaked from your throat once the instrument of your imminent death was no longer kissing your jaw.Â
Premature relief, love. He grappled you away from the wall, and with a shove, had you in front of him. You yelped when he collared you with a tight hand around the back of your neck, stumbled over your feet as he began driving you forward.
âWhat are youââ
âUse those legs, girl,â he barked, as he reached to hoist up his duffle bag from where he left it on the floor.Â
You blubbered like a toddler, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing, as if your tears might engender pity from him. âAre you t-taking me?âÂ
âNot gonna leave you to blab to the cops, am I?âÂ
Another sob. âNo â I wouldnât â I wonât say anything, I donât even know what you look like. Pleaseââ
âChrist, youâre a whinger, arenât you?â He rumbled, barrelling through the swinging door and hauling you across the asphalt of the forecourt.
The air was thick with the greasy smell of petrol seeping from lousy fuel pumps, amalgamated with the distant fumes of factory farms and cow manure that hung in a blanketing smog from there to Birmingham. Only the corrugated metal infrastructure of beef and dairy industries for miles in any direction out there.Â
He couldnât fathom what a bird like you was doing with her feet in the mud, stagnating in such a miserable shithole. Maybe he was doing you a favour.Â
He tore open the passenger door of his twenty-year-old Mitsubishi L200 â a rusty black pickup he bought with cash from a shrivelled old man on Gumtree, with hopefully just enough life in it to last the drive north.Â
You stuck your hand out and planted it on the edge of the door as he pushed you towards it, vigorously shaking your head. âNo, n-no â Iâm not going with you, Iâm notââ
He snorted, and when you didnât capitulate with a shove, he swept an arm under your knees and hoisted you upward before dumping you into the passenger seat whether you liked it or not. You landed with a squeak, and before you could spew out any more vacant refusals he slammed shut the door.Â
He stormed around to the drivers side and hopped in beside you, tossing his duffle bag back between the seats, hastily igniting the engine as he shut his own door. Hit the central lock button and the entire truck locked shut with a clunk â you whimpered when you heard it, and turned your knees away from him.
âWhere are you taking me?â You cried, as he revved the truck and rapidly accelerated, tearing out of the forecourt and over the curb, landing on the road with a sharp bounce and a tire screech.Â
He paid little attention to your whimpering as he sped off down the dilapidated country road, eyes flicking to the rearview every odd second to make sure he saw no flashing lights in pursuit. The vehicle dipped and recoiled over every pothole on the crumbling old road â motorway would be preferable, but he decided heading in the opposite direction to loop back around would be the safest bet.Â
You only sobbed quietly to yourself in his silence, no doubt his lack of response was a threat in itself.Â
He had no issue frightening you. Served you right.Â
Took some morbid glee in considering what you imagined he planned on doing with you. Whether you considered weighing up your chances. Might you survive if you were to attack him? Would he go easy on you? Might he enjoy the struggle?Â
Perhaps you were girding yourself for what he might do next.Â
Truth was, he hadnât decided yet.Â
His decision to take you was as impulsive as it was inexorable.Â

You weeped until your tear troughs were droughted and nothing more could bleed from their ducts. Cheeks had gone sticky with it, salt dried gritty on your flushed skin, lips shrivelled and thirsty.Â
Transient thoughts of rebellion had been ignited and snuffed out in the ten minutes since he had abducted you from the station â you could have reached over and pulled the gun from his waistband, could have tried to kick through the passenger window, could have thrown a nuclear tantrum and bucked and screamed until he was forced to pull over.Â
All would have been futile. You werenât stupid.Â
He had that gun in his immediate reach; in fact he kept a heavy hand resting high up on his thigh, prepared to yank it out of its nest above his crotch at any given opportunity. He had made abundantly clear the shortness of his fuse, and that his reflexive reaction to annoyance was to threaten your life.Â
Best you settle down, you thought â wait until his guard was down, until he pulled over somewhere, then consider something more drastic. While you were trapped in a car with him such an opportunity was unlikely to present itself.Â
There were no streetlights out this way; your abductor had bypassed Dunhill entirely, sticking to unmaintained back roads that had you bouncing up and down in your seat. Not the motion alone that made you queasy, but the fact he was driving even deeper into nowhere, where the only sources of light were the headlights of his truck, illuminating the dark road ahead like something out of a found-footage horror film.Â
âYou didnât answer my question,â you croaked, voice abraded to the point of gurgling stones.Â
You felt his head turn to look at you, but you kept your stare pointed out your window. Knees turned so far away from him that they burrowed into the door.Â
âEh?â He huffed dryly.Â
Sipped a cautious breath before repeating yourself. âWhere are you taking me?âÂ
âIâm âeaded north,â he said, no elaboration.Â
âWhere north,â you asked more firmly, warily frustrated.Â
He let out a breathy chortle, as though surprised youâd interrogate him. âScotland.âÂ
You cocked your head back in bewilderment and turned to glower at him. âScotland?âÂ
âSâwhat I said.âÂ
âI donât want to go to Scotland,â you whined, realising quickly the length of the drive â easily six hours to Glasgow if he stuck to the motorways, but you got the sense he was avoiding them.Â
âThatâs a shame,â he said.Â
âI donât understand,â you pleaded, terror thick in your throat. âWhat do you â what do you want from me?â
You regretted the question as soon as you uttered it, because there was some comfort to be found in uncertainty â that is, the possibility that he wasnât going to throw you into the bed of his truck and rape you in the pitch dark of the backcountry night.Â
He looked at you again, eyes tar-black in the shadows of his balaclava, and you held shut your thighs on instinct.Â
âDunno yet,â he said.Â
You might have cried if you had any tears left to give. Instead you blinked at him uneasily, petrified into a surreal state of milky numbness â maybe you were in shock, you had heard of that before.Â
âSo you â you just took me because you felt like it?âÂ
He shrugged with a single shoulder. ââSpose so.âÂ
A minute of stodgy silence settled in the cab as you stared blankly ahead down the spotlighted country road. You werenât sure what you should do with yourself, and it made you itch all over. From the pits of you echoed screams to put up a fucking fight, to do something â instead you sat quietly, vacantly, erosively indecisive. Waiting for something to happen. For the other shoe to drop.Â
âAre you going to shoot me?â You timidly asked, words eking out like dripping water from a tight faucet.Â
âHopefully not.âÂ
âThen â then why did you take me?â
His head rocked back and bounced off the headrest as he let out an exasperated puff of air. âYâmake a lot oâ noise, donât you?âÂ
âWell there would be no noise if you hadnât.âÂ
He laughed at that, you could see the fine lines creasing in the corner of his puckering eyes through his mask. âGot me there.âÂ
âSo then why donât you just let me out?â You pestered, only emboldened by his droning indifference. Apathy exuded from him like serum from an open wound, oily yet salutary, and you found it grotesquely reassuring.Â
âDonât want to,â he bluntly replied.Â
âWhy not?âÂ
He was twitchy. On a razor edge. He lasered a glare at you and it stung, and you shrunk into yourself under the heat of it.Â
âBecause I donât want to.â He repeated, jaw tight.Â
You should have heeded the venom in his throat as a warning to shut up, but despite effort to wire your jaw shut, your compulsion to fill the silence was pathological.Â
âAre you â are you going toââ Couldnât bring yourself to finish the sentence. The tail of it sat heavy and sour on your tongue.Â
âGoinâ to what.âÂ
A quivering breath leaked through your teeth. âRape me.âÂ
He sighed heavily, languidly rocking his head to the side, and you felt his hard eyes on you. Excoriating you from legs to lips.Â
âThought about it,â he said.Â
Ribs closed like dog jaws around your lungs.Â
Said with such torpor that it didnât cut you like a threat. Instead it made your heart tight and hot, shuddering rather than beating, pumping out needly adrenaline that made your hairs spike up and your stomach drop heavy.Â
âAnd?â You creaked, voice scratching in your trachea.Â
âWouldnât mind a fuck,â he grunted indifferently. âBut I donât like crying.âÂ
A mortifying heat feathered over your cheeks. Something pre-programmed, an evolutionary reaction to the suggestion of sex at all, consensual or otherwise â thatâs what you told yourself, when you felt a reflexive shiver between your legs, and your ears turned hot.Â
âSo thatâs why you took me,â you mumbled anxiously.Â
âTo fuck?â
You shot him a pointed lour in place of a response.Â
He shrugged. âMaybe.â

Fucking weird girl.Â
Your curiosity was potently unsettling, riveting in the same breath. Didnât make sense to him, that youâd ask him so unabashedly whether or not he intended on defiling you. What answer were you hoping for? Did you simply want to make sure he said no?Â
You blinked at him vacantly after his candid response. No use in lying to you.Â
It wasnât his style to brutalise himself into a bird, to bulldoze through wails and shrieks of refusal, physical capability to do so notwithstanding. He simply didnât like tears. Felt beneath him, really, the impotent sadism needed to enjoy milking them. The only wetness he liked in a girl was a wet mouth and a wet cunt.Â
He was partial to a hisser, though. Liked his spitters and scratchers. The kinds of girls that would gripe and grouse about his brutishness but turned treacly sweet when he inevitably overpowered them.Â
Perhaps youâd be a hisser.Â
He would have liked to find out. What noises you might have made. What the skin of your thighs might have felt like when free of their denim sheaths. How your nipples might spike up in the invasive cool of the September evening, or under the unwelcome brush of his fingers.Â
There was a glimmer in the pools of your eyes, fretful yet inquisitive. He was probably only seeing what he wanted to see.Â
You went quiet after that, at least. For the best. Kept your little knees nailed together as you glowered out your passenger window, pleasantly pacified for the time being. Sulking like a fucking child, but he supposed he couldnât blame you.Â
He wasnât stupid enough to expect that youâd be cheerful after he kidnapped you. And he wasnât in denial, either â he did kidnap you. There was no dancing around it. He threatened to kill you and then he abducted you, because he felt like it. Because he liked the look of you.Â
Not remorseful, though. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever felt sorry for anything. His brain just didnât function that way. If he wanted something, it was his. No use wasting time feeling guilt over something not even he could prevent.Â
He spent his time in your silence considering how to make it worth his while. Whether he would, in fact, drag you all the way to Scotland with him. Whether heâd have you aid and abet his next robbery to make up for the piss-poor spoils he purloined from your petrol station. Whether he would find a way to fuck you on the way, or perhaps once he got to his destination.Â
Maybe heâd let you keep some of your savings if you showed him your pussy. He looked at you briefly as he thought about it. Wondered how badly you needed the money.Â
âWhat were you savinâ for, eh?â He asked suddenly, and you flinched at the sound of his voice.Â
Soft little girl. Heâd need to harden you up.Â
âWhat do you mean,â you murmured, hardly a croak.Â
âDonât play dumb,â he gritted.
You sighed warily, eyeing him before you answered. âDoesnât even matter,â you grumbled. âYou took it, so now I havenât saved anything.âÂ
He glowered at you, and something in his dissatisfied stare must have compelled you to elaborate. He had that effect on people. Birds, especially. Intimidation coursed through his blood and emanated out of his skin, it didnât take much effort.Â
âI wanted to leave Dunhill, obviously,â you groaned, reluctant to spill every word.Â
âYeah?â He asked, âwhere were yâoff to?â
âFucked if I know,â you muttered. âLiterally anywhere else.âÂ
He snorted at that. âCouldnât do that without skimming, eh?âÂ
âWhat, do you disapprove?â You hissed, scowling at him. âAt least I donât kidnap people when I need money.âÂ
âIâm not judging, sweetheart,â he crooned through a grin. âMâonly impressed.âÂ
âWhatever,â you groused, crossing your arms and glaring out the window. âI only took it because I owe a bunch of money.âÂ
He quirked a brow at that. âTo who?âÂ
âWhy do you care.âÂ
He shrugged. âBoring drive.â
You let out a petulant huff before you inevitably decided to answer him.Â
âIâm behind on rent,â you said, through gritted teeth. âLike, four months behind. And Iâm still paying off my car, which I just needed to get repaired, so now I also owe money to the mechanic who did me the favour. Fucking owe money to the government, too, because they found out I was on the dole while I was working at the station.âÂ
A curl tugged in his lips, brows raised in intrigue. No surprise you had managed to find yourself burdened by so many favours â landlord giving you grace, mechanics fixing your cars without payment upfront. Pretty thing like you, though, heâd expect youâd get everything for free. Couldnât imagine what kind of penny-pinching wankers would still demand money from you when you looked like that.Â
Shame you didnât cross his path sooner, heâd have fixed your car for you. No charge. Might have even let you squat at his place rent-free, assuming you made it worth his while.Â
Started to imagine it, despite himself. Pictured having a pretty thing like you to come home to. Standing in the kitchen in his t-shirt, nothing under it. Heâd bend you over the counter and fuck you right there while you stirred your tea. Wouldnât have taken much to get your cunt nice and wet, he thought. You seemed like youâd be easy to please, bored little thing, hopelessly awaiting a man like him to show you whatâs worth living for.Â
Maybe he would take you all the way to Scotland, after all. Â
âWhat about you,â you asked dully, snapping him from his reverie. âWhy do you need the money.âÂ
He glanced at you, you picked your fingernails and glared at his hands on the wheel.Â
âMust need it pretty bad,â you muttered, scorn bubbling in your throat.Â
He tapped the steering wheel. âLong story.âÂ
âWhat, are you a fugitive, or something?â You asked, contemptuous eyes raking over him.Â
âIs it that obvious?â He asked, through a chortle.Â
You gulped, almost cartoonishly. So scared of him. He was sure the mask didnât help, but he didnât feel like taking it off yet.Â
âWhatâd you do?â You questioned, that pang of anxiousness never quite leaving your voice, despite your attempts at feigning bravery. âKill someone?âÂ
âWorse than that,â he said frankly.Â
Your brows knitted together worriedly, fingers knotting. Nervous fidgeting. âSome kind of rapist, then?âÂ
âNot quite,â he replied facetiously, certain you must have found his amusement at the prospect ill-placed.Â
âThen what?âÂ
âGot in trouble with people you shouldnât get in trouble with,â he explained, purposefully vague. He enjoyed your inquisitiveness.Â
âA gang?âÂ
âCould call it that,â he jeered. âSpecial air service.âÂ
Probably shouldnât have told you that. Couldnât help himself.Â
âSpecial â wait, youâre in the army?âÂ
âNot anymore,â he said.Â
You frowned uneasily. âWhat happened?âÂ
âThatâs a tale for another day,â he grunted, and you turned to glare out the window again, spiteful now that he left your curiosity unsated. Little brat.Â
Twenty uneventful minutes passed uninterrupted, then, and Simon focused on the route he had set out to follow. Had successfully avoided main roads for the better part of an hour, now electing it safe enough to return to the highway. Took a few dark turn offs, and every time the truck slowed, you visibly tensed up; so terrified that heâd pull over for a rest stop and drag you into the grass on the side of the road.
He didnât like the streetlights. They were confrontational, accusatory, as though their beams of light were enough to alert every cop in the vicinity to his presence underneath them.Â
The highway was largely empty, at least. Only one car passed in the opposite direction as he cruised along the smooth asphalt, decidedly more comfortable to drive on than the tattered backroads. Meant he could drive a lot faster, too. Might have been able to cut his trip by an hour, if he stuck to eighty-five miles an hour for the stretch between there and Birmingham.Â
Your girlish little hands clutched the armrest of the door as he accelerated, the speed of the vehicle pushing you against the window as he followed a curve in the wide road.Â
âYouâre driving too fast,â you said quietly.Â
He cracked a grin. How endearing that you thought to warn him. You were lucky he was trying to keep a low profile, in any other circumstance heâd be brushing a hundred. Then heâd really scare you, wouldnât he? You could do with some toughening up, he thought.Â
âNow youâre worried about the law, eh?â He sneered.Â
âI just donât want to die in a car wreck,â you bit.Â
Seemed his docility was emboldening you. Perhaps you were a hisser, after all. Wondered if he needed to correct your behaviour. Maybe youâd spit on him if he reached over the centre console and fixed his hand to your thigh.Â
âYouâll be fine,â he said.Â
He avoided the arterial motorway that cut through Birmingham, choosing instead to stick to the A roads that bounced between exits and junctions in a zigzag. Hardly efficient, such a route would tack on an extra three hours of travel between there and Manchester, but at least far less monitored than the M5.Â
He got cocky, he supposed.Â
Saw the flashing red-and-blue lights before the sirens started blaring, and you jumped like a bunny â your head wracked around with a speed that made your neck crick, glaring at the cop car through the back windscreen.Â
âFuck,â he barked, through a clenched jaw, eyes jumping between the cruiser in his rearview and the highway ahead of him.Â
He could have shoved his foot down, pressed the accelerator flat to the floor and fled the likely jaded cop patrolling the country highway at eleven p.m. on a Tuesday. There was a chance the fat old bastard wouldnât give chase, but that chance was slim. Simon didnât need the attention.Â
He sunk his foot into the brake and slowed to sixty, veering into the shoulder. âFuckinâ tosser.âÂ
And didnât you perk up? Itching all over to bounce out of your seat, head swinging back to look at the police car twice a second. All twitchy and riled up. He could see what you were thinking, it was printed in your cheeks, bright in your eyes; nowâs your chance.Â
He hoped you werenât that stupid.Â
âYou gonna be a good girl?â He asked rigidly.Â
âWhat do you mean,â you squeaked, panicked, eyes peeled wide and skin glossy with sweat.Â
âMeans keep your fuckinâ mouth shut,â he snapped, lifting up his jersey, and you gawped at the gun against his stomach. âYou make a scene, Iâll have to shoot him. And then Iâll have to shoot you. Yâunderstand?â
You nodded tightly, wiping under your eyes with your palms, some paltry attempt to collect yourself. He sincerely hoped youâd behave. He didnât want to kill you. Would be a waste of a pretty bird. Not to mention a fucking pain in the arse to hide not one, but two bodies.Â
âGood,â he muttered, as he tore off his mask and tossed it on the ground between his feet, slowing the car to a stop on the side of the highway. Rubbed his hand over his buzzed head on instinct, cropped hair velveteen under his palm. Hopeful the knit didnât leave suspicious imprints in his skin.Â
Your lips went a little slack when you looked up to see him unmasked, and a grin creased in his cheeks. Saw plain as day that glimmer in your little eyes, as they scoured over his face as if reading the pages of a book.Â
Didnât think heâd be pretty, did you? He was not ignorant of his looks, and wasnât humble about them either. So blatant in your flustered expression that you liked what you saw, only too virtuous to admit it to yourself.Â
He wound down his window before the policeman approached. He was adept at pretending to be a good boy. Spent decades licking boots in the military, and cops were even easier to please.Â
The officer was middle-aged and saggy-eyed, just as jaded as Simon had predicted. The truck was taller than him, so his hatted head peered through the center of the open window, assessing the cab with his lips in a line.Â
âEveninâ,â Simon said simply.Â
âHeading home, are we?â The officer asked, eyeing up the bird next to the driver, lathering you in more attention than necessary.Â
Couldâve clubbed him in the nose for so shamelessly drooling over you â as far as the cop was likely concerned, you were his bird, not some slapper along for the ride. He had king-hit men for less.Â
âYou bet,â was all he said.Â
âMust be in a hurry,â the cop said derisively, glare finally returning to the driver. âAny clue how fast you were going, mate?âÂ
Mate made Simon twitch. Swallowed back the urge to spit not your fucking mate, instead offering a placating grin and a pat of the steering wheel.Â
âWe are in a bit of a hurry.âÂ
âYeah? Enough of a hurry to be going twenty over the limit?âÂ
âBird tells me to hurry home, I hurry home,â Simon jeered. âYâknow what I mean.âÂ
The officer almost tutted, until your voice cut across from the passenger seat, and Simonâs knuckles turned white on the wheel.Â
âDonât blame me,â you snapped. âItâs not my fault you canât control yourself.âÂ
To Simonâs surprise, the cop chuckled at that.Â
âNeed to rein your fella in, love.âÂ
âI tried,â you lamented. âI told him he was going too fast and he was going to get pulled over. I told him so. Bastard doesnât listen to me.â
Simon blinked in your direction, to see you sitting upright with your arms spitefully crossed over your chest, cheeks red-hot with panic and knee bouncing in frustration. If he didnât know the root of your unease was the fact he had abducted you, heâd have believed you were a contemptuous bird itching to castigate her reckless partner for getting in trouble.Â
Seemed the cop believed that, too. âBirdâs smarter than you, eh?âÂ
Simon snorted, deciding to play along. âThat she is.âÂ
âLooks like youâre in plenty of trouble, then,â he taunted.
