#it's coercive and manipulative and abusive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crazykinkiwi · 9 days ago

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Mr Fushiguro | Twisted Oneshots

Pairing: Father-figure!Toji x emotionally isolated!Reader (Modern AU)

Genre: Psychological thriller, Dark fiction, Emotional manipulation, Yandere, Familial tension, Mindbreak

Word count: 6.7k

WARNINGS:

Emotional/psychological abuse, grooming, possessiveness, manipulation, coercive control, trauma bonding, toxic family dynamics, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, disturbing power imbalance, fear, grief, implied non-consent, mentions of parental death, yandere behavior, huge age gap implications, mental breakdown, obsessive behavior, stalking, implied violence, horror/psychological themes

⚠️ Please DO NOT read if you are sensitive to any of the above topics.

AN: This story explores dark, disturbing themes including coercion, psychological manipulation, and trauma. It is entirely fictional and does not support or romanticize harmful behaviors. If you are uncomfortable with possessive characters, emotional control, or traumatic psychological content, I strongly advise you to skip this. Your comfort and safety matter. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Masterlist

You arrange the last of your books on the wooden shelf, your fingers brushing over the spines with a little more force than needed. It’s been two days since you moved into this new place.

You, your mother… and Mr. Fushiguro.

You know you’re supposed to call him something else now—father, maybe. But the word tastes wrong even in your thoughts. He’s not like your real dad, not loud or violent or cruel.

And yet… something about him makes your stomach knot.

Still, you’ve promised yourself you’ll try. For your mom. She deserves better. She deserves to be happy. Even if it means pretending that the man she married doesn’t unnerve you every time he walks past.

Your thoughts are cut off by your phone buzzing on the bed. It's her.

"Sweetheart? Come down for a sec!" her voice sings over the speaker, light and excited.

You head downstairs, trying not to look tense.

At the foot of the stairs, you spot her first. She’s radiant tonight—hair done, makeup soft, wearing that light lavender dress that makes her smile like she’s in her twenties again.

And beside her, dressed all in black, fiddling with the sleeve of his button-up, is him.

They look like they’re headed to a fancy dinner. Or maybe a gala. You’re not sure. You don’t ask.

“What do you think?” your mother beams, twirling once with a small laugh.

“You look beautiful, Mom,” you say, smiling softly.

You don’t look at the man next to her. Not even a glance.

Toji doesn’t say anything either. Just slides his hands into his pockets and shifts his weight, chewing gum slowly.

“Oh! I forgot my purse upstairs,” your mother suddenly remembers. “Dear, just wait for me a sec, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles with a nod, voice low and lazy. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

She disappears back into the house. The front door clicks shut behind her.

Silence.

Just you and him now, standing in the hallway. You stare at the floor, the air feeling heavier with each second. You’re not sure what pushes you to speak. Maybe it’s the guilt. Maybe it’s the growing pit in your chest.

You finally ask, voice low, tight—

"You’re not using her… are you?”

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn’t even move.

Just keeps chewing.

And somehow, the silence feels louder than anything he could’ve said.

The front door swings open again, heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

"Found it!" your mother laughs, holding up her small silver purse. "Let’s go now before we’re late."

She glances over at you as she steps outside again, adjusting her earring.

“Take care, okay, sweetheart? There’s food in the fridge.”

You nod. “Have fun.”

Toji walks past you without a word, brushing by with the faint scent of his cologne—musky, sharp, expensive. He doesn’t look at you either.

The door shuts with a gentle click.

From the window, you watch them get into the car—him in the driver’s seat, her talking animatedly as she buckles her belt.

Inside the car, Toji glances over as he pulls onto the road.

“She’s still awkward around you,” your mother murmurs, watching the passing streetlights. Her voice carries no blame—just quiet concern.

Toji exhales through his nose, one hand loosely on the steering wheel.

“‘S fine,” he says. “Makes sense. Hard to live with someone ya barely know. I'm just some stranger her mom married outta nowhere, y'know?”

She smiles, a soft, touched smile. The kind she rarely wore in the past. “Still… I hope one day you two can be closer.”

Toji clicks his tongue lightly, eyes fixed ahead. “Plenty of time in the world for that. No rush.”

She reaches over, places a hand over his. He doesn’t flinch. Just keeps driving.

---

The next day, you're stepping out of your college gate, the sun dipping low behind the buildings. Beside you, one of your classmates—Rika—adjusts her bag strap and turns toward you.

“So,” she begins casually, “any future plans? Like after finals?”

You squint up at the sky, thoughtful. “I’ve been looking for jobs I can do alongside my classes. Maybe part-time tutoring. Or a desk job.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you didn’t need to worry about money.”

You pause, surprised by the remark. Then she adds quickly, “I mean, since I heard your mom… y’know. Remarried and all.”

You give a short nod. “Yeah. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.”

Rika tilts her head, studying your face. “Hmm… so how is he? The guy?”

You hesitate.

What are you supposed to say?

That you barely speak to him? That something about him makes your spine tingle in all the wrong ways? That even his silence feels calculated?

“…Good. Maybe,” you say finally. “He’s polite.”

You leave out the fact that you've never once caught him off guard.

Not even when you accused him.

Later—

You greet the gate guard with a small wave as you step inside the compound.

“Uncle,” you call gently, and he turns from his little stool near the security booth.

“Ah, YN,” he says with a smile. “Back from class?”

You nod. “Yeah… are they back?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Came back about an hour ago. I told them you had college.”

“Thanks,” you say, grateful. You liked the old man—he wasn’t nosy like others. Always kind. Always respectful.

You head inside the house. The faint scent of something sweet and buttery hangs in the air.

From the kitchen, you hear clattering.

Your mother.

“Welcome home!” she calls out without looking up. “I’m almost done with dinner.”

You kick off your shoes and step closer, dropping your bag quietly by the couch. “Okay…” You hesitate, eyes darting around the living room. No sign of him.

You clear your throat.

“…Mum,” you say gently, “how was your day?”

She turns from the stove, cheeks a little flushed, smiling. “It was lovely. Every moment with him was just… easy. You know?” She stirs something in the pan. “He’s really kind, YN. Thoughtful.”

You swallow down whatever comment bubbles up. “…That’s good.”

Before you can add anything else, something cold brushes your cheek.

You flinch, turning your head sharply.

Toji stands beside you, holding out a small, wrapped cone of your favorite ice cream.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“Would’ve eaten it if ya took any longer,” he drawls. “Now hurry up before it melts.”

You blink. “Uh—thank… you.”

You take it slowly from his hand, your fingers barely brushing his.

Vanilla almond crunch.

Your favorite.

“See?” your mother calls from the kitchen, amused. “Told you she’d like it.”

Toji doesn’t respond right away. Just glances down at you, head tilted, one hand in his pocket.

“Kids are predictable,” he says lazily, the corner of his mouth twitching up in smug satisfaction.

You frown faintly, muttering under your breath, “…I’m not a kid.”

Still, you find yourself staring at the ice cream.

It’s nothing.

Just a sweet gesture.

And yet… a warmth settles in your chest.

Maybe because your real father never did things like this.

—

Days pass. And strangely, the air in the house doesn't feel as heavy anymore.

Not because you’ve grown closer to him.

But because he’s hardly ever around.

He’s out for “work”—whatever that means—or whisking your mother away to fancy dinners, charity parties, and late-night drives that leave you alone with silence and reheated leftovers.

But every time he returns, he brings you something.

A silly frog keychain.

A packet of imported chocolates.

A glass snow globe with your college's name etched into it—how did he even know?

Small things. Thoughtless things.

Yet somehow… thoughtful.

Today is no different.

You’re curled up on the living room couch, legs tucked under you. Toji sits beside you, eyes on the television as some match plays. Rugby? No—maybe football. You’re not paying attention.

He sips from a bottle of water and stretches one arm lazily along the back of the couch.

You don’t lean into it.

But you don’t move away, either.

Your eyes flick to the staircase—and that’s when you see her.

Your mother.

She’s standing halfway down, hand resting on the wooden rail. Her eyes find yours, and there’s something in them.

Worry. Or is it guilt?

You can’t tell.

She’s been like this lately. Distant. Guarded.

And the more things smoothen between you and him, the stranger she becomes.

Her lips part as if she wants to say something—but then Toji’s voice cuts in.

“Babe,” he says casually, not even looking away from the screen, “can ya get me a drink?”

Your mother blinks, flinches almost. Then nods.

“Of course,” she murmurs, and walks toward the kitchen.

You glance at Toji.

He’s smirking at the TV like nothing happened.

You glance back at your mother’s retreating figure.

And something feels… off.

You rise to your feet.

Feet bare against the tile, you step into the kitchen. She doesn’t turn.

Her back is to you, hands mechanically grabbing a glass and filling it from the water filter.

“Mum?”

She pauses.

“…What’s wrong?”

A beat.

And then, softly—almost too quiet to catch—she speaks.

“…It’s you.”

Your chest tightens. “What?”

She sets the glass down a little too firmly. It clinks against the counter.

But she doesn’t repeat herself.

You stare at her profile. Her lips are pressed into a thin line. Her gaze is far away.

You don’t understand.

What did she mean?

—

You let out a heavy sigh.

Whatever that was in the kitchen… it’s still sitting on your chest like a stone.

You return to the living room and sink onto the opposite couch, not even pretending to watch the match anymore. Your hands rest limply in your lap.

Toji doesn’t look at you immediately—but you feel his gaze shift.

“…She pissed or somethin’?” he asks, tone casual, but not exactly careless.

You glance over at him.

And shrug.

“I… I don’t know.”

He hums low in his throat, like he’s heard that kind of answer before. Doesn’t push. Just leans back again.

Your mother returns soon after, holding a glass of water for him.

Toji takes it without looking, takes a sip, then smacks his lips slightly and says, “Get ready.”

Your mother blinks.

“Huh?”

He looks at her now, smirking faintly.

“Dress up. We’re goin’ out.”

You feel the air shift, just slightly. A softer look spreads across your mother’s face. That glow she always has around him returns like it never left.

She nods. “Alright. Just give me a few minutes.”

As she walks upstairs, Toji catches your eye and jerks his chin toward her. “Told ya. Women just need a lil' change of vibe.”

You offer a stiff smile.

And that’s it.

Evening settles quietly. You watch from the window as your mother steps out later, Toji already waiting in the car, leaned casually on the driver-side door with his usual arrogance. He holds it open for her. She smiles. Something about it feels genuine.

You hope it goes well.

You busy yourself. A little cleaning. Rearranging your bookshelves. You even wipe down your desk for no reason other than to stay distracted.

Later, you eat a simple dinner alone. Rice. Curry. Reheated.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

You go to bed early. Or at least, you lie down.

It’s past midnight when the silence breaks.

You blink awake, staring at the ceiling, unsure at first if you imagined it. But there it is again—a sharp thud, and the low rumble of raised voices.

You sit up slowly, heartbeat climbing. Slipping out of bed, you pad barefoot toward your window.

The car is back in the driveway.

They’re home.

But it doesn’t sound like a peaceful return.

You step into the hallway.

Just in time to see your mother storming past your door.

Her heels clack furiously against the floorboards as she disappears into the master bedroom, her purse flying—literally flying—backwards toward the hall. It hits Toji’s chest.

He catches it with one hand.

Doesn’t even flinch.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “Ya throwin’ your whole salary at me or what?”

She doesn’t answer.

He sighs and looks up.

Right at you.

Your eyes meet—briefly. His mouth twitches, like he might say something.

But he doesn’t.

He just exhales sharply through his nose and walks after her, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

The door shuts behind them.

Hard.

You stand there, unsure what you just walked into.

But your stomach tells you it’s something you weren’t supposed to see.

—

Morning arrives too quickly.

And too quietly.

There’s still tension in the air like smoke after a kitchen fire. No sounds of arguing, no slamming doors. But that somehow feels worse.

When you step into the hallway, you notice his shoes are gone. Toji must've left early. Not that you’re surprised. He always disappears in the mornings—sometimes before you even wake.

Your steps are soft as you approach your mother’s door.

It's already slightly open.

She's standing by the mirror, fixing the collar of her blouse, earrings glinting under the dim vanity lights. Her lips are pursed, drawn into the kind of line that feels permanent lately.

You hover in the doorway.

“…Mom?”

She looks at you through the mirror, but her hands don’t stop moving.

“Yeah?”

You step in slowly.

“I... I just wanted to talk. Please,” you say quietly. “I mean… what's been bothering you?”

She doesn’t respond at first.

You watch her pick up a bottle of perfume, spritz her wrists, then rub them together like she didn’t hear you. But you know she did.

“…You’ve been different lately,” you continue, forcing the words out despite the knot in your chest. “And last night, the fight… I just—can you please tell me what’s going on?”

Your mother freezes for a second, shoulders rising as if preparing herself to either scream or shatter.

But she doesn’t do either.

She simply lowers her arms and turns toward you, her eyes calm. Too calm.

“You need to find a job, quickly.” she says.

You blink.

“I am trying...”

“I know,” she says softly, “you should hurry. And… move out.”

It feels like the floor just cracked beneath your feet.

You open your mouth, but no words come. Nothing sounds right in your head. Nothing makes sense. You just… stare at her, hoping—praying—that she’ll laugh and say it’s a joke.

But she doesn’t.

She smooths down her skirt and adjusts her purse strap.

Your voice comes out small, fragile. “Do you… not want me here anymore?”

She doesn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, she says, “You’re old enough now. You’ve got your classes, and you’ll graduate soon. It’s time you start thinking about responsibilities..”

You swallow hard.

She sounds so distant. So formal.

Like a teacher giving a lecture—not your mother who once rocked you through every fever and breakup. Not the same woman who used to cry watching cartoons with you.

Still, you nod.

You try to convince yourself that maybe she’s just being practical. Maybe this is her way of preparing you. Maybe she means well.

Maybe.

You whisper, “Okay,” even though you don’t feel okay at all.

She moves past you, heels clicking softly on the floor.

“Take care,” she says without looking back.

You turn to watch her leave.

Something in her posture is stiff. Tired.

And then she’s gone, the front door closing quietly behind her.

You stand there for a while.

Still. Cold. A little hollow.

Then you square your shoulders and nod to yourself.

Fine. I’ll wait. But I’m going to find out what’s going on. I have to.

After she’s gone, the house feels too empty. Too clean. You pack your things slowly and leave for college. The walk clears your head a little. Your friends greet you with their usual laughter and inside jokes, and for a while… you manage to breathe.

In class, things almost feel normal again.

Almost.

You’re eating lunch on a bench outside when your phone buzzes in your lap. You glance down casually, expecting maybe a text from a classmate.

But the name on the screen makes your heart drop.

Uncle Ravi (Security Guard)

You answer instantly.

“Hello—?”

His voice is panicked, out of breath.

“Miss! Madam—your mother—she—there’s been an accident!”

Your blood goes cold.

“What?!”

“She was on the way to her office, near the flyover—some car hit her from the side. They rushed her to the city hospital—Please come!”

The phone nearly slips from your hand.

People around you blur into noise as your heart hammers in your ears.

You get up so fast you nearly stumble.

You don’t think.

You just run.

—

The hospital smells like antiseptic and silence.

The waiting room is white and too bright. You sit there, barely breathing, knees pressed together, hands trembling in your lap. Toji is standing nearby, speaking quietly with someone at the desk—but your ears are ringing. All of it feels like a dream. A nightmare.

Your fingers curl tightly against the seat. The last thing she said to you was “Take care.” You didn’t even say it back.

Then the doctor walks in.

White coat. Glasses. A clipboard held like a shield.

You look up as if your life depends on him opening his mouth.

“She was gone on the spot. Blunt force trauma to the head… I'm sorry.”

Gone.

Gone?

You don’t even hear anything after that.

It hits you like a tidal wave—no warning, no time to breathe.

You crumble forward, head in your hands, shaking. The tears come faster than your body can keep up with. Your throat tightens until it hurts. You can’t breathe. You can’t scream. You can only break.

“No… no… please, no…”

You don’t know how long you sob like that. You only feel a weight—Toji’s hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you back, to hold you upright.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay. I got you. You’re not alone,” his voice is low, soft, but laced with panic. “I’m right here, kid. I’m right here…”

He helps you walk—somehow. Maybe someone helps him. You don’t remember.

All you know is that by the time you get home, it’s already dark.

The lights are off.

The house feels like a hollow shell.

He tries to guide you inside. Your legs move, but your mind doesn’t. You feel like a puppet being dragged across a stage you never asked to perform on.

You slump down on the couch. Toji bends slightly, kneeling in front of you, reaching out to your arm gently, like he’s done a dozen times before.

But this time—

You jerk away.

Your palm hits his hand with a sharp slap.

“You…!”

He blinks. Confused.

“What—?”

“You did this!!”

Your voice shakes. It cracks.

You point your finger at him, tears still pouring down your cheeks.

“She was acting weird because of you! You fought with her! I saw it—why would you—why did you have to argue with her that night?!”

He stares at you.

Frozen.

“I didn’t—”

“She wouldn’t have stormed off if it weren’t for you!”

Your voice shatters against the silence. You're not even thinking anymore—just feeling. Everything at once. Anger, grief, betrayal, fear.

But then—

“Enough.”

His voice cuts through the air like a whip.

Firm. Cold. Controlled.

You flinch.

You look up slowly—and for the first time, really see him.

Toji’s eyes… they’re red. Shimmering. Gutted.

Not the smug, calm expression you’re used to. Not the lazy sarcasm or distant annoyance. No.

This is different.

This is a man who just lost something. Someone.

“You… accused me on the first day,” he says softly. “And I let it go. I figured maybe you were just scared. Protective.”

He runs a hand through his hair and stares at the floor.

“But now… this?”

His voice is hoarse.

“You’re blaming me… for this?”

His fists clench by his sides.

“Since the day we met,” he cuts in, his voice breaking, “I—”

He inhales sharply, as if trying to swallow a scream.

“I loved her.”

Your eyes widen.

“I loved her so much,” he whispers, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Even if you hated me. Even if she avoided talking about us in front of you. I didn’t care. I didn’t need to be liked. I just… needed her. She made me feel like I was still human.”

His breath hitches.

You feel something in your chest crack. Guilt crawling up your throat like poison ivy.

You take a step forward.

“I didn’t know…” you whisper, shaking. “I’m sorry. I was just—I was scared, and—”

But then.

He lowers his hands.

And meets your eyes.

A slow smirk creeps across his face—one that sends ice down your spine.

And then he whispers—

“…Is that what you think I’d say?”

Your body stiffens.

His voice… isn’t soft anymore.

Not even close.

There’s no pain in his tone now.

Only something colder.

He stands.

Tall. Shadowed.

“Good story, right?” he mutters. “The grieving man. The misunderstood boyfriend. You almost believed it.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“…W-what?”

He leans forward slightly.

But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Let's start from the beginning.."

FLASHBACK — Earlier That Evening

The place isn’t a restaurant. Not even close.

It’s one of his private resort lounges, dimly lit, draped in expensive shadows and silence. The air smells of polished leather and cigar smoke, not wine or roses. No music plays. No waiters. No table set for two.

He sits lazily on a velvet armchair, legs spread like he owns the world — which maybe, in this moment, he does. A cigar burns slowly between his fingers, embers glowing like a distant warning.

Your mother stands by the glass wall, arms crossed, the city lights painting pale gold across her face. She’s dressed up — stupidly hopeful, maybe — but the sparkle she once wore is gone. Her lipstick has begun to fade. Her hands are clenched so tight, her knuckles crack.

She stares at him for a moment, breathing through her nose, then says softly—

“Is that all?"

Toji doesn’t look at her. He exhales a drag, smoke curling past his lips like venom.

“Hah?”

He chuckles, jaw twitching.

“What’d ya expect, sweetheart? Candlelight dinner? A violin in the corner?”

He finally turns his head, eyes like knives under half-lowered lids.

“Don’t kid yourself.”

She swallows hard, like the words cut her throat on the way down. Her voice shakes slightly but she forces it out.

“You think I don’t know why you’re doing this?”

At that, he smirks. His tongue brushes the corner of his mouth. The cigar burns between his fingers like a ticking fuse.

“Good.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes locked on her like a predator sizing prey.

“So ya ain’t as dumb as ya pretend to be.”

A pause. Then a sneer.

“I told you what it is and you chose to stay.”

Your mother flinches. Her face twists—shock, shame, rage—all colliding in a blink.

“What the hell are you saying?!”

Toji stands now. His full height casts a long shadow across the room. He walks toward her slowly, lazily, dragging the smoke through the air behind him.

“I’m sayin’ we’re not fuckin’ married, babe,” he growls.

“No papers. No promises. Just you clingin’ to a lie. Pretendin’ for your little girl, actin’ like this—” he gestures around, “—is some fairy tale when it's just dirt dressed in diamonds.”

Your mother’s lip trembles. Her fists clench tighter. She doesn’t back down.

“I did this for her. Everything—for her. And you said—”

“Yeah, I said I’d help ya. I gave ya the fuckin’ job. Put ya in my damn house so your daughter didn’t end up rottin’ in that hellhole with your husband.”

His voice rises, venomous.

“I gave ya everything. And now what? You cry ‘love’? Ya want flowers? I should’ve left you to your toxic bastard husband and washed my fuckin’ hands clean.”

The slap is sharp.

So loud it cracks through the smoke.

Toji doesn’t move. His cheek glows red, his head turned from the blow.

Your mother’s hand shakes at her side. Her breathing is jagged, eyes filled with tears—pure rage, pure heartbreak.

She doesn’t say a word. Just turns on her heel and storms toward the door.

But behind her, Toji slowly turns his head back. A bitter smirk slices across his face.

“Go ahead. Run back to your fantasy.”

He calls after her, voice heavy with disgust.

“But don’t forget who’s payin’ the bills while ya play perfect mommy.”

FLASHBACK — THAT NIGHT, JUST AFTER THEY CAME BACK

The front door slammed shut, echoing like a gunshot in the hallway. You were already in your room, heart pounding from the shouting outside, pretending not to hear. But the silence didn’t last long.

A second slam — a bedroom door this time.

Then it happened.

Inside that locked room, she barely had time to drop her purse before he grabbed her wrist.

His grip was brutal — fingers digging deep, making her wince. He pulled her to face him, his jaw clenched so tight, it looked like it might shatter.

“You wanna act like that in public?” he spat, breath laced with cigar and venom.

“Then you better learn how to behave yourself in private, sweetheart.”

She struggled, face burning, but he didn’t let go.

“If ya don’t straighten the fuck up,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, “I’ll kick ya out. Right here. Right now. How ‘bout that, huh?”

He leaned in closer, eyes glinting with threat.

“Would ya like that? Hmm?”

“You and your precious daughter out on the streets?”

She went still. Her lip trembled. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of it — the threat, the reality, the trap. She said nothing. Just shook her head, barely.

Toji scoffed, finally letting go, watching her stumble back. He didn’t say another word.

But from that moment on — she didn’t fight again.

---

The flashback slams into your brain like a freight train.

You’re still standing there — in the quiet room, with the stench of hospital antiseptic clinging to your skin, your heart cracked open, your lungs barely working.

And suddenly, you understand.

That’s why she told you to move out.

That’s why she was quiet.

That’s why she cried alone.

Because she was trying — trying — to protect you.

And now she’s gone.

Because of him.

You start shaking, violently. Your breath comes out in small, choked sobs, like your lungs have turned to stone.

“N-No… no, no, no—”

You shake your head, stepping back, clutching your chest as if your heart itself might fall out. The walls spin. The truth crushes you.

But Toji steps forward, calm, collected, eyes unreadable.

He cups your face.

Big hands. Rough palms. A grip that looks gentle but feels like iron.

“Shh, shh…” he whispers, voice suddenly soft, like honey laced with cyanide.

“It’s okay… breathe, yeah?”

You can’t.

“I… I—”

He presses his forehead lightly to yours, fake tenderness dripping from every breath.

“She’s gone now, baby. It’s okay… you don’t have to cry.”

He strokes your cheek with his thumb, catching a tear.

Then he whispers it.

“It’s your fault anyway.”

Your whole body freezes.

“You made me do this~” he murmurs, voice twisting into something cruel, singsong, mocking.

“All that pressure, all that pushin’... she wanted to leave, but she wouldn’t. Because of you. And now…”

He gives a slow, dark smile.

“Now she’s gone. Because of you.”

Your legs give out. The guilt crashes like a tidal wave. Even if it’s a lie — even if it’s manipulation — you feel it. In your chest, in your throat, in your bones.

He leans closer, voice almost cooing.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“I’m still here. I won’t leave you. Not like your mother did.”

“Not like your fucking dad did.”

“And not like your precious uncle…”

Your heart stutters.

Uncle?

You blink. Confused. Choking on the sob lodged in your throat.

“W-What…? What did you just say…?” you whisper, voice barely holding on.

But Toji only smirks, eyes flashing with something unhinged.

He tilts your chin up with two fingers, forceful but calm.

“You didn’t know?”

His voice drips disbelief — or fake surprise. You can’t tell.

Then his hands fall from your skin like he's finished with the performance, like you're no longer worth holding.

And he turns you around by your shoulders. Slowly. Purposefully.

Your legs feel like glass.

Your breath hitches.

Your gaze lands on the front door.

And there—standing silently like a ghost that was always there—is your house guard. The man who stood by the gates every day. Who smiled when you left for class. Who patted your head when you were small. The one you trusted.

He stands there now.

Not moving. Not blinking. Just… watching.

As if he’s always been watching.

Your stomach lurches.

He heard everything.

Every word Toji said. Every scream. Every sob. Every confession.

And worse — from the look in his eyes — you know this wasn’t his first time witnessing it.

He didn’t just hear today.

He’s known.

Known the fights.

Known the threats.

Known what Toji’s done.

And he said nothing.

He did nothing.

You stumble back, your voice breaking apart.

“You… you knew? You knew all of this? And you—”

But he doesn't answer. He doesn’t even look away. He just stands there, as still as stone.

And that silence hurts more than any scream ever could.

Behind you, Toji lets out a low, dark laugh.

“Told ya,” he mutters, voice mocking and smug, almost amused.

“Everyone around ya? Just playing their part.”

He leans closer, breathing behind your ear.

“There was never anyone on your side, sweetheart.”

His voice is low — cruelly soft, the way lullabies sound just before a nightmare begins.

And then — he adds, almost like a sigh, almost like a promise:

"But me."

The words settle over your skin like frost.

Your legs weaken. Your thoughts scatter.

You don’t know where you are anymore.

You don’t remember when he stepped forward.

You don’t remember him reaching for you.

You don’t even remember the moment your breath left your lungs.

But suddenly — his hands are on you.

One curling behind your neck.

The other gripping your waist, hard enough to bruise.

And he pulls.

Pulled like you were a thread unraveling into him.

Your body slams into his chest, and your hands instinctively press against him — but it’s too late.

He’s already there.

His lips crush against yours.

Hot. Possessive. Hungry in a way that doesn’t feel like affection — no, it feels like claiming.

There’s no warmth in it.

Only dominance.

Only control.

You gasp against him, your mind blank, panicking — but his grip tightens, holding you still, forcing you into it. His breath tastes like smoke and whiskey and something feral you can’t name. Like this was inevitable.

Like you were always meant to be swallowed.

A noise tears from your throat — somewhere between a sob and a choke — and you try to move, but—

“Shhh,” he murmurs against your lips, like he’s soothing you.

“You’ve got nowhere else to go now, Y/N.”

The name sounds filthy on his tongue. Intimate in the worst way.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your entire body trembling.

You don't know... when toji was on top of you. Over your naked form.

Tears still streaming down your face as you gasped and shuddered from the relentless pounding of his thick cock. He had taken her ruthlessly for hours, fucking you raw until your tight little cunt was stretched wide around his throbbing shaft.

"Shhh, it's okay," Toji purred, leaning down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth. He bit down just hard enough to make you yelp, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. "I know ya miss your mommy, but she's gone now. You're mine."

You sobbed brokenly, clawing at Toji's back as he continued his brutal thrusts. You could feel every inch of him stretching you open, the blunt head of his cock ramming against your cervix with each powerful stroke. Your pussy was slick with a mix of their juices, making obscene wet sounds as he hammered into you.

Toji sat back on his heels, pulling you up onto his lap. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, exposing the pale column of your throat. Leaning in, he ran his tongue along the side of your neck before sinking his teeth into the delicate skin. He sucked hard, marking you as his own.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Toji growled, his hips snapping up to meet yours. "I'm going to fill this tight little cunt with my cum. Breed ya over and over until your belly swells with my child."

You whimpered pathetically, hating yourself for the way your body responded to his cruel words. Your pussy clenched around him, eager for his seed. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, the pain and pleasure merging into something almost overwhelming.

"Shh, there there my sweet Yn," Toji coos, his voice dripping with false sympathy as he pushes deep inside your quivering pussy, your walls clenching around his thick cock. "Fuck, ya feel so good.. I'll always take gooooood care of ya."

He punctuates his words with harsh thrusts, grunting as he pounds into you, his pelvis smacking against your ass. Your whimpers and cries, tears streaming down your face, your body jerking with each deep stroke.

"N-no.. more," You gasp out between sobs. "I- can't take anymore!"

"Oh yes ya can," he growls, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "You're mine now, sweetheart. Every inch of this sweet little body belongs to me."

He leans down and sinks his teeth into the soft skin of your neck, sucking hard. More marks for you to remember him by. His hips never stop moving, driving into you again and again, his cock stretching you open.

You whimper against, but your pussy doesn't lie - you're getting wetter by the second. Toji feels you clenching around him, trying to milk his dick for all it's worth.

"Fuck, you love this don't ya?" he groans, picking up the pace. "Ya love being fucked by the man who killed your mother, who took everything from you."

He leans down and spits directly onto your pussy, watching it glisten around his pistoning cock. He reaches up and tweaks your nipples hard, feeling them pebble under his fingers.

You lets out a choked cry, your body shaking as he brings you closer to the edge. Toji grins savagely, knowing that even though you're mourning, you can't deny the pleasure he gives you.

"Come on baby, cum on my cock," he commands, hammering into you harder. "Show me how much ya love being mine."

"N-no, stop.. Mr..!" You whimper, trying to push him away as he forces himself inside you again.

Toji just laughs, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back roughly. "Still with that 'Mr.?' How fucking cute of ya.."

He tugs you into position, forcing you onto your hands and knees, your ass in the air. He kicks your legs further apart, opening you up completely for him.

"Look at that photo," he demands, pointing at the picture of your family. Your mother's smiling face grins out at them, a mocking reminder of what Toji stole from her.

You choke back a sob, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't.. not this-!"

Toji just laughs cruelly, lining his cock up with your dripping entrance. "Oh, but I am. I want them to see how well ya taking care of me. How much ya enjoying yourself with me."

He slams into your with one harsh thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your tight heat. You cry out, your body shaking with sobs as he starts to fuck you hard and deep, his hips slapping against her ass.

"That's it, take it," Toji growls, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Take my cock like the good girl I know ya can be..."

He reaches forward and grabs the photo frame, holding it up in front of your face as he pounds into you. "Look at her, smiling like she had any right to be happy. Look at what a fool she was, thinking she could protect ya from me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the image of your mother's smiling face. But Toji just grabs your hair again and yanks your head back, forcing you to look.

"Open your eyes, slut. Watch as I fuck ya raw, right in front of your precious dead mother. Watch as I make ya mine forever."

You lets out a choked sob, feeling like you're being torn apart inside. But despite everything, you can feel your body responding to his harsh fucking, your pussy clenching around him as he drives into you again and again.

"Fuck, fuck fuck... so tight," Toji groans, reaching down to rub your clit hard.

"Come on, cum for me," he demands, his fingers moving faster on your clit. "Cum on my cock like the dirty little slut ya are. Show me how much ya love being mine."

You lets out a choked sob, your whole body convulsing as your orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy spasms around Toji's cock, milking him for all he's worth as you came hard..

Toji pulls out of you with a satisfied grunt, his cock slipping from your battered pussy with a gush of cum. He takes a moment to admire his handiwork - your limp, fucked-out body, your gaping hole dripping with his seed, the red marks and bites covering your skin.

"Mmm, ya took that so well," he purrs, running a hand possessively over your ass. "Such a good little slut for me."

You just lays there, utterly spent and barely conscious. Your mind is reeling, unable to process the shameful pleasure you found in being used by your mother's killer. You feel like you've been split in two - one half mourning your mother, the other craving more of Toji's brutal touch.

As Toji gets up to retrieve his clothes, you mumbles something softly into the sheets. He leans down, cupping a hand under your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

"What was that, sweetheart? I couldn't quite hear ya."

You swallow hard, tears welling up in your eyes once more as you whisper brokenly. "I...I'm sorry.."

"I'm sorry, Mom..."

"Pfft..." A low chuckle escapes him, and he smirks — slow, twisted.

"Mmhh, You should be..." he whispers.

"Be miserable with me... for the rest of your life."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Extra chapter— |Click here|

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untitledlurkingproject · 2 months ago

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S1 Stolas and the Topic of Coercion

Hello! I'm new to Tumblr and just wanted a space to express some feelings I have about Helluva Boss. I've been seeing a lot of discourse/outright anger about "Stolas coercing Blitz," and I wanted to give my two cents. I want to preface by saying that I am a SA survivor, and an adult. Here's my take, and I invite others to share theirs.

The deal between Stolas and Blitz has coercive overtones due to the structure and inherent power imbalance, but it never materializes into actual coercion. We never see Stolas enforce or weaponize the deal.

Blitz is also shown craving the arrangement (especially evident in Truth Seekers and Full Moon), and Blitz does not wear his true emotions on his sleeves (i.e. We see him glaring at Stolas often, but has a soft look in a picture he took of Stolas, while Stolas was asleep.) Blitz constantly says things he doesn't mean, not only to Stolas, but to M&M (calling their relationship "too wholesome for his taste" and "boring af.") His lack of honesty obviously stems from his fear with intimacy, as stated outright in Truth Seekers. He also demonstrates repeatedly that he feels comfortable saying no to sex (Ozzie’s, and lines from Oops). You can't coerce someone into doing something they already want to do and feel comfortable saying no to.

Stolas may hold institutional and magical power, but emotionally and sexually, he hands that power over to Blitz—allowing Blitz to dictate the pace, the tone, and the boundaries of their interactions. ("If that's what you want to play.") That’s where Blitz’s own intentional manipulation comes into play, followed by unintentional ("he can get hurt?") harm.

So, yes, the deal has coercive elements, but Stolas doesn't coerce Blitz. Stolas fundamentally is not a coercive character, and Stolas's good intentions and lack of good communication are why he does away with the deal. Blitz's anger at Ozzie's makes him concerned that Blitz doesn't even like being around him. Stolas's concern becomes, "I thought he liked me for my money and body (and I hoped for more), but if he doesn't like me, then am I just making him have sex with me? That's not fair." He relates that to the only experiences he has, of being stuck in an abusive, arranged marriage. Though Stolas's concerns about Blitz's consent are extremely valid and SO important, the sex obviously wasn't Blitz's issue. Blitz's issue is the belittling and classist comments that make him feel less than and feeds into his insecurities of not being good enough to be with someone like Stolas. It's very obvious that pre-Ozzie's Stolas is not honest about his feelings, and he uses that language since it is normalized in amongst all classes of hell, not just Ars Goetia. (Millie calls Loona "the hellhound" for most of the show. Blitz calls Verosika a "suck-u-bit) He wears that kind of language as he does his expensive regalia, but when he thinks Blitz is taking the relationship to the next step in Ozzie’s, he drops the act. That's why we never see him use those terms like "impish plaything" in Ozzie's or onward. It's clear that he actually does see Blitz as his equal (bowing, "I don't care if you're of lower station," thinking he'll die for Blitz when they exchange places on the chopping block).

Just because a structure has the potential for coercion doesn’t mean coercion is actually taking place.

Those are just my thoughts, and I wanted to hear yours! Do you think my takes are accurate?

#stolas #stolas goetia #stolitz #vivziepop #helluva boss #stolas helluva boss #blitzo #helluva boss blitz #helluva boss discourse #helluva boss discussion

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carto0ncritter · 7 months ago

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"Stolas left in a rush because Blitzø could die in any second, he was scared and not thinking clearly"

Okay... he initially didn't think about Octavia and what would happen to her because he didn't want his fuck buddy to die. All that was on his mind was the guy he had successfully manipulated into a coercive relationship. Okay.

But then, Stolas doesn't even think about Via in the courtroom, before or during or after his song. She doesn't seem to be on his mind, not even as he thinks he's going to be beheaded. Stolas doesn't cry on his knees and plead to be set free for a few minutes so he could say goodbye to Via/spend his last moments with her. The only time Stolas remembers he has a daughter is when he (temporarily) loses everything.

He really has the nerve to say how he'd rather die than live without Blitzø (and how he is his "light"), his obsession and the victim of his abuse & emotional manipulation, and not even THINK about what would happen to his daughter without him, since Stella was apparently abusive from birth.

My guy Stolas doesn't try to reach Via and apologize for everything IN PERSON like he SHOULD HAVE, he doesn't desperately try to get to her to comfort her. Nope, he just sulks all the way to his victim's house and lets his victim take care of him, then looks hurt when he sees how Blitzø and Loona have a better father-daughter relationship. No shit? Blitzø hasn't ever neglected his daughter or made her feel invisible and/or an afterthought.

Just... fuck Stolas, man. He's a shit dad and a shit person.

#anti helluva boss #helluva boss critical #anti hellaverse #anti helluva #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #anti vivziepop #fuck vivziepop #anti stolas #fuck stolas #stolas critical #anti stolitz #helluva critical #stolitz critical #octavia #octavia helluva boss #octavia deserves better #octavia goetia #tw abuse

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therealhepcat · 3 months ago

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Xehanort vs. The Legal System

Content Warning: The following discussion includes child abuse of a fictional character, manipulation, and harm.

Additional Warning: Long Post

Offender: Xehanort, Keyblade Master

Victim: Ventus, Keyblade Apprentice (11–12 years old at time of offenses)

Timeframe: From when Xehanort finds Ventus in the Badlands to just before he abandons him on Destiny Islands

Jurisdiction: High Court of Kingdom Hearts Tumblr

Presiding Judge: Me

Charge 1: Child Endangerment

Description: Willfully exposed Ventus, a minor, to extreme psychological stress, magical threats, and combat scenarios far beyond his capacity—under the guise of “training.”

Real-World Equivalent: Child endangerment, reckless supervision, and exposing a minor to harm.

Sentence: 10 years

Charge 2: Child Abuse (Physical, Emotional, Psychological)

Description: Systematic manipulation and abuse of power. Xehanort gaslit, emotionally broke down, and physically harmed Ventus. He repeatedly lied, withheld the truth, and psychologically conditioned Ventus for his own goals.

Real-World Equivalent: Aggravated child abuse, emotional cruelty, and abuse of a dependent minor.

Sentence: 20 years

Charge 3: Aggravated Assault

Description: Inflicted physical harm during the heart-splitting process and other moments of magical violence. Vanitas’ creation was achieved through brutal force and dark energy against Ventus' body and heart.

Real-World Equivalent: Battery with a deadly weapon and aggravated assault against a minor.

Sentence: 20 years

Charge 4: Torture

Description: Caused immense suffering by forcibly extracting part of Ventus’ heart. The procedure led to loss of consciousness, extreme pain, and psychological fragmentation.

Real-World Equivalent: Torture, violation of human rights, and psychological warfare.

Sentence: 25 years

Charge 5: Human Experimentation (Unethical & Non-Consensual)

Description: Ventus was used as a living test subject to attempt artificial manipulation of light and darkness to create the χ-blade. Ventus was unaware of his role in a metaphysical experiment that permanently altered his being.

Real-World Equivalent: Violation of the Nuremberg Code, Geneva Conventions, illegal medical/human experimentation, and war crime.

Sentence: 30 years

Charge 6: False Imprisonment / Coercive Isolation

Description: Held Ventus in isolation at the Badlands, keeping him under control through manipulation and magical influence. Ventus’ ability to leave or understand his situation was unclear.

Real-World Equivalent: False imprisonment, unlawful detainment, and coercive control.

Sentence: 10 years

Charge 7: Reckless Endangerment / Medical Negligence

Description: After rendering Ventus comatose, Xehanort discarded his body on Destiny Islands without seeking treatment or help, abandoning him in a vulnerable state.

Real-World Equivalent: Negligent abandonment, reckless endangerment, and medical negligence.

Sentence: 5 years

Charge 8: Attempted Murder / Reckless Harm

Description: During the heart-splitting ritual, Xehanort subjected Ventus to an act of extreme metaphysical violence—tearing darkness from his heart in a way that nearly destroyed him. While Xehanort did not explicitly intend to kill Ventus, his actions showed willful disregard for the child's life, resulting in near-fatal trauma and long-term memory loss.

Real-World Equivalent: Reckless assault causing severe bodily harm / attempted manslaughter of a minor.

Sentence: 20 years

Charge 9: Creation of a Sentient Weapon (Vanitas)

Description: Used Ventus’ heart to generate a living being of pure darkness, solely intended for destructive purposes. Vanitas’s existence was engineered without regard for Ventus’ autonomy.

Real-World Equivalent: Unlawful creation of a biological weapon, genetic/spiritual violation, and war crime.

Sentence: 30 years or life

Charge 10: Violation of Magical Consent Laws (Fantasy Law)

Description: Manipulated Ventus’ soul, heart, and being without informed consent, altering his fundamental identity through arcane means.

Real-World Equivalent: Unauthorized metaphysical experimentation and violation of spiritual/mental integrity laws.

Sentence: 10 years

Charge 11: Unlawful Creation of Life (Fantasy Law)

Description: Created Vanitas using part of another person’s soul without divine or governing body sanction, violating magical ethics and disrupting balance.

Real-World Equivalent: Unauthorized soul manipulation and magical equivalent of cloning or illegal AI/human synthesis.

Sentence: 25 years

Charge 12: Trauma-Induced Permanent Disability

Description: Ventus fell into a coma for years following the damage inflicted by Xehanort’s actions. His heart was irreparably fractured, and only external intervention (Sora) allowed partial recovery.

Real-World Equivalent: Causing long-term disability or coma due to assault/negligence.

Sentence: 15 years

Charge 13: Attempted Possession of a Minor’s Body

Description: Before deciding to use Ventus to forge the χ-blade, Xehanort planned to override his consciousness and inhabit his body—destroying his individuality to extend his own life.

Real-World Equivalent: Identity theft, possession of a minor, and metaphysical murder of the soul.

Sentence: 50 years

TL; DR - Major Charges (13 Total):

Child Endangerment – Put Ventus in dangerous training

Child Abuse – Physical, emotional, and psychological harm

Aggravated Assault – Harmed Ventus with magic

Torture – Caused intense pain during heart splitting

Human Experimentation – Used Ventus as a test subject

False Imprisonment – Isolated him in the Badlands

Negligent Abandonment – Left him comatose on Destiny Islands

Attempted Manslaughter – Nearly killed him in the Vanitas creation

Weaponizing a Sentient Being – Created Vanitas from his heart

Magical Consent Violation – Used his heart without permission

Unlawful Creation of Life – Created Vanitas via soul division

Causing Permanent Disability – Left Ventus comatose

Attempted Possession – Planned to steal his body as a vessel

FINAL SENTENCING

Total Sentence: 270 years to life

Parole: Not eligible

#KH #kingdom hearts #ventus #kh ventus #kh xehanort #xehanort #kh bbs #master xehanort #birth by sleep #kh analysis #kh meta #kh criminal charges #kh legal system #official Ventus defense squad #it’s time to hold the old man legally accountable #possibly will continue this

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bella-goths-wife · 1 year ago

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What would it be like to have sex with yandere bowers gang?

Warnings: Description of non con and dub con ⚠️

Reminder that the bowers gang are all 18+ in this au and so should any readers be, this is a MDNI post!

Non consensual considering they are abusive and obsessive and unlikely for it to happen naturally or without coercion

Luckily for ballerina reader, Henry isn’t able to force himself on you no matter how hard he tried because of witnessing his father do it to his mother. However this won’t stop him from encouraging the others from committing sex acts with you while he watches not even for sexual gratification but just for the knowledge that he has the power to do this to you and you have no say in it. Though sometimes he will be filled with jealousy and possessiveness so he’ll call it off and demand that you just hold him all night instead

Belch refuses to force himself on you because of his lack of wanting to hurt you in any way, however sometimes Henry will force him to do something to you but it’s non consensual on both ends for you and belch and is just a traumatising situation for both of you. Belch will cry and hold you afterwards and spew apologies in your ears

Vic will be more coercive then forceful and most of the time he isn’t wanting to do these acts for his own sexual gratification and pleasure but more for the ownership over you in the moment. He will be forceful if he’s in one of his jealous rages but most of the time he’s just manipulative in getting what he wants by offering you a basic need being fulfilled in exchange for that kind of intimacy from you. You could preemptively take the power away from him in that situation if you were the one offering your intimacy in exchange for a privilege that can slowly increase over time though.