Simon looked at you, again, to see you scowling at him before you glowered out the windshield. âMh. Think so.â Â
âYouâre lucky Iâm not in the mood to do the paperwork,â the policeman said sternly. âIâve got your plate, though, so slow down, yeah? Way down. No excuse for eighty-five in a sixty.âÂ
âUnderstood.âÂ
âDonât let me catch you again, eh?âÂ
Simon smiled politely, concealing the chortle that curdled in his throat. Cop wouldnât be seeing him again at all, ever, because he was fucking off to a different country and intended to stay there for as long as he remained under the radar.Â
Heâd have to dump the car, though. With the plate on the record it was fated for the scrapyard.Â
âAppreciate it,â Simon said through an artificial grin. âHave a good one.âÂ
The cop only nodded, patted the car door with a flat hand, before waddling back to his cruiser without another word.Â
Simon was humiliated to admit the relief that doused him was sobering, letting out a ragged sigh as he rolled up the window and twisted the keys in the ignition. He was certain that the encounter would have been far uglier â felt his hand twitching towards the gun on his stomach more than once, imagined how quickly it could have been over if he simply tore it out and pointed it at the wankerâs forehead.Â
You, strange girl, saved his arse. Whether or not you had intended to help him, you did. His eyes fixed to you as he pulled back onto the motorway, speedometer creeping back up to sixty and staying there, while the police car was still in sight.Â
ââBastard doesnât listen to meâ?â He quoted with a brow raised, incredulous amusement rich in his tone. Â
âWhat,â you muttered derisively, staring rigidly out of the passenger window, arms tightly interlocked.Â
âThink of that on the spot, did ya?âÂ
Seemed you were avoiding eye contact with him now, glare fastened out into the moonlit countryside and head bolted still. Ashamed, perhaps, that you had thwarted your only real opportunity to escape him. Or, worried that if you looked at him for too long, your fear of him might have mutated into something far more difficult to justify. He smirked at the thought.Â
âYou should be grateful,â you grumbled.Â
âShould I?âÂ
âYou didnât get arrested because of me.âÂ
He chortled at that. Maybe your tactic to ingratiate yourself was to help him, but he got the sense that wasnât your intention.
âIn that case, âcourse Iâm grateful.â
âThen say thank you,â you spat, finally swivelling your head on your neck to pin your grouchy little lour to him.Â
âThank you,â he crooned, grin sharp.Â
âWhatever,â you griped, slumping back into your seat with a huff.Â
He wasnât sure if he preferred you whining and crying to pouting like a teenager, either option tested his patience. He at least found the latter vaguely amusing, only slightly more endearing than a whimpering abductee in his passenger seat.Â
âThanks not good enough for you?â He asked mordantly, and you scoffed. âWhat, do I have to lick your cunt to prove it?âÂ
Your stare cut to him out of the corner of your eyes, head impudently bowed to avoid facing him head-on.Â
âDonât say things like that,â you murmured uneasily, eyes glittering under the streetlight that passed by.
âLike what?â He sneered, âdonât want me to talk about licking your cunt?âÂ
âShut up,â you chirped, stiff-lipped, tipping your knees away from him and once again scowling out of your window.Â
He snickered at you, couldnât help it, watching you get all tight and restless when he said it again. Certain you were involuntarily picturing his head between your legs, whether you liked it or not.Â
âDonât like the word cunt?â He teased, winding you up for his own enjoyment. âOr donât like thinking of me licking it?âÂ
âStop it,â you whined, shrivelling up like a raisin.Â
He grinned. âI can call it your pussy instead.â
âYouâre disgusting.âÂ
âUh-huh,â he laughed.Â
You turned to tug at the door handle, yanking at it unrelentingly, and it only thumped as you failed to break through the lock. âLet me out.âÂ
âDonât get your knickers in a twist.âÂ
âOpen the fucking door,â you spat, spite simmering in the back of your throat. âLet me out.âÂ
He liked this better. Hissing derision, contemptuous attempts to escape, to demand your freedom. Much more enjoyable than your earlier weeping, all snotty and puffy-eyed.Â
âNot gonna happen,â he said.
âYouâre a pervert,â you growled. Â
âSo?âÂ
âLet me go,â you repeated, glaring daggers at him.Â
âYouâre not goinâ anywhere,â he said candidly, tone as rigid as he intended it to be. He meant it.Â
Again stymied, you slouched over and turned away from him, and went petulantly silent. Simon drove ahead unruffled, took another exit off the motorway â once again trundling over a poorly kept rural road, heading in the direction of the next highway junction half an hour north.Â
It was evident being off the beaten track put you on edge, pellucid in the way you tightened your arms around yourself once the streetlights became fewer and further between. He couldnât blame you, it was certainly slasher-esque to cart you around backroads, where the only buildings were abandoned barns and grain silos. Lucky for you, he wasnât a murderer. Not anymore. Besides, all of his past killing was government sanctioned. Most of it, anyway.Â
You kept your mouth shut for the next long while, huffing and puffing every now and again, making sure not to let him forget how unhappy you were with your circumstances. Strangely enough, he found it endearing.
âI need to pee,â you said suddenly, a squeak, shy to say so.Â
He snorted. âThink Iâm thick?âÂ
âI â Iâm being serious,â you stammered. Unconvincing.Â
âHold it,â he said unsympathetically, turning a left corner, the momentum making you tip into the centre console, your shoulder nudging against his before you spitefully tugged yourself away.
âI canât,â you grouched.Â
âPiss yourself then,â he sneered. âIâm not keepinâ this car.âÂ
Your brows scrunched up in disappointment. âI donât want to â to pee on myself. Thatâs just gross.âÂ
He smiled. Something cute about you.Â
âYou can piss when we stop for the night,â he said. âHowâs that?âÂ
âWeâre stopping?â You asked quietly, blinking at him charily, as if heâd change his mind if you spoke too loud. Â
âBeen a long fuckinâ day,â he grumbled. âIâm not driving for nine hours straight.âÂ
âNine hours?â You pestered, âI thought we were going to Scotland?âÂ
He couldnât help but grin at that. Perhaps it was a Freudian slip â we. Maybe you had come to terms with it already, the ineludible fact that you were stuck with him for however long he wanted to keep you. So far, that looked like a good while.Â
âTaking the long way,â he answered.Â
âWhat the hell, how many people are looking for you?â You asked, pouting in worry.Â
He sucked his teeth. âNot enough to find me.âÂ

You didnât need to pee at all.Â
In fact, your nerves had sucked up every drop of water that remained in your body after your deluge of tears. They were glutted with it. All swollen and pinging with panic every odd moment, when you remembered you were supposed to be in fight-or-flight.Â
You were seething, though, that you had failed to convince him.Â
The plan was poorly conceived, in fairness â you only imagined getting as far as an unlocked door, girding your legs to bolt off into the endless fields on the side of the road in whichever direction they took you. Didnât spend a moment considering whether you could outrun the goliath, or how rough heâd be when he predictably tackled you. Maybe heâd simply have shot you as you ran away, turned it into a game of target practice for his own amusement.Â
There was shame brewing within you, now.Â
Sweltering, emetic, frothy as it crawled up your throat â you were disgusted with yourself, at how pathetic you were being, at how little you had done in the interest of your own escape. How you had let all of it happen.Â
You always imagined yourself a fighter, it was easy to imagine such a thing. In hypotheticals you would kick and scream, could easily overpower your assailants by sheer will, your resolve to survive so strong that capitulation was inconceivable.Â
Reality stung.Â
You werenât a kicker or a screamer. You were a sit-and-waiter, and that realisation was sobering as it was disappointing.Â
Humiliated that you had forsaken a real opportunity at rescue for no discernable reason. No reason you could truly justify. Perhaps you had done it to save the police officer; if you hadnât intervened, your deranged captor would have shot the innocent man for sticking his nose where it didnât belong, and it would have been your fault for making a fuss.Â
Terror was the next excuse, but that didnât quite justify it either. If you were so terrified that the man would shoot you, you would not have uttered a word. No, you would have been quiet, a good girl, just as he ordered you to be.Â
It assuaged your fear, you thought, to see his face.Â
You were surprised to see a face at all beneath the mask, forgetting he was a man and not some caricature of chaos and violence. He looked like a soldier, too. All scarred and cynical, disillusionment was inlaid in his features despite how caustically he grinned at you.Â
His hair was freshly buzzed, sandy blond velvet coating his head, long pink cicatrices carved lines into his scalp as if someone had attempted to cut through it and peel it from his skull. He was tattooed, you could tell, by the teal-black engravings that crept up the side of his neck, the rest concealed by the thick hood of his sweatshirt. Nose a little swollen at the bridge, fractured once and poorly healed.Â
The shame was even more potent when you caught yourself eyeing him for too long, flicking over to him every now and again just to get a glance, the shortest possible eye contact to ensure he didnât catch you staring.Â
Fucking mortifying that he was good-looking.Â
That your mind even allowed you to think so, that your eolithic subconscious had considered your abductorâs appearance at all. The way he had rakishly smirked at you was arrogance manifest, you could see in his russet-brown eyes a patent awareness of your attraction. As if he could smell it on you, goading you to admit it, ego stroked every time you caught his eye.Â
So you didnât.Â
You kept your body tilted away from him, gaze locked out of your passenger window, sweaty hands clamped together. Every now and then you felt his glare on the back of your neck, heard him breathing in your direction â it felt as though you were counting down the minutes until he felt compelled to reach over the console and touch you.Â
It was only a matter of time, undoubtedly. Thatâs what he took you for, you were certain, despite his supposed ambivalence. The thought made your heart sit fat in your throat. Stopping for the night was a deadline.
âWhere are we stopping?â You asked weakly, voice aimed at the passenger door.Â
He let out an exasperated breath. âNot sure yet.â
âAre you going to sleep in the car?âÂ
He seemed to find that amusing. âI might not look it, love, but Iâm a creature of comfort,â he said. âIâll get us a bed.âÂ
Us. You shivered when he said it.Â
A scornful refusal knocked at the back of your teeth, but you knew how heâd twist it, would mock your aversion. Heâd make another foul little quip about your pussy, you thought.Â
You didnât want to give him the chance to say the word again. Not simply because it was revolting to listen to the degenerate joke about eating you out â licking your cunt, it echoed in the sauna of your skull â but because the mere mention of it turned your cheeks claret-red and the back of your neck all clammy.Â
What was worse, is that you knew he could see it on you. Plainly emboldened by how much it ruffled you. Could decipher your unease as an effort to conceal some biomechanical reaction, one provoked by the mere suggestion of it, by the vibrations of his voice as he said it.Â
âDo me a favour,â He suddenly demanded.
You refused to turn and look at him. âWhat.âÂ
âGrab me a fag, will ya?âÂ
Animosity congealed in your mouth. The fucking gall to request favours of you. âFrom where?âÂ
âBag in the back there,â he said simply, âlightâs in there too.âÂ
âFine.âÂ
You peered behind the headrest, his unzipped duffle bag was dumped on the back seat; just out of reach if you were to extend an arm between the gap. Instead you had to twist your entire body and contort yourself through the middle, waist between the front seats as you climbed over the console.
You resented being in such a position, arse jutting out towards the windshield, unable to see the driver that sat so close to you â so you were quick about it, burrowing through the sack, stuffed to the brim with junk, and myriad different brands of cigarette cartons.Â
âWhich ones do you want,â you asked impatiently.
He huffed as he thought about it. âWhatâve we got?âÂ
âUm,â you murmured, digging through the cardboard cartons. âMayfairs, Richmonds⊠uh. Embassies, Davidoffsââ
âMh. Giâs a davidoff,â he interrupted.Â
You followed his instruction and plucked out the trim red box, and an orange Bic lighter once you found it at the bottom of the bag, wedged between wads of cash. You peeled away the thin plastic covering and flipped open the card lid as you reeled your body back between the seats â immediately you caught him lavishing your rear in attention. He sniffed casually when he caught your eye, utterly shameless.Â
Heart shuddered in your ears as you sat back down in your seat, gooseflesh prickling up in your skin as you held the carton out for him to pluck out a roll.Â
He pinched the end of one and stuck it between lips curled over his teeth, before gesturing wordlessly for you to give him the lighter.Â
âYouâre a doll,â he said, muffled by the filter in his lips. Jaw jutted out to angle up the cigarette, he flicked the lighter in his fist with his thumb, little orange flame hovering under the end of the roll as he sucked it.Â
âWhatever,â you grumbled, swiftly turning away from him to return your attention to the road out the window.Â
Seemed he was approaching some area of population, little brick houses began popping up on the side of the street, lampposts peppering the road ahead. A surge of adrenaline made your hackles spike up â bystanders, you thought, people who might have heard you if you screamed loud enough.Â
âWant a puff?â He asked indifferently.Â
âI donât smoke,â you snarked, distracted.Â
He snorted. âGoodie girl, are ya?âÂ
âNo,â you said curtly.Â
âMh, thatâs right â youâre a little thief,â he taunted. âNot a good girl at all.âÂ
There was no response that would spare you his teasing, so you kept your mouth shut. Stayed silent for the remainder of the drive, in fact, a solid quarter-hour â until the car bounced over something and you jolted in your seat. Quickly realised he had pulled up into a parking lot as the truck began to slow.Â
A two-star Travelodge, evidently, one planted directly on the side of the northbound highway. It looked barren, coral bricks all grimy with lichen and sludgy brown water stains, every window blocked by shut curtains. Not a single light glowed from within a hotel room, only the dim yellow lantern bolted to the wall above the sliding door at the entrance.Â
You held your tongue in your teeth as he drove to a park at the very back of the lot, under a low-hanging tree branch, concealed by shadow. Your skin began to itch, crawling with bugs and alight with adrenaline â you could run, now, if he opened your door. Maybe you could sprint to the nearest building and hammer on the door, shriek that youâd been kidnapped, and to please please call the police. Or, maybe you could try to snatch his gun from him and shoot him in the fucking head.Â
Instead you sat still in your seat. Felt your chest breaking out in a panic rash.Â
âRighâ,â he said casually as he killed the engine, the suspension of the truck bouncing under the weight of him as he adjusted in his seat. âLook at me.âÂ
You shook your head in refusal. Entire body stiff as wood. Anticipation frayed your nerves and made your hairs stand on end. It was suddenly real.Â
You kept your eyes pinned away from him, but it was futile, because he reached a massive arm across the gap and seized your jaw in a single hand. Fingers dimpled your cheeks as he twisted your head to face him, and you attempted to scowl at him, but your quivering lip made plain your alarm.Â
âYou gonna make a fuss?â He asked stiffly, pinching his cigarette with his free fingers, silvery smoke clouding out from behind his teeth.Â
You just about said no on reflex, but bit down on it instead, because it likely would have been a lie. Only pouted at him scornfully and shivered in his grip.Â
âWhat dâyou think will happen if you do.âÂ
You swallowed. âYouâll shoot me.âÂ
He shook his head. âWould be an uncomfortable night for you, though, I can tell yâthat.âÂ
A crease pulled between your brows. âAre you going to â to beat me up, or something?âÂ
He chuckled at that, a cocksure grin; you suddenly felt a weight in your chest, burning hot, made your ribs sink and your heart flutter.Â
You hadnât yet seen his face up close. His cheeks were stubbled, skin peppered with freckles and the creases of early aging. Teeth were sharp and unexpectedly white, raffishly crooked with pointed canines, a silver cap on a premolar. His lips were full, pale, a single scar running through the top one, white stripe in the ruddy pink.Â
The shame returned with a kick to the stomach when you noticed yourself staring at his mouth, and you tried to look away from him, but he riveted your head in place.Â
âDonât plan on it,â he said, after a beat too long.Â
Sweat pricked along your hairline. âThen what.â
âIâd like to have a nice long snooze,â he grumbled. âI donât wanna be up all night wrangling you. So if you throw a tantrum youâll be sleeping tied up with a sock in your throat. Sâthat what you want?âÂ
âNo,â you chirped.Â
He nodded approvingly. âI donât want that either. I like the sound oâ your voice. Be a shame to snuff it out, wouldnât it?âÂ
You attempted to nod, and though his hand kept you still he understood the intention. With a ragged sigh he finally released you, giving you a condescending pat on the cheek.Â
With a grunt he suddenly twisted and leaned between the seats, gargantuan body taking up the entire cab as he reached behind you to grab his duffle bag, and you wedged yourself against the door to avoid touching him.Â
Clambered about as he reeled the giant bag back to the front, before snatching the car keys out of the ignition and unlocking the driver side door. He kicked it open and hopped out with a huff, immediately slamming it shut behind him â only unlocked your door with his keys only once he was directly outside it, pre-empting any of your attempts to slip away.Â
He opened the door for you with a clunk, and the biting air of the late autumn night made your entire body tighten up.Â
âGet out,â he said. Â
You nodded, swivelling yourself on your bottom and sliding out of the truck cab, landing directly in front of him. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and left the stub smoking on the concrete.Â
âCâmon.â He fixed a hand to your bicep and yanked you away from the car, shutting the door with a slam.Â
You were light on your feet as he ferried you towards the entrance to the cheap hotel, his other fist white-knuckled around the strap of his bag.Â
âYou donât needââ you chirped, almost tripping over your feet, ââto hold me so tight.âÂ
âNo?â He snorted.Â
âIâm not gonna run,â you spat, hushed despite yourself.Â
âObviously.â
The sliding glass doors trundled open as you approached them, a tired ding echoing out to welcome you. The reception was quiet, poorly lit by vibrating fluorescent bars, stunk of fresh linen toilet spray and floor cleaner.Â
Your abductor let go of your arm abruptly when he noticed the receptionist â a teenage boy with headphones on, who disinterestedly looked up from a Nintendo Switch to address the tall brute that sauntered in with you in tow.Â
âYâafter a room?â The kid asks monotonously.Â
âStandard double.â
The receptionist clicked around on the computer, smacking chewing gum between his teeth âHow many nights.âÂ
âJust the one.âÂ
Click click. âItâs sixty-eight for the night.âÂ
âYâtake cash?âÂ
The kid frowned dubiously at that, jaw hanging open as he rolled the wad of white gum along his tongue. âSure.âÂ
âLovely,â your abductor grunted, unzipping the flap of his duffle bag and fishing out a thick wad of paper notes.Â
Jaw gaped as you watched him unashamedly finger between the notes to pluck out three twenties and a tenner, slapping them on the counter of the reception before tucking the stack away again. As agog as the receptionist at his brazenness, all but showing off his spoils, plainly stolen.Â
The kid pouted skeptically as he swiped the notes and counted them again, tucking them aside, and you wondered if he used the same technique as you.Â
He dropped a keycard on the counter. âRoom thirteen,â he said.Â
âCheers.âÂ
Your abductor scooped up his bag and planted his other hand on the small of your back, nudging you ahead of him towards the narrow hallway, never allowing more than two feet to grow between his body and yours.Â
You glanced around feverishly as you wandered meekly down the corridor, identical doors mirroring each other for as far as you could see, until the hall turned a corner. Eyes clung to the glowing green emergency exit lights dotted along the ceiling, as if they might lead you to your salvation.Â
âCanât believe you actually paid for a room,â you murmured spitefully, when he nudged you forward by the arse as if guiding a ewe.Â
âWouldnât want to break the law,â he chuffed.Â
In any other circumstance you wouldâve giggled. You might have found him funny if he werenât the deranged fugitive who had kidnapped you.Â
A yank of your shirt stopped you in your tracks, tugging you back â your abductor had flippantly taken your t-shirt in a fist, as he shoved the key card into its slot under the handle of a door behind you.Â
âIn,â he snipped, shoving you through the door once he had pushed it open.Â
The room was small. Hardly enough room for the double bed in the middle of it, skinny end tables wedged on either side. The only amenities were a shin-height fridge and a kettle on a bench, tucked into a nook by the door. It was hot in there, too â radiator bubbling all day, you guessed, to counteract the cold weather.Â
Immediately you fixed your stare on the window by the bed; a good metre across, brown aluminium trim, lumpy textured glass that distorted the view of whatever sat directly outside the hotel room. Ground floor, you thought, easy to slip out, if you could open it â
Noticed, then, that there was no indication it could be opened at all. No hinges, no frames, no handles. Simply a flat plane of glass stuck in the wall.Â
Your stomach wrung itself, and you did your best not to keel over. The air was suddenly infinitely stuffier, sweltering, torrid in your lungs.Â
He flipped shut the bolt on the door, and landed a pat on your shoulder. You could unlatch it, obviously, but the old thing was squeaky, clanking old brass, and undoing it would certainly alert him.Â
He nudged you out of his way and dumped his duffle bag on the floor beside the bed, evidently claiming the side closest to the door, as if prepared to catch you should you try to slip around him.Â
In truth, the notion of escape was scarcely a whisper. Supplanted by a nauseating docility â a survival instinct, you thought, to simply behave. To do as you were told.Â
He began undressing himself, uninterested in whether you observed him; shucked off his old leather jacket and hung it over the back of his bag, unlaced and kicked off his muddy old boots. Your toes curled involuntarily into the soles of your shoes, watching him like a degenerate, as he tore off his hoodie and t-shirt and tossed them to the floor.Â
Something out of a movie, you thought; gargantuan beast of a man, broad-shouldered and cladded in such a dizzying mass of muscle and adipose bulk that he looked encumbered by it all. The icteric light of the sconces by the bed carved out the divots in his back, the valley of his spine, the symmetrical dimples above the waistband of his jeans â you felt sick with yourself, that you even let your eyes venture there, but they cleaved fast to him despite your chagrin.Â
He was slathered in tattoos as you had imagined, all flames and skulls and barbed wire, broken up by the occasional stamp of something more meaningful â a sacred heart, serif-font numbers, somebodyâs name with a date beneath it. You could read it from where you stood; Johnny, 11/2023.