Patrick is already known to constantly force himself on you and doesn’t feel any type of empathy for you. As long as he’s got Henry’s permission then he feels entitled to your body and he will violate you any time he pleases. Sure he’d like it if you were a willing participant, but he isn’t going to let an issue such as your consent get in the way of his sexual gratification. However he can also be manipulated using sex as stated in my previous fics

So yeah, not really sure where to go from here

#yandere it x reader #it x reader #yandere henry bowers x reader #henry bowers x reader #henry bowers #yandere bowers gang #yandere bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #yandere belch huggins x reader #belch huggins x reader #belch huggins #yandere victor criss x reader #victor criss x reader #victor criss #yandere patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter

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literaryvein-reblogs · 8 months ago

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can you do a post about the forms of manipulation? or if you already have, traits people have when trying to manipulate you. thank you!!

Writing Notes: Psychological Manipulation

Manipulation - Behavior designed to exploit, control, or otherwise influence others to one’s advantage.

3 Basic Forms of Manipulation

DECEPTION

Includes outright lying to those manipulated (e.g., making false promises to them) and also

Misleading them without actually misrepresenting anything, such as:

by encouraging false assumptions, or

fostering self-deception that is advantageous to the manipulator’s ends, or

getting the manipulated person to “view things differently” or interpret the situation in a light favorable to the manipulator’s purposes.

PRESSURE TO ACQUIESCE

Can involve:

browbeating (i.e., to intimidate or disconcert by a stern manner or arrogant speech; bully),

wearing down the other’s resistance, and

making someone agree to something just to avoid further discomfort or embarrassment.

Threats, when the harm they threaten falls short of being coercive, could be categorized as this kind of manipulation.

Pressure can also take the form of offering inducements, when, they give the manipulated person “the wrong sort of reason” for opting in favor of the manipulator’s proposals.

PLAYING UPON EMOTIONS, EMOTIONAL NEEDS, OR WEAKNESSES OF CHARACTER

Includes eliciting an emotion with the aim of making use of it.

Typical emotions used to manipulate are:

fear,

sympathy,

a sense of gratitude toward the manipulator, and

feelings of guilt if the manipulated person does not consent to what the manipulator wants.

Typical weaknesses of character employed for manipulation are:

vanity and

the need for approval—especially the need for the manipulator’s approval.

Another common character flaw through which people can be manipulated is greed:

which tends to make people exaggerate the value or the importance of some prospective benefit, and

to make them willing to take excessive risks when subject to its allure.

Some manipulation makes use of traits or dispositions common to most people, not even necessarily weaknesses, together with situational factors in which these traits come to look like weaknesses.

Manipulativeness, as a trait, can be seen in the following:

EMOTIONAL ABUSE

Also called psychological abuse.

Nonphysical abuse: A pattern of behavior in which one person deliberately and repeatedly subjects another to nonphysical acts that are detrimental to behavioral and affective functioning and overall mental well-being.

Researchers have yet to formulate a universally agreed upon definition of the concept, but they have identified a variety of forms that emotional abuse may take, including:

verbal abuse;

intimidation and terrorization;

humiliation and degradation;

exploitation;

harassment;

rejection and withholding of affection;

isolation; and

excessive control.

MACHIAVELLIANISM

A personality trait marked by a calculating attitude toward human relationships and a belief that ends justify means, however ruthless.

A Machiavellian is one who views other people more or less as objects to be manipulated in pursuit of their goals, if necessary through deliberate deception.

Machiavellians are manipulative: they use, deceive and shortchange others. They always take and even seek the opportunity to benefit from misleading others (Sutton & Keogh 2000).

Manipulation has a multifaceted connection with lying. Machiavellians often lie and they lie convincingly and effectively.

Traits of Machiaveillians: Manipulative, Self-interested, Duplicitous, Cynical, Amoral, Focused on personal gain

Niccolò Machiavelli argued that an effective ruler must be prepared to act in this way.

ANTAGONISM

People who display antagonism behave in ways that put them at odds with other people. They may exhibit any of the following traits:

manipulativeness,

deceitfulness,

grandiosity,

attention seeking,

callousness, and

hostility.

PSYCHOPATHY - A cluster of traits that includes:

lack of empathy,

lack of remorse,

tendency to manipulate other people,

superficial charm,

egocentricity,

deception, and

a grandiosely high sense of self-worth.

HISTRIONIC PERSONALITY DISORDER

Some people with HPD make suicide attempts, often to manipulate others (Bressert, 2016; APA, 2013).

NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER

Once in treatment, clients with NPD may try to manipulate the therapist into supporting their sense of superiority (Skodol & Bender, 2019).

NOTES: On Manipulators

A manipulator's aggression is not obvious.

The tactics manipulators use can make it seem like they're hurting, caring, defending...almost anything, but fighting.

All of us have weaknesses and insecurities that a clever manipulator might exploit.

What our gut tells us a manipulator is like challenges everything we've been taught to believe about human nature.

SOME TACTICS USED BY MANIPULATIVE PEOPLE

Denial

Selective inattention

Rationalization

Diversion

Lying

Covert intimidation

Guilt-tripping

Shaming

Playing the victim role

Vilifying the victim

Playing the servant role

Seduction

Projecting the blame

Minimization

EXAMPLES: Of Manipulative Behaviors

Being highly manipulative in relationships (e.g., being hypochondriacal, being inappropriately seductive, making suicidal threats) to get attention.

Appearing calm and reflective, and then the next minute be highly manipulative (“Do this or else I’ll take you to court! . . .”).

Acting as if they are weak and helpless, or using sexual seduction, or threatening suicide to get attention.

Some examples that challenge the position that manipulation is always wrong:

A negotiator persuades the hostage taker to release the hostages.

Psychological strategies employed in self-defense to thwart an attacker.

Getting a boss to do something that he would not consider doing unless he thought it was his idea.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ 600+ Personality Traits

Hope this helps with your writing! :)

#anonymous #writing reference #psychology #writeblr #writing notes #studyblr #literature #writers on tumblr #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #light academia #fiction #manipulation #writing resources

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twistedheartsclub · 12 days ago

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Perfect In Theory Nerd Levi X Female Reader

⚠️ Warnings: obsessive behavior, psychological manipulation, dubcon (dubious consent), coercive control, grooming, stalking, non-consensual power dynamics, emotional abuse, soft captivity, loss of agency, forced relationship, toxic romance disguised as love. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

A/N: Tried a slightly different style with this one—Still dark, just told a little differently. Hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading 🖤

The sound of your voice had been recorded twelve times.

He played it back at night, buried beneath layers of folders labeled with innocuous names—“OrganicChem_2ndSem,” “CampusClips,” “AudioLog_5.” But he knew where every file lived. Where every second of you lived.

You spoke like you were trying not to take up space. Sweet. Hesitant. You didn’t know it yet, but the way your voice dipped when you asked him for help last week—that moment—it ruined him.

He had blinked, once.

You had smiled.

And that was it. That was when the static behind his temples became a clean, slicing clarity. Like his entire life had just sharpened into focus.

You didn��t know he was watching you before that—collecting your routine like a liturgy. You didn’t know he had written simulations, coded probability charts based on your behavior. You didn’t know he had narrowed your friends down into two categories: neutralized and obsolete.

But you would.

“Levi?”

Your voice floated through the campus café where he sat with a small cup of hot tea—plain, bitter, his gloves still on.

You had asked to meet him here. For tutoring. You were two minutes early.

He looked up slowly, letting his eyes trail from your shoes to your throat before meeting your gaze. Calculated. Measured. Deliberately unsettling.

You shifted awkwardly.

“Hi,” you tried again, tugging the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I wasn’t sure if—”

“Sit.”

You obeyed instantly.

Good.

You didn’t know why you listened. It wasn’t his tone. It was something else. Something cold and razor-smooth beneath the surface. You took your seat across from him and pulled out your notes. He didn’t look at them. He was looking at you.

“I didn’t bring a textbook,” you said nervously. “But I figured we could just review my last paper? I… I didn’t do great.”

He didn’t blink. “Your introduction was weak. You open with a question. That’s what children do. And your citations were inconsistent. You write like you want to be liked.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Oh.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small folder. Inside was your paper—annotated in red, printed, re-stapled.

You stared.

“You retyped this?”

“I hate sloppiness.”

You didn’t respond, but you didn’t run either.

His gaze lingered on the edge of your mouth as you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“Why are you in this class?” he asked, voice low and flat. “You don’t belong here.”

You frowned. “I’m trying. I just… It’s a required credit, and I wanted to understand it better. I like psychology, but—”

“No,” he interrupted, “you misunderstand me.”

He leaned forward, slow, calculating. His gloved fingers tapped once on the table between you, almost touching your hand.

“You’re not built for this world. These classrooms. These games.” He tilted his head slightly. “You’re too soft.”

You sat frozen. He could see it—your discomfort. The way you shifted your legs, how your lashes fluttered. Your fingers curled slightly, like you were folding into yourself. He liked that.

It made him ache.

“I can help you,” he continued, voice silk and blade. “If you’re serious.”

You swallowed. “I am.”

He nodded. Like he expected that. “Then meet me again. Tomorrow. Same time. But don’t waste my time with excuses.”

You nodded slowly.

Levi stood.

And just before he walked away, he reached into his coat pocket, placing something on the table. A neatly folded napkin. Written in small, clinical handwriting:

“Cut caffeine. Take magnesium before bed. You sleep poorly. You fidget in the mornings.”

You stared at the note, confused. “How do you—”

But he was already gone.

Levi Ackerman was a third-year at Kershner University—a name whispered with either dread or admiration depending on who said it. Some called him a genius. Others a freak. But no one ever called him a friend.

Majoring in Applied Behavioral Psychology, with minors in Linguistics and Biochemistry, Levi carried a perfect GPA and a reputation so severe it bordered on myth. He was the kind of student professors feared disappointing. The kind others watched from afar but never dared to approach.

Not unless they had to.

Not unless they were her.

He always wore black. Button-down shirts, pressed slacks, wool coats in winter, simple gloves in autumn. His shoes were never scuffed. His glasses—round, wire-thin—never smeared. His hair was always combed back, his jaw always clean. He sat with a posture so rigid, his back never touched the chair.

He drank his tea bitter. Unsweetened. And only ever filled his cup two fingers below the rim. Always.

He washed his hands more than necessary—three times between classes, four if he walked through a crowded hallway. His notebooks were lined with such precise symmetry they resembled architectural blueprints. His handwriting? Immaculate. Monospaced. Emotionless.

Levi didn’t speak unless spoken to.

When he did, his words were clipped, efficient, and often felt like judgment disguised as fact.

“That’s not logic. That’s laziness.” “Your conclusion is emotional. Start over.” “Don’t waste my time with apologies. Fix it.”

People mistook him for socially anxious. He wasn’t. He was selectively interested.

He could tune out entire rooms. People became background noise unless they had use. He moved through the campus like a phantom—always present, never engaged. Even professors stumbled when addressing him. He’d look at them with those narrowed, silvered eyes that held the weight of a man cataloguing their flaws in real time.

Still, he had his routines.

Every morning, he arrived on campus at 6:45 a.m. Every Monday and Thursday, he sat in the northwest corner of the café, table 12, seat facing the exit. He took exactly twenty-one minutes to eat, drink, and review his notes. He timed his walks between buildings to avoid the crowds. He never stayed in the library longer than forty minutes at a time.

And no one had ever seen him with a date.

Not once. Not holding hands. Not laughing. Not looking.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching.

He had seen you. The girl who dropped her pen during lecture and actually apologized to the floor. The girl who scribbled hearts in the margins of her notes when she thought no one was looking. The girl who once held the door open for too long because you were worried it might slam in someone’s face.

The girl who didn’t belong here.

Not because you weren’t smart. But because you were too soft. Too untouched by the brutality of systems Levi had long since mastered. You moved through the academic world like it was a dream you hadn’t woken from. You still believed effort was enough.

And Levi?

Levi had been studying you long before you ever noticed him.

He knew your walk. Your pace. The way you twirled your pen when you were nervous. The scent of your shampoo when you passed by him in Behavioral Structures. He had memorized the cadence of your laugh, the flutter of your lashes when you read something romantic, and the crack in your voice when you tried to hide frustration.

You were a weakness in motion. And Levi was obsessed with flaws—correcting them, claiming them, controlling them.

You just didn’t know that yet.

But you would.

The café smelled like cinnamon and burnt espresso. You clutched your notebook tighter, heart picking up when you saw him already there—same corner, same black coat, same impassive face.

Levi Ackerman didn’t even glance up when you approached. His tea was already half-finished, hands folded, a stack of flashcards lined up like tiny soldiers across the table.

“Hi,” you offered quietly.

He didn’t respond. He just nodded once, slow, like a judge allowing your presence.

You sat down, trying not to feel awkward, even though his stare—flat and disinterested—made your stomach twist. You cleared your throat and opened your folder.

“I reviewed the edits you gave me,” you said with a smile. “They really helped. I think I’m getting a better grip on how to frame my thesis statements.”

“Mm,” he hummed. Not praise. Not agreement. Just noise.

Silence settled.

You hated it.

He made you feel like a child—like everything you said was beneath him. But maybe he was just... shy? Maybe no one ever really tried with him.

So you tried again.

“There’s a party this weekend,” you offered gently. “At the Sigma house. I don’t usually go to those, but I thought maybe I’d stop by. You know, to blow off steam.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you going?”

Levi blinked. Slowly.

Then he looked at you like you’d asked if he wanted to roll in garbage.

“No,” he said flatly. “Why would I subject myself to that?”

You laughed once, nervously. “Well, I mean… sometimes it’s nice to just unwind. Be around people. Not everything has to be serious all the time.”

His expression didn’t change. Not even a twitch.

“You think drinking cheap beer in a house full of mouth-breathers qualifies as a healthy social outlet?”

You flushed, embarrassed. “I just thought… maybe you’d want to—”

“I don’t.”

The way he cut you off wasn’t loud or cruel. It was calm. Dismissive. Like brushing lint off his sleeve.

You bit your lip, nodding. “Right. Okay. I didn’t mean to push.”

He tapped a pen twice against the table and slid a worksheet toward you. “You missed three questions on your last mock quiz. Your recall speed is slow, and your answers still lean emotional. You’re wasting time with performative effort instead of meaningful comprehension.”

You blinked. “O-okay.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “I’m not criticizing you. I’m explaining your deficiencies.”

You smiled again, smaller now. Just enough to make it stop hurting.

He leaned back in his seat, finally. “You should study more. Go out less. Distractions weaken your resolve.”

You nodded, obedient. Agreeable.

But something inside you folded in a little.

You weren’t sure why it stung—he was just trying to help. Just being honest. Right?

You stared down at your notes and didn’t notice the way Levi watched you, eyes flicking over every twitch of your fingers, every shift of your body.

He saw everything. Every flinch. Every hesitation. Every time you doubted yourself.

And he loved it.

Levi hated campus sidewalks at noon.

Noise. Movement. Pointless human rituals. Students milled about with paper coffee cups and oversized headphones, speaking too loudly about things that wouldn’t matter tomorrow. Their laughter scraped the inside of his skull.

He stepped aside precisely three inches to avoid brushing against a couple holding hands. Obnoxious. Sweaty. Always touching. Like their validation required physical proof.

He hated that.

He hated most things.

Especially people.

Outside the psychology building, Jean Kirstein was leaning against the stair rail, talking to Eren Jaeger like a dog barking at another dog.

Levi didn’t break stride.

“Yo, Ackerman,” Jean called out. “You ever think about being a little less of a ghost and maybe helping the rest of us pass Dr. Zeklow’s exam?”

Levi’s steps didn’t falter, but he stopped just past them. Turned his head halfway.

“You could start by reading the syllabus. Or stop mistaking charisma for intelligence.”

Eren stifled a laugh.

Jean scowled. “You know, just because you have a stick up your—”

Levi didn’t wait for him to finish.

He kept walking.

Ten minutes later, he was outside the literature building, adjusting the cuffs of his black coat as Hange Zoë came bounding down the steps with a folder in one hand and a half-eaten granola bar in the other.

“Levi!” she beamed. “Did you see that article I sent you on dream-state cognition? The one with the rats that—”

“Yes,” he said. “They drowned them.”

“...Yeah, but! Did you see how they responded to the reintroduction of scent cues?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You mean how they hallucinated safety and willingly submitted to drowning again?”

Hange paused. “Okay, well, when you say it like that—”

“You’re romanticizing death by conditioning. It’s not clever. It’s pathetic.”

Hange laughed. She always did.

“You are such a ray of sunshine, Levi.”

“And you’re late for your lab.”

She checked her watch, cursed, and took off running. “I’ll text you!”

“Don’t.”

His apartment was only ten blocks off campus—a minimalist third-floor unit in a quiet building with steel locks and blackout curtains. His family’s money paid for it in full, along with the furniture. He didn’t use their name. He didn’t need to. His father occasionally called, offering him new properties, investments, “resources,” but Levi ignored the voicemails.

He didn’t care for legacy. Or charity. Or people trying to own him.

He walked up the narrow stairwell in silence, keys already in hand. Each movement was ritual: shoes off at the threshold, coat on the hook, gloves placed neatly beside the door. The scent of antiseptic hung faintly in the air.

The apartment was spotless. Cold. A reflection of its owner.

Except for one part.

The wall above his desk.

Photos. Printouts. Handwritten notes.

All of you.

Smiling. Walking. Laughing with friends.

One image—clipped from a social media post and reprinted—showed you sitting on the quad in a pale yellow dress. The sun hit your face just right. You looked happy. Untouched.

He sat down slowly, fingers trailing over a diagram he’d sketched.

It was a timeline. Your life. Day by day.

The tutoring was only Phase Two.

Phase Three would begin tomorrow.

He was already seated when you walked into the café—same table, same seat, same untouched cup of tea. You paused for half a second, the weight of his stare making your steps falter before you forced your feet to keep moving.

He didn’t look up as you sat.

You smiled anyway, placing your notes down softly between you. “Hi…”

He didn’t say anything.

Your smile wilted slightly. You tucked your hair behind your ear, tried to act like the silence didn’t sink under your skin.

“I brought the updated draft like you asked,” you said carefully, pulling out the printout. “I revised the intro, and I tried to—”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked at you then. No warmth. Just stone. Something unreadable flickering behind his glasses.

“I didn’t ‘ask.’ I told you. I don’t make requests.”

You swallowed hard. “Right. Sorry. I just meant—”

“You went.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Your heart stuttered.

He set his pen down with precision. Folded his gloved hands together like he was preparing to dissect something fragile.

“You went to the party.”

You stared at him, lips parted, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

He was watching you too closely now. Like he was peeling you apart with just his gaze.

You tried to laugh it off. “It wasn’t really a big deal… I just stopped by for a bit. Didn’t even stay that long.”

His scowl deepened.

“You reeked of alcohol on Monday.”

You flinched. “It was just one drink—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped an octave—still calm, still controlled, but dangerous now. “I watched you.”

Your throat tightened. “You…?”

Levi’s stare didn’t waver. “You smiled at people. Let them touch you. You laughed like you forgot who you are.”

You sat in stunned silence. Hands curling slowly in your lap, legs pulled in tighter beneath the table.

“I—I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t even talk to anyone for long.”

His eyes narrowed. “And yet, you went.”

You bit your lip, nodding slowly. Shame creeping up your neck. “I just wanted to feel normal for a night…”

“You’re not normal,” he said, voice like ice on glass. “You’re malleable. Fragile. You don’t belong with them.”

He slid the red-marked draft across the table to you.

“This paper is worse than your last. Sloppy. Distracted. Predictable.”

You stared at the page but didn’t see the words. Just the heavy ache of your own embarrassment thudding in your chest. Your hands shook slightly as you picked up your pen.

Levi leaned forward, his voice softer now—deadlier.

“You said you wanted to be better. But I see weakness.”

You nodded mutely.

His eyes raked over your trembling fingers. The way you folded into yourself. Your silence. Your guilt.

He liked that.

“Next time,” he said, “when I tell you what not to do… don’t make me repeat myself.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

The pen sat still in your hand.

He watched you fidget, and finally—finally—he smiled.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

The lecture hall buzzed with low conversation as students filtered in, slinging backpacks over chairs and cracking energy drinks like it was a frat house and not a 400-level psych course.

Levi sat in the front row. Alone. As always.

His notes were already open. Pen uncapped. Hand resting, still-gloved, against the edge of his desk. His posture was perfect—unmoving, spine aligned, back never touching the chair. His eyes scanned the syllabus printout like he hadn’t memorized it three weeks ago.

Noise scratched at his concentration.

Behind him: Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirstein were already at it.

“You ever notice how Ackerman looks like he’s plotting a murder with math?” Jean muttered. Eren snorted. “He probably has a kill list sorted by GPA.”

Levi didn’t move.

Didn’t acknowledge.

Didn’t need to.

He felt the eyes on him. The whispering. The idiocy.

To his left, Sasha was trying to eat a granola bar she wasn’t supposed to have in class, crinkling the wrapper so loudly it made Levi’s jaw tighten. To his right, Connie tapped his pencil against the desk. Constant. Useless.

A waste of oxygen, the lot of them.

And then… you entered.

Soft, rushed, clutching your laptop to your chest with that usual hesitant smile like you were trying to make yourself smaller than you already were. You scanned the room, and your eyes met his.

Just for a second.

You gave him the tiniest nod.

He didn’t return it.

Instead, he turned back to his notes, expression unreadable.

You sighed under your breath and took the empty seat two rows behind him. Not beside him. You’d learned your place.

Jean noticed. He grinned.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispered across the aisle, leaning back in his chair. “You looked good at the party last weekend. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Levi’s pen paused mid-sentence.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… um, thanks.”

“You gonna come to the Halloween mixer next week? Bet I could help you with a costume.”

You gave him a polite, quiet smile—awkward, a little unsure. “I don’t know yet…”

“Don’t let her go with you,” Connie cut in. “She’s too sweet for you. She needs a guy who doesn’t breathe through his mouth.”