You were only thankful he hadnât turned around â couldnât see you leering at him, and spared you having to see him from the front.Â
âStill need to piss?â He asked roughly, and your lips twisted.Â
âNo,â you said, still standing awkwardly by the door.Â
He snickered. âSeemed pretty desperate before.âÂ
âI â yeah,â you stammered, âI donât know. Iâm fine.âÂ
Gave you a shrug as he lumbered into the ensuite bathroom, and you heard the unbuckling of a belt and zip of a fly, the clunk of metal on a counter, then the steady stream of his piss landing in the toilet water.Â
You scoffed in revulsion. Fucking pig. Couldnât even close the door. You heard him rinse off his hands at least, though you couldnât be sure he had used any soap.Â
He emerged from the bathroom rubbing his shaven head and with his belt undone, leather straps hanging loose from his hips, zipper of his jeans wide open. His gun was gone. Plaid boxers bunched up, distended by the mass within and protruding through his fly â you felt yourself turn berry pink, more repulsed by yourself than him.Â
This time he caught you staring, and he was manifestly pleased about it. A smug grin pulled in his lips as he shuffled towards you, and you rested your weight on your back foot.Â
âYâwant a Valium?â He asked you, and you frowned at him bewilderedly.Â
âWhat?âÂ
In front of you, now, you panted like a cornered animal in the shadow he cast. âMight help you sleep.âÂ
You grimaced at him. âYou just want to knock me out.âÂ
He snorted. âWhy would I do that?âÂ
The daggers you stared at him served as your only reply, and he half-heartedly rolled his eyes at you.Â
âYou reckon Iâd want to fuck a sleeping bird?âÂ
âProbably,â you muttered, averting his gaze when he uttered the word.Â
âNo fun in that,â he said simply. âNo nice noises if youâre asleep.âÂ
You scoffed, perturbed by how he discussed it happening with you as if it were an inevitability. âWhat, like screaming?â
He cracked a grin. âScreamer, are ya?â
Your blood went runny. âStop it.âÂ
He brushed a knuckle under your chin, and you flinched â but to your relief, he relented. Turned away from you and squeezed the back of his neck as if to release tension.Â
âGet into bed,â he grumbled, plodding towards the bathroom, returning swiftly with his gun in hand.Â
You went cold. âWhy?âÂ
âThe fuck do you think?â He replied curtly, shoving his pistol under his pillow, before he pulled his jeans down and your mouth went dry.Â
âI donât want to,â you squeaked.Â
He chuffed at that. âChrist, fucking is the only thing on your mind, inât it?â He taunted, âdonât get all worked up.âÂ
âIâm â Iâm not worked up, youââ
âIâm too tired for this shit,â he grunted, âân Iâm not havinâ you up and about while Iâm sleeping. Get into bed or Iâll put you in bed.âÂ
There was no give in his expression, it was a final order. He did look tired â eyes were sunken and beset with aubergine rings, lids heavy with frustration and exhaustion. He stood with hands hooked on his hips as he impatiently awaited your acquiescence, and you sensed you were on a short timer. Â
âFine,â you murmured, shuffling around the end of the bed with your arms crossed tightly, eyes averting him.
He watched you, though. Scrutinised your every move as you bent over to untie your shoelaces, pulling off your converses and dumping them on the carpet.Â
âSleepinâ in your jeans?â He jeered, when you reached to pull back the blankets.
âIâm not taking my clothes off,â you retorted, sitting on the mattress and swiftly tucking yourself under the covers. The mattress was foamy, soft, sunk deep as though permanently impressed by all the bodies that have ever slept in it.Â
âHardly comfortable,â he said, smirking, decidedly amused.Â
âDonât care,â you groused, rolling onto your side away from him, blanket up to your ears.Â
He chuckled. âSuit yourself.â
You bounced on the mattress as he fell into it, springs moaning as they sunk deep beneath him, and you felt your body tip back towards him â you curled up, as close to the edge of the bed as you could get without toppling over the side.Â
He switched off the sconce above the bed, and the room was abruptly black as pitch.Â
The mattress recoiled as he adjusted himself, settling into bed with a gruff sigh, and you felt his warm breathing on the back of your head.Â
He seemed to find comfort quickly; exhales turning deep and languid, you sensed he had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.Â
There was some relief in that. Temporarily escaping him while he was unconscious.Â
With your heart thundering in your ears, though, sleep was impossibly out of reach for you. You could hardly keep your eyes shut, they fluttered and twitched as you tried to close them, and theyâd bolt back open as though spring-loaded.Â
Nowâs your chance â it echoed ad nauseum in your skull like the chiming of a clock, over and over until your ears rang.Â
You could have slithered out of bed and scurried to the door, unbolted it and ran down the hallway if you were quick enough. You could have used the steel-legged chair in the corner to shatter the window and sprint into the night. You could have slipped a hand under his pillow nice and slow, snatched his gun from under his head and shot him while he slept.Â
Instead you lay dead still, save for the trembling that never quite subsided.Â
You tried to vivisect your own mind while you stagnated in the bed. Attempted to determine why you failed to enact your own rescue, why you actively avoided pursuing your freedom.Â
The answer eluded you, in concrete terms anyway.Â
Truth was, you didnât know where youâd go.Â
Literally, of course â you had no idea where you were, no phone with you, no sense of direction. You could run to a bystander and ask, of course, but you didnât want to do that either.Â
It was as if you didnât want to go back.Â
The thought of it nauseated you almost as gruesomely as the uncertainty of the path ahead. Of being dragged back to Dunhill, of being back to square one, of having no money, no prospects, no future.Â
It was the obscurity, you thought, that kept you there. Something new. Something different, albeit terrifying. The ambiguity of any future, however short, was somehow preferable than the certainty of not having one at all.Â
Worse to admit was whatever churning you felt between your legs. What seed he had planted when he took you had taken root, tendrils burrowing into the recesses of you and tumescing with a reluctant anticipation. You all but throbbed with it, as if your body were preparing itself for the inevitable, manipulating your mind into assenting to it.Â
It made you feel sick, and your skin was febrile, sticky with apprehension.Â
You were baking â the air was thick with it, stifling heat, though in truth it was likely your thundering nerves that set your body alight. Too anxious to release yourself from under the covers, or to roll into a cooler position, or to flip over your pillow to the cooler side.Â
You lay cocooned for as long as you could bear the heat, but your blood was molten and your head began to ache, and you resorted to uncovering yourself.Â
You did it desperately slowly, peeling the cover away from you inch by inch, and even in the air you found no relief. Your last resort was to turn off the radiator â if you could â but youâd need to get out of bed for that.Â
Slinked a leg over the edge of the mattress, whisper-slow, used your elbow to prop yourself upâ
You felt a hand grab at your hip, and you were unceremoniously yanked back into the bed with a squeak.Â
âWhere dâyou think youâre goinâ,â he grunted, voice gratingly hoarse after a half-hour sleep.Â
A ten-tonne arm was suddenly hooked over your waist, and you were flush with his back, his knees folded in behind yours.Â
âI just wanted to turn the heater off,â you whispered, hoping he wouldnât hear you.Â
âToo hot, eh?âÂ
You exhaled shakily. âYeah.âÂ
âYâknow why youâre too hot,â he murmured, and you felt him stick his fingers into the back of your skinny jeans, tugging the stretchy waistband and snapping it against your lower back. Â
âI just canât s-sleep when itâs warm,â you stuttered, tongue tangling in your mouth.Â
âBit restless, are ya?âÂ
You felt his hand glide over your belly, and your muscles turned to stone, entire body tensing up with the touch.Â
âIâm not havinâ you tossing and turning all night,â he grumbled, thumbing at the button of your jeans, unfastening it with a pinch.Â
âDonât do that,â you breathed, heart plugging your trachea, unable to swallow a real breath.Â
He persisted unimpeded as if he had not heard you, pushing down your zipper and stuffing his hand unhesitantly down the front of your underwear.Â
You squeaked in fright the moment his fingers brushed your mons â every millilitre of blood in your body flooded out of your extremities and pooled between your legs, a reflexive reaction that fired off every nerve ending under your skin.Â
âNo, d-donâtââ your whimpers of refusal eked out between your teeth on instinct, but their root lay more in humiliation than fear.Â
His hand was icy against your feverish skin, and goosebumps bristled out from his touch â your vision went foggy as a cold middle finger the size of two of yours slid along your seam, lips went slack as the tip burrowed deeper.Â
âFuckinâ hell,â he grunted, his stony voice tickling the hairs on the nape of your neck, âyou are warm, arenât ya?â
âStop it,â you whined, half-heartedly, defeat viscid on your tongue.Â
His finger snaked deeper between your legs, the others flush with the puffy outer lips of your cunt, thumb burrowing into your groin as he wedged his hand in the tight gap between your pussy and your jeans.Â
He chortled under breath when the tip of his finger broached your entrance, dipping into the mortifying abundance of your fluid that had pooled there. God, there was so much of it, you were humiliated â you had been in denial, ignoring it, even as you felt it slicken the gusset of your underwear, maybe even the inseam of your jeans. It was only instinctive, you told yourself, it wasnât like thatâ
âJesus Christ, girl,â he chuffed, breathless, and you could not for the life of you tell whether he was proud or disgusted. âMade you wait too long, did I?âÂ
You shivered, cunt pulsing around nothing, felt the nettle sting of adrenaline crawling down your spine.Â
âN-no, Iââ
Bit down on your tongue as his slippery finger dragged up between your folds, catching your clitoris with a swipe and making your legs clamp together in a vice.Â
He only scoffed in awe. âSensitive thing.âÂ
âStop doing that,â you mewled, so embarrassed that your cheeks were aflame, ears burning red-hot, heart galloping in your chest.Â
He didnât believe your attempts at refusal, and you werenât certain you did either â not when he stroked your clit with the palp of his finger, up and down, all of his movement honed in on the one spot that made you choke on air.Â
âNot so bad, is it,â he sneered.Â
You curled up like a cat, but he kept you fastened to him, immovable hand burrowed deep in your jeans. His finger slid between your folds effortlessly despite how hard you pressed your legs together â there was no escaping it, every brush of his fingertip against your slippery clit burned more than the last, igniting an inferno in the core of you that seemed inextinguishable.Â
Fucking humiliating, degrading, shameful, that the brute who had abducted you could make you feel that good, do so little to have you so, soâ
âYouâre a fuckinâ furnace,â he jabbed, and he swiftly tugged his hand from between your legs and out of your jeans.Â
Whatever remorseful noise spilled from your mouth was beyond you, high-pitched and so wanton it made you sick to hear it, but he only snickered.Â
âQuit whingeinâ,â he chided, taking your waistband in a fist.
He hiked your jeans down with a violent tug, tearing them down to your thighs, underwear pulled down with them. What little abnegation you had left turned to sugar on your tongue, dissolving in your saliva and sliding down your throat.Â
The blanket was gone, then, pulled off and pooled at the end of the bed â the slightly cooler air biting at your bare skin scarcely settled your tempers, even less so when he roughly shoved his hand between your legs again, now unobstructed. Three avid fingers prodded against your hole as if to collect the syrup that pooled there, slickening themselves before they dragged back up.Â
You yelped like a kicked puppy when he kneaded your clit, pads of his fingers pressing and pulling in firm circles, bud swollen and shuddering and so sensitive it was sore.Â
You could only whine about it, now unwilling to fight him off and likely incapable even if you wanted to. He had you riveted to him, chest solid against your back, heaving arm locking you in place. Your compunctions had melted, deliquescing into the stodgy recesses of your mind; usurped by the revoltingly animal, blood-thinning want that thundered in your temples and made your mouth all wet.Â
âDonât, p-please, youâreââ
âThaâs it, girl,â he rumbled, directly into the back of your skull, and it made you dizzy. âLet it happen.âÂ
Your core tightened up, cunt constricting as tight as a vice, painfully empty â the surge was as sudden as a flash flood, just as violent, and you drowned in it as it swept you under. You came beneath his fingers with a winded whimper, so forcefully you bucked your legs to evade him, bullied clit ablaze and spasming in waves that made your heart stop with each contraction.Â
âFuckinâ hell,â he chortled, easing his infliction but not yet stopping. âListen to you.âÂ
âShut up,â you whined, unable to catch your breath.Â
âThatâll help you sleep, eh?â He teased, fingers finally retreating, trailing your slick up your mons before he landed flat on his back with a huff.
You were molten, sweaty hair clinging to the nape of your neck, and you wanted nothing more than to take off all your clothes and have a cold shower. All you could muster was your jeans, though, already half-off â you used your feet to peel them down to your calves, kicking them off into nowhere. Your shame had dissolved, now, utterly irretrievable.Â
The stale air was cool against the wetness of your inflamed cunt when you rolled onto your back; a potent relief, despite how unbecoming you felt it to leave yourself so exposed in the company of a bedlamite.
âNow stop fussing,â he grunted, settling into the mattress, hand resting on his stomach. âDonât want you wakinâ me up again.âÂ
You couldnât have fussed, even if you tried. Body utterly siphoned of all energy, mind as foggy and blank as smoke.Â
It took you less than a minute to fall asleep.Â
Morning came with rain.Â
The glow of daylight through the embossed window was powdery white, you heard the gentle patter of raindrops landing on the pane, the loud dripping of a leaky gutter pipe somewhere outside.Â
Your mouth was chalky, tongue swollen, vision too blurry to identify where you were at a glance.Â
The realisation rinsed you like cold water when you heard the gruff breathing from beside you. Heavy and deep, the warmth of a body lying too close to you, you felt the hirsute skin of a leg against yours.Â
You were nauseous as you remembered the night before, when your legs brushed together and you noticed they were bare â no underwear on either, the sheets tangled up between your feet and your hair greasy on your forehead. Your cunt was still sticky and it made you wince to move and feel it, remembering how he had touched you, that his fingers were likely still covered in the dried residue of the orgasm he had milked from you.Â
The remorse was as pounding as a migraine. Brontide in your skull that made the room spin, and you wanted nothing more than a glass of icy water and some ibuprofen. Â
You peered over your shoulder at your abductor; lying on his side with an arm folded under his pillow, shoulders rising and collapsing with each heavy breath, scarred face somehow peaceful in his slumber. It was surreal to witness him like that, observing him in his most vulnerable state â you knew his gun was under that pillow, but the thought of trying to steal it faltered as fast as it came.Â
Instead you slipped out of the bed, pattering on the soft soles of bare feet to the tiny kitchenette, and filled up a brown glass mug with tap water. You drank it all in three hard gulps, then filled up another.Â
He didnât stir, not even slightly. In such a deep sleep that you likely could have put your jeans back on and unbolted the door without even waking him.Â
Instead you went into the ensuite, shutting the door behind you. The bulbous knob had a push-button to lock it, but it was loose, and no matter how many times you pushed it, it failed. You gave up quickly, though â didnât want to wake him up yet.Â
The bathroom was arranged nonsensically â the toilet sat by the door, the vanity across from the shower that was tucked into the corner. Its glass walls were grimy with limescale, every amenity made of faded ivory acrylic and stained brown at the edges where the janitors had failed to clean it. Â
You flushed the toilet when you saw that he hadnât and swore under your breath in disgust. Fucking animal. You quickly peed, rinsed out your mouth with water from the sink, then turned on the shower. You only had a t-shirt to take off, revolted that it was all you had worn during the night. You hung it on the towel rail.Â
You kept the water lukewarm, too sensitive for cold and too feverish for hot. An array of cheap mini soaps and shampoos lined the tiny in-built caddy, and you were not frugal in using them. Used almost the entire bottle of body wash to lather every crevice of your body, washing away the sweat of panic and ignominious lust that mired your skin. Shampooed and conditioned your hair with products that smelt like pine and citrus with an undercurrent of battery acid.Â
The water was cleansing, a pleasant distraction, and you shut your eyes as you rinsed off your face, rubbing the grease off your skin.Â
You rubbed your eyes before you opened them â immediately spotted a silhouette outside the shower, and a blood-curdling scream erupted from your chest as you sprung from the ground. Almost slipped over when you landed on the PVC floor, but you managed to catch yourself with your hands on the glass.
âWhat the fuck!â You shrieked, heart galloping so rapidly you worried it would break a rib.Â
He was blurry through the spray of water landing on the shower walls, but you could see him lumber towards the shower door. You shrunk into the corner when he cracked it open, back firm against the square tiles as if you could slip through the fractures in the grout.Â
He stepped into the shower as if he hadnât noticed you there, leviathan that he was, his body took up two thirds of the space in the narrow glass box. Boxers were gone, his cock hung heavy and unashamedly, and your stare caught on it like a fish on a hook. Fucking bludgeon of a thing; it swung as though prideful, thick from root to head, roped with veins and sheathed in rosy foreskin. Half-hard, it jutted out from his bed of wheaten curls at a forty-five degree angle, and it bounced as he took a step.Â
You looked at it for too long, breath caught in your gullet, and he noticed.Â
âSettle down,â he taunted, hardly a croak, morning voice abraded and gurgling from his throat. He shut the shower door behind him.Â
You had a plethora of disputes to mount â get the fuck out, how dare you, you didnât even knock â but they all fizzled at the back of your throat, when he hauled you out of the corner by the hips, swivelling you around until your nose was flush with the shower wall. Kept you there with a hand cuffed around the back of your neck, wet hair knotting in his fingers.Â
âYou canâtââ
âPrettier than I thought,â he murmured to himself, a rough hand smoothing from your hip to your ass, brazenly taking a handful and squeezing hard enough to make you chirp.
âGet offââ
You choked on the rest of your dispute when he packed his hand between your legs, the gap tight where you held your thighs together â he gave no warning when he snaked his finger between your folds, nudging for an entrance.Â
It happened so fast you couldnât catch a breath â he found it quickly when your hole twitched at the intrusion, and you yelped in shock when he unhesitantly pushed it inside you to the knuckle, palm flush with the base of you.Â
âLovely little cunt.âÂ
And despite every effort to maintain some dignity, every bulwark you had attempted to erect against succumbing to your baser appetites, came toppling down in the quake of his words. Scruples sloughed off from you like the shed of a snake, and whatever slithered free was as shameless as she was hungry.Â
âMh, still nice and warm after last night, inât she,â he crooned, flexing his finger to push it deeper before raking it out.Â
He was priming you, evident in how he stretched you open around his thick finger, pumping it in and out of you as though assessing how deep he could go. You pressed your forehead against the cold tile, toes curling into the plastic shower floor, whimpering like a wounded animal.