More laughter. Sasha giggled.

Your cheeks turned pink. You ducked your head.

Levi turned the page of his notebook.

Hard.

Jean rolled his eyes. “What, did I offend the great Ackerman again? Hey Levi—what costume are you wearing to the party? Let me guess: serial killer?”

Levi slowly looked over his shoulder.

Just once.

That same, flat, dissecting stare. Cold. Deadpan. Like he was mentally peeling Jean apart with a scalpel.

Jean shrank half an inch.

Levi spoke—quiet, bored.

“If I were a serial killer, you’d be the first to go. No challenge. No loss.”

A few people gasped. Even Eren raised his eyebrows. Jean scoffed, trying to play it off, but he didn’t say anything else.

The room quieted.

The professor entered a moment later. Levi returned to his notebook.

You stared at the back of his head, throat tight.

Something about him was colder today. Sharper. He hadn’t even looked at you. Hadn’t spoken. But you could feel it—his annoyance hanging in the air like smoke.

You tried not to fidget. Tried to focus. But your eyes kept drifting back to him.

Levi could feel your gaze.

He didn’t turn around.

But he was already planning what he’d say to you when you were alone. What he’d fix. What he’d take away next time you disobeyed.

You were early.

Fifteen minutes, actually—but you didn’t care. You needed to tell him. To thank him. You clutched the graded essay in your bag, the little A- circled in red at the top like a light at the end of the tunnel.

You hadn’t stopped smiling since you got it back.

Maybe—just maybe—you were finally proving yourself.

Maybe he’d be proud.

Levi was already seated, of course. Same chair. Same coat. Same stare that made your stomach flutter and your palms sweat. He barely looked up when you approached.

You sat down with care, your heart too hopeful.

“Hi,” you offered gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I… I wanted to say thank you. I got my grade back.”

You reached into your bag, sliding the paper forward with a hopeful smile.

“A-minus,” you said, unable to keep the happiness from your voice. “I really tried. Your notes helped so much—”

Levi didn’t touch the paper.

He didn’t even look at it.

He sipped his tea slowly, setting the cup down with a soft clink, then leveled his eyes at you—cold and sharp.

“That wasn’t earned,” he said flatly.

Your heart stilled. “What?”

“That professor’s standards are weak. Your grade is inflated. You don’t deserve it.”

Your breath caught. “I—I thought it was better…”

“It’s passable,” he said. “Nothing more. Barely above average. And it wasn’t your effort that earned it. It was mine.”

You froze, hand still hovering over the edge of the paper.

He leaned forward, voice low but venomous.

“You’re too easily pleased. Like a child. Always grateful for scraps. Is that all it takes to make you feel special?”

You flinched.

The air thinned. Your fingers curled tightly into your sleeves as your throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I just wanted to—”

“You wanted to be praised,” he said, cutting you off. “But you don’t get praise for mediocrity. You get correction. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

The ache bloomed fast behind your eyes. Too fast to stop.

You looked down.

Shuffled your papers together with trembling hands, heart pounding too hard in your chest.

“I—I’m sorry,” you choked out again, pushing your chair back, blinking fast as tears broke free.

Levi said nothing.

Didn’t move. Didn’t stop you.

You stood quickly, clutching your bag to your chest like armor.

“I didn’t mean to waste your time…”

Your voice was a whisper now—fragile, shattered.

Then you turned and rushed out of the café, head down, tears slipping down your cheeks as the door shut behind you.

Back at the table, Levi didn’t move for a long time.

Eventually, he reached across the table and pulled your abandoned paper back toward him. His eyes scanned the margin notes, the way you tried to mimic his edits, your clumsy underlines, the small heart you’d accidentally doodled in the corner of page three.

His fingers tapped twice.

He didn’t smile.

But he felt it.

Control.

The tightening of the leash.

She cried.

She would think of him now, even in her sleep.

It had been seven days since you last saw Levi Ackerman.

Seven days since you left the café trembling, your cheeks soaked with tears and shame. You hadn’t gone back. Not to the café. Not to the tutoring sessions. You didn’t check your email, didn’t reply to his texts—if he’d even sent any. You deleted the draft you’d been working on with him and rewrote it yourself.

He was a ghost.

But somehow, still, his voice echoed in your head.

“You don’t get praise for mediocrity.” “You’re too easily pleased.” “Like a child.”

And maybe that was why you let them dress you like this.

“God, you look so hot,” Mina squealed, tugging the hem of your skirt down uselessly as the group stepped out of the Uber. “If you don’t leave this party with at least three guys begging for your number, I swear I’ll riot.”

“I still think I should’ve worn the cat ears,” you muttered, tugging the sides of your barely-there corset top.

“You look perfect,” Sasha chimed in, already halfway through her first can of spiked soda. “Besides, Levi probably won’t even be here. You’re fine.”

That wasn’t why you were anxious.

Not exactly.

But you nodded. Smiled.

Let them lead you up the porch steps of the packed frat house, the thump of music already vibrating the floorboards beneath your heels.

Inside, it was hot and humid with bodies. People brushed past in costumes—vampires, pirates, something with devil horns. The air smelled like sweat, cheap alcohol, and apple-scented vape clouds.

“Drinks!” Hitch announced, pulling you toward the makeshift kitchen bar. “First round’s on me.”

A guy in a toga handed you a red cup with a wink. “For the prettiest girl here.”

You laughed softly, a little flustered. Took the cup. Sipped. Whatever it was, it was sweet and strong and made your skin warm almost instantly.

Around you, the girls scattered—dancing, flirting, snapping selfies.

You tried to blend in. Tried to forget. To be normal.

You didn’t know, in that moment, that Levi had already arrived.

You didn’t know he was watching from across the room.

That he had been waiting.

The music pulsed like a heartbeat—too loud, too fast.

You’d danced for maybe an hour. Just with the girls. Nothing dangerous. Just laughing, swaying, pretending the weight in your chest had lifted. You felt floaty. Light. Dizzy in a way that made you brave.

When a guy stepped in, Sasha gave you a thumbs up and twirled away into another crowd.

“Here,” he smiled, pressing another cup into your hand. “You looked like you could use it.”

You hesitated. Then took it.

One more wouldn’t kill you.

You deserved it, right?

You brought it to your lips. The sweet, sharp taste burned a little this time. Your body warmed again. You giggled at something dumb, maybe even flirted—just a little.

Just to forget.

But it wasn’t long before the pressure hit your bladder hard and fast. You slipped away from the living room crowd, weaving down the hallway, laughing softly to yourself at how the floor shifted under your feet. You made it to the bathroom. Locked the door. Did your business. Washed your hands slowly, blinking at your reflection.

Your cheeks were flushed. Your eyes glassy.

You didn’t look like you.

You opened the door.

And someone shoved you back inside.

The door slammed shut.

You stumbled, catching yourself on the sink. “What the hell—”

Hands grabbed your face. Lips crashed into yours.

Your vision blurred. Breath caught. You shoved weakly at their chest, but they didn’t move.

Then came the voice—low, angry, cold against your cheek:

“You really thought I wouldn’t find you?”

Your stomach dropped.

“L-Levi—?”

He kissed you again—harder this time, forcing your head back, one hand wrapping tight in your hair, the other sliding dangerously low. You gasped against his mouth, fingers trembling as they clutched at his sleeves.

“Drunk,” he murmured darkly. “Smiling at them. Letting them hand you drinks like some helpless little thing.”

His hand pushed under your skirt.

You gasped, tried to back away, but the sink pressed into your spine. His body followed, crowding you in. Caging you.

“I—I didn’t mean—”

He yanked your head back by the hair.

“You think you deserve freedom? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Tears welled up.

Your legs trembled.

His fingers grazed your inner thigh. Too high. Too much. Not enough room to breathe.

“You’re mine,” he hissed. “And I’m done watching you pretend otherwise.”

His lips crashed into yours again—rough, punishing—his breath hot against your face as his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you effortlessly onto the sink. Cold porcelain met the back of your legs, but all you could feel was him.

“Levi—” you tried, but the sound melted against his mouth.

Your hands pressed weakly to his chest. It wasn’t a push—it was barely resistance at all. Your heart beat like a trapped bird against your ribs, breath trembling as his body slotted between your legs, hips pinning you in place.

“You let them look at you like that,” he growled against your lips. “You let them hand you drinks. Touch you.”

“I didn’t mean—” you breathed, but his hand curled around the back of your neck, holding you there, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You smiled,” he whispered, voice dangerous. “Do you know what that did to me?”

His mouth was back on yours before you could answer, stealing the air from your lungs. You kissed him back without thinking, eyes fluttering shut, legs tightening slightly around his waist.

The smell of him—clean soap, tea, faint antiseptic—cut through the fog of alcohol. Your fingers curled in his coat. Your head spun, but not from the drink.

From him.

From this.

His hand slid up your thigh, fingers dragging over your skin, pushing the edge of your skirt higher until it bunched at your hips. You whimpered softly, pulling your mouth from his just enough to breathe.

“I-I didn’t think you’d be here…”

His grip tightened.

“I’m always watching,” he said darkly. “You don’t understand what you are to me.”

His fingers grazed your underwear—barely there, soaked through—and your body betrayed you. You twitched, gasped, hips jerking toward the contact.

His eyes locked on yours. Cold. Focused.

“You think they can make you feel like this?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because you were already falling apart, and he hadn’t even touched you fully.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

“You were made for me.”

Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, breath catching in your throat as Levi’s hand dragged between your thighs—firm, deliberate, already past the point of return.

Your moan cracked before you could swallow it.

He kissed you again, deeper this time—tongue claiming, consuming—one hand tangled in your hair while the other moved against you in slow, devastating circles. You blinked rapidly, your lashes wet. Your hips twitched helplessly, caught in the rhythm he forced on your body.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your mouth. “You need this more than you know.”

You gasped, clutching at his shirt, too dizzy to answer.

Your body responded faster than your mind could process. Your thighs parted instinctively, your lips opened for him when he kissed you again, and your head lolled back, breath coming out in ragged little sobs as pressure built behind your ribs.

“Levi—please—”

His name was barely a whisper, but it broke something in him.

He pulled his fingers away, and before you could breathe again, he was undoing his belt, pressing forward, dragging your hips down just enough that the cold sink edge bit into the back of your thighs.

“No one else gets this,” he growled. “No one else touches you. No one else hears you like this.”

You whimpered as he entered you in one hard, slow push—filling you completely, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body tensed and then surrendered. He didn’t stop, didn’t give you time to adjust. His mouth was on your neck, your jaw, his teeth grazing skin as he moved inside you with brutal purpose.

You moaned—loud, broken—and he swallowed it with another kiss.

Tears pricked your eyes. Everything blurred—your thoughts, your shame, your aching need. Your legs trembled around his waist as he thrust deeper, harder, each motion knocking soft whimpers from your throat.

“Mine,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on your dazed expression. “Say it.”

You couldn’t speak.

So you moaned instead.

He drove into you harder.

“Say it.”

You nodded—wet-eyed, lips parted, voice barely audible.

“Yours.”

He kissed you again like it was a reward, hips rolling, hands gripping you so tightly you’d bruise. You didn’t care. You couldn’t think. All you knew was him—inside you, around you, breaking you down and putting you back together with each thrust.

You shattered on a moan, head thrown back, Levi following just behind with a low growl of your name, holding you in place until the tremors slowed.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breath—ragged, shaky.

Then he pulled back, tucked himself in slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

You were still shaking when he leaned in again—gently this time—and kissed the tear that had slid down your cheek.

“Good girl.”

Your legs were shaking.

They didn’t feel like yours anymore—numb and trembling as Levi pulled back, his hands still firm on your hips. You blinked, dazed, lips parted in silence as your mind struggled to catch up with your body. The mirror behind you was fogged. The air thick. Too hot. Too close.

Something warm slipped between your thighs, trailing down your inner leg.

You looked down, confused, then looked back up at him.

He was already adjusting your skirt, carefully pulling it back down. Neat. Precise. His fingers moved gently, tucking you back into place like dressing a doll. His gloves had been discarded somewhere. His skin was warm.

You flinched when he smoothed your hair behind your ear.

“Easy,” he murmured.

Your breathing was shallow. Head spinning. Your fingers clutched the edge of the sink, trying to stay upright.

Levi reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. White. Immaculate. He bent down slightly, wiping the inside of your thigh without shame, without hesitation—like it was normal. Like it was routine.

His cum.

You wanted to speak. Say something. Anything.

But all you could do was watch him.

Watch him rise again, steady you with a hand around your waist, then lean in slowly.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

Barely there.

Then he dipped down, breathing deeply in the crook of your neck. You felt him inhale you like a man starved. His arms came around you suddenly—strong, secure—and he held your trembling body against his chest.

Your face crumpled.

The shame, the need, the wrongness—it all threatened to spill out, but he held you tighter, grounding you.

Then came the whisper.

Right against your ear.

“Now you won’t run again.”

Your heart stuttered.

He pulled back slowly, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t name. Possession. Finality. Something that made your stomach twist.

Then, wordless, he took your hand.

Not harshly.

Just firm. Inevitable.

He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway of noise and light and chaos—dragging you behind him like nothing had happened at all.

And you followed.

Because you didn’t know what else to do.

The party lights blurred into streaks of orange and red as he guided you through the crowd—his hand tight around yours, his pace sharp. You stumbled once, your heels catching on the sticky floor, but he didn’t stop. His grip just tightened.

Your head was spinning. You barely noticed the cold air until the door was just a few feet away.

“Y/N?”

You blinked blearily.

Mina stood by the entryway, red solo cup in hand, eyeliner smudged. She tilted her head at you, eyes narrowing. Then they slid to Levi—and her smile dropped.

“Where are you going?” she asked, stepping forward. “Y/N, are you okay?”

You tried to speak, but it came out more breath than words.

Mina’s expression soured instantly. “Seriously? You’re leaving with him?”

Levi stilled.

Mina scoffed, drunk and sharp-tongued. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to take advantage, Ackerman. She’s had one too many to go home with the likes of you.”

She reached out, grabbing your arm.

You swayed, blinking slowly, your fingers twitching in his hold.

Levi stepped forward, close—too close—and leaned in until his breath brushed the shell of Mina’s ear.

His voice was low, cold, and dreamy in the most horrifying way.

“Touch her again and I’ll snap your wrist so clean you won’t feel it until the bone shows.”

Mina froze.

You didn’t see her face—but you saw how quickly she let go.

Levi looked at you. His jaw clenched once. Then he took your hand—rougher now—and pulled you toward the door without another word.

Your body jolted at the pace. Your heels scraped pavement. The night air slapped your skin as you stumbled down the porch steps.

“L-Levi—” you tried, but he didn’t respond.

He dragged you to his car, unlocking it with a quiet beep. Then he opened the passenger door and turned to you, still holding your wrist.

You were shivering.

Dizzy.

“Cold,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He didn’t answer.

Just pushed you gently—too gently—into the passenger seat.

The doorframe bit into the back of your knees. The leather seat felt too big, too soft, too unfamiliar.

Then he buckled your seatbelt for you.

The motion was mechanical. Controlled. Intimate in the worst way.

His face hovered just inches from yours as he clicked the belt into place.

“Don’t move,” he murmured. “Not until I say.”

Then he shut the door.

You sat in silence, heart pounding against the seatbelt strap, watching him circle the front of the car—slow, precise, like a predator sealing off all exits.

The night was quiet.

Too quiet.

And the man who climbed into the driver’s seat beside you?

He wasn’t just your tutor anymore.

He was something else.

Something you couldn’t run from now.

The apartment was dark.

No lights. No sound.

Levi opened the door with a soft click, guiding you in by the wrist. You stumbled once over the threshold, your heel catching on the edge of the rug. He didn’t snap. Didn’t mutter about scuffing the floor or hygiene. He just closed the door behind you and locked it.

You blinked, swaying slightly, waiting for him to say something.

But he didn’t.

He led you down the hall—past the pristine kitchen, past the folded towels, the military-straight bookshelf—and into his bedroom.

The air was cold, and your limbs were heavy.

The bed looked untouched. Sterile. Tightly made. But he didn’t hesitate. He guided you to sit, ignoring the rules he’d drilled into himself: shoes at the door, outer layers in the laundry, no disruption of the order.

You sat down slowly, breath catching as your feet ached beneath you.

And then he knelt.

Without a word, he undid the straps of your heels. Slid them off one by one.

His hands wrapped around your ankles, warm and steady. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your aching soles, tracing the arch, soothing each tendon like you were something precious. Not a girl he just dragged through the night. Not a girl he’d already taken once.

But something his.

You breathed softly. Let your eyes flutter closed.

Then the mattress dipped behind you.

He was over you in seconds.

His mouth found yours with an urgency that made you gasp, his kiss deep and hungry. You responded instinctively—fingers clutching his sleeves, mouth parting for him. He tasted like mint and bitterness and heat.

You tried to keep up with him as he undressed you, his hands moving with quiet purpose. He tugged off your shirt, kissed along your collarbone, then reached down, dragging your skirt and panties down in one long pull.

You lifted your hips for him.

You spread your legs.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

His body pressed between your thighs, and he claimed you again—slow this time, rolling into you with deep, consuming thrusts. His hands gripped your waist like he was molding you into his shape. His mouth left open kisses on your breast, then harsher ones—marks—on your neck, your shoulder.

Your breath stuttered. Your back arched. You whispered his name.

He moved until your moans softened into whimpers. Until your body shook against his. Until your fingers curled in the sheets and your eyes glazed with something too heavy to name.

And when it was over, when he finally stilled inside you, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest.

His breath was warm in your hair. His grip didn’t loosen.

And for the first time in days, you felt safe enough to sleep.

So you did.

Peacefully.

Beside the man who would never let you go.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

But you remembered the cold. The dizziness. The way your legs trembled as he carried you through the door. You remembered his mouth. His hands. The weight of his body between your thighs. The burn of it. The way your name sounded when he groaned it into your neck.

Your eyes fluttered open around 11am.

The sunlight was muted through the blackout curtains, barely touching the floor. You were alone in the bed, buried beneath dark, smooth sheets that smelled like Levi—clean linen and antiseptic, with a faint trace of mint and skin.

You blinked.

Your head throbbed. Your throat was dry. Your body ached in too many places to count.

You sat up slowly, a sheet slipping down your shoulder, and realized—you were naked.

Panic bloomed. You pulled the covers tighter around yourself, heart pounding, trying to gather pieces that didn’t want to fit.

Then you saw it.

In the corner.

Folded precisely on the dresser: a full change of clothes. Simple leggings. A long soft shirt. Underwear. Even socks.

You stared at them.

He folded them for you.

You should have felt creeped out. But all you felt was a strange relief. The thought of tiptoeing around in a sheet made your skin crawl. You moved slowly, aching and careful, as you changed.

Then, barefoot and silent, you opened the bedroom door.

The apartment was quiet. Sterile. Every surface spotless.

And there he was.

Levi Ackerman—standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a small pot. No music. No TV. Just the sound of boiling water and the soft scrape of a spoon.

You gasped.

“Le—Levi—” you breathed, your voice hoarse and dry. “Did w-we…?”

He didn’t even look up.

“Tsk.”

He turned, set the spoon aside, and walked toward you with a glass of water and two small white pills balanced perfectly in his palm.

You stared.

He came to a stop in front of you.

Lifted the glass.

Pressed it into your hand.

Then, softly—like it meant nothing—he leaned down and kissed you.

Just a brush of lips.

But it made your breath catch.

His eyes stayed on yours, unreadable. Cold and commanding.

“Drink it all. Understand?”

You nodded slowly.

His hand lingered on the rim of the glass until you brought it to your lips.

You swallowed.

He watched every second of it.

Like he’d done this before. Like he’d prepared for this. Like it was only the beginning.

You handed him the empty glass with shaking fingers.

He took it like nothing was wrong.

Like nothing could be wrong.

The silence pressed in around you, heavy and still. Your stomach twisted with unease. Your mind fought for pieces—flashes of skin, the smell of his sheets, your legs spread beneath him, moaning his name. But it was a blur. A fog of sensation and alcohol and—

Did you ever say yes?

Your chest tightened.

You turned away, trying to breathe.

His apartment was immaculate. Clean to the point of suffocating. The floors gleamed. The towels were folded in exact quarters. Even the tea canisters were arranged by shade.

But then—

Your eyes caught it.

You hadn’t noticed it before. You weren’t supposed to.

On the far wall—just beside his desk, partially hidden by a shelf—were photos.

Small, printed, taped with perfect precision.

Your face. Over and over. Some laughing. Some tired. One with your head resting on your backpack. One where you were crying quietly in the library. One from behind, walking alone.

All you.

“Oh…”

The sound escaped you before you could stop it.

You took a step forward. Then another.

They weren’t just photos. There were notes. Scribbles. Dates. Red circles.

“Behavioral deviation: minimal—subject isolated.” “Smiled at peer, duration 4.3 seconds. No perceived threat.” “Alcohol tolerance lower than projected.” “Too trusting.”

Your hand flew to your mouth.

“I—I… what is this?” you whispered, throat dry.

You turned, your pulse thundering in your ears.

He was standing there still. Calm. Quiet. Like this was just another Tuesday.

“Levi,” your voice cracked, “what is this?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”

Yet.

Your breath caught in your chest.

“I—I don’t understand—what happened last night? We… did we…?”

You couldn’t say the word.

Couldn’t finish the question.

He walked toward you slowly, stopping just close enough to feel the heat of him again.

“You came to me,” he said simply. “You kissed me first.”

Your mouth parted. “No—I—did I?”

“You lifted your hips for me,” he said, voice soft but sharp. “You let me touch you. You moaned when I entered you. You begged for more.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t need to remember,” he said, brushing your hair back from your face. “I do. I was sober. I took care of you.”

His hand rested lightly at your waist.

“I’ve always taken care of you.”

You were shaking.

“I should go,” you whispered.

His grip tightened.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

And then, with terrifying gentleness, he smiled.

“Not after everything we shared.”

You scanned the room again—heart pounding.

“Where’s my phone?” you asked, suddenly breathless. “I—I had it last night, I think. Maybe I left it at the party…”

Levi didn’t answer.

He returned to the desk, adjusting something—something normal, something precise—like this was just another quiet morning. Like you weren’t standing there unraveling at the seams.

“Levi.”

He glanced back at you.

You stepped closer to the wall, to those photos, your fingers trembling as they hovered near the notes.

“Why do you have these? The pictures? And all the writing—what is this?”

His hand stilled over a drawer.

You turned fully to him.

“Levi… do you—do you like me or something?”

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And it felt like being dissected.

“I don’t ‘like’ people,” he said calmly. “That’s a juvenile word for something chaotic and unreliable.”

You swallowed hard.

“Then… what is this?”

He finished what he was doing—shutting the drawer, adjusting a frame—and then he walked toward you. Slowly. Controlled.

When he stopped in front of you, he smiled.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him smile.

But it wasn’t kind.

It was terrifying.

“We’re a perfect match,” he said, voice low and certain. “I chose you because you’re easy to control.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?” you breathed.

“You’re quiet. Eager to please. You fall apart under pressure and mistake cruelty for authority.” He tilted his head slightly. “You respond well to discipline.”

You stared, unable to speak.

His voice softened.

“That’s why I picked you. That’s why I started testing your responses. Patterns. Attachment triggers. Fear conditioning.”

You felt dizzy again—but not from alcohol this time.

“And all this time…” you whispered, “you’ve been so—so mean. So cold. Why?”

He scoffed.

“Because you can be insufferable.”

The word cracked across your chest like a slap.

“You’re soft. You smile at the wrong people. You trust too easily. You need someone to tell you how to be useful.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes again.

He stepped closer.

“But you want that,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t realize it. You want someone to take the choices away. Someone who sees you.”

His hand came to your chin, tilting your face up.

“I see you.”

You shivered.

And for a second, you didn’t know if it was fear or something worse.

He stood in front of you—arms crossed, eyes calm like this was just a class presentation. Like he hadn’t just destroyed the world you thought you lived in.

“You can finish the year,” he said. “Graduate. That’ll look good on paper.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And then,” he continued, “we’ll get married. My father’s been hounding me about it—legacy, appearances, the usual nonsense. So I chose you.”

Your knees weakened.

“We’ll start a family soon,” he added casually, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to touch your lower stomach. “Or sooner—if you end up pregnant before the ceremony.”

You froze. Breath caught in your chest.

He brushed his fingers across your belly with an awful tenderness.

Then kissed your forehead.

The contact made your blood run cold.

“I—I don’t want that, Levi,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please… let me go.”

His hand suddenly gripped your jaw—tight. Not enough to bruise. But enough to shut you up.

Enough to remind you: you were never leaving.

“You don’t get to say that,” he murmured. “Not after what we did. Not after what I gave you.”

Your lips quivered. “Please…”

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, sharp and hot against your cheek.

“Disobey me again and I won’t be gentle next time.”

Your whole body shook.

The tears came fast.

And when you whimpered—small, broken—he smiled again.

“There it is,” he said. “See? I told you. You’re easy to control.”

Then he took your hand.

And you didn’t fight him.

You followed as he led you down the hall, back into his bedroom.

He opened the door and guided you inside, then turned—slow, deliberate—and closed it behind you.

Click.

The lock slid into place.

By the start of spring semester, everyone noticed the change.

Y/N had lost her shine.

She moved quietly through campus now, her voice softer, her smiles more rare—more rehearsed. She spoke only when spoken to. She sat beside Levi in every class, just a few inches behind him like a shadow.

She wore what he chose: soft sweaters, long skirts, delicate earrings. Her makeup always matched the tones he liked—subtle pinks, warm neutrals, a hint of gloss. He picked it all.

He reminded her what to eat and when to drink water. He brought her vitamins. He packed her lunch. If she forgot to take a bite, he’d stop the conversation with a gentle, "Now," until she obeyed.

She wasn’t just with Levi anymore.

She was of him.

By March, he took her from her dorm. Quietly. Permanently.

She moved into his apartment with a small bag of clothes and no argument. He cleared out half the closet, bought her more. A lot more. And a week later, he announced their engagement—just like that.

He called it a natural progression.

She met his parents. His father was sharp-eyed, indifferent. His mother blinked once, politely, and offered her tea like she wasn’t trying to read a girl already halfway erased.

Levi never left her side.

They shopped for a house together. A real one. In a quiet neighborhood with tall hedges and far fences. Levi talked about rooms for future children, security systems, solar panels. He held her hand the whole time.

And he never hurt her.

No, Levi didn’t mistreat her.

He massaged her shoulders when she was stressed. Brought her her favorite pastries when she was studying. Sent flowers to her classes. Bought her jewelry “just because.” He’d kiss her forehead in the mornings, make her tea just right, run her a bath when she was tired.

He gave her everything.

Promised even more.

He gave her a future. A name. A home.

It wasn’t love, not really.

But it was…

almost perfect.

#yandere #fantasy #dark fantasy #x reader #tw noncon #dark romance #sfw noncom #power dynamics #breeding k1nk #levi ackerman #levi x reader #attack on titan #twistedheartsclub #twisted

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noirscript · 2 months ago

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glass garden

Pairing: Yandere Doctor x Reader ; Elias (son) Description: Raised far from the dome, the eldest son of Anselm Faer returns with the siblings he raised, only to confront the obsession that turned their mother into a ghost—and himself into a witness. Warning/s: Yandere (Father) | Emotional Manipulation | Coercive Control | Child Neglect | Generational Trauma | Psychological Abuse | Family Trauma | Toxic Family Dynamics | Captivity | Survivor Guilt | Institutional Abuse | Slow burn | Toxic Obsession | Implied Physical Abuse Note: Apologies for the inactivity! I'm currently working on Sovereign's Reign's draft. Also, this one IS different from my usual works. Told from their child's POV. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

He had been six when they sent him away.

You had kissed his forehead with trembling lips and pressed a poorly made bracelet into his palm, whispering that it would protect him. He didn’t understand then—how could he? The dome was the only world he knew. A place where everyone smiled with locked jaws, where the sound of weeping was politely ignored through paper-thin walls. Where fathers were gods and mothers were machines programmed to endure.

But even as a child, he had seen you break. Not with screams, but with silence. Your quiet pleas. The tremble in your body as you shielded him. The way you would tuck him under thin sheets and place your back between him and the door, whispering promises you didn’t believe. “Just a little longer. Just until you’re bigger. Just until I figure it out.”

At six, your mother-in-law took him in. Not Anselm’s idea, of course—Anselm Faer didn’t like his children forming alliances beyond his control. But she had insisted. “He’s too clever,” she had said to you, the night she smuggled him out with forged paperwork and cold fury. “He’ll end up like him if we leave him here.” You had only nodded, eyes hollow from childbirth and sleep deprivation.

Your first son—Elias—was raised in the city, in an estate too pristine to feel like home. The subdivision was for Altas—those who lived far above consequence. It had white walls, quiet streets, and surveillance so complete it gave the illusion of safety. It was there that he first understood who his father truly was, not just in title, but in reach. Anselm was revered. A doctor who saved lives. A man whose name carried weight heavier than justice.

At thirteen, Elias began to notice changes. One by one, infants arrived at the estate—his siblings. They were brought there after being weaned, as quietly as he had been taken out. He didn’t go near the dome. He wasn’t allowed. But they came to him, all of them, delivered like sealed letters with no return address.

He remembered the first—Isla—just a baby, eyes squinting at the light. Then Theo, then Eren. Mira. Baby Luan. All brought to the estate with little more than your scent lingering on their skin. All too young to understand why their mother didn’t follow.

He raised them.

He held Isla through her night terrors, the ones that began before she could speak. He distracted Theo with books and puzzles when the boy began pulling at his own hair. He shielded Eren’s gentleness, told Mira it was okay to cry, and promised Luan that he’d never let anyone hurt them. He kept them normal. Human. Not like Anselm. Not like the other men of their blood.

He became their parent in your stead. Not by choice, but by duty. By guilt. By the memory of you—your bruised arms, your trembling voice, your fading presence.

And when he was old enough to marry, when his fiancée asked about his parents and he could only speak of silence and distance, he decided to return once more. Not alone—this time with your children in tow. He needed them to see. To know. To remember, even if it hurt.

The facility was hidden within the dome. Sanitized. Fortified. His cousin met them at the checkpoint, eyes darting to the cameras.

“Don’t take too long,” she said. Her name was Ivelle—older by a few years, sharp in every way that mattered. “He’s here. He doesn’t let anyone near her for long. Not even staff. Not even me.”

Elias stiffened. “She’s still alone with him?”

Ivelle nodded. “No visitors. No advocates. Not even a nurse unless he permits it. The last woman who tried to get reassigned to your mother’s wing was let go within twenty-four hours.”

Mira looked confused. “Why would he keep her like that?”

But Elias didn’t answer.

Ivelle sighed, voice softening. “She never wanted you to see her like this. She tried to keep him calm, to keep him happy, just so you kids wouldn’t get dragged back into that place.”

Theo muttered, “He’s obsessed. I can feel it. The way he talks about her like she’s some... relic.”

“She was his,” Elias said hollowly. “In his mind, she was never supposed to be anything else.”

The facility’s hallways were cold, all soft lights and hushed white floors. And when the reinforced door opened, Elias could feel his heart stutter.

Inside, there was only you.

And Anselm.

No guards. No staff. Just you sitting in a plain chair, eyes unfocused, your fingers curling into the folds of your clothing as though to hide the skin he used to caress like a trophy.

He stood beside you, one hand ghosting above your shoulder, like a crown without weight. His eyes lifted the moment Elias entered.

They were sharp. Possessive.

“Why are they here?” Anselm asked, his voice like polished metal.

You looked up at the sound. And in that flicker—barely a second—Elias saw the memory in your eyes. Recognition. Fear. Hope, barely breathing.

Mira clutched Eren’s arm. “Is that... her?”

Theo whispered, “She looks like a ghost.”

Isla didn’t speak at all.

Luan, always soft-spoken, murmured, “Dad doesn’t look happy.”

Elias couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

Because the sight of Anselm hovering beside you was too familiar.

The way he had looked at you back then—not with love, not with hatred, but with hunger. The sick kind that devours without teeth. The possessiveness of a man who believed that love meant control. That devotion meant isolation.

And suddenly Elias remembered it all. The sound of your cries muffled by his pillow. The way you held him behind your back when Anselm’s voice rose. Not to strike, no. Anselm never bruised what he claimed. But he threatened. He cornered. He made you choose again and again—him or the children.

And you always chose them.

He looked at your wrist. The bracelet was gone. But the tan line remained, faint and barely there. Like the echo of a promise.

He wanted to run to you. To pull you away.

But Anselm’s stare made him stop. Because that stare said: "She’s mine. She was always mine. Not even you can have her."

And it was then Elias knew that you had never been freed. Not truly. Not even when you sent your children away.

He stepped forward anyway. Even if it hurt.

He raised his hand.

You watched it with a tremble in your chest.

And softly, Elias spoke.

“Hi.”

It cracked something open in the room.

And in both of you.

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans@ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

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stellewriites · 9 months ago

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PART TWO

summary: by chance you and your emotionally unavailable husband meet a friendly couple that invite you stay at their farmhouse in scotland. however the time spent there with johnny & kyle has you questioning if there’s a dark side to them you didn’t see before.

a speak no evil au - series masterlist

notes: manipulative johnny & kyle, piv, noncon, somno, never explicitly acknowledged abusive relationship between reader and her husband (financial, physical, emotional, coercive control), drinking, murder, it’s dead dove horror people!! heed the warnings

despite your best efforts, elliot’s words had gotten to you the night before and it had made you cautious to sit downstairs for breakfast; hyperaware of yourself and what kyle and johnny must have thought of you.

you decided to nip down to say good morning - it was only polite - and while you were there you could grab two coffees for yourself and elliot.

you ran into gaz as soon as you got down the stairs.

“morning, sleep ok? johnny said you weren’t hungry last night,” kyle said as soon as he saw you walk into the kitchen, a little concerned frown and pout pulling at his pretty face. “can i make you an omelette? pancakes?”

“pancakes?” you couldn’t help but ask with a smirk.

“johnny likes ‘em.” you snorted.

“an omelette would be good, thanks.”

kyle immediately got up and got to work in the kitchen, letting you take his seat so you were sat closest to the kitchen counter he stood at.

“where is johnny this morning?”

“out with the donkey, loves the early mornings. don’t think his body can get out of the habit of them,” kyle said with a fond roll of his eyes. “means i get to stay in bed and extra thirty though, so i don’t complain.”

he grabbed a mug from the cupboard when the electric kettle clicked off and made a quick drink.

“coffee?” he slid it onto the table next to you. “husband can’t knick this one, eh?”

“oh, thanks.” you took a long sip despite the heat.

“how’d you sleep?” kyle asked again, watching you.

“yeah, good, slept right through,” you lied. you’d tossed and turned all night with elliot groaning in his sleep and you knew you had bags under your eyes to prove it.

kyle nodded and turned back to the eggs he was scrambling in the pan alongside the grated cheese and chopped vegetables he’d chucked in.

“johnny had a great idea last night, and i don’t say that often,” kyle joked. “we thought we could take you out to this little restaurant, up near ballo reservoir and the ruins. it’s ran by an old mate of ours.”

“that sounds fun, yeah,” you agree. you smile a little wider when he turns around with your omelette and sits next to you. you look down at the plate and gawp. “bloody hell, that’s a big omelette.”

kyle laughed. “yeah i figured why make more pots to wash when we could just share,” he said and revealed two forks.

“oh.” you blinked. “…ok.”

kyle didn’t wait for you to change your mind before he was using the side of his fork to cut a mouthful of the omelette off.

“second day in the highlands, what were you thinking of doing?”

you finished chewing your own bite before answering. “elliot will need help during the day i think. hopefully he’ll be able to get a stable enough wifi connection to check his work emails.”

“fuck that,” gaz scoffed. “you should help me in the garden. johnny will sort out your husband if he needs a hand; soap’s got odd jobs around the house he’s doing to keep his hands busy anyways, so it’s no trouble for him to keep an eye on elliot.”

you hesitated, knowing elliot wouldn’t appreciate johnny’s rough handling, but you found it nigh impossible to say no to kyle’s big kind eyes. especially when he was leant in so close.

“then i guess i’m gardening today,” you said bashfully.

---

he showed you around the chicken coop first, let you throw a bit of grain down so the hens would swarm closer as you squatted down among them to pet lightly at their feathers.

“made the henhouse myself,” kyle told you smugly, his chest puffing out further when your head snapped towards him.

“no you fucking didn’t,” you said, your eyes raked over it as if seeing it fresh.

“alright, maybe i had a bit of help from a friend, john - not my johnny - was always handy in his time off during the service. gave him a call an’ he helped me figure it out when my first attempt didn’t go so well,” kyle admitted sheepishly.

you snickered and walked up to the small shed-like structure. you could see it was lovingly made, each decision during its creation had a practical use.

“you and johnny ran into any hobbies or skills you’re not good at?” you joked.

kyle huffed a laugh and tugged you out towards the vegetable plot across the garden. “can’t say we have, love.”

“oh, fuck you,” you laughed and shoved him as you came up to the first raised bed, knocking him of kilter.

“hey, hey watch for the onions,” he laughed as his knee bumped into the wooden side holding the budding vegetables.

“god, this place is huge,” you said wistfully as you rounded to the next bed and noticed the handmade markers.

carrots

tomms

tatties

gaz’s awful radishes

you grinned before running your hands gently along the beans growing high intertwined with the arches joining the raised beds to create a path down the centre towards the greenhouse.

“have some if you’d like,” kyle said and gestured to the pea pod resting on your fingers.

your gripped it tighter and tugged, pressing at the seam gently until it popped. the peas inside were huge, but it was always the crunchy casing that you enjoyed. you took a bite as gaz led you to the greenhouse and let out a deep hum at the refreshing taste.

“just wait until you try the strawberries,” he said teasingly, sliding open the the glass door.

he grabbed a clean empty bowl from the side and handed you it as you crouched to look at the strawberry plants lined up to the right of the spacious greenhouse.

“go ahead.”

you grinned and started picking the ripe ones, sneaking one or two to eat when kyle leant over your shoulder to steal his own.

you dropped the bowl off in the kitchen to rinse later on your way down to the barn.

“weren’t we gardening? why are we going to the barn?” you asked as he led you across the gravel and around the back of the garage.

he pulled open the barn doors with a grunt.

“to grab an extra pair of gardening gloves, but also to check up on marmite. she’s been a bit ill recently, caught her foot on something sharp in her paddock the other day so we’ve been trying to keep her still while she recovers,” kyle said and led you to the stable on the right.

you frowned before you saw the sweet little donkey stood, chomping at its bucket of hay.

“oh my god,” you whispered. “you actually have a donkey.”

kyle frowned at you, confused. “said so earlier didn’t i?”

“i couldn’t tell if you were pulling my leg or not.” you reached out and she slowly lumbered over to you, an obvious limp in one front leg. “will she be ok?”

“oh yeah, vet said she just needed to rest it, nothing major,” he reassured you. “plus she’s been through worse, she’s tough.”

you made an inquisitive noise as you gently petted between her ears and down to her nose.

“when we first found her she was pretty sick, left to rot in a field nearby, so we took her in. took a while for her to get back to full health, but now marmite gets to relax in her own paddock with the few sheep the neighbours let roam. sometimes we take her to the farmer’s market on the weekend when it’s good weather. she likes the work and the kids like to pet her, increases sales when people realise we’re authentic.” he scruffed roughly, but lovingly, under her ear before patting her neck. “give her another month and she’ll be back pulling her cart.”

you cooed, heart melting at the thought of her pulling her own cart with kids petting at her sides. “wait you called her marmite?” the donkey lifted her head at her name.

you bit your lip trying not to laugh as kyle turned an offended look towards you. “it’s a good name,” he defended.

you shook your head.

“this place is so fucking wonderful, kyle,” you said. “i think i could stay here forever,” you whispered.

he pulled you into his side and kissed your temple. “could if you wanted.”

you laughed at his joke and rolled your eyes. “oh yeah the commute to elliot’s work would be fine,” you teased.

kyle shrugged. “i’m sure we could find a solution to that.” you grabbed the gloves and a trowel and headed back towards the garden on a slow walk, waving to johnny through the kitchen window as you passed. “let’s get started on the garden, johnny’s wanting the rhubarb up.”

“making pie?”

“we were planning on going to the market in a couple of days time, if you wanted to come with us,” kyle offered casually. “it’s not like the overpriced shit they do in the city.”

you grinned and nodded. “do they always run it mid-week?”

“mid week every other week and the first weekend of every month,” he said. “you’ve missed the weekend one, which is a shame because it’s always busy and more vendors come.”

“i’m sure i’ll have a blast either way,” you reassured him. “will i be given free cheese like at the place des lices?”

kyle grinned, sharp and teasing. “i’ll bring a block with us if it keeps you hovering by me and johnny’s stall.”

you snorted and elbowed him as you reached the garden again. “behave.”

you dropped to a squat and started rustling through the large green leaves of the rhubarb until you found the base, twisting and pulling until it popped loose.

you chucked it into the bucket between you and gaz and grinned as he started to work beside you.

---

you spent the rest of the afternoon with him in the garden, only stopping to have lunch on the outside table - sandwiches johnny brought out with a teapot and two mugs on a tray - and gathered all of the vegetables and fruit that needed picking, whether to cook for themselves or for the market.

“do you go every week then?” you asked as you finally headed back to the house with your hands full and mucky from the soil.

your forehead was sweaty from the hard work but you didn’t feel uncomfortable, it felt good to have been useful and busy again.

“the market?” you nodded. “nah, we don’t have a big enough plot for growing. and it doesn’t bring enough in to make it worth it to expand. we just find it fun, enjoy getting out and seeing the locals every so often.”

“yeah you could probably go crazy staying out here alone for too long,” you laughed as you walked ahead of him into the house. “with sheep as your closest neighbours.”

kyle bit the inside of his cheek but you didn’t notice his silence.

“hey, good day?” you called out to your husband sat in the next room as you placed the vegetables on the table. when he didn’t reply you went through, careful to take your shoes off first so not to track mud inside. you leant over the back of the sofa and kissed his cheek, frowning when he sharply pulled away, glaring forward at the tv. “elliot?”

he stayed silent.

you slowly stood back up straight and waited for any sort of reaction for him before heading back to the kitchen. you knew how he got when he was in a foul mood, and you could see this one a mile off, there was no reason to push your luck.

stuck in your own head you were taken by surprise when johnny suddenly grabbed you by the hips, his bright eyes and toothy smile an inch too close to be casual as you looked up at him.

“fuckin’ hell, yer glowing, lass,” he boasted. “farm work looks good on ye.”

he patted one hip and winked before letting you go to clung to his husband. leant over kyle’s shoulder at the sink where he was rinsing the soil away from his hands and the root veg you’d picked, johnny pulled his husband’s chin towards him and kissed him.

you felt rooted to the spot as the pair opened their mouths wide enough to slip their tongues against the other’s, spit slicking lips and connecting what little space was given in thin strings as they swapped soft moans and heavy breaths. it was a private moment, intimate, but you couldn’t pull yourself away even as your stomach tightened and your throat became dry.

they pulled away, barely an inch, but enough for gaz to speak.

“don’t forget about that restaurant tonight, love,” he directed at you. “dress up a little, it’s like a chef’s table.”

your husband perked up from the other room at the mention of a chef’s table - never one to pass on an opportunity that made him look rich and important like the man he worked for, always searching for another story to brag about to his mates.

“what time? is the chef anyone i’d have heard of?”

johnny stifled a mocking laugh into kyle’s shoulder, one hand wandering beneath gaz’s jumper.

“nah, mate, he’s a bit lowkey this guy. doesn’t do social media or the like. invite only to his place.”

elliot’s eyebrows raised and he leant further over the sofa arm to talk. “and we’ve been invited then?”

“aye. we have.”

“do you want help changing, elliot?” you asked, but before your husband could find fault in your offer, johnny interrupted.

“i’ll help the wee injured lad, hen. you go get all bonnie for the meal, take your time getting all fancy f’r it,” he said, finally detaching himself from kyle.

“oh, ok.” you nodded when elliot didn’t immediately complain and headed upstairs, grimacing at the soil beneath your fingernails that you still hadn’t washed off. you sniffed yourself and grimaced at the thin layer of sweat clinging to you. you grabbed your towel and headed to the bathroom.