You felt like one, when he tried to push a second finger in â he had to wriggle it to wedge it in, bully it deeper before your hole could stretch to fit it. It stung where the fragile skin pulled taut, but it was a delicious pain, like the burn of liquor or the sting of pulled hair.Â
âChrist, thatâs tight,â he grunted into the shell of your ear, and a chill prickled down the side of your neck.Â
He ran out of patience, you supposed, because he slid his fingers out of you and your cunt spasmed in protest of its emptiness. He had spun you around then, handling your body like a ragdoll, moving you right where he wanted you â had his hands under your ass in a blink, and he deftly hoisted you upward, back grinding against the tile wall.Â
You hooked your legs around his hips on instinct, arms slung over his shoulders when he put them there, his face level with yours. Water ran in rivulets down his face, dripping from his hairline and off his chin. Pupils distended and black as tar, beady as a shark, and glaring into the depths of them made your tongue even wetter.Â
His titanic arms held you up without exertion, and one released your thigh to scoop underneath you â held his cock upright in a fist, and with no pause he lodged the clubbed head of his cock against your opening. He pushed in with his full weight, reaming you open on the girth of it, and your eyes glassed over.Â
The noises you made were animal, mewling and gasping, coughing when he landed against the spongy plug of your womb, cock as hard as a gun barrel and just about as threatening.Â
âFu-hu-huck,â he chuffed into your cheek, voice oozing ardent satisfaction, vibrating directly into your skull. âThaâs heaven.âÂ
It tracked that he was a talker, given how chatty he was for the duration of the drive â but you liked it. God, you liked it. Mortifying, yet liberating to admit to yourself, that you wanted to hear him talk; you wanted to hear him tell you how lovely, how pretty, how perfect you were.Â
âAll sweet now, arenât ya?â He purred, bouncing you upward as he rutted hard. âJust what she needed, mh?â
You almost said it aloud â yes crept along your tongue and prickled at the tip, but you werenât quite ready to let loose the confession. It escaped instead as a moan, head rocking back and knocking against the tile, and he let out a low chuckle, because you said it in all but words.Â
âYeah,â he grunted, panting, pelvis grinding against yours as he pistoned into you, somehow deeper every thrust. âFuckinâ knew it. Barmy for it the second I walked in, werenât ya?âÂ
He grabbed your face by the jaw, angling your head to look directly at him, the squeeze of his fingers forcing your lips to pucker. His cheeks were ruddy, blood fresh and hot under his skin, eyes rabid with hunger and pride. They scoured every feature on your face and you melted beneath their attention.Â
âGorgeous girl, arenât you?âÂ
He rutted with purpose, chasing his own end with no mind paid to your squeaks of sore rapture, grunting as his cock reeled out and stuffed you full again in steady rhythm. You could only burrow your fingernails into the meat of his back, carving into his wet skin as if holding on for dear life.Â
âJust fuckinâ perfect,â he grunted, a tirade that persisted through every thrust,Â
âSweetest thing I ever stole.âÂ
âWho needs fuckinâ money, eh?âÂ
âHit the jackpot with you, dinât I?âÂ
âMight just keep you forever.âÂ
âYouâd like that, wouldnât ya, sweetheart?âÂ
Perhaps your brain had been knocked against your skull one too many times, turned soggy and stupid in the heat, because you whimpered; âY-yeah.âÂ
His brows shot up at that, shocked â but that surprise quickly gave way to a lavish conceit, a vicious smile that oozed pride for having conquered your inhibitions without even having to try. Youâd have been embarrassed if you had the capacity for it anymore, but all shame had been bled from you.Â
âYeah?â He goaded, grin wide and jaw loose, panting through his teeth. âWant me to steal you away, eh?âÂ
You nodded as much as he would allow you to, and his lips planted on your chin as though tempted to bite you.Â
âI can do that, love,â he crooned, âI can take yâwhere no one will ever find ya. Keep you all for mâself.âÂ
You whined when he only fucked you harder, tender skin of your back chafing against the grout with every jolt. Seemed he was approaching the summit of his own pleasure â huffing like a bull, thrusting with anger, not nearly as chatty as he had been for the rest of it.Â
âAgh, shitââ he groaned, mouth landing on your shoulder, teeth catching your skin. âFuckinâ hellââ
He hastily reached underneath you to unsheathe his cock from your hole, leaving your cunt bitterly empty and convulsing in its sudden vacuity â his entire body jerked against you as he came, you felt his cock jolt beneath the cleft of you as it spurted ropes come against the tiled wall he held you to.Â
His climactic groans were music, to you, little lecher that you were. Some foul part of you was remorseful he hadnât come inside you instead, hadnât carelessly pumped you full of it â not a drop of rationality left within you, evidently.Â
You didnât expect him to kiss you, but he did; planted a slovenly kiss on the side of your neck, pillowy lips wet with saliva and the water of the still-running shower.Â
He released you, then â didnât quite drop you, lowered you as gracefully as he could before letting you land on your feet with a thud. Gave you a pet on the head as though to praise you, a prideful kiss into your scalp.Â
He shut off the water with a shove of the chipping lever, and the showerhead continued to leak fat drops of water despite it being shut off. He pushed opened the shower door for you, and you slipped out, sodden feet landing on the bathmat.Â
There were scant words exchanged as you handed him one of the towels, using the other to dry yourself off. You couldnât help but watch him as he rubbed himself down with the teal-blue cotton, polishing his head like a bowling ball, flossing under his arms, unabashedly rubbing the towel under his balls to dry between his legs. Something in his nonchalance, unapologetically going about it all as if it were normal, was endearing to you. Made your hackles soften, if they were still at all raised.Â
You put your t-shirt back on, wishing you had a change of clothes, and ventured back into the bedroom â the air was still thick with the dusty warmth of the heater, and ripe with the musk of both of the worked up bodies that had spent the night in it.Â
âGet dressed,â came a demand from behind you, followed by a coaxing pat on your bare arse. âNeed to hit the road.âÂ
You looked over your shoulder at him, watching as he pulled on his boxers, tucking his cock away and snapping the elastic waistband around his hips. You picked up your knickers from where they had landed on the carpet the night before, shimmying up your legs.Â
Couldnât yet believe what you were girding yourself for. What you had already accepted as the next step you would take.Â
You caught his eye, a pout in your lips;Â
âCan we get breakfast first?âÂ

i've got a pinterest board for this one. the vibes have been stewing for a long while
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#cod smut#cod fanfic#call of duty fanfic#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x female reader#bella-writes
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â under their noses â chapter one
a series by © luvbabydoll â inspired by @goatgoesmbe
you never intended to start an only fans.
but between nursing school, grueling shifts, and bills that refused to pay themselves, you had to get creative. and what started as a desperate attempt to make ends meet quickly turned into a steady income.
the men on their seemed to like you. they liked your voice, the softness in your tone, the way you spoke like you meant it. you never showed your full face, but that only added to the mystery. you played into itâthe sweet, teasing persona, the gentle praise, the intimacy that kept men coming back for more.
and, completely unknowingly, the entirety of Task Force 141 had fallen for you.
â
it had all started months ago.
one of their missions had gone sidewaysâbad intel, long hours, more bodies than they were expecting. and by the time they got back to base, exhausted and strung out, all they wanted was food, alcohol, and sleep.
but mostly alcohol.
soap was the first to bring it up.
slumped against a crate, half a bottle of whiskey deep, he let out a groan and muttered, âboys, i think iâm in love.â
gaz snorted, kicking his boots up on the table. âoh, yeah? you have some girl we donât know about?â
âangel.â
ghost, who had been silently nursing his drink, stiffened.
gaz raised an eyebrow, âangelâŠ?â
soap pulled out his phone and waved it lazily. âsheâs some onlyfans girl, mate. best thing that i ever stumbled upon. swear to god, she cares about me.â
gaz laughed. âyou are down horrendous, johnny boy.â
âoi, donât judge me âtil youâve heard her. this girl is unreal. always saying the nicest things.â soap sighed dramatically.
gaz rolled his eyes. âyeah, mate. âcause sheâs getting paid to do that.â
âso? it still counts for me.â
gaz held out a hand. âalright alright, lemme see.â
soap hesitated for a moment. â...fine. but donât be weird about it.â
gaz took the phone, tapped through a few of the videos, and went silent.
after a moment, he muttered, âokay, shit. you might be onto something.â
soap smirked miraculously. âtold you.â
ghost, who had been quietly brooding, finally spoke. âyou idiots just now finding out about her?â
they both turned to look at him shocked.
gaz blinked. âw-wait, what?â
ghost took a sip of his whiskey, deadpan. âiâve been subscribed for months.â
soap choked on his drink. âYOU WHAT?â
ghost shrugged carelessly. âfound her first.â
gazâs jaw dropped. ây-you mean to tell me youâsimon âi hate everyoneâ rileyâhas been secretly been subscribed to an onlyfans girl this whole time?â
ghost didnât answer. he just took another sip of his whiskey.
soap stared at him, with a look of betrayal that you see in movies. âand you didnât tell us?â
ghost gave him a flat look. âwhy the fuck would i tell you?â
soap pointed aggressively. âyou gatekeeping bastard.â
gaz shook his head in amusement. âprice is gonna lose his shit when he finds out.â
âFinds out what?â
the three of them turned to see price walking in, looking mildly suspicious.
for a moment, nobody spoke.
and then, without missing a beat, gaz held out the phone. âcap. you gotta see this.â
and thatâs how, in the span of one drunken night, every single one of them became your most loyal subscribers.
â
and then you arrived.
your first day on base was nothing specialâstandard introductions, paperwork, getting settled.
well for you, at least.
but for them? it was a nightmare.
soap noticed it at first.
your voiceâwas way too familiar. too exact. the way you spoke, the soft warmth in your tone. it sent a shiver down his spine.
gaz eventually picked up on the way you movedâthe tilt of your head, the way your fingers ghosted over their skin during check-ups.
ghost, who was normally unreadable, was tense.
and price? price just sighed a lot.
none of them said anything. they couldnât.
because if they were wrongâif this was just some wild coincidenceâthen theyâd look like absolute idiots.
but if they were right?
then their sweet, soft-spoken angel had just walked into their lives, completely unaware that every single one of them had been on their knees for her voice alone.
and fuck, they were not prepared for that.
#luvbabydoll â§âË â
#cod smut#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#ghost cod#simon ghost smut#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon riley x reader smut#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#johnny soap mctavish x you#john price x reader#john price smut#john price x you#john price x y/n#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader
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hehehe sooo.. pro hero, husband! katsuki not being able to spend time with you took a toll on his agency, so someone said... you two needed to bone.
it had been weeks since katsuki had a proper night at home. pro hero work never let up but lately, it felt like it was eating himâlate nights at the agency, barely any sleep, reports, patrols, meetings.
you understood. it was his job, his responsibility, but his stress showed in the way he snapped at people more often, his fuse shorter than usual.
and today? he was especially pissed.
the whole office refused to confront dynamight about it, until some dumbass sidekick, probably sick of his rage-fueled outbursts, muttered under his breath, âtch. man just needs to go home and bone his wife.â
the room went silent.
dead silent.
katsuki stopped mid-step, shoulders going rigid. his head turned slowly toward him, eyes burning like he was about to set the entire building on fire.
"the fuck did you just say?"
the sidekick, to his credit, had the audacity to look innocent. "i mean, youâre obviously tense, and i'm sure sheâsâ"
he lunged at him. it took three other sidekicks to hold him back as he damn near flipped his desk over.
âYOU'RE FUCKIN' DEAD! BONE?!â katsuki roared, struggling against his coworkers like a wild animal. "say that shit again, i dare you! you think iâm pissed âcause i ainât fucking my wife enough?!â
the whole agency floor collectively held its breath.
the poor sidekick scrambled for an excuse. ân-no! i-i just meantâuh, stress relief! yeah! yâknow, intimacy is good forââ
katsuki grabbed a random clipboard and hurled it across him. he missed by a centimeter. âyou think i donât wanna fuckin' go home to her?! huh?!â
âsirââ
âi wanna go home so bad! i wanna see her, i wanna kiss her, i wanna lay on her tits and sleep for the whole fuckinâ day,â he ranted, voice cracking from pure frustration. âBUT NOOO! iâm stuck here writing reports and dealing with dumbasses like you!â
the office was dead silent.
it took a solid ten minutes for him to cool down, grumbling and seething as he rubbed his temples.
but his mind did wander.
to you. to the way he missed your voice. to how fucking long it had been since he held you properly.
to the way he always found you asleep by the time he got home, curled up on his side of the bed, waiting for him.
⊠fuck. maybe the sidekick did have a point.
katsuki inhaled sharply. then, with wild determination, he grabbed his his stuff, and stormed toward the exit. the agency could handle itself for the night. he had better things to do.
âfuck this. i'm goin' home to my wife."
meanwhile, you had barely settled on the couch, ready to enjoy a quiet evening alone, when the front door slammed open. you jolted, turning toward the entrance just in time to see katsuki storming inïżœïżœlooking like a man on a mission.
âkatsuââ you barely got his name out before his mouth crashed onto yours, hot and urgent, like heâd been starving for this. you gripped his shirt as he pulled you impossibly close, practically lifting you off the floor.
you gasped against his lips as his hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, pressing his body against yours.
strong hands cupped your face, rough but desperate. his lips were everywhereâyour cheeks, your nose, your jaw, the corner of your lipsâlike he was making up for lost time.
and when he finally let you breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, panting slightly, his hands still gripping your waist like he was afraid youâd disappear.
you were breathless, blinking up at him in shock. âwhat the hell?â
katsuki exhaled sharply, his forehead resting against yours. âi missed you.â
your brows furrowed. âyou left for work this morning.â
âexactly,â his lips brushed against yours again, softer this time. âshouldâve come home sooner.â
it was then you realizedâhe was home way earlier than usual. normally, he'd get caught up in work, buried in reports or dealing with patrols, but tonightâŠ
âwait, why are you home so early?â you asked, still dazed.
katsuki huffed. his fingers slid down to your waist, gripping you tightly. âtch. dumbass sidekick at work said i just needed to fuck my wife to fix my attitude.â
your jaw dropped. âexcuse me?â
his lips brushed yours again, softer this time. âso i left early to prove âem right.â
your face burned. âkatsuki!â
but he was already leaning in again, smirking against your lips. âbetter get comfortable, sweets. iâm makinâ up for lost time.â
and when katsuki stepped into the office that morning, something was⊠off.
for the first time in weeks, he didnât stomp in with a permanent scowl, barking at everyone the second he crossed the threshold. his usual sharp glare was dulled, his shoulders werenât tense as tense.
instead, katsuki looked, dare they say itârelaxed. his jaw wasnât clenched, his brows werenât furrowed, and the usual aggressive boom of his steps was noticeably tamer.
hell, the man even had a post-nut glow so obvious. skin clear, posture loose, and zero unnecessary shouting.
no explosions. no immediate death threats. no one getting yelled at for breathing too loud.
everyone noticed.
by the time he made it to his desk, his coworkers were already exchanging looks, whispering amongst themselves like theyâd just seen a miracle.
"uhâŠ" one of his sidekicks was the first to cautiously approach. âsir. you good?â
katsuki just grunted, rolling his shoulders before cracking his neck. âfeelinâ great, actually.â
and thatâs when it clicked. a murmur spread through the office as realization slammed into them.
âyou boned last night,â he stated, like it was the discovery of the century.
katsuki just smirked, grabbing some files off his desk. âwhatâs it to ya?â
the room erupted.
âholy shit, i forgot he could be normalââ
âi havenât known peace in months.â
âoh my god, mrs bakugo katsuki, if you can hear thisâthank you for your service!â
someone started clapping.
then, the entire office cheered.
ââ§âËâ§[ it's me, kia ! ]â§Ëââ§ ïœĄïŸâąâê°á ⥠à»ê±ââą ïœĄïŸ ââ§âËâ§[ more of katsuki ! ]â§Ëââ§
âËàż kia's note Ëâ i think y'all know where this is inspired from but js in case, its from a sitcom named brooklyn 99 where this girl tells her boss he needs to bone his husband lmaođ hope yall enjoyed!!
#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugo mha#bnha bakugou#katsuki bakugou#mha#bnha bakugo katsuki#mha bakugo katsuki#mha bakugou#bnha#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo#bakugou katsuki#bakugo fluff#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#mha bakugo x reader#x reader#bakugo x you#bakugou fluff#bakugou imagine#bakugou x you#bakugo#mha fluff#bnha fluff#fluff#bnha drabble#bnha katsuki
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Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always have you over at his house the night before an important match. It helps with the stress he says.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always put on a TV show before you two settle into the couch for cuddles. Usually the cuddling session is a mix of him relaxing against you as you ask him questions about the match tomorrow.
"You packed an extra pair of shorts this time right? Remember what happened last time"
"yeah I did"
"Did you iron the clothes?"
"Uraume took care of it"
"That new protein shake your nutritionist recommended, Did you take it?"
"Already did"
"What about snacks during the game tomorrow? did Uraume-
"oh my god baby relax, it's all taken care of"
He says in somewhat of an annoyed tone as he pulls you even closer to his chest, tightening his grip around you. But deep down he loves it when you are concerned about him like this.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who insists that having a good time before the match tomorrow isn't a problem to him but you reject the offer firmly because you know how Sukuna gets whenever you two started something.
It always ends up dragging for hours so no, your bf needs his beauty sleep for tomorrow.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who pouts slightly when you say no to him but decides to settle with the short make out session instead, better than nothing he thinks.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who teasingly steals few touches from your sensitive areas, clearly trying to rile you up but stops after seeing the glare you gave him.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who never seems to be the type to get much nervous before matches. Because of his Overconfidence? His never ending Ego? maybe. But his ability to stand strong in situations like this always makes your heart flutter.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always makes sure you get the best VIP seat to his match, You always need to be in the front lines where he can see you from clearly when he beat up his opponent back to his ancestors.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always find a way to bring you up in the Media press. Sukuna is widely known by the audience for being a down bad "simp" for his girlfriend as well as a complete disaster for his opponents.
"Mr Ryomen, Do you know there's a whole talk in the internet about you being a simp for your girlfriend? What do you have to say to people who spread things like that?"
"Keep spreading the truth I guess. The internet definitely needs it more"
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who hurries back to his changing room and jumps straight into your arms. Despite your constant nagging for him to get patched up first.
"Baby did you saw the jab-cross I threw before he hit the ground?"
"Yeah it was Amazing Ryo!"
"I did good than the last match, didn't I?"
"Yeah you always do"
"Then I deserve way more than that cheap kiss you gave me earlier don't I?"
"Get patched up first you freak, Uraume's waiting"
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who lets you both into his house as he holds your waist with one arm. He let go of your waist as he makes his way for the bathroom while murmuring something about showering first.
As he started to shower you turn on the tv with the intention of seeing the live match you saw today in the digital screen. And it immediately cuts to a interview Sukuna did just right after winning.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who seems enthusiastic as ever talking to the reporters about the match he finished and the opponent he defeated. Not long after he adds a little appreciation from his part.
"My manager Uraume helped me with a lot of stuff so I truly appreciate them. Also my girlfriend stayed up beside me every night when I practiced and supported me in everything, this win is hers as much as it is mine."
"if you're watching this I love you baby"
A warm feeling start to take over your chest as you hear his words. The man who's appreciated and idolized by millions saying these things so casually to you, you still can't get your mind around it.
Then the reporter use his luck to ask a risky question one more time.
"it's look like you two have a great relationship together, what do you think about marriage Mr Ryomen?"
To that question Sukuna doesn't respond but instead returns a well knowing little grin as he waves off the interview.
"Tch why did they ruin the moment by asking that, now it looks like he doesn't want to marry me" you said to yourself.
Just as you were about to leave to the kitchen to grab a snack, something shining inside the closet that Sukuna forgot to shut earlier catches your eyes.
Hidden by the cloth piles it was a little jewelry box that had familiar initials on top of it.
It was none other than yours and Sukuna's.
Wait..
No that can't be, Yeah maybe this is the earrings he wanted to give you before.
But much to your surprise the box opened up to reveal a gorgeous wedding ring. A big diamond you sure costed atleast 5 six figures alone sitting on top of it. Inside the ring you and Sukuna's initials were carved into it making it seem even more special to your eyes.
Your heart is jumping from excitement and happiness, everything about your life is starting to get better and better and you can't help but thank Sukuna for it.
You don't want to ruin the surprise he planned for you of course. So you put the box back to it's place and sit on the bed till he's done showering patiently but the stupid smile you had since earlier didn't left your face for once.
"Alright I'm done showering let's slee- what's with you?"
"What's with me? nothing Ryo"
"You're are smiling very creepily woman"
"Ryo that's mean! My smile is not creepy!"
"Yeah whatever come here, freak"
Sukuna says as he drags you closer to his side of the bed while turning off the bedside lamp at the same time. Your bodies intertwine with each other like it was always meant to be. Sukuna's hands wrapping around you as he buries his face into your neck.
"Ryo?"
"hmm"
"I love you"
You can feel a small smile tugging at his lips.
"I love you too princess, more than anything"
Boxing Kuna is my favorite <33
No grammar checks though sorry :/
#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna#jjk x you#jjk drabbles#sukuna fluff#sukuna x#anime#jjk x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fluff#jjk
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Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part Two
Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader
Parts -> Part One | Part Two
Synopsis -> Youâve been working as Onychinusâs accountant for two years, and youâve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.
A/N -> I'm sorry it took so long. I have been obsessing over trying to make part two perfect but I don't think I can. It's time I share my baby with you, and I really hope you enjoy it.
Tags -> Angst, fluff :)
Trigger Warnings -> Character death, heavily mentions grief. Some parts are suggestive but there is no smut.
Word Count -> 18.8K (it got kinda crazy)
Late October
It was cold, dark and gloomy; the weather a perfect pathetic fallacy to the narrative of your life. The freshly disturbed patch of grass failed to convey the significance of who laid underneath it. It was vexing, how the world continued to spin on itâs axis despite the fact that it stopped spinning for you.Â
It hurt to think about the events that led to your undoing. The weeks prior to the moment your mother drew her last breath. You were a cracked vase filled with wilting flowers and overflowing regret. Every breath you took consumed more energy than you could spare and yet the world just. Kept. Spinning.Â
âI brought you flowers. Yellow tulips, by the way.â The words felt like lead on your tongue. It was one thing to accept your mother was never coming back, it was another to try to act normal about it. âI know you never cared for them, but I didnât think leaving a pack of cigarettes on your grave was very tasteful.â You bitterly smiled to yourself at the memories of your mom sneaking a cigarette in the backyard when she thought you were asleep. It was a nasty habit you did everything to rid her of. A fruitless attempt to protect her from the inevitable.Â
âIâm sorry I havenât figured out your epitaph yet. Itâs just so hard to condense your entire life into a few words. Plus, they charge by the letter, so Iâm trying to be really selective.â It felt weird, speaking into empty space, but you read online that it helped with grief, so you tried anyway.Â
That was how you approached most things nowadays. Eating, drinking, sleeping, they all seemed meaningless. But, you knew you couldnât survive on just antagonism and mourning, so you did it anyway.Â
âZayne called again. I know you told me not to hate him and that it wasnât his fault, but I canât bring myself to agree.âÂ
The moment Zayne told you that the heart that could save your motherâs life was going to someone else replayed in your mind like a scratched vinyl stuck on an aggravating note.
âI got so frustrated by his constant calls that I threw my phone into the ocean.â You let out a sad laugh. âGuess thatâs the last time I bring anything with me when Iâm walking along the coast.âÂ
You paused for a moment, feeling stupid. But you had so much to say to her, it all just began spilling out.
âI know you donât want to hear this, but I might lose the house. I burned through all my paid leave, and the idea of going back to work for Sylus makes me want to put my head through a wood-chipper. I know I have to, but how can I focus on work when I have nothing left to work for?â You tasted the tears before you felt them, the saltiness reminded you of your weekends at the beach with your mom. You did everything to get out of joining her, you hated the beach, but it was her favourite place to be and in a desperate attempt to cling on to whatever was left of her, you forced it to be yours too.
âIâm sorry I never got you that house you dreamed of, or the dog. Iâm sure there are lots of dogs in heaven, and at least the dogs there have been screened. With my luck any dog I wouldâve gotten you wouldâve been evil.â You teetered around the grievance you truly wanted to apologise for.Â
âIâm sorry I couldnât spend much time with you before you passed away. I was so sure you would get the transplant. I tried so hard to save for it. I shouldâve been with you. If I knewââ The sobs raked through you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat down next to her tombstone, leaning your head against the chiseled rock.Â
There were moments when youâd wake up, and in the haze of your muddled mind youâd forget she was dead. But then the ache in your body is deciphered by your mind, and youâre reminded of just how much youâve lost. Maybe thatâs why they called it mourning. Grief dawned on you like the rising sun.
Life had a way of being entirely unfair, and there was nowhere to hide from fateâs piercing claws. And as if to ensure you hadnât forgotten just how cruel life could be, your head whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind you to find the last person you wanted to see.
Sylus was dressed in a long black coat hanging effortlessly off of his broad shoulders, a black dress shirt that really shouldâve been buttoned up to the top, and a pair of black slacks that made his long legs look impossibly longer. He looked every bit the cunning grim reaper, and it wasnât just because he was surrounded by graves.
âI didnât know you were back in the N109 Zone.â The words came out harsher than you intended as your head returned to itâs position against the rock.Â
Sylus stopped in front of you, lowering himself to his haunches so that you would be face-to-face. It stung to look at him, so you focused on picking at the grass instead.Â
âI only got back a few hours ago. I heard about your mother. Iâm sorry.â Having been deprived of his voice for over a month, you cursed the butterflies that coursed through you like muscle memory. Part of you wished heâd returned disfigured, but you knew it wouldnât have made much of a difference. Ugly or devastatingly beautiful, the storm that was Sylus could not be stopped, only weathered.Â
âSorry that she died or sorry that you werenât there?â The bitterness in your tone was unfamiliar to you. Even though you knew it was unfair of you to expect him to have stayed, he left immediately after he dropped you off at the hospital and you hoped heâd have been there just a little longer. It didnât help that you didnât hear from him until two weeks later, and by then you were too engrossed in your battle against Akso hospitalâs medical board to respond.Â
âYou havenât been answering my calls; theyâre not even going through anymore. You havenât blocked me, have you?â Sylus countered your question with one of his own. If you cared enough, you mightâve called him out on his diversion.Â
âNo, my phone broke.â That was an understatement if there ever was one.Â
âHow long ago?â
âA week.â That much was true and since you couldnât afford a smart phone, a shitty $30 flip phone weighed down your pocket.Â
âAnd all the times I called before then?â Sylusâs eyes perused you with intensity, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. You werenât dressed well, in a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you and a matching hoodie. Grieving people were allowed to dress terribly without judgement, Y/N. Itâs okay.
âI didnât feel like picking up.â The grass continued to bare the brunt of your nerves as you answered. The you that wasnât effectively an orphan wouldâve made up some excuse to protect his feelings, but you were resolved to change that. Your mother was strong, independent, and she never backed down from a fight. Not against men like Sylus, and not against her illness. If you wanted to honour her memory then you had to live your life the way sheâd want you to.
âDo you have a phone now?âÂ
You reached into the pocket of your sweatpants to take out the grey flip phone. You watched as Sylus bit back a laugh.
âIâll get you a new one.â
âI donât need you to get me anything.â You quickly retorted.
âYouâre going to need a phone from this century if youâre working for me, Y/N.â He said it so casually, as if you were put on this earth solely to serve him as his accountant.Â
âRight, about thatâŠâ Your determination to be confident and unapologetic began to dwindle as you wondered how to tell Sylus you needed more time.
âNo. Resigning is not an option.â Twelve minutes. It took Sylus twelve minutes to return to his usual controlling self. You were impressed, truly, it was a new record after all.Â
âWe donât have a blood pact, Sylus. I can resign if I want to. Besides, thatâs not what I was going to say. I need more time off.â You didnât sound very convincing, but it wasnât like you could change who you were overnight. It would take a lifetime to unlearn your bad habits.Â
Sylus looked conflicted, as if he didnât know what to say. When he chose to finally open his mouth, you wished he hadnât.
âIâve given you a month, Y/N. Thatâs enough.â His statement came out so matter-of-factly, you wondered if you had imagined it. A month was not nearly enough to recover from losing your mom, but you figured a man who killed people for a living wouldnât understand.Â
âItâs only been two weeks since she died. And Iâm sure the temp youâve got is perfectly competent.â
âThe temp doesnât know the company like you do and I havenât bothered teaching him on the premise that you were returning. If youâre not back soon I canât promise youâll have a job to come back to.âÂ
The tension in the air dissipated as you began to laugh. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Hysterically.Â
âYouâ You seriously think I care whether or not I have a job? I can barely will myself to eat right nowâemployment is not my priority.â You wiped back the tears that began to spill out. Their origin unknown, between your hysteria and sorrow, your eyes were constantly puffy.
âPeople die all the time, sweetheart. Itâs no reason to throw your future away.â Sylus stood up straight at the end of his statement, holding his hand out to you.Â
The angel on your shoulder whispered that in his own peculiar way, this was his attempt at comforting you. But you stopped listening to that angel when they buried your mom under six-feet of dirt, and you couldnât help the word vomit that escaped you like water barrelling out of a splintered dam.Â
You pushed away his hand, and stood up to look at him with a ferocity you didnât know you possessed.
âI get that something really dark and twisted must have happened in your youth to make you so heartless, but most people have shitty childhoods, sweetheart. We choose not to be terrible, insufferable people because of it.â The unbridled rage youâd spend so long trying to suppress seeped out of you uncontrollably as you screamed at Sylus. You walked toward him, your anger taking hold of you as you began to push him away. A few months ago you wouldâve given anything to touch him, now all you cared about was making him feel a semblance of the pain he instilled in you.Â
âSome of us choose to feel our emotions in their entirety, regardless of how much it hurts, because weâre not scared to love and lose. Youâre a coward, Sylus and you may think that my mother dying is just an inevitable consequence of life, but my world will never be the same.â In an attempt to calm down, you took a deep breath.
âYou can judge me all you want, but it wonât change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.â The word vomit continued, and when you saw the hurt flash briefly within his eyes, you felt the arms of regret begin to sink their claws into you.Â
You shouldnât have said that. It wasnât you.
But before you could take it all back, Sylusâs phone began ringing and you figured from the urgency in which he answered it mustâve been her.Â
âI lost track of time, Iâll be right there.â He spoke in a low voice in what you could only assume was an attempt to mask the fact that he was leaving you for something more important, again.Â
He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.
âJust go.â You waved him off and turned back around to face your motherâs grave, though now the tears welling up in your eyes couldnât be entirely attributed to the grief.Â
Early November
You werenât sure time could heal the gaping wound your motherâs passing left behind, but grief had settled into your life like an imposing aunt. It was in your home, touching your things, ruining your food, and never once leaving you alone. It didnât feel so all-consuming anymore, but it clung onto you constantly like a shadow.Â
You were watching the third Harry Potter movie at 8am when you received the eviction notice via Email. Youâd been expecting it, ultimately you were behind on rent, but the reason plastered on the paper was exponentially worse than your own incompetence.
âŠSelling to developersâŠsuburban expansion projectâŠ
As if losing your childhood home wasnât bad enough, they were planning on destroying it. Memories were bound to decay with time, that was an inevitable consequence of being human. Sooner or later youâd forget the way your mom dressed, or the smell of her perfume. Tangible things like photographs, places, they kept those memories anchored. You couldnât lose the house, it wasnât an option.Â
You spent the next hour trying to reason with your landlord over the phone, but he was committed to selling. He rejected every single one of your proposals, though even you knew they were weak at best. The developers were offering significantly more than market value, there was no way you could beat that. Stupid gentrification. But, your landlord told you he was sympathetic, and the deal hadnât been finalised just yet. If you could match the developerâs offer by the end of the month, heâd gladly sell it to you instead.
Of course the developerâs offer was $800,000, and by the looks of your financials, you were about $796,312 short.Â
Desperate for a catharsis for your unending frustration, you screamed into the throw pillow on your couch until your throat felt raw. Then, you opened up your laptop to figure out a plan.Â
30 minutes later you had:
Sell your kidney to an organ broker and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.Â
Dabble briefly in prostitution and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.
Become a squatter and protest the demolition of your home environmental-activist style.Â
âWow, Y/N. Graduated top of your class and this was all you could come up with, huh?â You muttered to yourself as you stared at the list of terrible ideas. Your mind hadnât come up with something so horrific since the bed-in-breakfast Motherâs Day fiasco when you were 11.Â
The only option that didnât end in bodily harm or a prison sentence was to work as many jobs as humanly possible for the next few weeks in hopes you could somehow manage to accumulate the deposit for a loan. You could probably sell some appliances too, and maybe revisit the kidney idea if it came to it.Â
Despite it being a long-shot, you had to try. You changed into a pair of flared leggings and a sweater. It was basic and borderline mismatched but traversing your explosive closet was a large undertaking you tended to avoid. You dug a copy of your old resume out from your file drawer, after all, it wasnât like your experience as Onychinusâs accountant was going to do you any good. Further, listing Sylus as a reference would ensure you never got a job again.Â
You figured the easiest place to start was the central district of the N109 zone, bars and restaurants there were constantly hiring and from what youâd heard their only requirement was that you had two functioning legs and arms. But when you tried to leave through the door to begin the job search you collided with a formidable wall.Â
Since when was there aâ
âWhere you headed to, Y/N?â The familiar voice was so surprising it made you jump, the action accompanied by a shrill scream.
âWhat the fuck? Why are you just standing outside my door?â You rarely ever swore and you were sure that if your mother was still alive sheâd throw her shoe at you for using the devilâs language. But of all the things you expected to see that morning, Sylus outside your door was not one of them.Â
âIs that any way to welcome your old employer?â Sylus stepped into your home without an invitation. Conclusive proof against your theory that he was secretly a vampire.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â You asked again, still staring at Sylus like he sprouted a second head. You couldnât think of a single reason why heâd show up at your place of residence, he never did while you were still his employee.
âI need you to come back.â You choked back a laugh at his ridiculous request. Was he insane?
âGo to hell.â Your vicious response didnât sway Sylus.Â
âIâve fired an accountant every week since you left. The accounts are in complete disarray, half my businesses are behind on their bills, the other half have been paying the wrong amounts to the wrong companies. My investors are unhappy, my debtors are one week away from assuming Iâve gone bankrupt and I havenât slept in weeks. Come. Back.â While it stroked your ego to hear that the organisation was suffering in your absence, you couldnât just forget the terrible way heâd treated you in and out of the workplace.Â
âYou insisted I was especially replaceable and now youâre saying you canât replace me?â You chose to remind him of just how horrid of an employer he was, an action he didnât appreciate.Â
âIf youâre going to dwell on the semantics Iâd rather just cut to the chase. Whatâs it going to take to get you back?â Sylusâs tone suggested he was truly trying to negotiate with you. Of course a man like him didnât know how to take no for an answer.Â
âPigs to fly.â You quipped, opening your door in hopes heâd get the hint and leave.Â
âY/N, Iâm serious. We canât survive without you.â His desperation went straight to your head, but you stood your ground.Â
âThen die.â You tried to shove him out of your doorway, but he was about as easy to move as a truck.Â
âEveryone has something they desire, sweetheart. Name your price.â While you were ready to fire up a quick retort, his suggestion reminded you of the very reason you were about to leave the house.Â
Perhaps this was a sign; you could swallow your pride if it meant you got to keep your home.Â
You pretended to give it thought, sighing loudly in contemplation. âFine. I want a sign-on bonus. Or in this case, a re-sign-on bonus, I guessâŠâ You trailed off, unsure if he would agree.Â
âAlright, how much?â He was quick to accept your terms, and you decided to test the waters of just how desperate he was for your return.Â
âA million dollars.âÂ
âDone.âÂ
Dammit, you shouldâve asked for more.Â
âI want a personal driver too, Iâm sick of biking to work.â You wouldâve been okay with just the bonus, after all, it was insanely generous. But youâd be a fool not to milk this opportunity for what it was worth.
âAnything else, princess?â The condescending nickname only added fuel to the fire as you fired off more requests.Â
âI donât want to share my office with the twins anymore, theyâre loud and annoying and they have no respect for the sanctity of my monthly budgets.â
âOkay.â
You masked your shock at his sudden magnanimity. âOne last thing. Since youâve come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a valuable asset to your organisation, youâre not allowed to be a dick to me anymore.âÂ
âElaborate.â
âNo more calling me stupid or other degrading insults, threatening my job security, threatening my life â just no more threats in general â and if youâre going to assign me extra work that is beyond the scope of my job description, a please and thank you would be nice.â
âYouâre pushing it, Y/N.â Of course treating his employees like human beings was the most difficult request.Â
âYou just agreed to give me a million dollars and being nice to me is where you draw the line?âÂ
Sylus sighed, deliberating in silence for a moment. When he saw that your resolve was unrelenting, he begrudgingly agreed. He wasnât sure where your newfound confidence was coming from, but he would be lying if he said he didnât find it the slightest bit attractive.Â
âAlright, youâve made your case. Iâll agree to your conditions. Now, please fix it.âÂ
It took every fibre of your being not to break out into song and dance at your victory. âLet me get my coat.â
______________
You stared at the horrific mess your beautiful spreadsheet had turned in to. This was a disaster. A colossal, unfathomable disaster. âHow could you let it get this bad?â Your voice was dripping with fear, it was like staring a train wreck.Â
âIt wasnât like it happened on purpose. Besides, if youâd neverââ Sylus interrupted his own sentence which you were sure contained an insult, and you could almost hear the evil chuckle resounding in your head at the sight of his obedience. This was going to be fun.Â
âThis is going to take forever to fix.â It would actually only take the day, but you didnât need to tell him that.
âI need it fixed by the end of the week. Please.â He looked pained as he added the nicety. Soooooo much fun.
âAdd on a massage chair for my office and Iâll get it done by Wednesday.â You wondered just how far you could push his desperation.Â
âDeal.â He held his hand out for you to shake and when you did, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Now you could tell people âHow to Tame Your Dragonâ was loosely based on your life.Â
âYou know, Sylus, Iâm liking this new dynamic.â Your shit-eating grin couldnât be wiped off of your face no matter how hard you tried.
âOh I can tell. Now, get to work.â Sylus made a show of pulling out your office chair for you, and when you sat in it for the first time in two months, you felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And for once, the recollection of your past didnât hurt as much as it usually did. Â
Mid-November
This time around, your employment under Sylus was much more pleasant. Surprisingly, heâd actually adhered to your conditions.Â
The twins were slightly offended that you no longer wanted to share your office with them, but their gratefulness for your return trumped any antagonism they had for you. You were kind of a celebrity in Onychinusâs executive team, their saviour, if you will.Â
But, the enjoyment of your newly established status could not be savoured. Undoing months of mistakes was turning out to be positively exhausting. You were an accountant; socially awkward, stuck to her Excel sheets, spent most of her free time indulging in shitty rom-coms. You were not built for briefing CEOs, Chairmen, investors, subsidiaries and of course, debtors, on your commitment to stability via video call.
Sylus insisted it had to be you, even though he usually handled the bureaucratic part of the organisation. Something about him not being able to answer their questions regarding the numbers. You told him you would tell him what to say through an ear piece like a spy movie, but he responded with a resounding no.Â
It was more like âhell will freeze over before I turn into a glorified puppet, Y/N, blah blah blahâ.
Every single one-on-one conference call made you feel like you were getting hives. Not to mention the active effort it took you to refrain from making stupid jokes at every opportunity. When the last one with the representative from Onychinusâs main bank was over, you had officially smoothed over all bad blood between Onychinus and itâs stakeholders.
Giving yourself a moment to recalibrate from the sheer amount of social interaction you had been subjected to, you glared at the shared calendar event. âMiss Hunterâs Birthday in 13 daysâ.
You tried to distract yourself from that familiar sinking feeling in your gut with your work. Sylus never remembered your birthday, but it wasnât like it mattered. You were his accountant, he was your boss. That was the extent of your relationship, even though youâd both said things to each other that would cause your HR department, if you had one, to self-emulate. But in the chaos of buying your home, going back to work and learning how to navigate life with your unwanted companion; grief, youâd forgotten all about your feelings for Sylus.
They werenât gone but they were muted, like a voice screaming out to you while your head was underwater. Most of the time they were easy to ignore, but in times like these they were too loud to overlook.
You couldnât dwell on your self-pity for long because there was a knock at your door. No one ever knocked on your door, people just tended to barge in.
âCome in?â Confusion dripped from your voice. When the door opened to a pair of twins with shameful smiles, you knew they were about to ask you for a favour.
âWe⊠fucked up.â Three words you never wanted to hear coming out of either Luke or Kieranâs mouth.
âWhat have you done?â
âLong story short. Boss sent us to pick up a gem for Miss Hunterâs birthday. Itâs really rare. The man who owns them is this older, heart of gold type old guy who refuses to sell to nefarious people because of his outdated principles. He wouldnât give it to us, said something about us being part of Onychinus. We knew if boss didnât get this gem today heâd have our heads displayed on mantels in his office, so we threatened the old man with a gun and then an entire arsenal of security appeared out of thin air and we were blacklisted from the property.â Kieranâs explanation left you astounded.Â
The twins had their fair share of asinine mistakes, but this one might have taken the cake.Â
âYou threatened an old man with a gunâŠâÂ
âYes.â Kieran responded.Â
âOver a gem?â You asked in disbelief.Â
âA very rare gem!â Luke corrected.Â
âHuh. How am I supposed to help?â It was a genuine question, you didnât really see a way out of this one.Â
âCan you go and convince the old man to sell the gem to you?â Kieranâs request made your eyes widen in protest.
âNo way! Iâve had my fill of uncomfortable business meetings.â And wasnât that the truth. If you had to see one more man in a business suit ask you âif you even knew what you were talking aboutâ you might throw your laptop into the first body of water you could find.Â
âPlease, Y/N. Sylus will kill us. Do you want our deaths to hang over your conscience?âÂ
Lukeâs question was an innocent hyperbole, but at the mention of deaths hanging over your conscience, you were reminded of your mom. Your face dropped, your fingers slowly forgetting what they were supposed to type. Kieran, the more observant twin, elbowed Luke.
âFuck, Y/N. Iâm sorry, I forgot.â
âNo, no, itâs fine. You donât have to walk on eggshells around me, Iâm not going to burst into tears.â You werenât sure that was true quite yet, but fake it till you make it, right?Â
âWill you help us? Please. Weâll owe you big time.â The line was clearly rehearsed since they said it in unison, or maybe it was some weird twin telepathy thing. Either way, it freaked you out so much you agreed.Â
âFine, whatâs the address?â
_____________
You knocked on the large wooden door of a beautiful home. It was classically designed, a perfect intersection between modernity and the timeless complexity of archaic house designs. It was rare to see homes like these in a society that prided itself on progress.Â
When you heard the sound of soft feet shuffling toward the door, you felt the guilt eat at you internally. You were tricking an old man into selling a gem to people he very reasonably did not want to sell to.
âY/M/N?âÂ
Did heâ why did he call you by your motherâs name?
âThat was my mother, Iâm her daughter, Y/N.â
âOh, thank god, I was beginning to think Iâd finally lost it. Come in, come in.âÂ
Your interest had been piqued, and you forgot all about the gem as you entered the old manâs home.
âI must say, Iâm surprised youâre here. Did your mother send you?â
You swallowed the lump in your throat. âShe passed away just over a month ago.â
âOh god. Iâm so sorry, dear. Are you alright?â The question was filled with so much warmth it made tears well up in your eyes. Your mother never had any friends, and you were estranged from your extended family. You were all alone in your grief, and hearing someone who knew your mom in some capacity ask you if you were alright felt bittersweet.
âYeah. Iâm doing okay. If you donât mind me asking, how did you know her?â
âYou donât know? I figured that was why you were here.âÂ
Right. The reason you were here, the gem.