“fancy,” you’d scoffed to yourself in your bedroom after a quick shower.

you weren’t sure you could count anything you’d packed for the week as fancy or pretty enough for an invite-only restaurant.

you pulled out a black dress you’d packed in case you and elliot got some time alone. now that you were here you knew how unlikely that was but you were appreciating the foresight now.

the dress wasn’t anything special, not something you’d have chosen to eat out in if you had access to your other clothes at home; it went below your knees but the plunge of the neckline would have elliot grinding his teeth if you wore it around gaz and soap.

you bit your lip before making the split second decision to wear it anyway. a voice at the back of your head whispering insistently and repeatedly that kyle and johnny would love it.

you finished getting ready before considering the shoes you’d brought with you.

your hiking boots, trainers, and a pair of floral patterned wellies. “fuck.”

hadn’t thought that far ahead when you’d packed the dress, clearly. you sighed and headed down the stairs anyway. smiling when you caught johnny and kyle’s eyes.

“trying to kill us, hen? where have ye been hiding this little number?”

“give us a spin,” kyle ordered, and you followed suit without a second thought.

“yer a lucky man, elliot. very lucky indeed.” johnny patted your husband’s shoulder. “go get yer shoes on, hen, and we’ll set off.”

you felt your cheeks heat. you pointed down to your trainers next to the door. “i don’t have anything i can wear with them except my trainers,” you winced.

“oh that won’t do, what size are ye?” johnny asked, waiting by the door until you answered. “same size as my sister then. she’s left a few bits here when she’s visited before, i’ll see if i can find anythin’ in storage. she’d nae mind.”

he was gone and back again in a flash and you were handed a pair of black heels to step into. you thanked him and shakily stood, the heel far taller than what you were used to and the strap thin and barely providing support.

“oh god,” you huffed as you wobbled in place.

“need a hand?” johnny offered his arm and you clung on as you headed towards the door.

“christ, it’ll take all night to get to the car with her like this,” elliot complained behind you, kyle supporting him under his arm.

“i don’t think you’re one to talk right now since she’s still looking steadier on her feet than you,” kyle said bluntly. elliot’s ankle had lost the swelling and was simply wrapped beneath his socks and shoes for support, but he’d never been good with pain and you knew he’d take an extra few days to make sure his suffering was known.

you were inclined to agree with kyle that the injury was small, just needed a bit of rest to heal, but the bruising around the bone had you worrying about elliot driving at the end of the week and wondering if it had been worse than gaz had figured, and whether a sprain - or god forbid, a break - would need seeing to sooner rather than later.

johnny’s arm had gravitated to hold you around the waist as you drifted in your thoughts, leaving you to grip his wrist and his other hand for stability as he led you towards the car over the gravel. you felt your life flash before your eyes a handful of times as your ankles struggled not to cockle and keep you upright on the short walk, and you sighed in relief when you finally got in the car.

next time you’d wear the bloody wellies if it meant not having to wear shoes like this. god knows how johnny’s sister managed it.

---

kyle and johnny took the time during the drive to boast about simon - the chef and an old friend of theirs - and his restaurant; focusing on his cooking skills and mentioning only that he was a take-no-shit type of bloke, so not to be offended when he wasn’t particularly chatty.

“think the most i’ve ever heard him talk was when i asked what was in that soup he made last time,” soap snorted.

kyle parked up next to the single car parked by the side of the road, his headlights shining on the ruins a few hundred yards ahead of them.

to the right along a small cobbled path was a two story building that looked more like a house from the outside than a restaurant.

behind it sat the reservoir, black and still in the low moonlight.

the location was gorgeous but solitary and you wondered how he kept his lights on without foot traffic before laughing at your thoughts. it’s invite-only, this guy - simon, you reminded yourself - obviously didn’t need foot traffic to get by.

you held on to johnny tightly once more as you walked towards the building and found that its outside looks deceived you when you stepped inside and found the front room had been renovated into the dining area. it sat only one table in the centre but it was cosy, welcoming, professional. you assumed the back section of the old house’s ground floor had been adapted into a professional kitchen and storage space.

johnny led the group towards the lone table, big enough to seat four, and pulled out your chair, taking his seat opposite you after.

you’d been sat barely a minute before the door to the back swung open and a large, hulking man wearing a surgery mask and an apron walked over. he untied his apron once gaz stood up, holding it in one hand when the shorter man leant in for a hug, slinging his trunk of an arm over kyle’s shoulders.

“good to see you again, simon,” gaz said as he pulled back. “how you been doing?”

“good,” simon grunted, with a nod. he waved johnny forward with a weary flick of his wrist, but you could see the fondness in his eyes when johnny clapped his back and clung on.

“cannae wait ta see what you’ve got planned fer us t’night, si,” johnny said as he pulled back.

“wait ten minutes an’ you’ll find out, won’ ya?” simon said.

johnny huffed.

“simon, this is the couple we were telling you about that we’d met last month,” kyle said.

“french riviera.” simon nodded.

“nice to meet you,” you said. “these two were singing your praise on the way over so i’m excited to be here.”

simon smiled at you before flicking his towards kyle and johnny with a raised eyebrow.

you felt like you were being made fun of, talked about despite the silence, and you didn’t like it.

“when’s first course then simon?” johnny asked.

simon sighed. “was waiting for you to turn up, wasn’t i?” he said before slinking off to the back, barely sparing a glance for your husband during the entire exchange.

you’d quickly forgotten the uneasy feeling when the food came out; stuffed mushrooms for the starter and lamb served with smoked aubergine and caramelised onions and a robuchon-style mash that you’d practically inhaled after the first bite for the main. now you were just eagerly awaiting dessert.

it was overall one of the best meals you’d ever had, only highlighted by the fruity cocktails simon had impressed you all with and the silly jokes he’d told when he poured them. you didn’t know how he managed it all alone; or you assumed he was alone, with no conversations bleeding out from the kitchen when the doors opened and no face other than simon’s seen.

you slouched in your chair, wholly satisfied with the evening, and reached to hold elliot’s hand on the table at the same time that gaz looked to johnny lovingly.

he leant in and gently kissed his cheek, pulling back to stare in one another’s eyes and share the moment just between the two.

elliot sniffed at the display, looking down at his plate. “so you two, how’d you meet again?”

“met officially when we were put on a mission together, but i’d see johnny around base and at the nearest pub on our days off before that,” kyle said.

“he didnae have the time of day fer me at first,” johnny laughed, his arm moving under the table as he rubbed at kyle’s thigh.

“saw him strike out with half the men and women in the bar, gave me the ick,” gaz joked. “asked me out more than a dozen times.”

“an’ yet he was the one that got down on one knee all teary eyed in the end,” johnny disclosed.

“realised thick-headed scot’s were my type after all, came to my senses,” kyle cooed.

“sorry, you said men and women?” elliot asked, suddenly visibly invested in the conversation.

his eyes were sharp and you new he was thinking back to your conversation in france when you’d reassured him neither man would be interested in flirting with you. you were still convinced they were just tactile people, especially given how they had greeted simon, but you had to admit that the last few days had been filled with odd moments that had you questioning your own feelings. either way you knew elliot would be like a dog with a bone after this, would try and use it to cause an argument after such a great evening.

“aye. he did.” johnny nodded.

“so you’re not… gay then,” elliot hedged.

you kicked his leg beneath the table and gaz snorted.

“nah mate. we’re not,” gaz said.

“so then…”

“elliot,” you hissed. “stop prying.”

“i’m bi,” kyle said with an easy shrug before elliot could react to your reprimand.

your eyes flickered to johnny, meeting the bright blue head on as he was already watching you before he looked at your husband.

“i don’t put labels on things, limits me,” johnny sniffed. he looked back to you as he spoke next. “i like pretty people with bonnie accents and big doe eyes. like gaz here.” he turned to his husband with a cheeky grin.

gaz snorted again, mirthfully this time.

“cannae say no to him ever, jus’ ask him,” johnny said and you silently agreed.

“like you ever want to, i’m full of good ideas.” gaz pouted.

“why ye asking anyway, elliot? feeling the urge to join us?” johnny licked at his teeth, predatory as he stared down your husband.

elliot choked out a startled ‘no’ and shook his head, making the couple laugh at his urgent insistence.

“for the best i think. i dunno if you’d be able to keep up, no offence,” gaz said condescendingly. “we don’t tend to play vanilla.”

your eyes widened as a sudden slew of scenarios involving the two handsome men in front of you flashed before your eyes. you did your best to keep your face straight even as elliot frowned and scoffed.

“what, you like to tie each other up?” he rolled his eyes with a huff of a laugh.

kyle didn’t rise to the bait. “we do all sorts. don’t think there’s much we haven’t tried at this point.”

johnny grinned at him.

“even like… gags and spanking?” you asked, sudden and unbidden, the words needing to be answered even as you felt your entire body heat in embarrassment.

“yeah, hen, we’ve tried those a few times,” johnny said gently but eagerly. his foot knocked against yours beneath the table and you fought not to jump or flinch. “what we’re into at the moment though is roleplay.”

“can have a lot of fun with it,” kyle agreed.

“you’re kidding me,” elliot said, disbelief colouring his voice.

“not at all, watch,” johnny said before standing, hooking his napkin over his arm and holding it in front of him like a waiter. he cleared his throat before lilting his voice slightly higher, like he was using his ‘phone voice’. “was everything to your satisfaction tonight?”

“it was fantastic,” kyle said, immediately playing along. he slouched into his chair. “the dessert though, was a little lackluster. i wanted something with a bit of a bite.”

johnny raised his eyebrow. “i might be able to help with that, sir.” he leant forward as though to grab his plate, but instead knocked his fork to the floor. “oh no, silly me.”

“you better grab that, hm?” kyle asked, spreading his legs as johnny immediately fell to his knees, crowding close.

kyle looked over at you and elliot and grinned at your shocked, engrossed faces. he lifted the table cloth and covered johnny’s head and curved back. he hid one hand beneath, resting it on the back of his husband’s head, scratching through his mohawk.

your breath started to come short as you heard the fly of kyle’s trousers go and then suddenly it was all you could do not to squirm and add to the noises coming from the other side of the table. the room was silent, not a word from your husband for the first time in years, and the kitchen seemed to have stilled while johnny hummed and gagged.

kyle groaned and huffed, his smiles tilting the breathless noises into half laughs as johnny seemingly sucked the life out of him.

you’d never held yourself so still, not daring to check what elliot’s reaction was as you stared between kyle’s pleasured face and johnny’s bobbing head beneath the cloth.

suddenly the pair stopped, and johnny threw the table cloth up with a grin, laughing alongside kyle as you and you and your husband tried to catch your bearings at the reveal of the unconventional joke.

“just fuckin’ with ye,” johnny said as he sat back in his chair.

you shakily laughed along, avoiding eye contact as you pressed a hand to one cheek, hoping to ease the heat you could feel emanating, knowing that between your legs was no better.

“don’t worry we’d ask before including you in anything,” kyle said. “even if we just wanted you to watch.”

“though when we open up the relationship it’s usually to get the third person involved. cannae help but touch, watching’s nae enough,” johnny added, heated as he glanced at you.

“i’ve never done that before,” you said softly, too brusk to be a whisper. “be with two people at once that is.”

you hadn’t realised elliot had spoken at the same time, his words only just registering as you watched johnny’s gaze simmer.

“we’re not interested.”

we.

there he went answering for the both of you again.

“right?” he pushed.

you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, fearful of what his reaction would be until johnny’s foot knocked yours again. you felt a sudden surge of confidence.

“i think this might be the first time you’ve ever said no to having sex with someone that wasn’t me, elliot.”

your husband sputtered, only embarrassed further when gaz whistled low and soap shook his head, privy already to the failings of your relationship and at a loss as to why your husband could have ever made the choices he had.

“well, if yer not up to it, elliot, we wouldnae push,” johnny said. “in fact it’d mean you’d have the entire bed to ye’self while we kept bonnie company for the night. more room fer you to spread out as ye sleep.”

you felt your body run cold as you thought back to your first night; you’d thought perhaps one of them had overheard elliot’s thoughtless comments but you hadn’t realised they’d heard the entire conversation.

you laughed awkwardly at johnny’s suggestion as elliot insisted a little too seriously that nothing of the like would be happening.

simon thankfully interrupted the stand off between the three men at the table as he brought through dessert; a light chocolate sorbet with fresh raspberries.

you thanked him and took the opportunity to share the joke you’d been trying to remember since simon had shared his first pun when he’d brought out the starters.

“how does a french chef respond to bad egg jokes?” you asked and waited for simon’s shrug. “oeuf..."

you saw his eyes crinkle and assumed that was as close to a laugh that you’d get, feeling quite pleased with yourself.

“that’s a shit joke,” he said, but the amusement was clear in his voice. “enjoy your dessert.”

“thank you.” you took a big bite, groaning deep at the rich taste and tartness of the fruit. the prospect of brain-freeze unable to slow you down.

“fucking hell, would you behave?” elliot hissed in your ear.

gaz dropped his spoon with a clatter, and sniffed harshly, looking across at elliot with clear disdain.

“you need to stop disrespecting her, mate. she’s an adult, she’s enjoying a meal; leave her alone.”

“was i talking to you?” elliot said back, eager for the fight. “you don’t see me interfering with your relationship.”

“yeah, exactly. your lips were sealed when you thought johnny had my dick in his mouth at the table, but now you think you can get snappy?”

“she’ll learn her manners even if she does insist on being friends with you two,” elliot said.

you felt anger bubble at being ignored, talked about as though you weren’t there by both men.

johnny noticed your discomfort and nudged gaz, his posture loosening when he saw your lowered head, jutted jaw and the embarrassed purse of your lips.

“maybe we’ve all had too much to drink,” johnny said appeasingly. “more than we’d realised. simon’s always been a strong pour.”

“i agree. not that the cocktails weren’t lovely, but they must’ve gone to everyone’s heads quicker than expected. they were moorish,” you laughed, though it sounded thin and fake to your own ears.

gaz huffed through his nose heavily. he nodded and looked at you as he spoke. “i’ll go settle up with simon. if you need a hand walking back to the car you could wait with me?”

you nodded when elliot didn’t protest and johnny got up to help him.

you waited with gaz near the back of the room where simon had set up a little till station, a bowl of mints to the side that you felt swell of fondness for as you looked at them.

simon picked up on the awkward air immediately when he came out from the back, watched with keen eyes as you shuffled from foot to foot and sent anxious glances out the window in between compliments to the food.

“‘m making a cake soon,” he said out of the blue as gaz tapped his card, and you turned back to him, interest piqued. “any recommendations on flavour? bit tied at the minute.”

“oh.” you blinked. “i had a lemon poppyseed cake a few years ago that was to die for.”

simon watched you steadily for a moment before humming. he handed kyle his receipt. “tell johnny it was good t’see ’im.”

“you too, si.”

kyle offered you his arm to walk back to the car and you took it gladly, letting him help you to keep your footing until you were situated in the back with elliot.

the drive back felt exponentially longer in the silence. the lack of music, johnny’s chatter, or even your own ramblings had you on edge.

the silence from elliot continued into the house as he winced and hobbled up the stairs alone, refusing any more help than he’d already been forced to rely upon.

you followed behind him dutifully, mouthing a soft ‘thank you’ to gaz and soap at the stairs before disappearing into your room.

elliot waited for the door to close before he rounded on you.

“‘i’ve never done that before’,” he simpered, pitching his voice higher to mock you.

“elliot, i—“

“go ahead try and explain your way out of that one, hm? practically threw yourself at them,” he spat.

you scoffed.

“its not like i said yes to fucking them,” you reminded him, not mentioning the urge you’d felt at the time to do just that.

“didn’t say no either, did you?” elliot asked, his voice raising. “i think they were planning on bloody bedding you tonight in fact.”

“fucking hell. you’re being dramatic and- and silly,” you said in disbelief. “they were playing around. christ knows if i can get over what you did, then you can deal with them flirting a little.”

he moved swiftly despite his ankle and grabbed your arm tightly, ignoring your sharp gasp as he glared at you. “you need to start listening to me. we’re married, if you remember? so start behaving like it.”

“you’re hurting me, elliot.” when he didn’t let go you nodded quickly and spoke again. “i understand.”

“good.” he nodded and bent down to kiss your lips chastley. “then let’s go to bed.”

he let you go and limped over to the bed. you joined him a moment later, shaken as you tried to calm yourself enough to lay next to him and pretend to sleep.

---

johnny had set up breakfast outside the next morning while kyle had sorted out their few animals and checked for any stray sheep that needed to be shepherded closer to their neighbour’s land; taking their truck around the edge of the property.

“hey, got some brekkie outside if ye want to join? kyle’ll be back any minute now.”

you nodded and helped elliot across the garden as johnny brought the fresh orange juice with him for the table.

you thanked johnny for the broad spread and plated yourself some of the mixed fruit. when you heard a door slam, you turned to the driveway and saw kyle making his way down the side of the house to reach the garden. he waved when he caught you looking, readjusting his cap so his face wasn’t hidden by the brim as he came closer.

he bent to kiss johnny’s scarred temple before taking his seat and stealing a sip of his coffee, wincing at the bitterness.

“you tell ‘em yet?” kyle asked johnny in a low tone, putting the mug back and pouring himself a juice.

“not yet,” johnny replied. he cleared his throat when elliot lifted an eyebrow in question, having stayed stubbornly silent with johnny and now kyle. still moody from the evening before.

johnny sighed, almost awkwardly. “look, we didn’t mean to overhear, but conversations echo in an old home like ours,” he started. you immediately went cold. “there’s been a few things we’ve both heard over the last few days—“

elliot jumped in, finding his voice suddenly in the face of his reputation being squandered, even if it was just johnny and kyle. “whatever you heard was between myself and my wife. it’s an old mistake and we’ve worked through it to heal any wounds caused. we’re happier than ever now, aren’t we?” he threw his arm behind you to rest in the back of your chair, the picture of a perfect couple. you nodded placidly. he turned back to them. “our therapist is fantastic.”

“therapist?” kyle asked.

“yes, a couple’s therapist, but you see her a couple times a month alone too, don’t you, darling?” elliot said.

“we needed someone impartial to help us see through the fog,” you said, repeating the words elliot had used over a year ago to convince you to stay. “we were just running in circles about it.”

kyle nodded. “how’d you find this therapist then?”

“elliot found her,” you said.

“lucky she was such a good fit if she was the first one you tried,” kyle said mirthfully.

“well she’d helped me before so i knew she was good at her job,” elliot let slip.

you stiffened and slowly turned to face him. “what?”

“she just gave me some advice, helped me out of a few toxic relationships when i was younger, darling. nothing serious like us. i haven’t been married before if that’s what you’re thinking,” elliot tried to joke.

it was not what you were thinking. it was not what you were worrying about.

“when you were ‘younger’? you’ve known her for years?” you questioned. “she was meant to be fucking unbiased and you’re telling me you’ve used her to get you out of relationships before? what the fuck, elliot?” you seethed, your voice raising.

“darling—“

“you told me she was trustworthy!” you laughed mirthlessly as you thought back to your first session. “you said you’d never met her before, just another fucking lie for the tally is it? it’s feeling pretty endless at this point,” you scoffed.

elliot’s lips thinned as he pulled his arm back and looked at you, debating his next move.

“we went to university together,” he admitted. “we’re just friends.”

“oh christ, ‘friends’. good to know the woman i’ve been telling my deepest, darkest thoughts to has more personal loyalty to you and whether or not she’d keep my secrets is one too many drinks away,” you spat.

“she takes her work very seriously, she wouldn’t break confidentiality like that. she’s never told me anything you’ve said in a session that i wasn’t there for,” elliot pressed, reaching to hold your hand.

“and why should i believe you?” you yanked your hand back and stood, storming off towards the woodland at the back of the garden.

“always with the dramatics.” elliot shook his head. he stood and took a step to follow you but winced when the pressure on his ankle spiked a sharp ache up his shin.

soap and gaz stayed seated, watching him struggle silently.

when he slumped back into his seat johnny spoke up. “why don’t we take ye back inside? give her some space.”

elliot bit the inside of his cheek but knew disagreeing wasn’t an option. he jerkily nodded once.

kyle kept an eye on you as you stopped near the tree line, smiled, amused, when he saw you kick at a nearby tree trunk. you weren’t going any deeper into the start of the trail so there was no need for them to bother you, you needed time to process and work through your initial anger.

he grabbed a plate for himself and started to eat, grabbing bits he knew johnny would want when he got back. there was no point in wasting a dewy fresh morning and good food just because elliot was a moron.

they’d finished majority of their share of the food when they heard your footsteps heading back. you hadn’t lingered at the end of the grass for long, deciding to join them once more with a ducked head and an embarrassed hunch to your shoulders.

“are ye ok?” johnny asked carefully.

“yeah, yeah. fine. just annoyed, more than anything. embarrassed i made such a scene.”

“don’t be, if it were me ah’d ‘ve gone bananas hearing all’a that.” johnny waved you off.

“there’s only so much someone can take,” kyle added.

you nodded and felt a stray tear slip and in a flash the pair of them were tugging you out of your seat to wrap you in a warm hug.

“thank you, guys,” you said as you squeezed them back. you sent a weary look towards the house as the one thought that had been going around your head for the last half hour - the last year if you were being honest.

you were going to divorce elliot.

“you’ve done so much for us, for me, these last couple of days. how about i cook for you guys tonight? i make a pretty mean lasagne if you’ve got the stuff?”

the couple grinned. “i think we could find what you need.”

you finished your breakfast and headed back inside after the couple waved of your offer to help clear the table.

“we’ve got a bit to catch up on around the farm that we’ve put off since you arrived,” kyle said. “we’ll be back later on, but feel free to go where you like on the property, do what you like.”

“make ye’sen anything from the fridge if ye get hungry,” johnny added.

which left you with a slow day to entertain yourself. with kyle’s. words echoing in your mind you headed to the large bookcase on the living room and grabbed the first book that caught your eye. sitting in the armchair diagonal to the sofa where elliot was watching their tv from, you curled up and silently began to read. you weren’t ready to talk to elliot yet, but you knew he’d need a hand throughout the day and you didn’t want to add onto johnny and kyle’s already long list of things to do.

you caught gaz and soap nipping in and out throughout the day and when it timed right, you refilled their flasks with steaming tea before they were off out again.

the book lasted you the day, thoroughly engrossing you in the story, and elliot played nice for once, giving his p’s and q’s when you handed him a fresh cuppa and even cautiously squeezing your hip in appreciation when you passed by towards the end of the day.

“i’m making lasagne,” you said as he waited for your response.