âNo, Iâm actually here entirely coincidentally, I came to acquire a gem.â
âWhich gem were you after, dear?â He asked the question as he looked around his living room for something.
âThe Painite one.â
He stopped pacing and turned to you with an accusatory stare. âThis wouldnât happen to be related to those two rowdy boys who came by earlier, right?â
âWellâŠâ You couldnât lie to him. He looked like the old man from âUpâ, it was entirely unfair.Â
âIâm afraid I canât sell to you. Iâm concerned youâve even gotten yourself wrapped up in such a terrible organisation.â He shook his head, his disappointment evident in his tone.Â
âLook, I know what youâve heard, but most of the rumours you hear about Onychinus donât have a modicum of truth to them.â
âThen why hasnât your boss cleared them up?â A great question.Â
âIn this business its good to have a reputation that instills fear in others. Youâve seen what people do for Protocores and black-market items. Onychinus serves as a⊠regulatory body of the underworld, the only people they harm are those that harm others.â The practiced speech came from years of listening to Sylus give it to yourself and others.Â
âI donât know dear, Iâve heard some horrific things about their leader, Sylus.â You were probably responsible for a few of those rumoursâŠ
âThe only horrific thing about him is his sharp tongue. Seriously, he has a way of finding your worst insecurity and then using it to drag you through the dirt.â Recognising the unhelpful tangent, you digressed.
âBut when it comes to business, heâs fair and when someone hurts the people he cares about, heâs merciless. He has a good heart, itâs just encased under a very thick layer of stone.â When he didnât look convinced, you continued.Â
âIn fact, he wants this gem for a woman. Sheâs special to him and its her birthday in a few days. Sheâs a hunter, by the way, she saves lives. So, even if you donât want to sell to Sylus because heâs probably half demon, you should sell it to her. You know, by proxy.â The argument was a stretch but you couldnât help your rambling.Â
âYou are the spitting image of your mother.âÂ
The comment caught you off-guard.
âYou think so?â
âI knew your mother when she was your age. She used to sing live at a bar I frequented with my friends. It was a simpler time, before wanderers attacked. I was head over heels in love with her, and I knew she felt the same way about me. But, she got wrapped up with the wrong guy, a real bad man, and it took finding out she was pregnant with you to break it off with him.â He recounted his past as he continued to search his drawers for something, when he came back to the couch in front of yours, he handed you a photo.
It was of your mother, except she was much younger. She was on a stage performing, a part of her life she never told you about. She looked happy and was glowing with the kind of ethereal beauty that never dwindled with time. He was right, you looked a lot like her.Â
âCan I keep this?â You looked up at the man, and he gave you a small nod.Â
âOf course. You know, I offered to help her when I found out, said Iâd raise the baby as my own, but she told me I was destined for more than she could give me. Said she had to do this on her own. She was stubborn but she loved boundlessly, Y/N, just like you.â
You were confused, this man hadnât known you for very long, how could he know such a thing? âWhat do you mean?â
âI donât know what that Sylus man has done to deserve your adoration, but I can tell you love him. And for you to come here on his behalf to convince me to sell him the rarest gem in the world for another woman? You truly do have your motherâs heart.âÂ
His words sprouted doubt and introspection. Why were you trying so hard to get Sylus such a romantic gift when it was meant for someone else? Were you secretly a masochist?
âIf itâs alright with you Y/N, Iâd love to get to know you. Your mother was my first love, and itâs nice to have someone to talk to about her.âÂ
You gave him the sincerest smile you could come up with. âIâd like that. I donât really have anyone to talk to about her either.â
âAs for the gem, Iâll sell it to you but only if you promise to love a man who will go to these lengths for you, not someone else.âÂ
âI promise.â Youâd promise to try, at least. You told the man, who you now knew was Dr Jeffery Hunt the geologist, that you needed to get back to work. You exchanged contact information with a promise to catch up later and trade stories about your mom.Â
You left the house with the rarest gem in the world in one hand, and an infinitely more valuable picture of your mother in the other.Â
___________
You walked toward your office where Luke and Kieran should have been to find the door slightly ajar. You stopped just outside the door when you heard Sylusâs voice from inside your office.
âYou sent Y/N to get the gem? Was the task too difficult for the two of you?â You tried to sympathise with the twins, but it was kind of funny to see Sylus berate someone else for once.
âThe owner said he wouldnât sell to Onychinusââ Kieranâs attempt at an explanation was shot down instantly.
âSo you pick some random person off the street and send them in instead. You donât send the girl the gem is for to go retrieve her own present. You have completely ruined the surprise.â
Wait, what?
âNo, itâs fine, we sent Y/N not Miss Hunter.â
âMiss Hunâ why would you assume itâs for her?â The question hung in there for an uncomfortable moment, after all you assumed the same thing.Â
âHer birthdayâs in a few days.â Luke timidly added.Â
âHow do you know that?âÂ
âItâs in the shared calendar.â
âFuck.âÂ
With your ear plastered shamelessly against the door, you smiled to yourself. He had a bad habit of putting personal events in the shared calendar.
âThe gem was for Y/N. Thanks to you imbeciles I have to figure something else out.âÂ
Why was the gem for you? Was it poisonous? You started down at the velvet box in your hand and wondered if the gem was secretly a teeny tiny bomb.Â
âIs it Y/Nâs birthday soon too?â Kieranâs question offended you. Your birthday was in March and both he and Luke were at your celebratory birthday dinner last year.Â
âNo, thatâs in March. Itâs to celebrate her 3rd year with Onychinus. Although now Iâm wondering if your time here has come to an end.â It was kind of sadistic, but it was comforting to know that Sylus threatened other peopleâs job security over minor inconveniences too.Â
âNo! Please, we promise weâll make it up to you.âÂ
You stopped listening to the conversation as you opened the box in your hand. The gem glistened under the artificial lights as questions fired off in your brain. He wanted to give this gem to you? How did he even remember the day you started at Onychinus? And he knew your birthday?
Before you could search for the answers, the sound of footsteps approaching the door made you panic. You tried fruitlessly to escape the long hallway but Sylus stormed out before you could.
âI um, got that gem for you.â You pretended you werenât eavesdropping and held the gem out to him, but he pushed it back toward you.Â
âThanks. I was going to have it turned into a necklace, but since the catâs out of the bag, you can decide what to do with it.â He clearly knew youâd heard everything and gave the twins a pointed glare as they scurried out of your office.Â
âItâs really too much. Most employers get their employees a gift card or something.â You tried to hand it back again, but he was unrelenting.Â
âIâm not most employers, and you definitely arenât most employees.â The loaded compliment made you bite back a smile.Â
âIn that case, a necklace would be nice. I have a photo of my mom when she was my age, she wore a necklace with a similar looking gem. Do you think you could find someone who can copy the design? It would mean a lot. Iâd pay for it, of course.â You kept the photo in your wallet now, it quickly became one of your favourites. When you passed the photo to him, he looked at it for far longer than necessary.Â
âConsider it done, and your moneyâs no good with me. Save it for something else.â He paused for a moment, took a photo of the necklace on his phone and returned the photograph. âI see where you get your beauty from.â The comment was so nonchalant and inconsistent with Sylusâs usual dialogue that you were left speechless. Your heart battered against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape and mount itself onto him instead. Traitorous organ.Â
You watched him turn around and walk toward his office. The sight of him walking away from you brought back memories of that day in the graveyard and what youâd said to Sylus before he left.Â
âYou can judge me all you want, but it wonât change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.â
The guilt was eating away at your conscience, and you knew you had to let him know that you didnât mean what you said. Especially not now.Â
âSylus, wait.â He stopped just as his hand reached the doorknob of his office door and looked up at you expectantly.
You raked your mind for the right thing to say, and Sylus didnât make a sound as you prolonged the silence.Â
âIf you died, Iâd mourn you.â And you meant it. You maintained eye contact despite the urge to look away from his intense gaze in an attempt to convey your sincerity.Â
He shook his head with a slight chuckle in response, and walked into his office wordlessly.Â
You figured he hadnât given what you said a second thought. It was foolish to think you could ever hurt the impenetrable Sylusâs feelings. You werenât even sure he had feelings.Â
But, unbeknownst to you, when Sylus closed the door behind him, he felt himself let out a breath that alleviated a pressure in his chest he didnât know heâd been carrying. What youâd said to him in the graveyard weighed on him like an uncomfortable tumour.Â
Sylus knew you were right, but the idea of no one caring for him never bothered him before, not until you said it. It dawned on him that the only person whoâs idea of him actually affected how he thought of himself was yours.Â
Late-November
âFinish up, we have a reservation at six.â At the sound of your bossâs voice, you looked up from your computer screen. Your eyes were watery from staring at the ledger for hours but you still couldnât reconcile the $15.70 that was missing. It was driving you insane.
âWas there a meeting I forgot existed?â The calendar looked empty from where it stood on your second monitor. Well, it was empty now that Sylus deleted the shared calendar event for Miss Hunterâs birthday which shouldâve been yesterday.Â
âNo, itâs just us. Iâm taking you to dinner. Now hurry up.â You couldnât help the frown on your face. There was surely an ulterior motive.Â
âTaking me to dinner? Are you asking me out on a date?â You were teasing; hell would freeze over before Sylus would ask anyone out on a date. Though, maybe he already had, after all he was busy yesterdayâŠ
âDonât be ridiculous. Weâre celebrating your third year with Onychinus. As an employer I believe rewarding long-term employees can strengthen their loyalty to the company.â He regurgitated the words like they were toxic.Â
âYou stole that from the last issue of Forbes magazine. I would know since I was the one who gave you the article.â It was titled âTen foolproof ways to make your employees like youâ and you thought it would be funny to leave it on Sylusâs desk.Â
âAnd Iâm responding to your feedback like number 4 on that list suggested. Now, do you want to go to this dinner or should I ask someone else?âÂ
You quickly scrambled out of your seat, you couldnât miss out on a chance to see Sylus actively try to be a regular boss. Who could say no to dinner and a show?
âNo, no, Iâll go.â You grabbed your bag off of the floor and followed Sylus out of the building. You asked him a series of questions about where you were going, when youâd be back, if you were getting paid for the time you were forced to spend with him, but he answered none of them.Â
Sylus was driving for all of 2 minutes before you began to draft an appreciation letter to the inventor of seatbelts in your head.Â
âYou know, you may be harder to kill than a regular person, but I will die if you crash this car.â Pleading for your life in an expensive sports car was not how you expected to go.Â
âItâs a little early in the night for your theatrics, Y/N.â Sylusâs deadpan tone did nothing to soothe your concerns as he turned yet another sharp corner with aggressive speed.Â
âItâs also a little early in my life to die.â You unhelpfully added.
âRelax, will you? Iâve never crashed before.âÂ
Well, thereâs a first time for everything. You thought as you tightly gripped the handle of the door. You found yourself suddenly missing the middle-aged man who would grouchily drive you to and from work. At least he drove like he valued his life.Â
 _______
When you arrived to the place in one piece you felt severely under dressed. Sylus was wearing his regular attire, a suit without the tie, and you were dressed in linen pants and a turtleneck. Sylus never enforced a business dress code, though in that moment you found yourself wishing he did.
The restaurant was multi-level and sat at the top of a mountain. The exterior screamed affluence and you were sure everyone who dined there was in a different tax-bracket. Sylus reserved a table on the rooftop which unfortunately meant you had to ascend four levels in your mediocre outfit that made you stick out like a sore thumb.Â
When you eventually reached your table, you quickly hid in your seat. While it was unrealistic to assume anyone would pay you any attention but your embarrassment was usually irrational. Nor, did it help that Sylus naturally made heads turn wherever he went. He was freakishly tall and unnervingly handsome; next to him anyone struggled to look attractive.
âYouâre in a rush. Hungry?â Sylus asked across from you as you buried your face in the menu. You didnât feel like explaining how being out with him made you feel insecure, so you forewent a response.Â
The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of wine. Of course Sylusâs favourite wine was known universally. Why wouldnât it be? He practically ruled the N109 Zone.
âThanks, sheâll have a mojito.â Before you could tell the waiter not to bring you your favourite cocktail, he was gone.
âIâm not drinking.â Your protest fell on deaf ears. âDrinking with your boss is like number 1 on the list of things you shouldnât do if you value your job.â
âYou donât have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me, Y/N. Youâve done that plenty of times sober.â Sylus smirked as he made the dry joke and you held back the urge to step on his foot under the table.
Never mind. You needed a drink pronto.
âAsshole.â You muttered under your breath.
âWhat was that?â
âArtichokes! I said the artichoke salad looks good.â You could tell Sylus wasnât convinced, but he dropped the matter anyway.Â
âOrder whatever youâd like.âÂ
âThereâs no prices on the menu.â You flipped it around every which way but not a single price appeared.
âSweetheart, the people who can afford to dine here arenât too concerned with prices. Donât worry and order what you wish.â
Aw, how sweet. Sylus thought you enquired about the prices because you were concerned about overspending. As if. You knew that manâs financials inside and out, if anything, you wanted to order the most expensive things on the menu.Â
âJeez, my bad Mr One-Percent.â Your joke was not well received.
âCan we have one night without your incessant sarcasm?â The plea sounded genuine, but it was denied.Â
âWe could, but thatâs no fun.â
âI find you painfully unfunny, Y/N.â You smiled to yourself at his blatant lie. Everyone found you funny.Â
Before you could think of a retort, Sylus pulled out a large velvet box and slid it toward you on the table.
âWhatâs this?â
âThe necklace.â
You opened it up eagerly and the sight of it brought pure bliss to your heart. It was exactly like the one your mother wore, and it was even more beautiful in person.
âItâs perfect. Thank you.â Feeling slightly remorseful for your attitude prior to the gift-exchange, you gave him a sheepish smile.
Sylus watched you lift it up to put it on, but quickly interjected. âAllow me.â He stood up, walking toward your seat. Flushed, you clumsily turned around so your back was facing him. You felt goosebumps on your skin when his cold hands bunched your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers leaving a trail of wired nerves in their wake.
You took your hair from his hand to hold it up, the mere feeling of your fingers brushing his gave you heart palpitations. The act was way too intimate, and despite how it good it felt to have him so close, your brain knew it was safest to pray it would be over soon.
When Sylus was done he spun you around to face him and shamelessly observed his handiwork. âIt looks good.â Your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes met his, so you sat in front of him in complete silence.
The moment was rudely interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.
âSylus? Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!â You both turned to the source of the voice to see Miss Hunter in a beautiful baby blue gown. As if you didnât feel bad enough about your choice in attire. You began to smile until you noticed that the arm linked with hers belonged to your mortal enemy. Dr Zayne.Â
You got up to greet them, despite your primal urge to push Zayne off the roof, but Sylus beat you to it. âMiss Hunter, always a pleasure.â You tried not to gag at the sight of Sylus being so gentlemanly. It became particularly hard when he kissed the top of her hand.Â
âI didnât know you knew Dr Zayne.â The comment slipped out of Sylusâs tense smile with a twinge of what you thought was hostility. Was he jealous that she was with Dr Zayne? Were you jealous that he was jealous? Are you in a soap opera?
âOh, heâs a childhood friend andmy doctor! Iâm very lucky. How do you know him?â Before you could whisper to Sylus to make up some excuse, he was firing off information about your personal life to the last two people you wanted to discuss your personal life with.Â
âHe was Y/Nâs motherâs doctor.â Everyone went tense, everyone except for Miss Hunter, of course.Â
Your eyes followed her as she turned to you, praying she wouldnât ask about your motherâs health. Instead, she praised your nemesis. âHeâs brilliant, isnât he?â
You wanted to scream in protest. You wanted to swing a chair into Dr Zayneâs head, and then use the broken scraps to beat him to a pulp. But you opted to force a painful smile instead.Â
âHeâs definitely something.â You looked right at Zayne, hoping heâd understand the implications of your backhanded compliment. Â
âWell, we were just here to celebrate my birthday yesterday, but the hostess said it was all booked out and silly Zayne forgot to make a reservation. We just came up to the rooftop to get some pictures, but you guys should enjoy your dinner!â Miss Hunterâs polite dismissal was the perfect opportunity to end the painfully awkward interaction and move on with your night.Â
âThanks.â You were about to return to your seat when Sylus decided to continue with his commitment to ruining your life.
âYou guys should join us, the more the merrier, right Y/N?â
The question you had no idea how to answer only poked at the jar of pent up murderous rage you were trying to suppress. It wasnât like you were subtle about your hatred for the Doctor, why the hell was Sylus inviting them to stay?
âRight.â You couldnât have sounded less sincere if you tried, but you couldnât bring yourself to care. You had to focus on making it out of this building without a homicide charge.
When Miss Hunter happily agreed, Sylus quickly waved down a waiter and made them transform your two-seater table into a four-seater. Unfortunately for you, the seating arrangements somehow ended up with you next to Zayne and Sylus next to Miss Hunter .Â
Zayne could feel the hostility radiating off of you in waves, but he was too scared to do anything about it.Â
âHappy birthday, by the way.â You offered Miss Hunter the nicety, since she was really the only innocent person at the table. Your unfounded hatred for her took the back-burner when Zayne was around.Â
âThanks, Y/N. I love your necklace, where did you get it?â Yet another question you didnât know how to answer. If this was how the entire night was going to be you might as well cut your losses and take your chances with jumping off the roof.
âItâs um, custom made.â You avoided Sylusâs glare.Â
âWell itâs beautiful.â You couldnât help but smile at her compliment. Her sunshine-y attitude could rival yours.Â
âSylus knows the guy who made it, Iâm sure he could get one for you too.â You glanced at him only to see him quirk an eyebrow at your response. Was he seriously mad? You were practically the worldâs greatest wingwoman.Â
When Miss Hunter turned to look at him, he quickly shut her down. âHe retired right after making that piece, actually. Something about getting arthritis.âÂ
He was definitely lying. You werenât sure why he was gatekeeping this jeweller and you never got the chance to ask.Â
âOh, thatâs unfortunate. Hey Zayne, youâve been awfully quiet. Say something!â Miss Hunter gave him a playful push on the shoulder as she teased him. The sight wouldâve been adorable if it werenât for satanâs incarnate sitting inches away from you.
âYeah Zayne, how was work? Steal anymore hearts lately?â You asked the deceivingly innocuous question while breaking apart a piece of bread. The double-entendre was like a secret you both shared; though the idea of sharing anything with that waste of space made you inscrutably angry.Â
Sylus silently observed the interaction with curiosity. Your passive-aggressiveness was a trait he thought you only reserved for him. You were always nice, to everyone. Seeing you treat Zayne so coldly was like witnessing a beaver play the piano. It was unnatural.Â
âWork went as well as expected.â Zayneâs clipped reply left no room for further discussion. The conversation came to do a lull, and you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You immediately beelined away from the table that currently situated your nightmare blunt rotation and toward the womenâs bathroom that was positively Zayne-free.Â
The bathroom was just as extravagant as the rest of the restaurant but you didnât get to admire it before you splashed water on your face in an attempt to cool down. There was no way you could last an entire dinner next to Zayne. Maybe you could say you were feeling sick. Probably a bad idea when heâs a doctor. Work emergency wasnât plausible, your boss was at the table. What if you just ran away? You could live with the shame and embarrassment.
You looked up at the ceiling and silently cursed the heavens for your terrible luck. Seriously, you mustâve been a serial killer in your past life to deserve this fate. It was a never-ending series of unfortunate events, and you were desperate for a break.Â
When you eventually left the bathroom, Zayne was standing right outside the door. He startled you, but the moment the shock wore off your face morphed into a deadly glare.Â
âLook, I know you think Iâm a terrible person butââ
âMonster is the term Iâd use, but go on.â You rudely interrupted Zayne. He chose not to acknowledge your comment.Â
âI rarely get to spend time with MC and Iâd really appreciate it if you didnât ruin her birthday dinner because of me.â It didnât take long for you to realise that MC mustâve been Miss Hunterâs first name.Â
Zayne ruined everything he touched, he needed no help from you.Â
âIâm sorry, does the fact that Iâm angry at you for letting my mother die put a damper in your dinner plans?â
âYes it does, actually.â Zayne responded quickly. He either didnât understand sarcasm or was an even bigger dick than you thought.
âThen might I suggest you take her someplace else. Itâs your fault you couldnât get a table here. Why should I have to suffer because your incompetence knows no bounds?â You couldnât think of a time youâd insulted someone so much in such quick succession. Dr Zayne brought out the worst in you, but you could reflect on your actions later. Right now you were at war.Â
âWe are perfectly capable of having an amicable dinner.âÂ
You rolled your eyes at his condescending tone. âYou might be, Iâm not that mature.âÂ
âY/N. Weâre both adults.â He pleaded.
âBite me.âÂ
Before Zayne could open his mouth again, Sylus interrupted.
âEverything all good here?â For once in your life, you were grateful for Sylusâs interruption.Â
âNo.â You said.
âYes.â Zayne also said, at the exact same time.