“sounds lovely, darling.”

you were still angry at him, but it turned to despondency when you saw that johnny had taken the time to set the ingredients aside for you on the counter and in the fridge. elliot had never done that for you.

such small things were missing, it wasn’t just his cheating, but that had been the linchpin for this longwinded realisation that you just weren’t happy together.

you lost yourself in the preparation of the meal, not noticing your company as you started layering the sauces and pasta sheets. johnny and gaz came lumbering in, clearly tired but obviously satisfied with the work they’d completed in the day and hovered by your side.

“ah hen, that looks good. think i could eat the lot t’ ma’sael,” johnny groaned.

“you bloody dare,” kyle threatened, leaning ober his shoulder to see what you were doing. “we’ll clean up upstairs and leave you to it.”

“it should be cooked in the next 40 minutes, so take your time,” you said, gently elbowing them away so you could put the tray in the oven.

they nodded, and you got to cleaning up after yourself.

a nudge at your hip what felt like only a few minutes later had you looking up in surprise and smiling at kyle as he dried the dishes you’d washed. it was painfully domestic and you looked over your shoulder to see johnny wiping down the countertops.

“has kyle told ye ‘bout the market?”

“yeah, in two days’ time right?”

“aye, you should come with us when we go. will be a right laugh,” johnny offered.

“i’d love to,” you agreed, not sparing a thought for how elliot would deal with the journey or get around the market once he was there with you. you wanted to be selfish about this. “what are you thinking of taking?”

“got a fair bit of fruit and veg lined up, some pickles stuff i’ve been working on, a few woodwork projects gaz brings along,” johnny listed.

“you sell your work?”

“just small stuff like fence signs, ‘welcome home’ plaques, small coffee tables,” kyle said bashfully.

“you should bring your charcoal drawings too, johnny, i bet people would love to see their countryside lovingly captured,” you suggested.

“ah, maybe,” he hedged. you huffed, surprised that this was what got the pair shy. “should’ve brought some’a yer own paintings to sell, bon.”

“oh fuck, i forgot my paint set at home,” you said, deflated. “i was really looking forward to painting sometime. in fact today would’ve been perfect for it.” you pouted, annoyed at yourself doubly.

“ye can just borrow some of my stuff,” johnny said easily. “what’s mine is yours, yeah?”

you blinked. “uhm, sure.” you cleared your throat. “thank you, johnny,” you said a little more gratefully.

“think that lasagne might be finished,” kyle said as he stood. “i’ll set the table.”

you nodded and went to help elliot while johnny pulled out the dish and scooped it onto four plates.

“looks delicious, you’ve outdone ye’self here,” johnny cooed. you grinned and felt pride bloom when all three of the men sat at the table groaned at the taste.

“can i make a toast before you all finish in one bite?” you asked playfully. kyle was quick to nod and put down his fork, swapping it for his glass of water. “to lasting friendships and new starts.”

elliot frowned but lifted his glass.

“cheers tae tha’,” johnny said, taking a quick swig before shovelling another spoonful off his plate.

---

with dinner a certified success and your mind made up about your marriage, you found it easier to forgive your husband for what he’d let slip at breakfast.

you headed to bed, peaceful in your decision, and smiled at elliot as you changed into your pyjamas.

“darling…” he started, hesitant for one of the first times in your relationship. you sat next to him on the bed, ignoring the way it squeaked beneath your weight. “i truly am sorry for not telling you— for lying to you about sarah. she’s the most qualified person i know in the field, i just wanted the best for you, for us. i didn’t think about how it would look in the long run.”

of course he didn't, because he never thought about how you felt. you took his hand and rubbed your thumb over his knuckles.

“i forgive you, elliot. mistakes happen,” you said simply.

“yeah?” he asked, his grin and confidence growing. he slipped his hand free to cup your face and pulled you in for an eager kiss. “thank you, darling. i knew you’d understand.”

his eyes darkened as he looked at you, his hand dropped from your cheek to your shoulder and trailed down the long sleeved shirt you slept in.

“you know, you were right at dinner the other night,” he said, and plucked at the bottom of the shirt. “we haven’t had much time for each other recently. maybe we should rectify that.”

of everything you could've guessed elliot would have said to you after everything, that wouldn't have been one of them.

“your ankle,” you reminded him stiltedly. “you’re meant to rest .”

“i’ve been resting,” he said impatiently. “but either way, i’m sure we can work around that.”

“the walls are thin,” you said, hoping it came across as shy instead of reluctant. you were disinclined to fuck your husband now that you’d accepted you wanted better, more.

but you supposed you could give him a quick handjob and call it a night, his complaints be damned. you saw the frustration bleed clearer in his expression with each excuse.

you pushed him back into the pillows and climbed over him to settle in close at his side. guiding his chin up you kissed him in soft little pecks that led across his cheek until you could nuzzle along his jaw and gently nip and lick at his neck. you lifted your palm up and licked a broad stripe across before slipping it beneath his boxers, soaking up his groan as your slick palm wrapped around his base.

you always were a sucker for knowing you were doing a good job, even now when you weren't too invested.

you pulled him free from his boxers and tightened your grip as you moved in deliberate, slow pumps. keeping your eyes low, you watched the first spurt of pre dribble down before it was quickly gathered by your fingers and spread laxly over his head and back down the shaft.

“oh fuck, that’s it, darling. just a bit quicker and tighter for me, go on,” he encouraged.

you did as he asked, twisting your wrist and pressing your thumb to his slit. you felt him shudder and the arm he’d wrapped around you tightened incrementally.

“feel good?” you asked and squeezed tighter on your next pump. he was leaking enough that the glide was slick and easy, the friction causing him to groan.

“fuck, i think im gonna- gonna cum,” he whined and you took that as a hint to focus on his head, swirling your palm in tight motions until his hips were lifting off of the bed to push into your sticky grip. he came with a low gasp, his breath hot and damp across your forehead.

you waited for him to hiss in sensitivity before you let him go and sat up, keeping your palm away from your clean pjs.

“just let me wash up then we can go to sleep,” you said.

elliot sleepily nodded, his eyes already half closed. you sighed.

---

with a jolt, you suddenly woke with elliot hovering over you; he was already dressed, though the lack of light itching to burst past the curtains let you know it wasn’t yet morning. you were disoriented and confused as he whispered rushed mutterings.

“elliot?”

“shh,” he held his finger to his lips, eyes flickering to the bedroom door. “you need to pack, we have to go.”

“what? no, what time is it?” you sat up and brushed his hands away from you. he stopped tugging at your arm and instead pulled away the duvet.

“there was an emergency, we have to go. now.” elliot repeated. “please darling, quickly.”

“an emergency?” your ears pricked even as you read the time, 5am, on your phone. “what emergency?”

“i’ll explain on the way,” he said vaguely, finally pulling you out of the bed and hissing when he pressed too much weight on his ankle.

“elliot, slow down. just tell me what’s happened, im not leaving here without saying goodbye to—“

“shut up. for once just do as i say,” elliot rounded on you suddenly and gripped your neck tightly. you reflexively pulled at his wrist to ease up the pressure and nodded as best you could with his broad palm pressed snugly against your throat, his thumb and fingers hooked at the edges of your jaw. “we’re leaving. we have to go, and i mean now.”

he let you go and you stayed quiet, muffling your coughs into your elbow. he was hasty in his own packing, rushing you along all the while and stumbled with his bag on the stairs, irritating his injury enough to let out a sharp gasp.

you ducked under his arm and helped him hop to the car, sending pensive looks behind you the whole time, guilt churning in your gut.

“are you sure you can drive, elliot?” you asked finally, hesitating to put on your seatbelt once you were sat in the passenger seat.

he shushed you rudely and gritted his teeth as he pressed on the clutch.

the drive back down the winding lanes towards the main road was rough, the car stuttering every time elliot’s ankle succumbed to and crumbled under the pressure he needed for the clutch, his leg flinching up and the seatbelt catching you before you jerked too far forward.

“where’s my phone? i need to call work, i need— where is it?” he hissed, patting his pockets and checking the holders in the car, hardly watching the road.

“you don’t have it?” you asked, confused.

“it was charging on your side of the bed,” he reminded you impatiently.

“then how did you know about the emergen—“ you realised with a sudden sick roll of your stomach, that he’d lied. again.

he was pissy you had a few days left of the holiday, that he wasn’t enjoying himself but you were. you had two days left but he he didn’t want to be around them anymore so he faked an emergency, because surely he’d have had his phone if that were true. fuck, no wonder he was being vague about it all, he wanted time to make up something detrimental at work or perhaps even to do with a friend that would be fine with lying to you. he certainly had his pick of them.

he span the car around angrily and you held on to the door handle as the tyres squealed. “you’ll need to go in and get it as quickly as possible.”

“sure,” you said blandly. you were sick of trusting him and getting fucked over for it every time. would you ever learn?

yes. the divorce would make this the last time you let him walk all over you.

you didn’t bother trying to quieten your steps along the gravel back up to the house. part of you hoped johnny or kyle heard your steps and came down to stop you leaving while the other half worried what elliot would do if you dawdled.

you mumbled to yourself, pissed off and chuntering, as you walked into the kitchen, expecting it to be empty and to be able to nip upstairs and grab elliot’s mobile and be gone again, an apologetic text already drafted in your mind for johnny and kyle.

however the pair of them were already in the kitchen, a third man stood with them. johnny jumped from his chair and wrapped you in his arms immediately, causing you to squeak when he squeezed tight.

“we were worried you’d left,” gaz said from where he leant against the kitchen counter, the mysterious man stood silent opposite him. “fretting we’d done something wrong.”

johnny let you go finally so you could reply, his big blue eyes staring down at you intensely.

“oh, uhm, i’m sorry,” you started, stuttering through an explanation. an excuse. “we uhm, we did go but it’s because i woke with bad stomach pains.” you felt yourself retreat into your shoulders, hunched and embarrassed with such focused attention on you. “elliot was worried, said we should go to the hospital maybe, uhm, so we left without saying goodbye. in a hurry. sorry.”

you noticed the third man staring at your neck and reflexively lifted a hand to cover the area, hoping to feel whatever he was staring at, thinking your shirt might've had the tag stuck out at the front given how dazedly you'd dressed earlier. instead you sucked in a thin breath when your hand pressed against sensitive bruising.

you broke eye contact immediately and dropped your hand to your collar bone, felt your cheeks heat in a putrid mix of anger and humiliation.

“we found his phone in yer room still,” johnny said and pulled elliot’s mobile from his back pocket. “glad ye came back fer it, but if yer ill was it really so important?”

you floundered for a moment, eyes glued to his hand, before gaz spoke up.

“might’ve just been the booze from last night, yeah? sometimes it doesn’t settle well, simon forgets what the average person can stomach,” kyle said. he winked. “it’d be especially rough for lightweights.”

you rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t deny it.

“it still hurting?” johnny asked, his free hand drifting close so his fingertips could trace your stomach lightly in the opening of your jacket.

you clamped your own hand over your soft tummy and nodded, feigning a stomach ache.

“let me make ye some chucky eggs and a chamomile tea to ease it off,” johnny offered and dropped elliot’s phone on the table roughly. “a light hangover cure coming right up, don’t figure you’d want a hearty, greasy brekkie like what i do fer me an’ gaz when we’re hangin'.”

gaz pushed off the side and gently corralled you into a seat, pushing it in for you afterwards and letting his hands linger on you shoulders. you couldn’t help but nod and go along with their sweet touches, even as you thought of elliot sat waiting in his car. they were being nicer than anyone had been in a long time when you’d been ‘ill’.

it felt like they were being careful with you. it almost made you feel even guiltier for lying to them.

the third man coughed and looked at kyle with raised eyebrows, his heavy facial hair hiding any mirth that might have hidden around his mouth.

“ah, where are my manners? love, this is price, our pest control guy,” kyle said as he hovered by your chair. “sometimes when we’re too busy to handle it, we get price in to shoot the foxes that are eating the hens. we’d called him last week since we’ve been having a few issues, completely forgot after you arrived.”

you nodded along, though you couldn’t remember seeing or hearing any foxes over the last few days, even on the late evenings.

“he’s a good man, won’t be a bother,” johnny added. “in fact it was good that he arrived when he did or we’d have had no clue ye were gone.”

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said, and took his meaty hand when he offered it. as you looked into his pale eyes you saw something mean to him. hidden behind his soft, placid smile and easy nod there was a sharp glint in his eyes he couldn’t hide.

you knew without asking that he enjoyed his job, enjoyed hunting, and you were suddenly glad you wouldn’t have to witness it going by johnny’s promise that he'd be out of the way.

johnny handed you a earthy smelling cup and you slowly sipped and watched him hover by the toaster as the eggs boiled in their pan, waiting to butter then slice the toast into dippable pieces.

he’d just scooped the eggs into their little cups and played them beside the toast when your husband limped in, stumbling at the unexpected sight of gaz and johnny. he sent you a baleful look as he took in the scene before him and you ducked your head back towards your boiled eggs.

“we were wondering when you might turn up, mate,” kyle said, finally taking his seat next to yours. “was just introducing the missus to price.”

“poor girl said she was ill?” price said and elliot clung on to the excuse.

“ah yeah, she’s always been a drama queen this one. wanted to head home as soon as she started feeling a little under the weather,” he said. he looked down to your plate. “feeling better now, though, i see.”

price’s gaze turned frigid as he stared at your husband. he looked to johnny for a moment, who nodded once, before turning back to your husband.

“you ever gone hunting before?” he asked. “do a bit for the lads here when they’re tied up in more important things, could take you out when i go looking for foxes today.”

elliot jumped at the chance, even with his ankle.

watching price, you felt rude for the voice in the back of your head that was telling you this man was not to be trusted. he was nice from what you could tell, charming even, if not commanding. you assumed he perhaps had a similar background to johnny and kyle with how he held himself, that his gruff exterior was likely earned from years in the service, but despite that something in you bristled all the same in a way it hadn’t so far. looking at elliot however, you realised he felt far differently; price’s casual dominance had managed to bring your husband to heel.

“great, we’ll keep bonnie company for the morning and if she starts to feel faint again, we’ll look after her,” johnny said and clapped elliot on the shoulder.

---

the couple hardly gave you time to let your breakfast settle before they whisked you off onto a trail behind their house again and after a short walk you got to see the view kyle had shown you on his phone originally in france.

“said you wanted to try painting it, so here we are,” kyle said.

“i don’t have my stuff with me.” you frowned, remembering speaking about it before.

“ahh, we came prepared.” johnny took off his bag and rooted through it, pulling out three small drawing pads and a water colour set. “no wine this time,” johnny teased. “an’ we’ll have tae share the paints.”

“then what’re we waiting for?” you asked excitedly.

barely twenty minutes in you quickly found that this was the one thing the pair of them couldn’t do.

gaz struggled the most, claiming after barely ten minutes that he was going down an abstract route with his, and despite his teasing, it didn’t take johnny much longer after that to admit that his skill lay in charcoal.

you had spent the better part of the morning on your painting, but at the last minute painted over the same branch until the colour was too dark, overworked and leaking a little into the leaves.

“fuck,” you huffed and dabbed it with your sleeve. elliot would scowl at the mess but you were distracted, worried about what johnny and kyle thought of your lie earlier that morning and your rude almost-exit. “i’m sorry about this morning,” you said finally.

“there’s nothing to apologise for,” kyle said immediately. “you’re still here, right?”

“still, i just—“

“hen, please. you’re fine, you’re forgiven if that’s what ye need t’hear.” johnny smiled. “maybe we should head back, ahm craving a hot choccy like nobodies business sat out here in the cold.”

"we can get lunch started," gaz suggested before turning to you. "What are you craving, love?"

---

you had reached the garden when you heard a shot echo from the woods.

“must’ve found the den,” kyle said in response to your tense shoulders, but your husband's scream following a moment later had your head whipping across the lawn.

with wide eyes you watched the tree line, stubbornly still even as kyle and johnny tried to encourage you further down towards the farmhouse. you felt your hands twitch as your husband burst from the overgrown bushes, pushing out of a trail you’d have never known was there otherwise.

at his desperate, fearful face you turned to kyle for support automatically, johnny nowhere to be seen, but found his eyes were dark and hooded where he watched elliot struggle to hobble over to you. his stance was lazy; you’d almost think he was uninterested if you hadn’t noticed the way he’d not blinked since your husband’s running figure had breached the bushes, but you could tell he was entirely focused on elliot.

as he got closer you noticed the blood streaking down his face from a large cut across his forehead and his broken nose; evident from it's quick bruising.

he looked like he’d been hit with the solid flat side of something head on. at the sight of tears in his eyes you suddenly jumped into action and met him halfway, helping hold him up as he tried to move quickly away from the forest behind.

“he’s trying to kill me, he’s going to— he attacked me, he wants to kill me, we need to leave,” he babbled, nasally. “we have to go, please.”

“let’s take a second to breathe, mate, yeah? come on, sit down inside and tell us what’s happened,” kyle said reasonably.

“no! i’m not fucking staying here, you’re all crazy,” elliot said and tried to pull you along passed the kitchen door. “he’s a fucking psycho, he attacked me with the fucking— the thing, the gun!”

“i’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” kyle insisted, but you recognised a hint of impatience to his tone and it had you continuing to walk with elliot to your car. “if you slow down, we can figure this out.”

“kyle… even if this was an accident, i think someone should look at the cut,” you said. the blood had dripped far enough to begin to soak into elliot’s collar and stain the material.

“no, no, no,” elliot suddenly mumbled and you turned forward to look at the car. your eyes locked onto the flat wheel and you felt your stomach drop.

“elliot…” you whispered.

“get in the fucking car,” he ordered and pushed away from you to round to the passenger side.

dread spread like ice to your fingertips and toes and you flinched out of kyle’s hold when he reached for your arm from behind. you span around to face him and stumbled back a step towards the car, only breaking eye contact with kyle when you saw movement from the garage.

johnny. he was dusting off his hands as he walked and you felt your panic rise and thrash. you’d not lent a thought as to where he’d gone when elliot had appeared bloody and frantic, but in the back of your mind you supposed you’d thought he’d continued on to the house; whether for a first aid kit or to start those hot chocolates you didn’t know.

looking at him then, trousers freshly scuffed on one knee with mud where you supposed he must’ve knelt to slash your tyre, your head suddenly felt heavy and your breath came short.

you were just confused. they were so kind to you, understanding, and now elliot was hurt and something in your gut told you they were involved, too casual in the face of such a graphic injury and accusation.

kyle was eerily quiet as you slowly started to piece it together. you swallowed nervously.

“what— what’s going on, kyle?”

“it’s nothing you need to worry about, love,” he said softly. “come on, come inside with me and johnny’ll sort out elliot.”

it felt weird hearing him say your husband’s name for the first time, especially in this situation. it raised your hackles when you’d have thought it would ease your worry.

“aye, just a spot of bad luck, nothing we can’t fix,” johnny said as he edged closer.

“get in the fucking car, what are you waiting for?” elliot yelled.

“don’t do it, love,” kyle warned.

you shook your head and scrambled for the front seat, locking the door behind you. it had been years since you last drove; moving to london meant it wasn’t necessary and on the odd trips you took with elliot he’d always insisted on driving. pushing on the pedals now felt like learning anew, especially with the flat.

kyle and johnny watched you reverse with frowns on their faces, arms crossed and stood tall.

“speed up, fucking hell, get on the main road already before they catch up,” elliot hissed, eyes wild.

the gears grinded as you tried to speed up down the short road that led to their house, the steering wheel fighting against you on the uneven road and flat tyre. you glanced in the rear view mirror at elliot’s words, worried they were already on your tail but they were still stood still.

you wondered briefly if they really were just trying to help when you suddenly spun out on the gravel leading up to the barn.

your head smacked into the wheel as the car slammed to a stop against the fence and you groaned as you sat up, panting and clinging uncomfortably tight to the steering wheel as you tried to blink the stars from your eyes and gather your bearings. everything was going too fast, the afternoon turned upside down so quick.

elliot clambered out of the car, limping towards the barn without giving a second look back towards you. with weak hands you pushed open the door and followed him, shaken but uninjured.

you followed him into the barn and he slammed the door behind you, slotting the latch down as though that would do much good to keep anyone out for long.

“that man, price, he tried to shoot me,” elliot whispered, fresh tears mixing with the blood on his cheek. “when i fought him he punched me and then hit me with the gun. i had to run for my life, i think ive bloody broken this ankle, if it wasn’t already.”

“what do we do?” you asked, voice wobbly and quiet. “where can we go? they’re— they’ll be outside already.”

“we need to hide,” he said. you clenched your eyes shut. that didn’t sound like much of a plan.

“what if kyle and johnny aren’t in on it?” you asked hopefully. if they weren’t that gave you more options to escape price at least.

elliot went to speak but the sound of another door opening had you freezing in place like deer. you’d not thought about other entrances, not thought about how you’d come in a completely different door when you’d visited marmite.

hide, elliot mouthed before diving behind a pile of boxes, covering himself with the loose corner of tarpaulin.

you moved further back into the barn and watched as johnny came in to view. he whistled as he let his eyes wander around the large barn, winking across to marmite.

“where could he be, marm? eh?” he asked rhetorically, stopping beside elliot’s hiding spot. you noticed belatedly that the awkward way your husband held his ankle to ease the pain meant it stuck out glaringly, his expensive trainers clear as day.

you wanted to call out, give him a chance to make a break for it, but your voice failed you and you watched as johnny stomped his heavy boot onto elliot’s ankle.

you sobbed at the scream he let out as it echoed in the barn. shivering at the pain in his voice as you muffled your own cried behind your palm.

johnny yanked him out of his hiding spot and dragged him back outside through the open door, laughing at elliot’s gasps and whines of pain.

you spotted a shovel opposite you and grabbed it following close behind, careful not to make any noise. you raised the shovel high with gritted teeth, ready to swing, when kyle’s arms wrapped around you, tight and restricting.

he stole the makeshift weapon from your hands too easily and threw it out of reach as johnny watched with wide, impressed eyes focused on you, elliot whimpering at his feet.

one second you were struggling in kyle’s grip and the next you were winded, wrestled to the ground at johnny’s feet with kyle pressed to your back.

“ready t’watch, hen?” johnny asked gleefully, kicking elliot out of his feral position before kneeling over him. he glanced at you to make sure you were watching and kyle’s broad palm came up to cup your chin, his fingers digging into your cheeks to make sure you were facing towards them.

“doin’ this f’r you,” johnny said earnestly before bringing his fist down in a heavy punch, hitting elliot’s cheek hard enough it recoiled into the solid ground below him.

you watched with bleary eyes as johnny beat your husband until his face was sunken, didn’t blink as he grabbed a nearby rock to continue until elliot’s arms stopped prying at johnny’s chest and face and his breaths eventually stilled.

“please stop, please, you’re hurting him, please stop.” you hadn’t realised you’d been mumbling, begging and pleading, while johnny’s hands dripped red.

“you’re ok, pretty,” kyle cooed against your temple, his lips brushing softly against your skin like light kisses.

he nuzzled your cheek where his thumb dug into the squishy flesh as you heard footsteps.

“need help cleaning up?” price asked.

“only this one as planned, sir,” johnny said as he pushed himself back onto his feet, groaning at the pressure on his knee.

“could’ve been a bit cleaner about it,” kyle complained.

“you saw how he was treating her?” price confirmed. “right then. and you’ve both spent time with him alone, know he’s fucking insufferable.”

gaz huffed a short breath through his nose. “being polite with that one, cap.”

“i think i did well lasting the full mornin’ with him,” price said haughtily, grabbing your husband by the collar and hefting him up halfway off the ground while johnny grabbed one of his arms to help. “let him run this far, did ya?”

“was fun watching him tire himself out,” kyle said and you clenched your hand trapped beneath your body.

“doesnae matter now, the jobs done,” johnny said. “we can fix this.” he waved to you and kyle and you shivered.

kyle eased up on your back and let go of your face as you watched them drag elliot’s body towards the back garden and the woods, presumably where the shallow grave they'd prepared for him was.

“right, love,” he started, and you took advantage of his slip in concentration and the looser hold to swing your elbow up and back into his face. he reared back and you rolled him off of your hips the rest of the way, scrambling up onto your feet and sprinting away as soon as you were free.

“fucking hell,” he swore loudly.

you didn’t dare look back, already feeling like your steps were too slow already as you aimed for their car instead of your own.

you imagined finding their keys magically in the ignition or in the drivers seat visor and being able to drive off without a bump, find help and—

you were suddenly hit from the side, johnny's full weight heaved into yours as he shoulder barged you against their car door so roughly your head bounced off of the truck’s window with a crack.

your knees crumbled on impact, all strength leaving your body and replaced with pain as you slumped to the floor.

your vision swam as he laughed excitedly and crouched before you. “fucking’ wily one, you, hen,” he crowed and reached out to pat your face. “c’mon, up ye get.”

he hefted you up, gripping you under your arms even as you tried to wiggle away, pain flashing across your eyes when you moved your head too quick.

“christ almighty, yer stunning,” he gushed. he opened the door with one hand and slipped in backwards, leaving his feet planted on the edge of the door as he dragged you to lean over the seat and his lap until your toes were just scraping the ground. “such a beautiful wife.”

you whined at the uncomfortable position, the pressure the edge of the seat put on your tummy, but you couldn’t move due to how harsh his grip on your arms was as he rested your head in his lap. “lemme go,” you groaned.

he scratched lightly at the back of your neck and grinned at the goosebumps that flared up.

he’d only just gotten you settled fully into position when you felt a second pair of hands at your arse. you jolted in his grip, but the firm body behind you stopped you from moving too far. pressed completely between them like a pinned butterfly.

kyle didn’t hesitate once he saw you were unable to move far, didn’t bother to ease you into it, snaking one hand to your front to release the button on your jeans and then pulling both your jeans and pants over your arse to tangle at your knees. he palmed at the bare skin revealed, nudging a knee between your thick thighs when you tried to kick back at him.

“fuck you,” you seethed. “get the fuck off of me.”

“you don’t have to play pretend anymore, love, elliot’s not here to get mad,” kyle said. he squeezed your hips and groaned. “fucking hell, bet you’re wet already, drooling in johnny’s lap like that.”

you gritted your teeth and tried to gain some firmer footing but the shift of your legs only encouraged the pair and the breeze against your pussy had you tensing.

“oh baby, you’re really desperate for it, yeah?” kyle cooed meanly. he lifted his hand to johnny, sticking two fingers out. “get these wet for me, eh, soap?”

you couldn’t look up from how johnny held you close, but you felt him lean forward, heard the eager, wet noises as he sucked at kyle’s fingers with abandon.

kyle pulled them free with a slick pop and trailed them between your legs, slipping one inside your pussy even as you winced at the too-dry stretch, johnny's spit not lending enough give to kyle’s long finger.

“gonna thank us for getting rid a’him?” johnny asked, squeezing your neck.

you felt your lips wobble and hid further into his lap. feeling humiliated as they laughed. endeared by your cowed behaviour.

gaz was quick to get with the program, knowing he wouldn't get much further and slipped his finger free with a gentle shush in your ear. he tilted your hips up and wedged his arm between you and the car seat, planted his spit-slick fingers over your clit instead and rubbed in sharp circles until you were squirming.

“there ya go,” johnny said. “that’ll do ‘er.”

“shh, be a good girl for us,” kyle grunted. “c’mon, don’t fight it, love, make it easy on yourself.”

you felt your hips twitch against his hand as he focused meanly on your clit until your pussy was clenching and creaming around nothing.

you let out a ragged gasp, your voice breaking as kyle continued to pinch and play with your throbbing clit for a moment longer until you felt a whine build in the back of your throat. you clenched your teeth to hold it back and pushed your face into johnny's solid thigh.

when kyle saw your resistance he ran his fingers lower until they met the hot slick leaking from your cunt and grinned with accomplishment up at his husband.

“don’t worry love, it’ll feel good. i’ll make sure of it,” kyle promised against the sensitive skin of your neck.

he slipped his finger in again, easier this time, and followed it too quickly after with a second. you groaned at the stretch, your hot panting breaths damp against johnny’s tented trousers. the instinct to bite his cock through his jeans and not let go like an untrained dog flashed through your mind as the start of an escape plan, but johnny gently stroked the apple of your cheek and it distracted you enough to lose the thought and chicken out last minute.

“no need t’worry, bonnie. ahm no’ gonna make ye take my cock at the same time, not today,” he said soothingly. “ah know how overwhelming two at a time can be.”

you felt sick as you identified the feeling blooming in your chest as relief and gratefulness. felt worse when you thought it could just be pure pleasure as kyle’s fingers learned the shape of you.

“so bloody tight, don’t know how i’ll fit, johnny,” kyle complained good-naturedly, a sly smile plastered across his face.

“she’s made fer it, gaz,” johnny insisted, mumbled a gruff, our good girl as he looked down at you. “test her out already.”

“no,” you whined, knowing he’d barely gotten his third finger in.

kyle took johnny’s encouragement as blanket permission and pulled his fingers free, chuckling at the rhythmic clenching of your pussy.

“christ if you could see this, john,” he said with awe. “look at that pretty pussy, just begging for me. eager to please, aren’t you?”

you tensed at the sound of a zipper, thrashed when you felt the head of his cock push between your glistening lips, slicking it up not nearly enough before he prodded a little more insistently.

your hands gripped at johnny’s leg and the car seat as he pushed the head in, your brows furrowed as he panted behind you.

“there ye go, hen, give it all t’him,” johnny cooed, eyes molten as he watched kyle fuck into you for the first time.

“need to try your arse next time if this is how tight your pussy is,” kyle moaned. he pushed in a little further and you whined, sucking in a sharp breath when he pulled back out again. johnny chuckled, lifting one hand to wrap around kyle’s neck, his thumb petted softly at his adam’s apple as kyle bit his lip and leant into the pressure.

he thrusted in and out slowly, going deeper with each push back in and testing your resolve as you tried to bite back your sounds.

“let us hear ye,” johnny pouted, pulling his hand back to push two fingers into your mouth. he held it hinged open on kyle’s next thrust and you let out a deep gargled noise.

kyle huffed, his cock leaking pre inside you.

“how’s she feel, garrick?”

“like sin,” he sighed. “tightened up as soon as you got your fingers in her mouth.”

“dirty little slut,” johnny said, delighted. “maybe not so much our good girl after all.”

your orgasm crept up on you, focused as you were on staying quiet and still, when kyle’s hand drifted from where he’d been palming your arse it barely took a moment of attention to your clit to have you reeling.

“there we go, fuck. look at that,” kyle groaned as you tightened up, a flood of slick leaking out with every pull of his cock and gathering at his pubes on the thrust back in. “give it to me.”

you gasped and moaned around johnnys fingers, drooling down his palm and into his lap. you saw through hazy eyes how his cock jumped in its confines, eager for attention and the pleasure gaz had described.

kyle moaned, his thrusts getting rougher, uneven. “keep cumming, love, take it.”

“fucking temptation incarnate,” johnny whispered as you pushed back into kyle’s hand and cock trying to prolong your own pleasure.

kyle folded over you and thrust in his cock hard and shallow, hips bruising your butt cheeks as he groaned. he stilled and you felt the flood of his cum settle deep and heavy, a sudden spark of anxiety kicking through your afterglow.

you didn’t acknowledge the part that gleefully thought of the possibility of a baby, finally.

you shivered, slumped in johnny's lap as he held you up when gaz slipped out, whistling in appreciation at the sight of the pair of you. you felt gaz lightly tap his cockhead against your butt cheek with a wet plap before he tucked himself away again.

“don’t let it drip,” johnny reminded gaz before too much of his cum could dribble out of your puffy hole. kyle was gentle as he tugged up your pants, even when he patted the gusset crudely before bending low for your jeans. he pulled you back up against his chest as johnny shuffled forwards and out of the truck cab, plastering himself to your front once he was on the ground.

you ducked your head to avoid his kiss and he chuckled. “still so shy after tha’?”

they shuffled you back to the farmhouse, pressed so close to your sides that it made it impossible for you to lose your footing, both of them keeping you upright even as your legs felt like jelly.

they got you laid down in their bed, the room closer to yours and elliot’s than you’d realised.

it felt like a herculean task keeping your eyes open despite the mid-afternoon sun shining through the window. if you could bring yourself to string more than two thoughts together you’d think it was the shock or the adrenaline crash. but for the moment you could only think about how pretty gaz looked stood at the corner of the bed smiling or how warm johnny felt kneeling between your legs.

at the feeling of your jeans being removed again, you frowned.

“what’re y’doin’?” you slurred, a second away from passing out.

“shh, bonnie,” johnny whispered. “y’r fine.”

you felt his fingers tease at the opening of your cunt, playing with the cum trickling out, tacky and sticky where some had dribbled down your thighs.

he groaned and stuck his fingers in his mouth as kyle laughed.

you drifted in and out, barely registering the feeling of his cock rubbing through the mess and nudging at your clit, his own leaking pre only adding to the smooth glide.

you passed out finally to the feeling of his teeth at your neck, his groans in your ear and kyle’s eyes watching over you both fondly.

---

you woke up slowly, your head thumping and it took you a moment to recall where you were and what had happened. you sat up slowly and saw you were alone in their room.

you cringed at the dried cum between your legs and the way your skin stuck to itself and the sheets. if it wasn’t for the physical proof crusting on your skin and the smell of their aftershaves on the duvet, you think you might’ve been able to convince yourself none of it had happened.

your threw back the duvet when you were sure they weren’t about to jump out at you and grabbed your trousers from the floor.

you hesitantly pushed open the door to the left of the room and found an en suite bathroom.

with a sigh of relief you closed and locked it behind you and started cleaning yourself up in the sink with hurried movements. a shower would've been preferable but you weren’t willing to risk the noise or the time, so scrubbing away the cum, sweat and tears with your hands and some soap would have to do.

it took all of your energy to keep yourself calm as you felt sticky globs of cum drip from inside you and replace what you’d just cleaned on the inside of your thighs.

you got dressed hastily and peeked out of the window to try and spot johnny or kyle prowling outside. when you saw no sign of either, you held your breath and cracked open the bedroom door. when they didn’t appear from nowhere waiting to catch you trying to leave, you crept down the creaky stairs, sucking in a tight breath as if it could make you lighter and the stairs any quieter.

you cringed as you made it down and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw the kitchen empty.

your eyes zeroed in on the knife block and you scampered over to it and grabbed the biggest one, sufficiently sharp.

you snuck out the back way to avoid the sound of your trainers on the gravel out front; given your last escape attempt you figured they’d have their car locked and keys kept safe so there was no point attempting the cars again at the front and you weren’t sure you’d be able to outrun them all the way to the main road out in the open. whereas the forest out back would provide enough cover for you to make your way to… well, you didn’t really know where, part of you thought you could maybe find their elusive neighbour while another thought you’d more likely get lost in there trying.

better the devil you know, the traitorous voice whispered.

you shook your head and looked around frantically, your head on a constant swivel as you jogged across the garden, eyes peeled for a hint of any of the three of them. you slowed as you neared the veg plot to the right and the open grass and shed to the left.

you headed left, despite the lack of cover it proved, it was closer to the woods trail you knew and although there was nowhere for you to hide it meant there was also nowhere for them to be lying in wait, unlike all the tall climbing veg you’d originally been impressed by on your first day.

“think we should probably ring him later to see—“

you span around at the sound of their voices drifting on the wind, and saw them making their way from the front of the house. panicking, you jumped towards the nearest hiding spot - the little shed.

it was unlocked, but you were too worked up to wonder were the thick lock you’d seen days prior had gone. despite the sun shining through the little windows, it was dark in the little shed. you cursed not having your phone on you for the light but figured you’d have not wanted to garner the attention either way.

you could tell it was clean from the smell, whatever was stored in there was well looked after. shelves were pushed against the back and right side of the shed, full of boxed items.

johnny’s sister’s items, you remembered.

you stepped forward quietly, dropping the knife onto a lower shelf when a stack of photo albums caught your eye. you picked one up at random and flicked it open to find a picture of soap and gaz, younger and stood in their fatigues. You flicked further in and saw another of them in their civvies, then a third of them in their wedding suits.

why wouldn’t they keep this in their house?

the next book answered your question as you looked at kyle and johnny wrapped around a woman in a wedding dress. you paused, your breath hitching before you looked at the next few photos quicker, the unknown woman was dressed casual for a few pages, then replaced by a third unknown man in a suit.

there were less photos of him dressed casually before he was replaced by another woman in the same dress as before; then another, a man in a suit. they kept changing, never lasting more than ten pages in the albums as kyle and johnny got older through the photos.

their third never reappeared once they’d disappeared.

you breathed in shakily, understanding that you weren’t their first, likely wouldn’t be their last if they caught you trying to escape again. christ, how many were like you that would be killed before they were forced to put on the wedding dress or suit.

you put the book back with shaking hands and grabbed your knife again. you weren’t going to sit there and wait for them to come looking for you, but you’d foolishly gotten distracted and hadn't heard where they’d gone when you were looking at the photos. you pressed close to the door and held you breath while listening out for them on the other side.

when it had been quiet for long enough for your legs to feel tired, held rigidly still in the cold shed, you pushed opened the door slowly and stepped out. you stopped mid step when you saw kyle and johnny sat patiently at their garden table just opposite, staring at you with wide smiles.

“mornin’,” johnny called across and you reflexively brought up the knife in front of you.

“what’s the knife for?” kyle asked, amused, his lips pulling up at one side as he glanced at it lazily. “got the jitters, love? it’s normal, i still get butterflies and we’ve done this how many times now, johnny?”

“countless. but ah’ve got a good feeling about this one.” johnny’s grin turned salacious as he looked you up and down.

“me too.” kyle let his smile spread.

you stared for a moment, debating running. “what are you going to do to me?”

kyle’s grin stretched and he dipped his head to take a drink of his tea to hide it, laughing a little at your shaking hands.

“it’s our wedding day hen, you forget already?” johnny cooed.

you frowned, gripped the knife tighter.

“price was good enough to agree to officiate today instead of the end of the week, last minute changes cannae be helped though,” he added with an easy shrug. “hopefully simon’ll be able t’make it too.”

“the cake…” you mumbled, feeling betrayed at how many people they had in on it. how long they’d planned this and played pretend with you.

“she caught on quick. smart one this time, think we’ve made a good choice.” gaz stood as he spoke to johnny causing you to stiffen in unease. you lifted the knife up high in front of you again where it’d dropped to your side.

“now now, come on. you think you know what you’re doing with that, love? think you could kill me if you had to? johnny too?”

you stared at johnny behind kyle’s shoulder; the picture of relaxed, but you could see how sharp his eyes were as he watched you threaten his husband.

“sas, remember? even if you did manage to knick me, and that’s a big if, love, johnny would have you laid flat before you had a chance to blink. he’s broad but he’s bloody quick even with the knee.” he pointed to your bruised temple as he took another step. “but you’ve already experienced that. let’s just think about what you want to do here, yeah?”

frustration welled inside you and you blinked as tears ran down your cheeks. “i want to go home,” you whispered.

gaz smiled softly, the mean glint in his eyes gone when he nodded. “we can do that.”

“you just have to put down the knife first, hen.”

you shook your head, working yourself up as you felt your fight or flight turn to freeze as you stared them down another minute longer, desperate to find a way out.

gaz took another step and you swiped desperately to stop him from getting too close, but flinching back yourself when johnny barked out a sharp, “hey!”

gaz ducked out your reach but lifted his arm under yours to control its trajectory, elbowing you in the nose with his other arm. you felt a crunch and stumbled back, the knife falling from your grip and into kyle’s.

“guhh!” your hands flew up to your aching nose as you gasped, the pain sharp and ferocious, pinpointed to your sinuses as you bent forward to instinctively protect your face.

“ah shit.” you heard kyle sigh.

“bit bloody rough, garrick,” johnny chastised as he finally came closer, kneeling before you, keeping one hand tight on your calf to keep you close as the other gently, but insistently wheedled your hands away from your messy face.

“used to manhandling you aren’t i, soap?” kyle groused, but sending you worried looks all the same. he stepped away to drop the knife on the table, grabbing the small tea towel they’d had folded next to their plates and handing it to soap when he got close again.

you hissed as johnny cleaned you up as best he could with the scratchy cloth, sucking in a ragged breath through your mouth and gagging at the rancid taste of your own blood.

they herded you back to the farmhouse and sat you in kyle’s lap in the kitchen.

you took a sick satisfaction when he grunted at your weight on his legs, but the firm squeezing of your hips had you wiggling away. his grip was firm however and he kept you from hovering above him as johnny wiped at your nose with a wet rag.

“this is gon’hurt, cannae lie t’ya,” he said as he cupped either side of your face, his thumbs pressed along your nose. “wee bastard broke it, but i’ll make it good as new.”

kyle grumbled and johnny huffed, corrected himself. “wee bonnie bastard.”

you whimpered and jerked in kyle’s hold when johnny pushed it back into place, wiping it down once more.

“ye play nice and forgive each other, now, yeah?” he ordered. “close contact always helps w'that i've found.”

gaz nuzzled in close at that, hummed against your cold skin. “i’m sorry, baby. been a while since we played with someone so delicate.”

you stayed silent and johnny tilted your head to get a better look at your nose with the bleeding slowed down.

“looks good as new, bonnie,” he confirmed, ducking down to kiss you.

you winced when his nose knocked yours and felt his grin against your pursed lips.

suddenly, deliriously, you thought of the wedding photos they’d want to take. they’d be ruined, you thought with glee.

you told them so and watched as gaz pouted over your shoulder. johnny hummed.

“we have plenty of time to make memories together,” he settled on saying finally.

“you’re better than they were,” gaz agreed. “you’ll be better.” last longer, went unsaid.

you shook your head but they ignored it as they pulled you to stand up between them.

“now, you better start getting ready, price will be here soon and so should simon. we want to get this done quickly so we can get to the good part,” gaz said.

“consummating the marriage,” johnny winked.

you let them guide you back to your room where you saw the wedding dress laid on the bed, matching shoes on the floor set neatly.

sat on the bed next to the dress you ran your hand over the silky material, the intricate sewing and beading.

your head pounded, the injury from what you now knew was the day before and now the nose had your ears ringing. you grabbed the glass of water from the side table and downed it, uncaring if it was from two nights ago, suddenly parched as you thought of the amount of tears you’d shed.

when you could finally bring yourself to put on the dress you marvelled at the fit, the way the material looked draped over your curves.

like the sisterhood of the travelling pants but for two psychos’ fucking wedding, you thought and snorted.

you were truly connected to all their victims before you now.

you slipped on the shoes and let yourself hide your face in your hands as your hope finally crumbled. this was happening and you weren’t sure how to feel about it.

christ, whether it was the bump to the head or maybe elliot’s treatment for the last few years had done a worse number on you than you’d realised, but you couldn’t help but wonder if this would still be better than how you’d be living in london.

you wiped your face and headed for downstairs. it was like a sick repeat of the night you’d all gone out as they cooed and fawned over you when you got to the bottom. and once more you liked it.

liked it the same way you’d liked their attention every time they focused on you, complimented you. a slut just like elliot had spat. like johnny had moaned.

you swallowed thickly and hid your shaking hands behind your back.

they led you outside and you took the time to try and think of elliot’s face as he was beaten to death not twenty-four hours before; hoping to get a wake up call from these tumultuous, traitorous feelings. but you could only think of the lipstick mark on his neck and the photos of his cock on his phone that you knew he’d never sent to you, the texts he’d hide, the video you’d finally found of him fucking another woman.

you thought about how kind and gentle kyle and johnny had been over the last few days and bit your cheek harshly. switched to thinking of johnny using you while you slept, kyle taking you half inside their car, but it didn’t horrify you like you’d expected it to.

the gut clenching panic you’d expected to feel was absent as you remembered the feeling of their hands on you and instead you were ashamed to feel yourself grow wet.

were you so fucked up, so lonely and starved that you were going to willingly ‘marry’ these men and let them treat you like that?

if you took a moment to think about it, were they even a step up from elliot?

you looked up and ahead and saw price get out of his car, a genuine smile puffing up his cheeks as kyle waved. you assumed the ceremony would be starting soon enough.

kyle leant in to kiss your temple and johnny removed his hand from your shoulders and instead took yours in his own with an excited squeeze.

well, you knew the answer to the first question at least.

want to email johnny? click here

#dog meat fic #final part!! hope you’ve all enjoyed over the end of the spooky season #this was a lot of fun #and poor reader - very much out of the frying pan into the fire with getting gazsoap after elliot #this really well and truly isn’t edited as well as it should be but it’s 2am right now so who cares!!#johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader x kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap x reader x gaz #soap x gaz #soapgaz #soapgaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod smut #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #fat reader

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