âZayne you should head back to the table. Miss Hunter's waiting for you.â Zayne didnât think twice before taking the out and you internally flipped off his retreating form.
Sylus grabbed you by the forearm, his grip tight as he dragged you to a secluded part of the rooftop and away from the bathrooms.Â
âWhatâs going on with you?â He asked the moment you stopped moving, his hand still gripping onto your arm like a vice.Â
âCan you let go? Youâre hurting me.â He quickly released you, his eyes washing over with something you couldnât recognise as you soothed the part heâd rubbed raw.Â
âWhy are you acting so childish?â His question would've angered you had you not been angry already.
âI hate his guts.â The response did not help your case, but you werenât very articulate when you were upset.Â
âWhat did he do to you?â Sylusâs eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone that was laced with danger. You didnât think too much of his strange reaction, Sylus acting strange was pretty much the only consistent thing in your life lately.Â
You gnawed on your lip, unsure of how to respond. Your grievance against the world-renowned doctor was one youâd always kept to yourself. After all, everyone had nothing but praise for the brilliant Dr Zayne.Â
âY/N, if he touched you Iâllââ Your eyes quickly widened in shock at his interpretation.
âNo! Nothing like that. Itâs just, a few days before my mom died, a heart came in that was a match. But there was this other guy who was younger and needed it just as badly. The policy was that the hospital's medical board would vote on who got the heart and the entire board, Zayne included, unanimously agreed that the heart should go to the other guy.â They said it wasn't personal, that it had everything to do with survival rates, but there was no way to detach personhood from medicine.
You realised that when you said it out loud, your hate seemed unfounded. âI know it wasnât entirely his fault, but he didnât even try to give my mom a fighting chance. He didn't say anything to sway them, he just silently agreed. He was supposed to be her advocate.â The frustration began to boil over, and before you knew it there were tears welling up in your eyes.
âGod, I spent every last dollar of my paycheque to make sure she got the greatest medical care money could buy. Everyone said he was the best, but when it really mattered, he did nothing for her. I was such an idiot.â There was an uncontrollable fountain of tears streaming down your face, and you were grateful for Sylusâs decision to drag you to somewhere secluded.Â
The familiar tendrils of an oncoming panic attack began to wash over you as you began to hyperventilate. No matter how much you wanted to blame Dr Zayne, or the universe, or your shitty luck, the only person you could really blame was yourself. You sent her to that hospital, you convinced her to hold on for a transplant, you spent her last months on this Earth slaving away in another city instead of by her side. There was no way to get that time back.Â
âY/N, look at me. Itâs not your fault.â Sylusâs voice was like a beacon of light that led you through the dark tunnel you were trapped in. He cradled your face in his hands, wiping away your tears as they continued to stream down your face. But when your tears showed no signs of slowing, he pulled you into his arms, his hands holding your tear-stricken face against his chest.
He ran his long fingers through your hair as he whispered everything you wanted to hear. "Itâs not your fault. Itâs okay to hate him. It will get easier."
You werenât sure how long you spent with your face buried in his chest, but by the time youâd returned to reality, his white dress shirt was slightly transparent where your tears soaked through the material.Â
You laughed a little at the sight, and the corners of Sylusâs lips raised ever so slightly at the sound. When he saw you were okay, Sylus began to speak. âDonât move. Iâll grab your bag and weâll get out of here.â
Before he could leave you tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. âHey, Iâm sorry I ruined your dinner.â You truly were. Sylus did not deserve to be subjected to yet another one of your meltdowns, but he seemed to have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.Â
âNo it's my fault, I ruined it by inviting them to join us. I promise Iâll make it up to you.â Sylus then manoeuvred through the restaurant toward the nightmare table. When he returned with your bag in one hand and the other outstretched toward you, your heart skipped a beat. Or two. He played the role of the knight-in-shining-armour quite seamlessly, and he looked every bit the handsome prince charming. You tried to remind yourself why it was so dangerous to be attracted to a force like Sylus, but when he smiled at you like you were the only two people in the room, all caution was thrown to the wind.Â
_____________
In the spirit of making things up to you, you made Sylus take you to a restaurant of your choosing. It was a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place that charged so little one would question if they were serving real meat. But you never found better dumplings, so you took the risk anyway.
The dynamic was completely subverted as you sat on the table that was slightly sticky with cheap cleaning chemicals. Sylus was the one who looked out of place, his suit was unarguably the most expensive thing in the room and it brought joy to your miserable night to see him out of his comfort zone.
âHow did you find this place?â The question was warranted, other than you two, the only other occupants in the restaurant were a few middle-schoolers. Â
âI used to come here a lot with my friends in high school.â
âDid they all die from food poisoning?â Sylus seemed proud of his quick-witted joke. You gave him a pointed glare to convey just how unfunny that joke was.Â
âFunny, but no. We just drifted apart after we graduated.â The clipped reply shut down any further inquiry. You thought back to the fond memories you had in that restaurant. Things were different when you didnât yet know the cost of failure; before you knew what youâd be losing. And while everyone may have moved on from this small town in the N109 Zone, you never left.Â
âDo you even have any friends?â You choked on your drink at the question. He was genuinely asking and the worst part was, you really didnât.
Your constant struggle to make ends meet and maintain a high GPA for your academic scholarships made it impossible to have a social life. It didnât help that you went to a college you couldnât afford. It was hard to find people to relate to when everyone had grown up with silver spoons. Then after you graduated you landed at Onychinus, and it wasnât exactly a friendly environment.
âOf course I have friends.â Your lie was a feeble attempt to preserve the last of your dignity. Sylus had seen you at your absolute worst, but there was something extremely dehumanising about letting him know you were insanely lonely.
âReally, who?â His genuine surprise only made your insecurity worse.
âYou donât have to sound so shocked. Plus, you wouldnât know them.âÂ
âTry me.â Of course he wouldnât drop it. When has Sylus ever let something go?
âWell, thereâs Mr Demir, and Luke and Kieran, and my newly acquired friend Dr Hunt.â In a desperate attempt to keep up your lie, you pretty much just named all the people you knew.Â
âY/N, thatâs the man who sells you your sandwiches, my assistants, and a geologist who sold you a gem.âÂ
âHas anyone ever told you that no one likes a know-it-all?âÂ
âI think you should get out more. Maybe tone down the sarcasm and you might just make a friend or two.â Your jaw-dropped in faux shock at his unsolicited advice.
âYouâre one to talk, your best friend is a mechanical crow.â You snuck a dumpling off of his plate while he was distracted.
âI donât need friends, theyâre unnecessary burdens.â He took a swig of his beer. You thought heâd burst into flames if he drank anything other than red wine, but he adapted to his surroundings with little effort.
You put a hand on your heart as if in pain and jokingly gave him a solemn look.âThen why would you wish such a cruel fate onto me?â
âBecause I hate seeing you this miserable, Y/N.â The amusement from your banter died a quick death at his confession. You thought you kept it together most of the time, though bawling your eyes out in the N109 Zoneâs hottest restaurant probably didnât do that facade any good. But for the most part, you handled the death of your mother relatively well.Â
âIâm not miserable. Not all of the time at least. Like right now, Iâm only mildly annoyed!â You tried to change the topic the only way you knew how, with humour, but Sylus wasnât budging.
âYou take care of everyone but yourself and all itâs done is isolate you. There needs to be a give and take, sweetheart. People donât like feeling useless.â He spoke to you softly, as if he was scared the timbre of his voice would cause you to shatter into a million pieces.Â
There was a sinking feeling in your stomach that followed his oddly specific guidance. He seemed to know more about you than you thought he did, and you were torn between feeling seen and feeling judged.Â
âThatâs sound advice. Guess youâve been reading more magazines.â You were grasping at straws, willing to try anything to get the unwanted spotlight off of your inadequacies.Â
âYou also need to learn how to accept help without downplaying your problems.âÂ
âOkay, okay. You sound like my mother. Has her soul possessed you?â There you go Y/N. Play the dead mom card, thatâll work.Â
He chuckled at your joke. You knew he found you funny.
âYou donât know when to quit, do you?â
âYeah, the manufacturers didnât include an off-switch. No refunds, sorry.â You stuffed a dumpling in your mouth as the tension subsided.Â
âOh, Iâm not returning you, sweetheart. Theyâll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.â While you knew he was probably referring to the value you brought his company as his accountant, you couldnât stifle the butterflies that wreaked havoc in your stomach.
You didnât move when Sylusâs car stopped outside your house.Â
âThanks for tonight, I had fun. Sorry it didnât go to plan.â You turned to him after you unbuckled your seatbelt and the tight confines of the car felt even smaller.
âItâs fine, I liked this version of events better anyway.â His low voice reverberated through the small distance between you, nestling in your heart that was beating unhealthily fast.Â
âMe too. Next time you take a girl to dinner you ought to let her know if sheâs supposed to dress like sheâs going to the met gala.â Your advice had a bitter undertone because part of you still wished you could be the only girl heâd take to dinner.Â
âI usually do, but this particular girl doesnât need a fancy dress to be the most beautiful girl in the room.â The candid compliment made the butterflies do summersaults, and while their gymnastics routine continued, you found yourself at a loss for words.
âGoodnight, Y/N.â Sylus leaned over the centre console and opened the door for you, completing the chivalrous act of opening the door for you in his own unique fashion. He was so close, all it would take was one small move and his lips couldâve been on yours.
âGoodnight.â You barely got the word out through the sudden bout of breathlessness you were experiencing. And when you were finally encased in the familiar four walls of your home, you thought about every moment you shared with Sylus and how different he seemed from the man you knew before.Â
The weekend passed by in a blur. The necklace that looked like a carbon copy of your momâs was nestled on your neck. A permanent reminder that made âOperation Sylus: No Moreâ infinitely harder to achieve.Â
Perhaps you shouldnât have asked him to stop being a dick, because what you thought would be an easy feat was beginning to feel like climbing a mountain with a peak you couldnât even see.Â
You were staring at the list on your notes app on your brand new phone in hopes of searing it into your memory.Â
Operation Sylus: No More
The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November.Â
Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.
Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly.Â
Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. Sheâs the one he really wants.Â
Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but heâs kind of a silver-fox!
Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.
You violated step 5 that Friday when you let him take you to dinner and you were reaping the consequences of your mistake. There was no way you could survive the free-fall if you couldn't get your heart to obey your mind. The disconnect between the two vital organs might be the thing that kills you.
When you heard something shatter in the hallway, you quickly put your phone down and went out to investigate.
The door opened to Mephisto standing on a side table where an empty vase used to sit. The vase was now on the floor in pieces in front of your feet.Â
âYou did this on purpose.â You pointed an accusing finger at the bird, but all he did was tilt his head to the side as if he couldnât understand you. You knew he could understand you perfectly well.
The cold war between you two started in your first week at Onychinus when he would swoop at your head spontaneously for no reason. Sylus told you he did it to everyone he didnât trust and that heâd be over it in due time, but you were too vindictive to let it slide.Â
Several back-and-forth pranks later, the bird seemed to have remembered the tradition you managed to forget. âIf this is your way of saying you miss me then you take an awful lot after your owner.â Your words faded as you made your way to the kitchen to find the broom. However, upon your return you saw that the floor was flawless and the door to your office was closed.
You rushed in with unparalleled speed to see your worst nightmare; Sylus leaning against your desk in his usual model-like fashion with your phone in his hand.
Panic coursed through you like never before as you remembered what had been left open on your phone when you set it down and the painful fact that you left it unlocked.Â
Prayers for a sinkhole to open up and consume you in that very moment went unanswered as Sylus looked up at you with a smirk on his face.
âIs my laugh really deadly?â He looked amused.Â
Come on sinkhole. Anytime now.Â
When you didnât answer, Sylus moved toward you. When he was close enough to touch you, he leaned down to make sure your eyes were on his.
âYour deadline is fast approaching, Y/N. Care for a progress report?â The taunting question made heat rush to your face.
âIt was stupid, I wrote it months ago.â
âThen why did you have it open?âÂ
You couldnât exactly tell him that his willingness to change his cold and cruel demeanour just to keep you as his accountant revived the feelings you thought were long dead. You definitely couldnât tell him that the necklace that suddenly weighed down your chest made your heart skip a beat every time you touched it. And there was no way you were telling him that the dinner you shared was the happiest youâd felt in a long time.
âI was going to delete it when I heard Mephisto break something in the hallway.â
âDelete it? Guess you donât need it anymore.â
âNope.â You popped the P on the word for emphasis. âCan I have my phone back now?â He placed the device into your outstretched hand.Â
âSo how do you feel about me now, sweetheart?â
You tried your best to appear unperturbed by his taunting. âMad at your blatant violation of my privacy.â
âForgive me. I saw my name on your phone when I went to check in on you and I was curious.â
âMephisto told you I broke the vase, didnât he?â
âDonât deflect. Do you still have feelings for me?â
âNo, theyâre gone. Can we please drop this? Itâs embarrassing.â You lied in favour of self-preservation and hoped he wouldnât be able to see through your act.
âThereâs nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Many women confess their love for me every month.â You rolled your eyes at his ardent display of over-confidence and narcissism, though you knew he wasnât exaggerating. Â
âOkay, brace yourself there bachelor. No one said anything about love.â It was true, you never said you loved him. Whether or not you did, well that was a secret youâd take to the grave.Â
âSo then which feeling are we discussing?â The loaded question came out of his mouth so casually, like someone ordering a latte. A display of power that reminded you of just how little this mattered to him.Â
Your feet felt like they were grounded in their place by an invisible force and you were sure your cheeks were beet red. You knew your mouth was slightly agape in shock, but you couldnât even close it. Meanwhile, Sylus was unfazed, treating your feelings like a game.Â
âSince when do you even care about how I feel?â The sudden outburst was accompanied by your hand running through your hair out of frustration.
Sylusâs jaw clenched and for a moment he said nothing. There was no hint of amusement left on his features.Â
âYou think I donât care about you?â He seemed irritated by the premise, but you couldnât figure out why. You thought Sylus was proud of his clear disregard for other peopleâs emotions.Â
âYou treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of your boot for years. What reason did you give me to think otherwise?â
âI donât know, maybe the fact that I pay you more than my highest ranking footmen. Or that I had Mephisto tail you when you used to bike to and from work to make sure you got home safe. Hell, I invented the lunch budget when I hired you just to make sure you were eatingâ I even banned mushrooms from my kitchen in case you wanted to eat here. Not to mention the bullshit extra work Iâd assign you just so you would stay longer.âÂ
Choosing not to dwell on the implication of his silent acts of kindness, you interjected. âHey, I took those tasks seriously!â The twins thought you were crazy when you asked if Sylus was making those assignments up. You knew you were right.Â
âDonât interrupt me.â Your mouth clamped shut at his rather reasonable request. Sylus wasnât a big talker, so when he monologued, it was important.Â
âYour kindness, your humour, it all caught me off guard. No one ever treated me like you did and I had no idea how to feel. The little doodles you sent back to me on the notes I left you delineating tasks? I kept every last one. When Mephisto complained to me about that time you put corn-starch in his water fountain and almost destroyed his wiring, all I could do was laugh. I treated you like I treated all my men because I didnât want people to find out that you were my weakness.â
You swallowed the lump in your throat, but the pressure wasnât budging. There was so much you didnât know about Sylus, so much you completely misunderstood. This revelation caused a series of chain reactions to go off inside your brain and the weight of what he was trying to say felt suffocating.
You dreamed of a time where Sylus would reciprocate your feelings, but the reality of it was more daunting than you realised.
âAll my threats are empty with you, Y/N. Youâre the only one who gets away with the attitude you give me. You tell me you crashed a car worth over half-a-million dollars and all I could think about was if you were okay. I even offered to buy your house for way more than it was worth just to get you back. Do you seriously think I donât care?âÂ
All sound came to a stifling halt.Â
âWait, you were the âdeveloperâ?â
The inklings of betrayal wove their way through your skin as the pieces began to fall into place. The timing of the eviction notice, the fact that heâd shown up at your house the day you received it, the way he was so quick to agree to the ridiculous bonus.Â
He manipulated you like a puppet on a string and let you think you were in control the entire time.
âDonât look at me like Iâm some traitor.â His audacious demand made your blood boil.
âYou are a traitor! How could you do that to me?â You yelled.
âYou were going to leave me like I was nothing!â For the first time since youâd met him, Sylus raised his voice to match yours. Your entire body went cold at his vulnerability. He was afraid of being abandoned, and that was a fear you both shared.
âNot seeing you every day made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest. I could barely focus, all I could think about was what you were doing, who you were with. So imagine my surprise when I come to find that while Iâm being tortured every minute Iâm away from you, you needed more time.
âI knew I was being selfish, I knew that your grief had nothing to do with me, but Iâve never been good at putting my feelings into words. That day in the graveyard when you wouldnât even look at me, I thought Iâd lost you for good. It ate at me like a parasite. I had to get you back and I wonât apologise for not playing fair. There isnât a rule I wouldnât break for you, Y/N.â Â
It was hard to hate him for what he did when you understood where he was coming from. You were two sides of the same coin. While you overcompensated for the lack of love in your life by becoming the ultimate people-pleaser, he avoided it at every turn, saw it as a weakness. But at the core of every human being was an innate desire to be loved and an inherent fear of being abandoned.Â
People couldnât leave your life if you never let them in. That was a philosophy you saw both your mother and Sylus live by. It was lonely and difficult, and if you had the power of hindsight you wouldâve tried harder to convince your mother she was worthy of love. You couldnât make that same mistake again.Â
You loved Sylus, that much was ingrained into the flesh of your heart. For all his rugged edges, he had a way of making things happen that was akin to magic. His determination, his grit, it was admirable.
His intelligence was infuriating, you couldnât get anything past him. If he received the Greeksâ horse instead of the Trojans, you were sure heâd have seen right through their ruse.Â
His desire to make the N109 Zone a better place stemmed from a sense of altruism you could only hope to possess. And when Sylus did things for others, he never expected anything in return.Â
But for all his greatest traits he had some difficult ones too. Heâd hurt you more times than you could count, and even if heâd changed drastically since your motherâs death, you couldnât quite trust that he wouldnât hurt you again.
âYou already know how I feel about you.â You confessed. It was no secret you wore your heart on your sleeve, despite your motherâs constant reminders that the world was filled with terrible people whoâd take advantage of your candour. You chose to see the good in others, it boded better than the grim lifestyle that came with perpetual pessimism.Â
âThen why are you fighting this?â His question came out pained, and it was one you could answer.Â
âIâve loved you for a long time, Sylus. I loved you even though you insulted me, ignored me, reminded me I was replaceable every chance you got.
âI told myself it was just how you were, that it wasnât personal. But when you walked out on me in the hospital when I needed you the most, I loved you a little less.â
Sylus felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, like someone took a needle to his heart. He left that hospital because he wasnât sure youâd even want him there, and it pained him to see you so distraught over a problem he couldnât fix. When MC came to him with an important mission in Skyhaven, he saw an out, and like the coward he was he took it. If he knew that youâd lose your mother while he was away, he never would have left your side.Â
âWhen you didnât call until weeks later, when you showed up only to tell me I was being dramatic for grieving, I loved you even less. Every time you screwed me over you made it easier to live without you.â
It hurt to remember the pain you were in back then, the immense pressure of the burdens you carried. But if there was ever a chance of you and Sylus working out, he needed to know the truth.Â
âIâve only ever loved two people, Sylus, and in one month it felt like Iâd lost them both. I still love you, Iâm afraid I couldnât stop if I tried, but I donât know if I can be more than your accountant right now.â You couldnât survive another heartbreak, that much was for sure.Â
Even though Sylus looked like he was going to be sick, you continued.Â
âI thought I was okay with you treating me like everybody else, thought I was strong enough to take it. But when I saw you with Miss Hunter and the softness with which you spoke to her, it broke me. I saw that you were capable of being gentle. You just didnât think I was a worthy recipient of your kindness.â
He was quick to correct you. âThatâs not true, sweetheart. Not at all. She has something I need, something I canât take with force. Itâs why Iâve had to adopt unusual methods. If Iâd known it was causing you so much pain I wouldâve explained. Fuck, Y/N, you deserve so much more than just my kindness, more than I could ever give you. I canât even think of a person on Earth who deserves you at all.âÂ
When Sylus saw the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, he resisted the urge to wipe them away.
âIâll give you anything you ask for, anything but letting you go. Thereâs nothing so broken it canât be fixed, Y/N. You taught me that. Let me fix this.â He tested the waters by taking your hand in his and when you let him, he pulled you into his arms.Â
For a moment, the room was silent. You listened to his heartbeat through his chest and it might have been even faster than yours. It felt like deja vu, reminding you of that moment in the restaurant, or that time in his hallway after Zayneâs phone call. Sylus was there to comfort you more often than not, why were you so scared of letting him in?
âI want to believe you, I just donât know that I can.â Your voice was small, timid. As if you were afraid something youâd say would shatter the sanctity of this moment and youâd find out it was all a dream.Â
âI wonât stop trying until you do, sweetheart. Youâre it for me, thereâs no one else.â He kissed the top of your head with a softness you didnât know he possessed and the words were like bandages wrapping around the wounds inflicted by your own envy.
In the comfortable silence, Sylus made a vow. âI donât have regrets â you know that quite well â but I regret the way I treated you. Iâll spend every lifetime repenting for my mistakes, Y/N, and I promise Iâll never let anything hurt you again.â He squeezed you tighter and the comfort his warmth brought you was a welcome change to the cold you lived in all the time.Â
Desperate to diffuse the overwhelming angst of the situation, you pulled away from his embrace and clapped your hands together. âOkay then, as of today we commence âOperation Sylus: The Redemption'.â
His loud laugh resounded through your office, and it was a sound youâd never get tired of hearing. He grabbed your chin. âHave you always been this corny?âÂ
âI watch a lot of movies, okay? Now, shake on it.â You shook his hand off your face and held out your hand with an invitation that he instantly accepted. With his warm hand encasing yours, you whole-heartedly hoped this operation would be a success.Â
Late December
You assumed the dynamic between you and Sylus would drastically change following your impromptu heart-to-heart. But the changes came in small waves.Â
It started with the middle-aged man who silently drove you to and from work with a permanent scowl on his face being replaced by Sylus himself.
Then there was the sticky notes heâd usually place on documents explaining the task and deadline, now with an added addendum.
â That necklace was the best decision Iâve ever made.
â Your hair looks especially nice today.
â Did you switch perfumes? I like it.
â That new lipstick suits you. Your lips are all I can think about.Â
You saved all of them in a drawer at your desk.Â
He had someone bring you your lunch every day and spent your entire lunch break with you. Somedays you talked until your tongue felt like it was going to fall off, other days you just sat and ate together in silence. And every Friday afternoon, instead of taking you straight home, heâd take you to visit your motherâs grave with a new bouquet in his hands.Â
You were glad he was taking things slow. His small gestures made your heart flutter without overwhelming you, but it had been a month since your confrontation, and he didnât even try to touch you.Â
While your inexperience with love, lust and romance never impacted any significant aspect of your life before, it was growing increasingly difficult to wait for Sylus to make the first move. He didnât want to scare you, that much was understandable. But you were growing angsty waiting for him the tension between you two hit a boiling point.
The glorious plan came to you while you were shopping with Luke and Kieran for Onychinusâs annual Christmas gala. It was a networking event masked under the guise of a holiday celebration where the people hiding in the shadows of the underworld could spend one night communicating on the surface.
Every year, Sylus insisted he couldnât outsource waiters for the event because of potential security leaks, so you, the twins and a couple other of his staff were forced to fill in as the help. Sylus told you that you wouldnât have to participate this year, but you began to look forward to the event. It was like an unorthodox Christmas tradition.
Your eyes drifted to the costume section of the party store, and when they landed on a short red Santaâs helper dress, you felt a lightbulb turn on in your head. Maybe you had to give Sylus a little nudge.
âHey, aren't you guys kind of bored of the slacks and the dress shirts he makes us wear?â You sowed the seed of doubt into your unwilling accomplices.
âDuh. I hate dressing like a butler.â Lukeâs eyes continued to scan the aisle for decorations. The hall was professionally decorated, but you added your own little details every year. It made things less drab and it gave the twins an excuse to spend hours in the party supply store.Â
âWhat if we went with Christmas themed costumes this year?â The twins turned to look at you with confusion, but they quickly warmed up to the idea when you pointed at the wall of seasonal costumes.
âIâm Rudolph!â They made their declarations in unison before breaking out into an argument in the middle of the party store.
âJust flip a coin!â You desperately suggested, taking a coin out of your wallet and placing it on your thumb, ready to flip. People were beginning to stare.
âIâm heads!â They said in unison, again.
âKieran youâre heads, Luke youâre tails.â You assigned them the parts of the coin alphabetically and watched it flip through the air. When it landed in your hands, it displayed tails. You silently hoped they would move on from this unnecessary battle and restore peace to your shopping trip again.
âSorry Kieran, Lukeâs Rudolph.â Kieran complained for the rest of the day about how annoying being an elf was, and how, since he was an inch taller than Luke, it only made sense for Luke to be the elf instead.Â
They argued like the siblings you never had, and for all the pain and suffering they caused you, there was no denying you loved having them around. Besides, working for Sylus left the three of you trauma-bonded for life. There wasnât really an out from this unconventional friendship.Â
_________________
You failed to remember to clear the costume idea with Sylus before the gala. He was just so busy trying to organise the event, and you were similarly swamped with ensuring all the invoices were sent out on time to the right vendors. You barely saw each other in the days leading up to the big event.
The dress was shorter on you than you anticipated. Coming up just above mid-thigh, it was nothing like anything you owned in your closet. The little hat it came with was cute though and you pinned it to your hair. The make-up you wore was the same as your everyday makeup, barring the eyeliner youâd spent way too long trying to perfect and your lipstick.Â
Other than the dress, you really did look the same as you did most of the time. Would Sylus even notice?
Right on cue, a knock on your door snapped you out of your train of thought, and you took a deep breath before opening it.Â
As you expected, Sylus looked unfazed by your choice in attire as you moved out of the doorway to let him in.
âI see weâve foregone the uniforms this year.â His comment was a welcome distraction from your insecurities.
âWhimsy is part of the Christmas spirit, you know.â
âItâs cute. Did you get that dress from the childrenâs section?â
The question came so out of left-field it left you were stunned. Once the shock settled in, you suddenly felt self-conscious.
âNo⊠Why? Does it look childish?â You couldnât help the vulnerability in your voice.Â
Sylus closed the distance between you in a few long strides, his hands were on you in an instant. His palm was holding onto your waist the other tracing alone the edge of your dress.Â
âQuite the opposite, Iâm just wondering why theyâd make a dress so short for adult women.âÂ
âAdult women can dress however they want, Sylus.â You chided.
âI know, but Iâll have my hands full if Iâm trying to host this event and take care of the hoards of men that will be chasing after my girl at the same time.â He whispered the words seductively into your ear, the hand on your thigh slipping ever-so-slightly under the dress.
You ignored the warm, fuzzy feeling that bloomed through you at the sound of Sylus calling you his girl.
âThere wonât be âhoards of menâ. This will be the third time Iâm working your annual gala and Iâve only ever gotten hit on like four times.â You knew from the way his eyebrows furrowed that you shouldnât have told him that.
âFour times? Men hit on you four times while I was in the room and you didnât tell me?â He was clearly angry, his rage unwarranted since it happened right under his nose.Â
âI didnât think youâd care. Most of them were like fifty, anyway!â That was true, and every time one of them placed a hand on your shoulder or your forearm, it made you grimace.Â
âIf men approached you in long pants and a dress shirt with a plate of refreshments in your hand what do you think theyâll do when they see you in this get up?â He walked you back until you were standing against the wall.
He had a point. Maybe it was too suggestive.
âI can changeââ
âNo. You never have to do that with me, baby. Just stay where I can see you, alright?âÂ
âOkay.â You felt a blush paint your cheeks. The tension was bubbling up between you. His hand was searing into your waist, his other one moving dangerously high on your thigh. You really thought this would be the moment he kissed you. But then the warmth of his hands was abruptly gone.Â
âOkay. You ready to go?â He held the door open for you. That was it? Frustrated at your lack of results, you silently walked out of your house.
__________________
âDid you see Sylusâs date?â
âOf course, sheâs definitely the hottest girl here.â
âI bet sheâs had work done.â
âIf so, I need the name of her surgeon.â
You eavesdropped on the hushed whispers of a group of women who were gossiping in a corner near the kitchen. The second you walked through the doors of the extravagant event hall, you both went your separate ways and you hadnât seen him since. So much for not letting you out of his sight.Â
All you heard about the entire night was his mysterious date and her envious beauty. He never told you he was bringing one, nor did he ever ask you to fill the spot. But before you could completely spiral, you reminded yourself of Sylusâs promise. He wouldnât do anything to hurt you. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.Â
âNow whatâs a pretty girl like you doing working here?â Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a man. You turned around, expecting to see one of the many sleazy old men who frequented these events and saw you as an easy target, but all you saw was a young, attractive guy in a three-piece suit. Huh.
âHors dâoeuvre?â You offered the plate to him in place of a response.Â
âNo thanks. Iâve had my fill, though I must say, the other servers arenât quite as easy on the eyes as you.â His eyes shamelessly scanned every inch of you, head-to-toe, and you felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze.Â
âOh, um thanks.â The blush on your cheeks was an unwanted biological reaction, you werenât used to attention from men within your age range. It wasn't like you thought you were ugly, you were just a bit of a hermit.
âWhatâs your name, beautiful?â You were about to answer his question when someone did it for you.
âY/N.â The voice belonged to the man of the hour who seemed to have appeared out of thin air.Â
âSylus, hello. Hors dâoeuvre?â Clearly you were running out of things to say if your default reaction was to offer everyone a snack, but it was hard to find the voice to speak when you saw the girl who had her arms wrapped around his.Â
Miss Hunter. You shouldâve known. Your eyes passed over her beautiful dress and pinned up hair. She lived up to the rumours, she was definitely the prettiest girl in the room. Next to Sylus the pair reminded you of a renaissance painting. They made sense, and clearly not just aesthetically if he brought her as his date instead of you.
Sylus saw the way your eyes trailed off to MC standing next to him. He saw the self-doubt turn your eyes glassy, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away to a private room where he could show you just how badly he wanted you, and no one else.
But his enemies were in attendance tonight, it was part of the reason he didnât want you there. Sylusâs only weakness used to be his mortality, and even that was debatable. But now his biggest weakness was tangible, and she wore an adorable Christmas themed dress that made every man in the room brim with desire. Miss Hunter may have been the focus of all the women in attendance, but all the men could talk about was the sexy server in the little red dress. It was driving him insane.Â
But MC was a hunter and if he endangered her, she could get out of it unscathed without his help. Their enemies were the same, which made them perfect allies, but it also made their loved ones easy targets. Sylus would never forgive himself if he let someone hurt you. So despite the excruciating pain that coursed through him at your hurt expression, he did nothing to quell your concerns.
But he couldnât idly stand by and let this man make a pass at you either. It was clear Henry was not aware of Sylusâs newly established no-fraternising-with-the-staff policy.Â
âHenry, not distracting my staff, are you?â Sylus directed his attention to his business associate. Henry ran a security company which supplied a large portion of their weaponry from Onychinus. The contract they shared was a substantial source of revenue that Sylus couldnât afford to compromise.Â
âIâm just wondering where you found such delectable staff.â Sylus felt his jaw clench at the way Henry undressed you with his eyes and your consequential discomfort. Fuck the contract, he was going to make that man pay. But he couldnât inflict his revenge quite yet, so he played nice.Â
âUnfortunately my staff are exclusively mine. Iâm sure you understand how difficult it is to find loyal help.â Well, at least he tried to play nice. The subtle jab at Henryâs recent whistleblower scandal was a low blow, but he wasnât above kicking below the belt.
Annoyed and slightly confused by the exchange, you rolled your eyes at the testosterone-fuelled men bickering and cleared your throat.
âI think Iâm needed in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, Henry.â You gave him the kindest smile you could muster and gave Sylus no smile at all. It was the least he deserved for blindsiding you with his date.Â
âI should check on the catering, excuse me.â Sylus followed you to the kitchen and the second he caught up to you, he pulled you into a nearby storage closet.
There was barely any room for the both of you in there, so you were pressed up against his body. You tried to create some distance between you two, but he just pulled you back in by your waist.
âWhat are you doing? Iâm supposed to be working and youâre supposed to be socialising. We canât do those things from here.â You berated him quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didnât really need anyone from the staff discovering you in this compromising position. Youâd had enough embarrassment in one night for a lifetime.
âMiss Hunter is just here with me on business.â Sylusâs statement did little to comfort the tumultuous storm in your mind.Â
âI donât care.â In a sense, it was true. It seemed your mind didnât care whether Miss Hunter was there with him on business or not, it still hurt all the same.Â
âDonât lie to me, I can tell when youâre upset.â Sylus tried to caress your cheek but you pushed his hand away.Â
âOkay, fine. Iâm upset. Now will you let me leave?â You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but to no avail. His hand squeezed your face as he forced you to face him.Â
âIf youâre upset, talk to me about it. Donât antagonise me by flirting with other men. It wonât end well for them.â The fire in his eyes swore retribution and you did not want to be Henry right now.
âI wasnât flirting!â You tried to defend yourself but you knew heâd see straight through your ruse.Â
âThat sweet smile of yours is reserved for me and me alone.â There was no way Sylus wouldâve let that over-the-top smile slide and this was exactly how you expected him to react, but it only made you more upset. Â
âRight, but I just have to make do with sharing you with Miss Hunter.â The irony of the situation was not lost on Sylus, but he had a laundry-list of crimes, hypocrisy was the least of them.Â
âIâm all yours, baby. I promise itâs just business.â He sounded sincere, and you trusted him to tell you the truth. Sylus never lied unless it was out of omission, but when you asked him a direct question, he never failed to answer honestly.Â
âI can help you with business.â You tried to reason, your palm resting against his pounding heart.Â
âNot this kind, sweetheart. Iâm just trying to protect you. I need you to trust me.â You trusted Sylus with your life, with your heart. Which was why you knew you wouldnât like the answer to the question you asked next.Â
âDid you sleep with her?â The mere thought of it tasted like acid on your tongue. It wasnât like you werenât aware of Sylusâs past, but where the other women in his life came and left like the tide, Miss Hunterâs presence was persistent.Â
You needed to know just how far theyâd gone, even if it might destroy you.Â
âYes. It was one time when we first met in September. Before I realised how I felt for you.â The words pierced straight through you like bullets of radiation. Your palm slowly slipped off of his chest and you diverted your gaze to your heels. âY/N, you know I only want you. It meant nothing to me.âÂ
Perhaps it wasnât the fact that theyâd slept together that hurt you so deeply. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she got under his skin. Sylus may love you, but what if he wasnât attracted to you?
The thought slipped out of you before you could mull it over. âHow am I supposed to believe that when you were all over in seconds and you wonât even kiss me?!âÂ
A hint of recognition flashed through Sylusâs eyes as he realised the catalyst behind your frustration. For some odd reason that he could never figure out, you were insecure. Even though your charm bordered on lethal and your beauty was unparalleled, you still felt inadequate. It perplexed him how someone could look so divine and not be aware of it.
âI havenât kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were ready, sweetheart. I was worried Iâd scare you away, because Iâm sure if I got a taste of you I wouldnât know how to stop.â He sounded strained when he spoke, as if he was recalling his frustration at having to hold back.Â
You watched him intently, his words dripped with a desire you both shared. With his body so close to yours, it was hard not to wish heâd just act on his primal instincts.Â
âYouâre entirely unaware of your affect on me. You have no idea how precarious the string holding me back from insanity has become. When I saw you in that dress, I was sure I wouldnât be able to hold back. But then you'd look up at me with those angelic eyes and I realise I canât risk losing you.âÂ
Before you could even think it through, your desire became overwhelming and your lips were on his in an instant.
It was nothing like you expected, nothing like the chaste, sweet kisses you saw in your movies. It was heated, messy, desperate. His lips ravaged yours like a man on death row devoured his last meal. You felt his desire with every movement and all the doubt you had dissipated instantly. His hands were all over you, one softly held on to your neck, while the other held on to your waist like you might disappear.Â
His lips moved to your cheek, your jaw and eventually the sensitive skin on your collarbone. When he bit a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you let out a whine. You hoped he hadn't given you a hickey. His face came up to yours as he looked at your lips which were red from the impact and the desire running rampant in your eyes. It mightâve been the most beautiful youâd ever looked.
âWell? Iâm still here.â You whispered against his lips before giving him a chaste peck.
Sylus knew you werenât just talking about this moment. You never left, even when he gave you a million reasons why you should. He didnât know what he did to deserve such luck, but he knew heâd never give you a reason to walk away from him ever again.
âWe should get out of here.â Somehow you knew he didnât just mean the storage closet. He shifted to lead you out but you quickly stopped him.
âYou canât leave your own party! What about your date?â As much as the idea of MC hanging off his arm made your skin crawl, it wasnât right to just leave her alone.Â
âSheâll be fine. The only woman I care about is right in front of me, and I want to do so much to her than kiss her in a storage closet.â There was an underlying promise in his tone, and you felt the slightest bit of fear that you mightâve bitten off more than you could chew.
âYouâve lasted this long, whatâs one more night?â Your last ditch effort to escape the dangerous situation was unsuccessful.Â
âSweetheart, I can't wait another second.â He gave you a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed his fraying restraint. Your fear felt inconsequential when he was with you, you knew you could trust him wholly with every part of you.Â
So, when he led you out of the storage closet and all the way to his bedroom, you never once felt scared. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Sylus worshipped you like you were his salvation and he never once let you doubt yourself again.
Later that night, as you laid in his bed underneath his covers, staring over at his peaceful sleeping expression, you realised he was your salvation too.
Christmas Day
âWhatâs the surprise?â You asked the same question for the umpteenth time.Â
âJust be patient, weâre almost there.â You let Sylus lead you through what you thought was a building while you obediently kept your eyes shut. Eventually your feet came to a halt, and you were bursting with anticipation.Â
âAlright, open your eyes.â When you opened them you were in the living room of a charming beach house. It was so bright it took your eyes a while to adjust, but when they did you noticed that it was decorated with splashes of your favourite shade of yellow. The large balcony doors opened to the sight of a familiar beach, and you felt a range of emotions wash over you all at once. Sadness, nostalgia, yearning.Â
âMerry Christmas, baby.â Sylusâs voice behind you snapped you back to reality.Â
âWhat is this place?â The awe in your voice could not be concealed.
âItâs yours. I know how much you hate being on the beach, but I also know it meant a lot to your mother. From this balcony itâll be like youâre right there without actually being there.â He sounded almost nervous while presenting his gift to you, worried you might hate it. But there wasnât a word that could describe the pure gratitude and love you felt for the man standing in front of you.Â
âYou bought me a house on my motherâs favourite beach?â The disbelief in your voice was almost tangible.Â
âYeah.â
âSylus, all I got you was a pocket watch!â You thought that since you were both not very big on Christmas, you would exchange small gifts. Clearly small wasnât a word Sylus kept in his vocabulary.Â
âYou gave me so much more than that.â The suggestion in his voice did nothing to soothe your guilt.Â
âThis is too much.â
âY/N, youâre more familiar with my assets than I am, if this made a significant dent in my bank account I think you wouldâve noticed when I bought it a month ago.âÂ
âYouâve had this for a month?â The shock persisted, but he was right. His expenses ranged from a box of paperclips to the purchase of a two-hundred-million dollar industrial complex.Â
âYes, I bought it the first time you asked me to take you to the beach after work.â
âBut what if we didnât work out?â A month ago that seemed like a palpable possibility, but now you couldnât imagine your life without Sylus in it.
âIâd find a way to trick you into taking it anyway.âÂ
You all but rolled your eyes at the memory of his less-than-graceful plan to acquire your house until you ended up working for him again.Â
âRight, of course. Youâre quite good at that I hear.âÂ
âIâm good at many things, Iâll remind you later.â He drawled against your ear, but before you could force him to act on his promise he spoke up again. âFor now, thereâs one more surprise.âÂ
You let Sylus lead you out to the balcony with his hands on your shoulders, driving you forward. He stood behind you, his chest to your back. He pointed to a hill on the left of the house where a beautiful willow tree sat atop the beach on a cliff.
âI bought that plot of land too. I donât want to overstep, but if youâd like, we could move your mother here. Have her final resting place be at the place she loved the most.â His voice kept you anchored as memories of your mother threatened to pull you away. It still filled your chest with overwhelming sadness when you thought of her, but the thought that she could spend forever in the place that brought her the most joy filled you with relief. You didnât get to give your mother much, but at least Sylus helped you give her this.Â
You couldnât stop the tears streaming down your face if you tried.
Sylus had come a long way from that day at the graveyard, an even longer way from the day you met him. The fact that he grew to care about your mother as much as you did made your heart swell with love for him that expanded every day. Something you didnât even think was possible.
âShe would love that.â Sylus wrapped his hands around your waist, placing an ever-so-gentle kiss on your temple. âI wish you couldâve met her when she was alive, you wouldâve loved her.â They were both the strongest people you knew, and it pained you that they never got to meet.Â
âIâm sure I would have. After all, I am a huge fan of her work.â You couldnât help the laugh that escaped you at his cheesy joke. You were rubbing off on him, that was for sure. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face at the sound of your joyful laugh and you had to squeeze out of his grasp to make him stop.Â
While you wished you didnât have to lose someone so important to you to gain another, things always had a weird way of working out. Your future was still murky, but what you did know for sure was that âOperation Sylus: No Moreâ could officially be declared a massive failure. And even though the physical hole in your heart still existed, the proverbial one shrunk to half itâs size; and you had the silver-haired man with the stone-encased heart of gold to thank for that.Â
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